jacket and stood, bare-chested, in the sun.
Whoa , that was a glorious view. He turned so she could see only his back, her gaze following the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his back muscles painted with a swirl of ink. All of it narrowed into a trim waist. And that ass.
He might not be breathing heavily, but Kate could feel trapped air tighten her chest as she stared. Her heart rate kicked as high as his deadly foot, her hand clenched into a fist at her side. Her blood simmered, heating up sensitive nerves that made her tingle and tighten and tense with arousal.
Great. Now she was a regular Peeping Kate, getting turned on like some kind of creepy voyeur.
And then, he stripped off his pants in one smooth, sexy, satisfying yank and kick. And there he stood, buck naked in the sunshine, just about the most mouth-wateringly desirable specimen of man she’d ever seen. How could she possibly look away?
His legs were like tree trunks, his backside like something Michelangelo had carved out of marble.
Turn around , some evil voice whispered in her head. Him or her? Who was this devil talking to?
She couldn’t turn around…but he did. And everything in Kate that made her a woman melted in a pool of craving.
Now that was a work of art. Before she had more than a second to stare at the nest of dark hair and the thick shaft that raised up out of it, he dove into the pool, barely making a splash.
And Kate finally stepped away from the window. Well, wobbled away.
Pressing her hands against inflamed cheeks, she swore under her breath, closing her eyes to get the image of his hard body out of her head. But it was there, burned forever, teasing and torturing and tempting her.
Oh, God, she had to get under control. She was stronger than this, better than this, bigger than this.
Speaking of big…
“Oh!” She fisted her hands. “Get a grip, Katherine Louise Kingston. Get a friggin’ grip .”
She wanted a grip. Of that.
She marched into the bathroom to drown her face in extra-cold water, burrowing into her soul for some sanity and sense.
Okay, so she was sexually attracted—what a flipping understatement that was—to the man who was supposed to be protecting her. And he clearly had zero interest in reciprocating that attraction; either he didn’t feel it, or it was against his bodyguard rules.
But every once in a while, they had to speak to each other or brush by each other or acknowledge each other. And every time that happened, she had this sense that maybe… maybe he was feeling the same thing.
If so, he sure was good at hiding it.
She shot up from the last splash of cold water, staring at herself in the mirror. Wasn’t it better this way? Why would she invite trouble by—
“Kate? You up yet?”
She startled at the question and the tap on her bedroom door. “Yeah.”
“I’m making breakfast if you want eggs.”
He’d tried to offer her food before, but she’d turned him down. And now she knew why. It wasn’t that she hated the idea of him—well, she did hate the idea of a bodyguard. But the more time she spent with him, the more she started imagining things like…his hands on her breasts. His mouth on her—
“Kate? You okay?”
No, damn it. This wasn’t okay. And she needed to man up, have breakfast with the guy, and crush these crazy sensations.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She went to the door and opened it, hating herself for hoping he was still bare-ass naked. “I would like breakfast, thanks.” She was only slightly disappointed to see him back in the baggy pants, a T-shirt clinging to some still-damp muscles. “Thanks.”
“And tomato juice,” he added. “It’s good for a hangover.”
“I don’t have a hangover.”
“You drank a bottle of white wine by yourself last night.”
Because nobody would drink with her. She gave a casual shrug and walked by him. “Wine has no effect on me.” Your naked ass, however, made me downright woozy. “I see your hair is wet. Were you
Whoa , that was a glorious view. He turned so she could see only his back, her gaze following the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his back muscles painted with a swirl of ink. All of it narrowed into a trim waist. And that ass.
He might not be breathing heavily, but Kate could feel trapped air tighten her chest as she stared. Her heart rate kicked as high as his deadly foot, her hand clenched into a fist at her side. Her blood simmered, heating up sensitive nerves that made her tingle and tighten and tense with arousal.
Great. Now she was a regular Peeping Kate, getting turned on like some kind of creepy voyeur.
And then, he stripped off his pants in one smooth, sexy, satisfying yank and kick. And there he stood, buck naked in the sunshine, just about the most mouth-wateringly desirable specimen of man she’d ever seen. How could she possibly look away?
His legs were like tree trunks, his backside like something Michelangelo had carved out of marble.
Turn around , some evil voice whispered in her head. Him or her? Who was this devil talking to?
She couldn’t turn around…but he did. And everything in Kate that made her a woman melted in a pool of craving.
Now that was a work of art. Before she had more than a second to stare at the nest of dark hair and the thick shaft that raised up out of it, he dove into the pool, barely making a splash.
And Kate finally stepped away from the window. Well, wobbled away.
Pressing her hands against inflamed cheeks, she swore under her breath, closing her eyes to get the image of his hard body out of her head. But it was there, burned forever, teasing and torturing and tempting her.
Oh, God, she had to get under control. She was stronger than this, better than this, bigger than this.
Speaking of big…
“Oh!” She fisted her hands. “Get a grip, Katherine Louise Kingston. Get a friggin’ grip .”
She wanted a grip. Of that.
She marched into the bathroom to drown her face in extra-cold water, burrowing into her soul for some sanity and sense.
Okay, so she was sexually attracted—what a flipping understatement that was—to the man who was supposed to be protecting her. And he clearly had zero interest in reciprocating that attraction; either he didn’t feel it, or it was against his bodyguard rules.
But every once in a while, they had to speak to each other or brush by each other or acknowledge each other. And every time that happened, she had this sense that maybe… maybe he was feeling the same thing.
If so, he sure was good at hiding it.
She shot up from the last splash of cold water, staring at herself in the mirror. Wasn’t it better this way? Why would she invite trouble by—
“Kate? You up yet?”
She startled at the question and the tap on her bedroom door. “Yeah.”
“I’m making breakfast if you want eggs.”
He’d tried to offer her food before, but she’d turned him down. And now she knew why. It wasn’t that she hated the idea of him—well, she did hate the idea of a bodyguard. But the more time she spent with him, the more she started imagining things like…his hands on her breasts. His mouth on her—
“Kate? You okay?”
No, damn it. This wasn’t okay. And she needed to man up, have breakfast with the guy, and crush these crazy sensations.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She went to the door and opened it, hating herself for hoping he was still bare-ass naked. “I would like breakfast, thanks.” She was only slightly disappointed to see him back in the baggy pants, a T-shirt clinging to some still-damp muscles. “Thanks.”
“And tomato juice,” he added. “It’s good for a hangover.”
“I don’t have a hangover.”
“You drank a bottle of white wine by yourself last night.”
Because nobody would drink with her. She gave a casual shrug and walked by him. “Wine has no effect on me.” Your naked ass, however, made me downright woozy. “I see your hair is wet. Were you
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