His Ultimate Prize

Despite the raspy vehemence in his tone, she smiled. ‘Thank you.’

He took her arm and led her to the lift. ‘It wasn’t a compliment.’

‘I know. But I’ll take it as one.’ She tried not to breathe too deeply of his scent as he stepped in beside her.

The lift whisked them upwards. From the corner of her eye she saw him turn his phone off and shove it into his pocket.

The doors opened onto a space that was so beautiful Sasha couldn’t speak for several seconds. In the soft breeze potted palm trees swayed. Strategically placed lights gave the space an exotic but intimate feel that just begged to be enjoyed. Several feet away an endless, boomerang shaped infinity pool poised over the tip of the hotel’s tower glimmered blue and silver.

Then she noticed what was missing. ‘It’s empty.’ There wasn’t a single soul on the sixtieth-floor skydeck.

‘Sí.’

The way he responded had her turning to face him.

‘You had something to do with it?’

A simple nod.

‘Why?’

His shook his head in disbelief. ‘That’s the hundredth question you’ve asked since I knocked on your door. I didn’t want your swim to be interrupted.’

She kicked away her slippers, her temperature rising another notch when his gaze dropped to her bare feet. ‘This pool is three times the size of an Olympic pool. It’s hardly cramped.’

His gaze turned molten. ‘I wanted privacy.’ He released the last button on his shirt and it fell open to reveal a golden washboard torso.

Heat piled on. Beneath the Lycra bikini, her nipples tightened, and her stomach muscles quivered with a need so strong she could barely breathe. ‘I see. Will you snarl at me if I ask why?’

‘Yes,’ he snarled.

Striding to her, he drew the hem of her kaftan over her head and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he took her hair tie, raked his fingers through the strands and secured her hair on top of her head.

Fresh waves of desire threatened to drown her. ‘Marco...’

‘How many laps do you need to be less tense?’

‘Tw—twenty.’ She couldn’t drag her eyes from the beauty of his face, from the sensual, inviting curve of his mouth.

‘Twenty laps it is, then.’ He shrugged off his shirt, then released his belt.

Her eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘Um...’

Without warning he leaned forward and sniffed the skin between her neck and shoulder. ‘You’re covered in eau de Sleazy Rock Star. I smell of cloying Italian perfume. What say we wash the scent of other people off our skin, and then we’ll talk, sí?’

‘Marco...’

He swore under his breath. ‘Go, Sasha. I need to cool off, or Dios help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

She went, with the heaviness of his hot gaze scorching her skin.

Pausing at one end of the pool, she stretched her arms over her head. At his sharp intake of breath, she let a sensual smile curve her lips.

The water was a welcome but temporary relief from the sensations arcing between them. He dived in after her a second later, quickly caught up with her and matched her stroke for stroke. When she swam faster, to escape the frenzied need clawing inside, he kept up with her.

His presence made every stroke of water against her skin feel like a caress. At the last lap he increased his pace and heaved himself out of the water. She clung to the side, her lungs heaving, and watched the play of water on his magnificent body as he returned to the poolside.

‘Out,’ he commanded tersely, his hand holding out a towel like a bull-baiting matador.

She rose out of the pool, careful not to look at the wet clinginess of his boxers. He folded the towel around her, his movements brisk as he rubbed the moisture off her. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her to the enclosed cabana a few feet away.

Two silk-covered loungers stood side by side, separated by a table laid out with several platters of food, from local delicacies to caviar on blinis. In a sterling silver tub a linen-draped bottle of vintage champagne chilled on ice.

Marco set her down on the lounger and picked up the bottle.

Sasha forced her gaze from the play of muscles and looked at the table. ‘There’s enough here to feed an army.’ Reaching for a small plate, she dished out grilled prawns and fragrant rice.

‘You don’t like caviar?’

She grimaced. ‘It smells funny and tastes disgusting. I don’t know why people eat the stuff.’ She took a mouthful of her food and felt the explosion of textures on her tongue. Thankfully she managed to swallow without choking. ‘Now, this is heavenly.’ She took another mouthful and groaned.