A Deal Before the Altar

‘Something wrong?’ A hint of a playful smile tugged her full lips up at the corners.

She knew exactly what was wrong, damn her.

‘No. Unless it’s wrong for a man to want to drag his wife back to bed instead of going swimming?’ His voice was deep and guttural with the effort of reining in his libido.

She blushed and, as he had many times in the last few days, he wondered how she managed that little trick—how she managed to appear so innocent. ‘I think we should swim first. It’s not even midday yet.’

First.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her darkening eyes were smouldering, giving him the message, setting fire to the embers of desire that had scorched his body last night. Never before had a woman affected him so much, made him want her so badly—but then never before had he had to wait so long to get a woman into his bed. And he certainly hadn’t had to marry her to do so.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on him as he felt her hand in his. It felt surprisingly good, as if it was right. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he managed, despite the heat that raged within him. A swim in cold water was exactly what he needed.

He led her to the platform that had been lowered once the yacht was anchored and slipped off his deck shoes. Her gaze heated his blood as he pulled off his shirt, the sun instantly warm on his skin.

‘Not joining me?’ he teased, tugging off his jeans, amused by the blush that crept over her cheeks as her gaze slid down his body, resting on the evidence of just how aroused he had become at her loaded promise of what was to follow their swim.

The air crackled around them, their attraction as overpowering as if he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t tasted her skin or made her his. It was like the first time all over again, with anticipation raging in him like a bull.

He dived into the blue waters, and the rush of cold over his body was just what he needed. As he broke the surface he wiped water from his face and looked back up at Georgina, now sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the water, wearing only that very sexy blue bikini.

‘It’s cold!’

She laughed, her face lighting up, giving her an air of playful innocence, tugging at something deep within him.

‘Only at first. Come on—you’ll never know how good it is until you try it.’ He trod water as he spoke, energised by the exercise and cold water.

* * *

Georgina watched, mesmerised, as his strong arms kept him exactly where he wanted to be. His strength and power were undeniable. She was behaving like a lovestruck teenager. Her heart was still pounding after that moment when he’d stood before her in his trunks, his tanned skin gleaming in the sun, the hardness of his arousal obvious. She wanted him with a ferocious need so alien that her breath had caught in her throat, and she’d been relieved when he’d expertly dived into the clear water. Relieved he had taken the temptation from her.

Cautiously she slipped into the water, gasping and laughing at the same time. ‘It’s so cold!’ She tried hard to be sophisticated and serene, but all she managed was a fumbling splash.

‘Only for a while,’ Santos said, and in one stroke he moved towards her, encircling her body with his arm, keeping her safe and close. ‘Like you were the day you propositioned me in my office.’

Shocked that he’d brought that up, she stopped moving her arms and immediately sank below the surface. His arm around her body pulled her back up, spluttering like a child.

‘How dare you?’ She tried to move away from him, back to the platform.

‘Oh, I dare, querida—because it’s true. You want everyone to think you are carved from ice, but you’re not, are you?

She clutched the platform, gained a foothold on the ladder and pulled herself out of the water, then turned to face him as he looked up at her from the blue waves. ‘Neither are you.’

‘Can you blame me when you stand there like a sea goddess, water dripping from you in a most inviting way?’

‘You’re impossible.’ The words rushed out, her frustration making her want to march away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Santos as in one swift movement that made the muscles in his arms flex he hauled himself out of the sea.

Water ran down his tanned chest, trickling among his dark hair, heading downwards. She knew she shouldn’t be looking, but she couldn’t help herself. His thighs were strong and more dark hair lay flat against his wet skin, creating patterns all the way to his ankles. He was magnificent as he stood, sunlight gleaming on his skin.

He grabbed her hand and without a word headed back inside the yacht, leaving her little option but to follow. She couldn’t say anything. The same sexual tension that had last night completely robbed her of the ability to think, let alone speak, raged around them.