by Jane Porter
“My security detail brought it earlier when they secured the island.”
“Is this a family island?”
He unbuttoned his shirt, giving her a tantalizing view of tan, taut skin over sinewy muscle. “No, I bought it back when I played football for a living. I wanted a place far from crowds, paparazzi and overly friendly fans.”
Hannah almost licked her lips. He looked incredible. The dense curved muscles of his chest gave way to lean hard abs. “Did you bring your girlfriends here?”
“Just one, and only once. She found it too isolated for her liking.”
“So what do you do when you’re here?”
“Sleep. Read. Relax.”
She sipped her beer. “What do you read?” “Everything. Novels. Biographies. Histories. Whatever I can get my hands on.”
Her lips curved and she settled onto the blanket. “Do you have a favorite author?”
“I do, but I don’t think he’s writing anymore. Most of his books were published nearly twenty years ago. James Clavell is his name. He wrote Shogun, Tai-Pan, Noble House—”
“King Rat,” she supplied, smiling. “I loved his books. My father introduced me to him. For years I wanted to learn Japanese.”
“Did you?”
“No. You couldn’t find Japanese language classes in B—” Hannah broke off, realizing she came dangerously close to saying Bandera, her hometown in Texas. She flushed, took a quick sip of her beer. “I learned Spanish and Italian instead.”
“You’re fluent in both?”
“Yes. You are, too. I read somewhere that you know more languages than any other modern royal. Do languages just come easily to you?”
“I worked at it, the same way I worked at playing football. You don’t improve if you don’t apply yourself.”
“Not everyone is willing to work that hard.”
He shrugged, the thin fabric of his shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and outlining his muscles. “I don’t mind hard work. Never have.”
Hannah bit her lip, liking him more with every moment that passed. Zale was her kind of man—gorgeous, built and brilliant, too. Not fair, she thought breathlessly, far too attracted for her own good.
What she needed was to cool down. “Feel like swimming?” she asked.
“Good idea. It’s hot.” He pointed along the cliff to an opening in the rock. “There’s a little alcove over there by the rock where you can change. Or if you don’t like caves, you can just change here, and I promise not to look.”
“Cave sounds great,” Hannah answered, grabbing her suit and getting to her feet.
In the hollowed-out rock she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tangerine bikini bottoms before tying the strings of the bikini top around her neck and back. The tiny shiny orange triangles barely covered anything and she sucked in her stomach as if she could somehow make herself smaller.
It took all of her courage to walk back to the blanket in nothing but her suit.
It didn’t help that Zale stood at the edge of the water, watching her walk. He’d changed while she was gone and was wearing black and red surfer-style board shorts instead of the traditional European men’s suit.
She liked the long board shorts. They hung low on his lean hips, showing off his flat, chiseled stomach. He looked like a surfer—tan, lean, muscular—and she couldn’t remember the last time she had found a man this sexy.
Dropping her clothes on the blanket, Hannah walked toward him. “I like your board shorts. Do you surf?”
“I do.” He paused. “Well, I did. I grew up surfing—my brother Stephen was really good—but haven’t gone on a true surf trip in years.”
She waded into the water, gasping a little at the cool temperature. “Where would you go?”
“Wherever there were good waves. Rincon, Brazil, Indonesia, Costa Rica.” He ran a hand through his hair, muscles in his thick bicep flexing. “I miss it. But then I miss football, too. I find it hard, being inside, sitting at a desk, as much as I do.”
“So how do you handle it?” she asked, wading deeper and sinking down to her shoulders. The water felt warmer already. “I run and work out. A lot.”
There was a roughness in his voice, a sound of pain, and Hannah’s chest squeezed. Everything about him was so real, so physical.
Here on this island he was a man, not merely a king, and she found the man incredibly appealing.
Her survival instinct told her to be careful, that allowing herself to feel anything for him would lead to danger. But Zale was so hard to resist. Who else had this combination of dense muscle, burnished skin, keen intellect and burning ambition?
“You need a proper vacation,” she said huskily. “A chance to just unplug and unwind.”
“It’d be nice.”
“Why don’t you take one?”
“Our honeymoon was supposed to be one.”
Hannah inhaled sharply, feeling as if she’d gotten a kick to the ribs.
She’d forgotten yet again that she was supposed to be Emmeline. Forgot he would soon marry Emmeline. Would soon honeymoon with her.
The thought of Zale with Emmeline hurt. “Remind me, what are we doing for our honeymoon?” she asked, hating that she already felt jealous. Hating the idea of them together on a beach like this, talking like this …
“We’re spending ten days on my yacht in Greece and then a few days in Paris so you can do some shopping.”
Hannah chewed on her inner lip, thinking that Zale did not strike her as the type to enjoy cruising the Greek islands on a yacht. He struck her as too active for ten days of sunbathing on a yacht. Some rest was good but wouldn’t he also want adventure, or some of an adrenaline rush? “That doesn’t sound fun for you.”
“It’s what you wanted.”
He meant, that was what Emmeline wanted.
Hannah shook her head, unaccountably angry. Emmeline and Zale were not a good fit. They didn’t belong together. Emmeline didn’t even want to marry him but was doing it out of obligation. How could this be a happy marriage?
But Hannah couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place to say anything. She was just here as a placeholder until Emmeline arrived.
And even that made Hannah furious. She dived under a wave, exhaled until she needed air and then popped back to the surface. Still upset, she swam a few strokes before turning on her back to float. The sun shone brightly overhead. The water felt cool against her skin and she could taste the tang of salt on her lips.
Zale was not hers.
Zale would never be hers.
She had to remember that. Couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t let personal feelings cloud the commitment she’d made to Emmeline. Even if that commitment made her heart ache.
Hannah turned onto her stomach and swam slowly back to the beach where Zale sat on the sand waiting for her.
“You’re a good swimmer,” he said as she walked out of the water. His gaze was warm as it slowly swept over her, lingering on the small triangles that barely covered her full breasts as well as the scrap of fabric between her thighs.
She could tell from his expression that he liked what he saw and it made her nipples harden and thrust against the wet flimsy fabric of her bikini top.
Nervous, she slicked her long wet hair back from her face. “I love the ocean,” she said, her legs feeling strangely weak. No man had ever looked at her like this. No man had ever made her feel special or beautiful. As if she were something to be touched … tasted … “Love being in the water.”
“I like watching you.”
His voice had dropped, deepened and she felt something coil deep in her belly. Nerves. Adrenaline.
She was wanting all kinds of things she never thought about. Wanting emotions and sensation she never felt.
“Well, I’d love to watch you surf one day,” she answered, sitting down next to him. He was so close she could reach out and brush her fingers across his hard bronzed biceps, so close she could see every shadow and hollow of his flat ri
pped abs.
She wondered what his skin would feel like if she touched him. Wondered what he’d do.
Her fingers curled into a fist. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t be tempted.
“We’ll have to plan a surf trip,” he said, reaching out to lift her wet hair and twist the long strands, wringing water from the ends. “Where should we go? Bali? Perth? Durban?”
She shivered with pleasure as his warm fingers grazed her shoulder. She liked the way he twisted her hair, the tug on her scalp, the heat in his eyes.
He made her feel beautiful. Desirable.
Hungry.
She touched her tongue to her upper lip, dazed by the need to be touched. She craved his hands on her body, wanted his palms on her breasts.
“Anywhere,” she whispered, her breasts aching, her nipples pressing in blatant invitation against her bikini top.
His gaze dropped to her breasts and she could feel the heat in his eyes as if he’d actually caressed her.
“What would you do while I surfed?” he asked, pushing her back against the sand to straddle her hips.
He was hard and she gasped, looking up into his eyes, her lips parting helplessly. It felt so good. She wanted more of him and was aching for him to touch her.
“I couldn’t just leave you at the hotel bored,” he added, reaching out to cup her breast, fascinated by her response.
“Wouldn’t be bored,” she choked, her voice failing her, her inner thighs squeezing tight as hot sensation rushed through her. She wanted him between her thighs, his mouth on her nipple, his hands stroking everywhere.
“What would you do?” he asked.
She could hardly think straight. “Read.”
“I don’t know if that would work,” he murmured, slipping a hand into her thick wet hair, and drawing her head back so he could see her face.
“Why not?”
Desire burned in his eyes, formed lines at his mouth. A rich dusky color warmed his cheekbones. “I don’t know if I could leave you alone long enough to go surf. I don’t think I’d want to surf, not if I had you in my bed.”
She just stared up into his eyes, lost in him.
He stretched out over her, bracing his weight on his elbows and lowered his head to touch his lips to the tender skin beneath her pale jaw. “I want you.”
He’d only brushed his lips against her jaw in the most fleeting of touches and yet the place he’d kissed burned, her skin too hot and sensitive.
“But you know that, don’t you?” he added, kissing yet another spot, making her nerves dance. “You know I can’t stay away from you even when I should.”
She shivered helplessly as his mouth melted her defenses, turning her inside out. She couldn’t even focus on what he was saying, not when his lips were making her body ache for him.
“And yet I should,” he added, voice pitched seductively low. “At least until we both know what we want.”
Hannah quivered as his voice rumbled through her, making her squirm. She knew what she wanted. She wanted him. Zale. Wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.
He pressed another kiss to the base of her throat before turning her over, pulling her on top of him. Gritty sand slipped between them. The sun shone hotly, but nothing was as hot as Hannah’s hunger as he put his hands on her waist, sliding one hand down across her bottom while the other slid up to cup her breast.
His hands were so warm and they made her feel as if she were on fire. She ached and tingled and burned, shivering against him.
“I think I know what I want,” she breathed, as his thumb found her taut, aching nipple and strummed it. “But maybe that’s not what you’re talking about.”
“And what do you want?”
She could hardly think straight, wasn’t even sure where she was or what was happening, only that she wanted more—more him, more skin, more sensation. “You.”
“But for how long?” he asked, kissing the side of her neck and then brushing his lips over hers.
She kissed him back, lifting an arm and clasping the back of his neck. He was so tall, so hard, so strong. She was safe with him. He’d never let anyone hurt her. “For ever,” she whispered against his mouth, not caring if he heard her, not caring about anything anymore but him.
When would she ever meet someone like Zale Patek again? When would she ever feel so alive and beautiful again?
He lifted his head to look into her eyes. His eyes were dark, his cheekbones jutted, his expression intense. He looked wild. Fierce. Primal.
“Be careful what you say,” he murmured, molding her nearly naked body even closer to his. She could feel his warm skin against hers and his hard shaft press against her belly.
He cupped her backside in his hands, holding her hips firmly against him, making her gasp as he rubbed her over the head of his shaft once and again.
She could feel the thickness and length of his erection through his board shorts. Felt the corded muscles of his thighs and the thick muscles in his back. He was gorgeous, so very, very gorgeous. “I do want you,” she said, her voice breaking. “Even if it’s wrong.”
His head dipped, his lips taking hers in a slow, deep, bone-melting kiss. “I can’t make love to you now,” he said, his voice hoarse in her ear. “But if you still feel this way tonight, Emmeline, you won’t be able to keep me out of your bed.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHY won’t you make love now?” Hannah asked dizzily, hands pressed to Zale’s warm bare chest. The sun beat down on her back and Zale felt so good, his skin smooth and firm, the scent of him addictive, almost as addictive as his kiss.
His hands rested on her backside, his touch sending rivulets of pleasure through her.
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Beneath her palms she felt the steady beating of his heart. “You think I’ll regret it?”
“Possibly. And I’d hate it if that happened.”
“Smart,” she answered, voice husky. She sat up, disappointed. But she knew he was right. She probably would have regretted it. Obviously he had more control than she did.
He sat up, caught the back of her head and kissed her head. “Don’t look so hurt.” His voice was pitched so deep it rumbled through her. “I’m trying to protect you, Emmeline. But it’s not easy doing the right thing.”
She nodded and stood up, backed away a step, unsteady on her feet. “I understand,” she said, horribly close to tears. She liked Zale so much. Wanted him even more.
Zale stood and brushed the sand off, his expression equally grim. “Shall we see what Chef packed us for lunch?”
“Yes,” she answered, going to retrieve her towel to wrap around her waist.
They sat in the middle of the blanket and Zale opened the hamper. Hannah watched, her head thick, senses drugged. If his kisses were this potent, Hannah couldn’t even imagine how she’d feel if they had sex.
