The Best Next Thing

His hands lifted to grasp her upper arms, and she lamented the fact that she wore a long-sleeve swimsuit. She wanted to feel those hands on her naked skin.

Wanted it.

Needed it.

Burned. For. It.

He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding against her knuckles, and she fantasized about exploring the contours of that magnificent torso. But before she could do anything, he exhaled and spoke…

His voice, a broken, hoarse whisper, delivered the words directly into her ear, “Goodnight, Mrs. Cole. Sleep well.”

He shifted her gently to the side, and for a split-second, the movement brought her fully against him, and she could feel his heavy, thick erection even through the towel.

It should frighten her. Should send her rabbiting back to her rooms. But once he had her set aside, her eyes darted downward and she could see the clearly delineated ridge of his hard penis pressing up against the fly of his swim trunks. Even as she watched, the tip crept past the waistband of those low-riding trunks. Her greedy eyes widened, but before she could get a proper look he had turned away and was striding toward the pool, Stormy following him.

He muttered a curt “stay” to the dog and dove cleanly into the water. He surfaced halfway across the pool, impressive for a man who was recovering from what seemed to be a respiratory illness, and his body cleaved through the water, his strong shoulders and arms making quick work of the eighty-two-feet distance. His legs churned up a substantial wake, and Charity imagined those strong, muscled thighs threshing beneath the blue water.

She wanted to straddle them, capture them between her thighs, and hold him still while she claimed his hard length into her clenching, thirsty pussy.

Oh my God! What the hell was going on with her? He was her boss. The wrong man to fixate on. What a ridiculous time for her body to decide to wake up and want again.

It was nearly four in the morning—she’d had a terrible nightmare; her defenses were down. That had to be why her emotions were going haywire. He was a (near) healthy man, she was a healthy woman, and their physical closeness and lack of clothing had merely resulted in a predictable physiological response between them.

That was it.

Tomorrow they would pretend that this never happened and continue on as normal.

She hoped.

Eight laps—all he could manage at the moment—and one frigid shower later, and Miles’s hard-on was only now beginning to subside. Why hadn’t he moved out of the doorway? What the bloody fuck had he been thinking?

He had been riveted by the look of absolute longing in those damned seductive eyes of hers. Her lashes were so dark and thick she always looked like she was wearing black liner around her eyes…it added to her mystique and her unique beauty.

He should have turned around and left when he had spotted her, but he had been captivated by her grace and power as she sliced through the water like a sleek, human torpedo. And when she had levered herself out of the pool—God, he had been lost. Tall, lithe, and toned; her body was magnificent. Her long, long legs were sleek, muscled and beautifully shaped. She had turned away for an instant to grab her towel and unintentionally presented her perfect behind to his ravenous gaze. Round and firm, his hands had clenched with the need to touch, squeeze, and caress it.

He had frozen, stunned by the strength of his lascivious reaction, while his eyes had drunk it all in during that too brief moment before she had wrapped the towel around her. Her bathing costume zipped up the front like a wet suit, and it hadn’t been closed all the way, forming a tantalizing open V over her firm, high breasts. Revealing the shadow of her perfect cleavage. Her nipples had been tight and hard from the cold air, and his mouth had watered embarrassingly at the sight of them.

And that hair…

Jesus! He glanced wryly at his cock, hard again thanks to this compulsive stroll down memory lane. He hadn’t bothered going back to sleep. It was nearly six, and he had given up on sleep. Instead, he was on his bed lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Wearing nothing but boxer briefs and fantasizing about his housekeeper.

She hadn’t been immune to the sizzling sexual tension electrifying the air between them. He knew she hadn’t. She could have waited for him to move, and he would have moved, once he picked his jaw up from the floor. But she hadn’t waited. Choosing instead to slide past him and shocking the hell out of him.

And then she had stopped. Right there. In front of him. Her body brushing against his with every shallow breath. And he had wanted to taste her. Any part of her. The soft skin beneath her ear had called to him…