of her lips and the air of bleak desolation that surrounded her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, comfort her, but her control was so fragile he was afraid it would shatter. And hecouldn’t risk that: if she exposed her vulnerability now, she might resent him for it later. His hands clenched on the arms of the deck chair, and he forced them to relax one finger at a time. “I think it’s time I told the captain to turn around and go back to the dock. The tip of your nose is definitely pink. You’d better come with me to the bridge. You need to get under cover as soon as possible.”
She sighed regretfully as she picked up the shirt draped protectively over her legs and handed it to him. “You’re probably right, but I hate to move. Oh, how I love to bask.”
“And I love to watch you bask,” he drawled. “It could become my favorite outdoor sport. As for indoor sports …” He suddenly frowned. “Your legs are pink, too. The shirt didn’t do much to protect you.”
“The damage was probably done by the time you so gallantly threw it over me.”
His eyes were still fixed moodily on her legs. “You don’t take care of yourself. You’re too thin.”
“Chicken legs,” she agreed lightly.
“No.”
There was a note of thickness in the negative that caused her gaze to fly to his face. His eyes were now hotly intent and his lips held a hint of sensuality. Her heart leapt to her throat and she felt a flash of heat run through her that had nothing to do with the sun.
“No, they’re lovely.” One big hand reached out and slowly touched her upper leg. She felt a jolt of electricity that made her a little dizzy. “Beautifully symmetrical and well muscled.” His index finger moved caressingly to her inner thigh. “Silky. Good Lord, you’re so soft and silky.”
She should move away from him. She should brush his hand aside with a light remark. Why couldn’t she move? Why did she just sit here with that hot, languid heat unfolding within her and the tension building in the center of her womanhood? She felt as if she were mesmerized as she watched his slowly moving finger trace lazy patterns on her flesh.
“Part your legs a little, acushla.”
She obeyed without thinking. She didn’tseem to be able to think, only to feel. His hands were so big and strong, darkly tanned against her fairness. There was nothing graceful or artistic about the finger that was sending shafts of sensation through her. His hand was as blunt and strong as the rest of the man. The hand of a doer, not a dreamer.
“I like this,” he said as he stroked the ultra-sensitive skin with gossamer gentleness. She gasped as his finger slid beneath the edge of her shorts to the apex of her thighs. His finger halted as he heard the tiny sound, and his eyes lifted to meet hers. “I’m rushing you, aren’t I?”
He drew a deep, shuddering breath and withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers lingering reluctantly before he forced them to leave her flesh. “Sorry. I meant to be a perfect gentleman today. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I want you too much.” There was a flicker of frustration in his eyes as he glanced at her legs, still spread in voluptuous abandon. “But you don’t have to be so damn willing, either. How do you expectme to keep my hands off you when you do whatever I ask?”
Her eyes widened in shock and she closed her legs hurriedly.
“Oh, damn, I did it again,” he said with supreme self-disgust, and stood up. “For heaven’s sake, don’t look so stricken. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m one big ache and I’m striking out like the bastard I am. Come on. Let’s get you out of the sun.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet.
Lisa cast him a bewildered glance as she fell into step beside him. She had been moved from pain to sensuality to guilt in the space of minutes. Now, incredibly, she was feeling sympathy for the man who had inspired all of those
She sighed regretfully as she picked up the shirt draped protectively over her legs and handed it to him. “You’re probably right, but I hate to move. Oh, how I love to bask.”
“And I love to watch you bask,” he drawled. “It could become my favorite outdoor sport. As for indoor sports …” He suddenly frowned. “Your legs are pink, too. The shirt didn’t do much to protect you.”
“The damage was probably done by the time you so gallantly threw it over me.”
His eyes were still fixed moodily on her legs. “You don’t take care of yourself. You’re too thin.”
“Chicken legs,” she agreed lightly.
“No.”
There was a note of thickness in the negative that caused her gaze to fly to his face. His eyes were now hotly intent and his lips held a hint of sensuality. Her heart leapt to her throat and she felt a flash of heat run through her that had nothing to do with the sun.
“No, they’re lovely.” One big hand reached out and slowly touched her upper leg. She felt a jolt of electricity that made her a little dizzy. “Beautifully symmetrical and well muscled.” His index finger moved caressingly to her inner thigh. “Silky. Good Lord, you’re so soft and silky.”
She should move away from him. She should brush his hand aside with a light remark. Why couldn’t she move? Why did she just sit here with that hot, languid heat unfolding within her and the tension building in the center of her womanhood? She felt as if she were mesmerized as she watched his slowly moving finger trace lazy patterns on her flesh.
“Part your legs a little, acushla.”
She obeyed without thinking. She didn’tseem to be able to think, only to feel. His hands were so big and strong, darkly tanned against her fairness. There was nothing graceful or artistic about the finger that was sending shafts of sensation through her. His hand was as blunt and strong as the rest of the man. The hand of a doer, not a dreamer.
“I like this,” he said as he stroked the ultra-sensitive skin with gossamer gentleness. She gasped as his finger slid beneath the edge of her shorts to the apex of her thighs. His finger halted as he heard the tiny sound, and his eyes lifted to meet hers. “I’m rushing you, aren’t I?”
He drew a deep, shuddering breath and withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers lingering reluctantly before he forced them to leave her flesh. “Sorry. I meant to be a perfect gentleman today. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I want you too much.” There was a flicker of frustration in his eyes as he glanced at her legs, still spread in voluptuous abandon. “But you don’t have to be so damn willing, either. How do you expectme to keep my hands off you when you do whatever I ask?”
Her eyes widened in shock and she closed her legs hurriedly.
“Oh, damn, I did it again,” he said with supreme self-disgust, and stood up. “For heaven’s sake, don’t look so stricken. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m one big ache and I’m striking out like the bastard I am. Come on. Let’s get you out of the sun.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet.
Lisa cast him a bewildered glance as she fell into step beside him. She had been moved from pain to sensuality to guilt in the space of minutes. Now, incredibly, she was feeling sympathy for the man who had inspired all of those
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