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keeping her cool around men. She didn’t even kiss on a first date.
    So what had happened to that self-control she’d spent so long nurturing? To come onto Matt—a guy she scarcely knew—like some kind of sex-crazed mermaid.
    Her personal mantra sounded over and over in her head: you can’t trust lust. And wow was this lust with a capital L. Super Lust. Mega Lust. Giant-Size Special-Offer Lust.
    But… was it really?
    Could it have been fear? Shock? Delayed reaction?
    Cristy tried to rationalize that mindless surge of longing that had overcome her. But as she remembered lying in the waves with Matt’s strong body covering hers, her nipples tightened and heat flooded her belly.
    It was lust all right. And it frightened her. Really frightened her. Because it wasn’t the lust she couldn’t trust—it was herself.
     
    M att found it difficult to stay steady on his feet. He was reeling from the unexpected force of the passion Cristy’s kiss had unleashed, aching from its lack of fulfillment.
    He wasn’t a wham-bang-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. Sure, he’d tomcatted around in his younger days, but for the adult Matt sex was something to be shared with a special, steady partner. Yet he’d been ready to take this gorgeous stranger on the beach, oblivious to any possible consequences.
    He’d been stunned when she’d pressed that lovely, ripe mouth to his. Stunned, surprised and powerless to do anything but respond. He’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d fallen against him in the elevator. But who would have thought Miss Perfect would be so passionate? So warm and pliant and wanton?
    Never, ever, had a kiss ignited such strong feeling in him. That damn white charger had a lot to answer for.
    Because what was more disturbing than the out-of-control passion, was the overwhelming surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Cristy as he’d held her in his arms. He didn’t want to feel that dangerous, potent blend of tenderness and passion. Not for a stranger. Certainly not for another man’s bride.
    And yet… he was feeling it. He’d gone from terror as he’d struggled to keep her head above water; to urgent fear as he’d breathed life into her pale face; to overwhelming relief when she’d awoken, bewilderment clouding those beautiful blue eyes.
    He forced in a few deep breaths as he tried to rationalize his feelings. Then picked up his panic bag and strapped it around his waist with hands that were not quite steady. His passion had been a natural reaction to fear. So, most probably, had hers when she realized she could have drowned.
    Yeah, that’s what this feeling was. He’d encountered it before in his surf lifeguard days. Some kind of basic instinct. Survival and sex, they went together. Simple explanation. They were safe now so it would go away. In fact right this moment she was probably regretting her impulsive passion.
    So why couldn’t he stop himself hungering for those creamy breasts that rose and fell in time to her quickened breathing as they threatened to fall from the top of her dress—or what was left of her dress? Why did he keep reliving how they’d felt pressed against his chest, the hardness of her nipples, the urgent pressing of her body to his?
    The silky, sodden skirts clung to her thighs, outlining their slender shape. How he wanted to run his hands up her thighs and—
    He dragged his eyes away. He’d be praying for another cold sea shower at this rate.
    A second wave surged around his legs and he felt its force tugging on him, pulling him—and Cristy—back into the sea. He turned to face the shore. He’d had enough lifesaving heroics for the day.
    “Come on,” he said to Cristy, his voice husky. He went to take her hand in his and then decided against it.
    Touching Cristy was not a good idea. He’d play it nonchalant. Act as if the sex-games-in-the-surf scenario had never happened.
    “Let’s move further up the beach, the tide’s coming in.” Relief flooded her face at