She scooped up her towel, not bothering to wrap it round her. She just needed to get out of there. She wasn’t sure what unnerved her more now—the water, or the man. She heard no noise from the pool as she walked as quickly as she could. She got to the edge of the deck. Thought she’d made it. But an arm reached above her, firmly shutting the door she’d begun to open.
She glanced over her shoulder.
He was right behind her. Too close. His hand covered hers and too easily he pried her fingers from the door handle. He tugged gently but firmly, turning her to face him.
Definitely too close. His other arm was still braced on the door, blocking her exit. His body blocked any escape towards the pool. They were both too naked. He was too hot, too wet.
Actually, so was she.
She looked up, aware of how ragged her breathing had become, like she’d been the one doing the underwater marathon. How could this happen? One look and she was liquefying. It was his body, right? The perfection, size, oh-so visible strength. It was just some weird basic instinct reaction.
Not real.
He still held her hand. She tried to tug it free but he wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t that he held it too tight. But firm. He was so much stronger than her. Her heart thudded faster.
Not turned on. I’m not turned on.
She shifted her weight to her strong leg, but right now it felt as weak as her damaged one. So she leaned back against the door. It was like déjà vu —the two of them in a doorway with so much skin.
And so much desire.
He lifted her hand and glanced down at the backs of her fingers, swiftly lifting his lashes to look back at her eyes. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
For a moment she didn’t understand what he meant. Then she realized—her ring.
“Is everyone saving the date?” His voice sounded low and raspy. Angry.
She shook her head, unable to answer without betraying the wobble in her own voice.
“That isn’t an engagement ring?” He pressed.
She drew in a breath but it wasn’t enough. “It is,” she answered in a low voice.
“But you’re not engaged?”
“No.”
“So it’s not your ring?”
“It is.”
His eyes narrowed.
“It’s quite simple really,” she said, her voice going huskier by the second.
“Explain it to me.”
She didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want the moment of sympathy. She’d rather see annoyance in his eyes than pity. She’d had so much pity.
“I was engaged, but now I’m not. I kept the ring.”
“He didn’t want it back?”
“No.”
“And you still want to wear it?”
She couldn’t bring herself to take it off. But that truth didn’t work well with the tale she was telling. “It’s useful.”
He took a moment, then leaned closer. “Stops guys trying it on?”
She swallowed, looking down—away from his piercing gaze. She couldn’t maintain the fiction when he looked at her like that.
“You want them to think you’re taken?” He pushed it.
She shrugged, pretending she didn’t care what guys thought.
“You got hurt?” His voice had dropped to a lethal whisper.
Startled, she glanced back up at him. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was hotter than that—protective. Like he was about to go beat the crap out of who ever it was who’d thrown her over.
She didn’t want that either. Definitely not.
“No,” she lied. Even though she sensed he knew it was a lie. “Actually, I keep it as a trophy. In fact, I have a drawer full. I like to change the ring depending on what I’m wearing.”
Something sparked in his face, a glimmer of amusement. “But you still want to keep men at bay.”
“Fine.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to get involved with a man at this time in my life.” And that was the truth.
He stepped closer and she instinctively pressed her back against the cool door. It didn’t cool her any.
He smiled at that. “Are you sure?”
“Sure about what?”
“Not wanting to get involved. Seems to me you might want to be a little involved.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The way you look at me.” He let go of her and only to trace the tip of his finger along the strap of her swimsuit—down her shoulder towards her chest.
“I—”
His finger was warm, gentle. The lightest of touches. Yet she felt it branding through her flesh to her bones. Melting them.
“Don’t deny it or I’ll have to prove it.” He angled his head and lowered his gaze, watching the path of his finger and its effect on her body.
Oh my, the man exuded sensuality, confidence, and warmth. And she’d come over all moth to his flame.
“How would you try to do that?” She could barely ask she was so breathless.
His brows did a little flash-dance. “Look at you, your mind whirring overtime, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “You got a good imagination?”
It seemed she did—because right now her mind was coming up with all kinds of options.
His finger traced lower, still gently marking the edge of her swimsuit above her breasts. She shivered as a moment of fantasy was realized. Her nipples were so tight. Needy. She wanted him to go lower—to touch them. She wanted him to bend and put his hot mouth on them. To take that one step closer and press his body against hers. It was insane—to want this stranger so badly.
He noted the heat flooding her cheeks. “You do,” he nodded. “That’s good to know.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Couldn’t say no. Or yes. Lust like this hadn’t happened to her before. Sure, she’d had friends tell about meeting a random guy they just had to bang and didn’t really give a damn about otherwise. Where instant chemistry was all it was. And it wasn’t that she was a prude or afraid of sex. It had just never happened to her. Not ‘til now.
And she wasn’t ready. Not when it was this overwhelming.
“Isn’t it a good thing Superman isn’t real,” he murmured, his finger slowly sliding back and forth along the uppermost curves of her breasts.
“Why?” She could hardly concentrate on what he was saying with that gentle, rhythmic, repetitive touch. Each slide grew a little firmer, each slide made her want more. Her internal mercury soared, her muscles softened, yet energy coiled deep and low in her belly. She wanted to move—closer.
“You can get involved with him and not break your rules.”
“Because?”
“He’s not real. Just… fantasy.”
Her lashes lowered, his torso filled her vision. Fantasy?
“You sure you don’t want to take a dip?” he asked. “You’re looking like you’re feeling the temperature.”
“I’m fine.” She swallowed—her throat parched, her limbs heavy, achy, needy.