He made a frustrated sound, slamming the door. He was behaving like a green kid. There was no reason why he couldn’t keep seeing her on a casual basis. A few nights here and there when he was in town, perhaps flying her out when he was working. He was capable of cleaning this up, keeping everything locked down.
Then he noticed the doors onto the deck were wide open. He relaxed. This at least was familiar. She was outside—probably on the beach. Then he spotted it: a piece of white paper weighted under a rock at the top of the steps leading down to the beach. There was another one on the bottom step. He hesitated, then smiled to himself.
He had found four paper signals when he caught sight of her on the shore. He stood at the edge of the clearing. She was clearly waiting for him, because the moment she saw him she lifted her sheer kaftan.
He stopped dead.
She was wearing one of those tiny bikinis the boutique had interpreted as adequate beachwear. Adequate, Nash countered, if the beach was private and no other man was going to see her in it.
She reached behind her and untied the strap of the top.
A sudden surge of instinct had him doing a quick scan of their surroundings, aware his might not be the only pair of eyes on this little show. There was nothing but the private beach, the rustle of the wind in the palms and tropical undergrowth and the murmur of the water on the shore.
Lorelei was peeling off the bikini bottoms, utterly unselfconscious. He watched as she lifted her arms above her head, moving with lithe grace as she stretched sinuously, seeming to be enjoying the warm breeze moving over her skin. There was a full moon and at this angle she looked to be reaching for it with both hands.
She spun around, her head sank back and she began to dance.
Nash swore his heart stopped. He knew her body—he’d explored every inch of her firm, tanned flesh—but in this moment he almost didn’t recognise her. Because he saw something more—the instinctive sensuality that was a part of her, her incredible naturalness and her acceptance not only of her body but of the cards life had dealt her.
Why had he not seen this before? The answer was there. He’d been blind.
His desire for her was suddenly a living flame inside him.
He strode down the beach towards her.
She continued to turn and glide, and when he was mere feet from her she slipped away with a soft laugh, running nimbly down to the surf.
Nash didn’t hesitate. He stripped off his shoes, shirt, trousers, boxers and strode down to plunge recklessly into the cool draw of the ocean. The water was inky, but the moonlight cast enough light for him to see Lorelei, still now, as gentle waves broke at her hips.
She laughed as he caught her around the waist, dragged her down into the water with him.
A wave smacked against his back and he caught her mouth with his and tasted salt and woman. His woman. Lorelei.
She licked her way into his mouth, winding those slim arms around his neck, her slick body riding against his in the water. Her long legs wound around his, and he lifted her, his sex nudging hers. She was wet and hot and welcoming, and he was surprised the water around them didn’t sizzle with the heat they were generating between them.
She was like some pagan priestess, initiating him into this rite, uninhibited and demanding as a great goddess should be, taking and offering in equal measure.
He rode deep into her body, the sway of the tide pulling them this way and that, making achieving a rhythm almost impossible. Yet the ocean held their bodies aloft and his climax eventually pulled him into a vortex of perfect symmetry with her. Lorelei pulsed around him, and if he was a fanciful man—which he was not—he would have said it was like flying.
He eventually carried her out of the water and up to the beach, where he wrapped her in a towel and took her inside. She was shivering and laughing as he dumped them both under the shower, with warm water cascading down. He washed her hair and then rubbed some of the lemon-scented liquid into his own.
She leaned against him as he rinsed her off, and he was struck all over again by how delicate she was. That feeling of possession he’d been nurturing this week roared into life. He didn’t want to let her go.
It was never supposed to have been more than a few days out of time—a last indulgence before the weeks of intensive training that lay ahead. He couldn’t have known she would get under his skin. Women came and went. Yet as he tumbled her into their bed he knew part of Lorelei would always stay with him.