in all that debris.” Tears rolled down her smooth cheeks. “It haunts me...”
He reached over and caught her fingers in his, pressing them gently. “How in God’s name did you ever get into reporting?” he asked quietly. “You don’t have the emotional makeup for it, honey. You aren’t hard enough.”
She wiped the tears on the hem of her caftan and laughed wetly. “I’m not good for much, am I? Not hard enough for holiday affairs, not hard enough to be a reporter...”
“We could work on that first one,” he said in a new, different tone.
She turned to find his eyes tracing the soft lines of her face, slow and dark and sensuous.
“Care for a swim?” he murmured.
She nodded, feeling as if she’d had the floor taken abruptly out from under her.
He stood up, waiting for her to precede him into the water before he followed suit.
They swam lazily for several minutes before he surfaced beside her, slinging water out of his eyes. His lashes were beaded with salty water, and she noticed how thick they were, almost as thick as her own.
“Feeling better?” he asked. Standing on the sandy bottom, he towered over her while she tried to keep both feet balanced in the swell of the tide as a powerboat went past with a roar.
“Much.” She nodded. “Thank you.”
“For listening?” he asked. “Or for taking your mind off it?” he added with a wicked smile.
So it had been a joke, but she wasn’t laughing. She bit off a theatrical giggle. “Oh, it did that.”
Before she had the words out, his big hands clamped onto her waist and dragged her body fully against his, holding it so that she felt the strength of the powerful muscles crushing her breasts, her thighs. She gasped at the suddenness of the move, at the new angle of seeing his eyes from inches away instead of feet.
“I wasn’t teasing,” he said quietly. “Could you handle an affair with me?”
She couldn’t speak. The contact with his body had drained her strength; the words made oatmeal out of her mind.
“Cal...” she whispered shakenly as her eyes dropped to his wide, chiseled mouth and she wondered achingly how it would feel against hers.
“I didn’t mean to let this happen,” he whispered gruffly, catching the hair at her nape to jerk her head back as he bent. His mouth caught hers before she could react and ground against it with a hard, uncompromising pressure that seemed to burn brands in her mind.
“Don’t fight me,” he breathed, pulling away enough to brush his lips softly, tantalizingly, across hers until they parted involuntarily. “That’s it...” He trailed off, breaking her mouth open under his, and the world disappeared in swirls of blue and white and pure blinding silver...
His mouth was warm and wise and stirring her senses in ways she’d only dreamed about before. She tasted salt on it, as it demanded response; she felt the powerful muscles of his shoulders tauten as her hands clung to them, her fingers biting into them, her body dissolving against his like melting gold.
He let his lips slide down her cheek to her ear while his arms crushed her close, letting the sea rock them gently in its watery embrace. She heard his quick, rough breath whisper past her ear.
“It’s good between us,” he said gruffly.
She licked her bruised lips, her eyes closed against the blinding sun, the radiance of that passionate kiss. She felt incredibly weak. “The people on the beach...” she whispered shakenly.
He laughed softly. “They’re all stretched out under sunglasses and suntan oil, oblivious to everything. See for yourself.” He chuckled, releasing her a little so that she could look for herself.
Sure enough, not one pair of curious eyes had seen them. She couldn’t quite look at him. She felt a surge of shyness. Even when she’d been engaged to Ralley, it had never been like this...
“Soft little mouth,” he whispered, tracing its slightly swollen contours with one big finger. “I like the feel of it,” he whispered, bending to brush his lips softly, briefly against hers. “It’s like touching a gardenia petal, smooth and silky and cool against my mouth.” He kissed her again, just as briefly, his face beaded with salt water, his body cool where her hands rested on his hard-muscled chest over that curling thatch of black hair.
One hand moved, taking her fingers and working them sensuously into the mat of hair over the silky muscles, in an aching caress.