The Brit

I hear the lid of the bottle flip, the squirting of some cream into her palm. Her hands. All over me. “I have a washcloth,” I tell her.

She says nothing, massaging the soap into my skin. Air is suddenly hard to find. So is my sense. Resisting her is a challenge like no other I’ve faced. She wants me. That’s been proven more than once. I’ve had a yes, even if she’s not actually said it. So what the fuck is stopping me now?

Fear.

I’ve never been scared, yet this woman frightens me. How resilient she is. How fearless. How she tells me I’m the devil but looks at me like I’m a god. How she isn’t scared of me. How fucking beautiful she is. For the first time in my life, I’m fucking scared. Because she could be my ruin. My Achilles heel. My weakness. Everything I’ve fought for could be wiped out the second I give in to my desire. I never truly appreciated how powerful desire is. I’ve had the desire to fuck a woman. I’ve had the desire to kiss one. But never have I had the desire to want to know one.

The circling motions of her hands across my back seem to be raising my body’s heat a degree with each rotation. My insides are blazing, and when I look down, I see the heat has woken up my dick. The urge to wrap my fist around it is strong. So is the urge to turn and face my biggest nemesis. But no. Stare ahead. Ignore the feel of her working her hands all over my skin. Or, better still, tell her to get the fuck out of my room. Why haven’t I done that?

“Get out,” I say quietly, turning to face her. Her hands, covered in suds, are now on my pecs, her arresting eyes gazing up into mine. Tiny drops of water hang from a few of her lashes, and one from the end of her perfect nose. Her cheeks are deeply flushed. Her perfect skin perfectly flawless. Her nipples are wide awake. Her body is wonderfully naked and wet.

But . . . no.

“I said, get out.”

She backs up, showing rare wariness. But she doesn’t speak. Twice in one day she’s practically laid herself on a sacrificial stone for me to take. And twice I’ve denied her. Twice I’ve forced myself to reject her. Twice I’ve ignored my body’s craving. Twice I’ve fought my mind’s demands to take her.

I won’t manage a third time. I need to send her back to Adams, because this game isn’t a funny distraction anymore. It’s getting dangerous.

I open my mouth, set to order her out of my home, as well as my life, but she turns and walks away before I can muster the words. When she makes it to the door, she looks back at me as she scoops up her clothes. “You should have sliced the asshole’s throat too.” Then she’s gone before she has a chance to see my reaction.

Which is to fall back to the wall and gather myself before I stop her from leaving and fuck the fucking daylights out of her.

* * *

“Drink?” Brad asks as I enter my office a while later. It’s taken me an hour of standing under the spray to gather myself.

“Do I look like a need one?” I take my chair and run my hand through my wet hair. That move alone answers my question, and Brad hitching a brow tells me he caught it. Although if he thinks my stressed form has anything to do with me bludgeoning a man tonight, then he’s wrong. I won’t correct him. “Where’s Adams?”

Brad points to my phone, just as it starts to ring on my desk.

“Clever,” I quip, answering the call. “You have good news for me, don’t you, Perry?”

“How’s Rose?” he asks immediately, ignoring my question. Brave man. The fucker has some explaining to do, though pointing out I heard his threat on my life will also point out that I heard his conversation with Rose. Firstly, he can’t know that I know he has another investor. Secondly, I need him to trust Rose.

“I didn’t take your call to talk about your whore,” I say calmly, ignoring Brad’s poorly concealed look of incredulity at my reference to Rose. “I asked you a question. You have good news, don’t you, Perry?”

“Not exactly,” he says nervously. “We have a problem.”

“I don’t like problems. They make me cranky.”

“I managed to get the Jepsons on a plane back to the States.”

“Good.”

“To finalize the deal.”

“Good.”

“They took off last night.”

“Good.”

“The plane went down in the Pacific.”

“Not good.”

“They’re dead.”

“Really not good.” I flick my eyes to Brad who’s already on his mobile checking out Perry’s story. Someone up there seriously doesn’t want me to have that marina. “So who’s in charge of the estate?”