He stood, watching Anna swim up and down. Well, he could swim too—just about. Moodily, he headed down, tossing his dark glasses on a chair. He limped to the deep end and dived in.
He powered down the length, making his turn with one foot only, pushing off, and powering down to the deep end. Over and over—ten, twenty, thirty, forty lengths. Working off something he needed to work off.
As he finally touched the wall at the end of his fortieth length and stood up, shaking the water from his hair, he saw Anna was still in the pool, doggedly breaststroking up and down her side, taking no notice of him as usual.
A familiar stab of irritation went through Leo. The damn girl totally ignored his existence whenever she could. She answered him tersely, her reluctance visible, whenever he tried to talk to her. He’d got to the point where he damned her as much as she was clearly damming him. Hell, he hadn’t brought her here for conversation, but for sex—and that she definitely didn’t stint him.
Leo stood in the water, leaning back against the stone surround, crooked arms resting on the tiles around the pool. He felt his mood improve. No, Anna Delane certainly didn’t stint him on the sex front.
In bed now she definitely, definitely purred.
A slow smile parted his lips. He’d achieved what he’d intended—to have Anna Delane panting for him, hungry for him. No more virtuous outrage when he dared to lay a caressing hand on her. No, now she trembled with her need for him the moment he touched her. He only had to look at her and see the desire flare in her eyes, the hunger…
A sense of satisfaction went through him. Anna Delane purred for him in bed—and now, since he could not go out on the sea, he would amuse himself getting her to purr for him out of bed. It would, he decided, be a personal challenge.
He’d take her shopping. The island had some upmarket designer outlets, and shopping always put women in a good mood. Especially when some man was picking up the tab.
Besides, a woman like Anna Delane was used to the fast life—sophisticated cities and endless parties. Being deprived of them was probably contributing to her sulkiness.
An idea came to him. He’d take her shopping today, and then tomorrow he’d start socialising with her. There was a whole bunch of people on the island—from useful local business and government contacts to wealthy European ex-pats, either living or wintering here—who would always welcome him as a guest. He’d put in a few calls—let people know he was here.
I’ll show Anna off to them…
The thought came from nowhere and stopped him in his tracks.
A frown creased his brow. Show Anna Delane off to his friends? Show off a thief? A woman who was earning her freedom from jail in his bed?
No, she wasn’t a woman to show off. She was a woman to keep secret, private. Hidden for his own pleasure.
As if he were ashamed of her…
Of himself…
Something stabbed through him. It did not feel comfortable.
Leo shook it away. He did not like to feel uncomfortable about himself.
With a rasp of irritation he levered himself out of the pool. His damaged ankle told him he’d probably swum too vigorously, so a day taking it easy was definitely a good idea. He limped to the other side of the pool and waited until Anna had finished her length.
To his annoyance, even though he was crouched down just where her length ended, clearly intending to speak to her, she still didn’t register his presence. She was all set to do a breast-stroke turn. His hand shot out, closing around her forearm as she seized the end of the pool with both hands, ready to plunge round.
She stopped abruptly.
‘I haven’t finished my lengths,’ she told him coldly.
‘You’ve done enough,’ he told her. ‘Up you come.’
His hand closed over her other forearm. Pinioned, Anna glowered at him, then let him pull her out of the pool in a strong, lithe movement. She stood, water dripping off her, hair slicked back in a high ponytail.
‘Yes?’ she said, just as coldly.
‘Get dried and changed,’ he told her, limping across to where her towel was draped on another pool chair and helping himself to it. ‘We’re going out.’
‘What?’
He looked at her, dripping and stiff-bodied, as he patted his chest with her towel.
‘I said, we’re going out.’
‘I don’t want to go out,’ she riposted instantly.
Her attitude annoyed him—as it always did.
‘But I do,’ he replied. ‘And I want you to come with me.’
She just went on staring at him.
‘What for? ‘
‘Indulge me,’ he returned sardonically.
A slight flush of colour flared over her cheekbones. Then her face tightened.