“Yes, and maybe at that point I was still only obeying an instinct. The minute I saw you, I felt like I'd been poleaxed right between the eyes, but I couldn't believe it. You … how old were you then? Twenty-five?” At her nod, he went on. “I was a good ten years older. I'd fought my way out of poverty. I was tough, mean, jaded. Falling for a slip of a girl at first sight didn't happen to brutes like me.” His lips brushed hers lightly. “But once I kissed you, I knew that what had happened was real.”
“I should never have let that kiss happen. I belonged to James.”
“I knew that, but I didn't want to accept it. For months I refused to.” He caught a strand of her hair and wound it around his finger. “Then I cursed myself for being a damned fool and started dating and bedding every woman I could.”
He toyed with her T-shirt, seemingly fascinated when each time he pulled the damp cloth away from her breasts and let it go, it molded around them again. “You were like an illness inside me that wouldn't respond to treatment. No matter what I did, who I did it with, I ached from wanting you, Megan.” His thick lashes lifted, and his eyes bore into hers. “I exercised immeasurable restraint in letting you go once. I'm not going to inflict that self-denial on myself again.”
She was powerless to resist as he splayed his hands hard and wide on her back and pulled her even closer. Like a branding iron, his mouth seared hers, burning straight through to her soul. He released her mouth only to trace a scorching trail down her throat with his lips. She let go of his neck and took hold of the ropes. Letting her head fall back wantonly, she leaned backward in open invitation.
His hands coasted knowledgeably over her breasts, and he fondled them with slow, sure motions that ignited a hundred fires in her body. His tongue flicked along her collarbone, then lower. It laved the curving swell over her breasts.
“Josh,” she cried when he gently squeezed a rising nipple between his fingers before covering it with his mouth. Reflexively she arched against him, and knew instantly that he was just as aroused as she was.
“Ahhh,” he groaned. He lay his head in the crook of her shoulder and released deep, shuddering breaths. Physical agony distorted the features of his face as he strove to regain control of his body. At last he sighed and raised his head.
“We've got to get out of here, unless you want to find yourself rolling in the clover,” he said gently.
At that moment she had no qualms about making a bed of the lush undergrowth or a canopy of the oak. It was just as well Josh wasn't as impulsive. He stood up and let her slide slowly down his body until her bare feet met the ground.
“Besides,” he said, bending down to retrieve their shoes, “I have a golf date with Terry.”
An hour later he was standing over the space she had claimed on the beach as her territory. She lay face down on a large towel, which was scattered with the latest best-seller, sunglasses, a bottle of suntan lotion with maximum sunscreen, a small towel, a cooler containing three cans of soft drink, and a transistor radio—in short, everything she needed to spend the day on the beach.
They had returned to their respective rooms, shower
ed, and eaten a breakfast of whole-wheat toast, poached eggs, and fresh fruit with yogurt dressing that Josh had asked to be delivered to his terrace.
Now he asked, “You're sure you don't mind if I leave you to play golf with Terry?”
She minded greatly that he was leaving her alone for the next several hours, but she looked up at him and smiled. “Go putt your little ball around the golf course. This is what I planned to do today anyway.”
He looked terrific, in white slacks, a navy blue knit shirt, and golf cleats. What rankled was mat she knew he looked even better without them in only a thin pair of running shorts. Her blood ran hot through her veins at the thought—and not because of the sun beating down on her back.
Her bikini provided little protection from the sun's burning rays. She had chosen it, hoping to begin a good overall tan. It was made of crocheted cotton yarn. The cinnamon color was almost the same shade as her hair, but without the copper highlights. Only the strategic parts of the bikini were lined with flesh-colored material. Narrow strips on the sides of her hips held the front and back triangles of the bottom piece together. A braided drawstring tied the miniscule cups of the bra between her breasts. Another tied behind her neck.
It would serve Josh right if she turned over and let him see the front, she thought wickedly. He might not be so eager to run off and play golf then.
Instead she shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and asked, “Will you do me a favor before you go?”
“Name it.”
“Without getting sand in your shoes, can you rub some of this sunscreen on my back? If I don't protect against a burn, I won't be able to move for the rest of the weekend.”
Dropping down beside her, he leaned over and growled into her ear. “That's no favor. That's a privilege. One I think most men would kill for.”
His hands smoothed the rich emulsion on her back with strong, massaging strokes. Working his way down from her shoulders, he went beyond the thin string to the small of her back. Under his magic fingers, she relaxed until a heavy languor anchored her to the blanket. The lethargy was banished the instant his fingers slipped beneath the bikini panty.
“Josh!”
“Hmm?”
“You're … you're putting sunscreen in a place that will see no sun.”
“Oh,” he said, his fingers gently kneading her firm flesh. “Well, you can't be too careful.”
That was something she would do well to remember, she reminded herself.
“Legs?” he asked softly.