Taken by Storm (Give & Take) - By Kelli Maine Page 0,85

step out from the shade and into the pool courtyard. “Why are you wearing dress pants and a tie?” I ask him. “Are you insane? It’s sweltering out here.”

You sit up, and your knees bump against mine. “Riley likes to look professional.” You grasp the left side of my red bikini top and tug it closed. “And you’re a little too casual. More like falling out.”

“No interest in sharing me with this assistant then?” I whisper.

You clench your jaw, but don’t reply. I was teasing, but struck a nerve bringing up the reason I left you last time.

“Ms. DeSalvo,” Riley interjects, spots of pink on his cheeks from either the heat or from overhearing my comment, “your mother and aunt are scheduled to arrive at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. Do you have a preference of which rooms are reserved for them?”

I shade my eyes and glance up at him, wishing I hadn’t forgotten my sunglasses back in the hotel. “No. I’m sure you’ll pick very nice rooms for them. I trust your judgment. But can you do me a favor?”

He nods, eager to please. “Of course.”

“Call me Rachael.”

A sheepish grin spreads across his face. He’s young, twenty-two at most, not that I’m much older. But his reserved manner and uncontrollable blushing make him seem a lot younger. “Can I get you another drink from the bar, Rachael?”

I pick up my empty mimosa glass from the small table beside my chair and hold it out to him. “That would be amazing of you. Thanks.”

“Mr. Rocha?” he asks, taking my glass.

You pick up your half-full bottle of water and shake it in Riley’s direction. “I’m good, thanks. But that reminds me, when’s the domestic staff getting in?”

“Three this afternoon.”

Riley trots off toward the bar on the opposite side of the pool and courtyard. “Someone has a crush,” you say, squeezing my knees between yours.

The stubble on your face has grown to a soft beard that covers your chin, not quite as full as it was when we first met, but soft to the touch and sexy. I can’t resist running my fingers over it. “You’re right,” I say. “But look at him. Those pressed oxford shirts he wears, the flop of dusty blond hair over his forehead and the way he always blushes when he looks at me. How can I not be crushing hard?”

You lower your sunglasses to the end of your nose and arch one brow over your blazing, dark eyes. “You’re full of jabs today, aren’t you? You know what I meant.”

I stand between your legs and take your face between my hands skimming my fingers through your dark, wavy hair. “You know I’m kidding. Look at you.” I let my hands run down your neck, across your broad shoulders, down over the bulging muscles of each arm. “Why would I ever want anyone else?”

Your hands find my hips and pull me closer, close enough to rest your cheek against my stomach. “I’ve already done everything you’re just getting to do. I’ve reached my goals. You could have someone like him—like you. Someone driven, making his way up the ladder. I kicked my ladder down, Rachael.”

Why do you think I care that you’ve decided to retire in your mid-thirties with billions in the bank? Somehow in your head that’s a bad thing. “You told me your plan months ago. When we went fishing, remember?”

“The storm that day.” You chuckle, sending vibrations through my skin. “I swear, you wrapped your wet little body around my back so tight when I carried you back to the hotel, I had obscene images running wild in my head.”

“Every time lightning flashed, I thought we were going to die.” I stroke the top of your head, twisting sun-warmed locks of hair around my fingers. “The fish you caught was good though.”

You turn your head and rest your chin in my belly button. “Yeah? You hardly touched it.”

I bend and kiss the grin off your face. Eating around you leads to kissing you and touching you and meals are quickly shoved aside and forgotten. I’ve lost eight pounds since I stepped foot on this island. “We need another chocolate raspberry cake.”

You growl and lick my stomach sending delicious flesh memories straight to my center. Memories of smeared chocolate frosting devoured with your tongue. “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.”

“Uh…” Riley stammers, standing at the end of my lounge chair with a fresh mimosa in one hand. “I’ll just…” He sets it on the wooden table