Cross My Hart (The Notorious Harts 1)

Jagger is always close by, always at my side.

As I swim close enough almost to touch the bow, wondering at the people who rode this craft, who were on board when it sank to the bottom of the reef, Jagger puts his hand over mine and, despite the fact we’re in the water, I feel fire and flames arcing through my bloodstream, heat coursing into my cells, setting me alight. I turn my hand over, linking my fingers to his, my eyes lifting to his. I can’t see much—the water and the masks do a good job of concealing our faces—but, close to him like this, I want to kick my way to him, closing any distance, moulding our bodies together. I want to dig my hands into his pants and feel his cock, pull him closer, push him inside of me. I am alight with need.

He squeezes my hand and begins to kick to an upright position.

I surge with him, our hands still intertwined when we break the water’s surface and into the air a moment later. He rips his mask off and now I see his eyes and they’re so full of complex, tangled thoughts and wants that my breath feels thick in my lungs.

‘You okay?’ he asks, reaching out and removing my mask, keeping it hooked over one finger, with his. Our hands are meshed. My stomach feels loopy. This time tomorrow we’ll be on a flight back to Sydney.

Something like doubt clamps at the edges of my gut.

‘Fine.’ My smile is over-bright. ‘This is amazing, right?’

‘Yeah,’ he admits, looking around.

‘And to think it could all be yours for the bargain price of sixty million dollars...’

He laughs, pulling me closer, clamping a hand around my waist. My eyes flare wide and I long to surrender to this. ‘Small change.’

The thing is, for him, it pretty much is. I bite down on my lip and his eyes drop to the gesture; my heart hammers.

His eyes are heavy on my face and, even though he’s not kissing me, phantoms, ghosts, memories of previous kisses and intimacies throb through me, the recollections so powerful they feel real.

‘How many hours?’ he asks, running his hand over the side of my breast. I groan softly.

‘Too many.’

He lifts his head up, looking at me. ‘We could always...renegotiate the terms of our deal. Cancel the day and go straight back to bed...’

God. I want to. And that in and of itself is a red flag, because this is the most important deal of my career. ‘But you’re not a man to go back on his word,’ I say softly. ‘And this means too much to me to ever worry I stuffed it up.’

His brow furrows as he takes those words in but, before he can respond, a whistle sounds from the boat. We look in that direction to see the instructor waving the ‘come in’ flag. I pull my hand away from his and smile. ‘Let’s go, Mr Hart. There’s plenty more in store for you today.’

* * *

‘You need your legs a little further apart.’ I stand behind her, wanting to scrap this game of golf, throw her over my shoulder and drag her to the nearest damned bunker, just like I’ve been wanting to all damned day.

This means too much to me.

I gather Grace’s assistant organised this day to show me the charms of the resort. Pity I can’t see past the charms of Grace’s arse. And her breasts. And her laugh. And her stories.

I bring my hands around behind her, holding the golf club over her hands, my arm brushing her breast as I guide her swing. ‘Good,’ I murmur into her ear. ‘And now strike.’

She brings the club down and misses the ball, then laughs.

I laugh with her. ‘Once more.’

‘What am I, up to like a hundred strikes?’

‘It’s a practice round. We won’t tell anyone.’

She spins in my arms, her smile contagious. ‘Now, now, Mr Hart, I’m not a cheat.’

‘Of course not.’

‘How about you play and I’ll watch?’

‘Oh, believe me, this is much more fun.’