Penthouse Suite by Sandra Chastain Page A

never have such a day again. Somewhere between the shore and the swimsuit, she’d decided that she was going to enjoy herself.
    Perhaps Dorothea was right. Perhaps she could be whomever she wanted to be. She could live in the present and fantasize about her future.
All there is
, she thought, waist-deep in the crystal blue waters,
is now.
    She moved into the deeper water, submerged herself, and sluiced the sand from her hair, before moving toward the beach and the wide-eyed man who was watching her.
    “You’re wrong,” Max said. “I may have thrown overboard a writer for the
Sewer Workers Daily
, but this is Kathryn, an almond-eyed nymph from the sea, that I’m looking at now.” He started toward her.
    The wet suit clung to her body, concealing little. Though she had been just as intriguing in the coveralls the first day he’d seen her, he hadn’t realized how delicate she was. Wielding that wrench in the bathroom, she’d seemed bigger.
    They stood only inches apart, swaying in the surf, bodies frosted with mist blown from the sea. Even the cool water couldn’t quench the flame that leapt from Kate to Max and back again.
    “Not smart, bossman,” she said with a dare in her voice. “Sea nymphs capture their lovers, imprison them in seashells, and wear them around their necks on chains of seaweed.”
    “Lucky shell,” Max said hoarsely, his eyes drawn to the space between her breasts.
    “Lucky nymph.”
    As she looked up at him, he felt something wonderful happen. The warmth in his chest heated the very air he was breathing. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was waiting for him to take her in his arms and kiss her. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his. Their kiss started slowly, intensified, and changed into a wild, hot frenzy of release.
    “We ought to get some sunscreen on you before you burn,” Max said as he caught his breath between kisses.
    “Too late,” she said with a gasp, feeling his lips nudge away the top of her bathing suit. “We’re already on fire.”
    Max untied the knot behind Kate’s neck andthose at the sides of the suit. He stripped off his own suit, and they were both nude. There was no time for wondering, no questions, no answers. He lifted her into his arms and laid her back on the warm sand as though the beach were an altar and she were a mystical virgin.
    As Max began to worship her with his lips and hands, Kate felt sunbursts explode everywhere he touched. She couldn’t tell where she ended and Max began. The tiny flame that had begun to glow when she’d first seen him in the mirror now erupted into a raging passion. She let out a sob of yearning as she felt herself engulfed by liquid fire.
    When at last he lowered his muscular body over hers, Kate melted into him, losing herself completely to the relentless waves of desire that built into a final thunderous explosion.
    Afterward, Max lay across her for a moment, then raised himself up and kissed her. “You look as if you’ve been sprinkled with sugar.”
    “I feel more like melted honey.”
    The raging storm that had taken them had been quick and violent. That was the way Kate wanted it, without the gentle promise of love. She’d been on fire, and their coming together had been the release of violent emotion. Now they were calm, and the regular pulsing of the incoming tide lapped a lullaby gently across their feet.
    “You really are going to burn,” Max said. “Your skin, I mean. It’s so fair.” He came to his feet, bringing her along with him. The experience had rocked him as well, and he reverted for a moment to the old Max, the Max who had never known such awareness of a woman’s feelings.
    “You mean I’m going to freckle.”
    “I like your freckles, Kate Weston. They’re honest and open, just as you are. I like you, too. But I think we’d better wash off this sand and get that sunscreen before you blister in places you can’t leave uncovered.”
    “Covered? Max, our clothes!”
    Max glanced