‘What time do we need to leave?’ I ask. I’m already thinking about delaying and joining him in the pool. The water looks so inviting, and as for its single occupant...mmm...
‘After breakfast. The coffee should be ready.’
I stroke my feet up his sides and he rests his hands over my thighs, making no attempt to move.
‘Are you wanting a swim?’
‘I didn’t bring my costume.’
His smile turns wicked. ‘It would be a waste anyway.’
And then he’s pulling me in, shirt and all, his lips gentle as they find mine, his fingers in my hair combing, caressing.
I sigh into his mouth. ‘Your shirt will be ruined.’
‘I’ll buy another.’
His lips turn urgent as he pulls it apart, the button disappearing somewhere on the pool-bed, his hands rough on my body as he caresses every curve, my breasts, my nipples. He presses me back against the wall, his groan of need echoed in my own.
I slip my hand inside his shorts and he bucks into my fingers—obedient, eager. I pull him out and, weightless in the water, lift my legs around him, positioning him so he thrusts, hard, deep, my slickness making it so easy, so welcoming.
He leans back, his face taut with desire, and he cups my arse with one hand, his free hand coming to rest over my pelvis, his thumb dipping to caress my throbbing clit.
God, yes.
He’s circling over me, moving in me, and I stretch my arms out over the poolside, holding myself steady for his every move. It’s electrifying, with the warmth of the rising sun and the water lapping over my exposed breasts an added thrill, and I’m coming in seconds, wave after wave racking my body.
I cry out, his name bursting from me, loaded with everything I feel. ‘Lucas...’
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, happiness welling so fierce, and I hear him join me.
His ‘Evangeline!’ tips the tears over and I reach out to hook my hands around his neck, pulling myself tight against him as he pulses within me.
I want to tell him I love him. I want to so much, but something stops me. The rejected eighteen-year-old girl still hanging on? Or the fear of going through the same all over again?
And then there’s my family and the rift I’ve yet to fix. Their suspicion that his motives are
n’t as innocent as he’s made out. But I can’t believe that. I won’t.
‘I could get used to good mornings like this,’ he murmurs against my hair, his fingers stroking my nape.
I nod. It’s all I can manage.
‘Ready for some breakfast now?’
I rub my face against his chest, hiding my tears before I look at him. I don’t want him to question them. Because I am happy. In that moment I really am.
I can deal with the rest later.
‘Absolutely.’
* * *
Breakfast is perfect. A selection of pastries, fresh fruit, juice and coffee. But it’s the company that truly makes it: him.
And as we tour his business that day he’s in his element. Hell, so am I.
What he’s achieved isn’t to be sniffed at. It’s incredible. He’s maximising the skilled workforce Singapore is renowned for, and not only that—he’s keeping them. His staff turnover is lower than any competitor, and when I quiz him on his costs and how he manages it he has an answer for it all.