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  “It’s okay,” he said, releasing my hand and circling my waist with his arm. “It won’t fall on you.” He dragged me against his body, urging me more quickly through the sand.

  I found myself taking two paces to his one and within minutes we were climbing onto the deck. Shifting sand danced around the table and chair legs. The pillows and cushions from the bed had rolled to the floor and were tumbling about in the golden dust and lodging in leaves and branches. The parasol clattered against the table, the pole lifting up from the floor and threatening to take off into the sky.

  “You grab the cushions,” Logan called over the noise of the flapping shrubbery. “I’ll anchor down the parasol.”

  Unlocking the door to the living area, I grabbed three pillows and chucked them inside. I went back for the other three then tumbled in, half shutting the door behind myself. My hair was wild, my cheeks stung and my heart pounded as I caught my breath.

  I watched Logan close the umbrella and secure the pole into place. He glanced around, shading his eyes with his hand, checking for anything else that might blow away, then headed my way with a train of dry, flat leaves skittering past his feet. I opened the door wide to let him through. He stepped in, still squinting against the dust, as I pushed the door shut with a loud click. The world went silent. After the howling wind and the roaring sea, the quiet of the house was acute and heavy and fell around us like a dense cloak.

  Leaning back against the door, I pulled in a deep breath. “Made it,” I gasped.

  “Yeah,” he said, stepping up close—real close.

  When I looked up, his cheeks were stained red, several grains of sand hung in his long lashes and his hair was tousled and dusted with gold. “Is that everything tied down?” I asked, trying to ignore my breasts heaving against my halter-top.

  “Well, almost everything,” he said with a decidedly carnal grin.

  I swallowed and flattened my palms against the cool glass door behind me. “What else do you need to tie down?”

  The right side of his mouth creased upward and his brows gave the tiniest of twitches. “I’d quite like to tie you down,” he said, his gaze coming to rest on my mouth. “To the bed.”

  Licking my lips, I tasted salt. My stomach knotted as excitement, anticipation and sin collided in a delicious tangle.

  “But I guess that’s moving a bit fast,” he murmured, bending his head lower. “We only just met.”

  “A bit fast for me,” I agreed, absorbing the burning heat from his body as it radiated against mine.

  “Brooke.” He raised one hand and rested it against the wooden doorframe by my left ear. His body moved in closer still. The gorgeous spiced aftershave he wore invaded my nostrils and settled not just on my tongue but somewhere else deep inside me. “Do you remember when you walked out of the water yesterday?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

  “Yes.” How could I forget the toe-curling embarrassment? He’d stared silently toward me as I’d ambled up the beach, trying desperately to look cool and unflustered. I felt my cheeks warming further at the memory as my stomach twisted.

  “It was a million times better than any Bond movie.”

  “It was?”

  “Hell, yeah. If they had you as a Bond girl it would be my favorite film by miles. Not just 007, but in general, any film ever.” His mouth slid upward in a grin. “You just about blew my mind.”

  “I did?” My eyes widened in surprise. He’d liked what he’d seen, and I thought he’d been unimpressed with my curvy attributes.

  “Oh, yeah, and other parts of my anatomy.”

  He ducked his head, his lips a whisper from mine. I could almost taste the salt on his mouth.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that would we, Logan?” I murmured.

  “Wouldn’t we?” His brows raised.

  “Sounds painful.” I swallowed, my throat felt tight.

  “It’s already getting painful.” He shifted his weight to the other foot. We were so close now my breast brushed against his chest and my nipples, which had tightened to hard pinched peaks, scraped against him.

  I reached up to touch his jaw, his bristles catching on my fingertips. Our gazes connected and I rose onto the balls of my feet and pressed my mouth to his.

  He opened up and took immediate control of the kiss. He tasted so good­—man and ocean, wind and sun—he tasted of everything I was missing in my life and had been for so long. My hands moved to his shoulders and squeezed hard muscles through his soft cotton shirt. The tip of his tongue probed farther into my mouth, shooting desire into every fiber I possessed. My tongue searched for his and began to explore his mouth.

  Logan groaned and let go of the doorframe, cradling the base of my skull in his palm and winding his other arm around my waist. He pulled me close and as the length of our bodies touched, right in the very center of my abdomen, he pressed his steely erection forward. He was right, he was painfully hard.

  “Damn, you taste good,” he murmured, trailing a gentle kiss across my cheek.

  I tipped my head back and let him explore the base of my ear, the angle of my jaw and the hollow of my throat. “I taste like salt,” I said.

  “You taste of the beach and flowers and coconut,” he whispered between kisses. “The most delicious combination of flavors I’ve ever experienced.” He pulled back slightly, slipping his fingertips under the shoulders of my cardigan and easing it down my arms. It fell to the floor and he slid his palms back up over my elbows to the base of my neck. Each tiny section of flesh he touched came alive with sensation and pricked with greedy little goose bumps searching out his caress. I found his mouth again and ran my fingers into the collar-length hair at the nape of his neck. I pulled his head to mine harder. I wanted more. Much more.

  His big fingers were busy, fiddling with the knot at the back of my halter-top. It was cleverly designed with a fitted bra, it had cost a fortune but was well worth it. I felt it slipping free and pulled back from the kiss, crossing my arm over my chest and gripping my opposite shoulder to hold it in place.

  “What’s the matter?” Logan asked, his eyes heavy with desire and his voice thick with lust.

  “I’m…I’m big,” I said in a rush then felt silly for saying something so insecure and obvious.

  “Me too,” he said, a provocative grin playing on his mouth. “Relax, Brooke, it’s all good, trust me.”

  A nervous giggle escaped my lips. He continued to undo the straps, his light touch sending tingles down my spine. Then he lifted each one forward past my ears and the only thing holding up my top was my arm.

  “Are you stuck like that?” he asked, laying the straps down and running his knuckles over my collarbone.

  I shook my head and dropped my arm. The top slipped slowly down, exposing the large orbs of my breasts and my peaked, pink nipples. I waited for him to make some lewd remark about their size, or grab them with both hands and squeeze.

  But he didn’t. Instead Logan studied me with heavy eyes. “You said you were big,” he said, “but you should have warned me you were perfect too.” He cupped my right breast in his palm and kissed my mouth, long and lazy. He slowly brushed his thumb around my nipple and when it was hard and tight he scraped gently over it. I melted against him, no one had ever touched me so reverently or with such delicate caresses. Men, Sam in particular, had groped and squeezed and thought that worked for my bigger breasts. Despite me telling him to the contrary, he’d persisted in kneading me like dough, thinking it would get me horny.

  Appreciation and desire flooded through me as Logan continued with his feathery touches and his delicate kisses. He was getting it just right. I felt like a woman, like a treasured possession. His lips left mine and he ducked down, stooping so he could take my nipple into his hot mouth. I let out a moan, ran my fingers up through his hair and arched toward him. Blood pooled in my pelvis, hunger built, a yearning was growing that needed to be satisfied.

  Looking down, I watched his tongue dance across my cleavage to c
ircle the other nipple. His eyes were closed. I could see the small scar on the top of his head again.

  He dipped his hands to my waist and pressed over the flare of my hips as he stood upright. The fire of desire burned hot in his eyes, and his breathing had picked up to match my rasping breaths. “I want you,” he said determinedly. “Now.”

  My stomach dropped. Nausea twisted my gut.

  What the hell was I doing? I was behaving like a whore. I’d been paid to be in the villa, to be a companion for Logan, and here I was, half naked against the door, buzzing for him, desperate for him. I was about to sleep with him, have sex with him. In the next few minutes I’d be getting paid one hundred thousand dollars to fuck him when that was exactly what I said I wouldn’t do. My good karma was about to be dropkicked into a dark a corner of the universe, never to return.

  I let out a whimper of shame and scooted out of his reach. “I’m sorry,” I said, yanking my top up. “I’m sorry, Logan, I can’t.”

  He stiffened, dropping his arms to his sides and clenching his fists.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” I said.

  Pain and confusion flickered across his beautiful blue eyes. He rubbed his fingers across his forehead and blew out a long breath through pursed lips.

  My gaze dropped to his shorts. The bulge of his erection strained against his zipper and the tiny metal teeth looked ready to rip apart. He shoved his other hand down his waistband and rearranged himself. A grimace crossed his face. He looked like a starving man who’d just been offered his favorite dish then had it taken away.

  “I…I just can’t,” I said as a sob bubbled in my chest. “It’s not you, Logan, honestly, it’s not.”

  “Whatever,” he said through tight-clenched teeth. “I’m not exactly going to force myself on you. I just thought you were into it too. I thought the attraction was mutual.”

  “I am, it is, it’s just…” I paused, what could I say? That I’d be whoring myself if I slept with him. If I followed my carnal desires and got naked, sweaty and downright dirty with him I’d be stepping over a line I’d promised myself not to.

  He walked to the sofa and sank down, still shifting the material of his shorts and wearing an uncomfortable expression.

  I muttered another apology and fled the room. I’d brought so much bad karma on myself. I’d be looking over my shoulder for weeks.

  Chapter Four

  I dropped on the end of the bed with my head in my hands and my heart beating like a drum. I’d wanted him so badly, so desperately. I still did.

  Standing, I walked to the French doors and stared out at the raging sea and the palms fronds flattening in the wind. I could still feel Logan’s mouth on my skin, his tongue tracing my lips. He’d been a hungry man but his appetite had been carefully harnessed. He knew his power, his size and his formidable strength.

  Moving restlessly, I went into the en-suite and flicked on the shower. They said a cold shower worked for men so perhaps it would work for a woman too. I had to do something to dampen the fire raging in me. The need, the want, the lust—it was like another part of my being, battling for control.

  I stripped naked and stepped into the cool water, reaching for my lily shower gel and soaping my body. My breasts were tingling and heavy, my nipples still hard and erect. As I washed between my legs my lips felt swollen and hot. Beneath my fingertips my clitoris was engorged and crying out for attention. I gave it a little rub, tipped my head up to the pouring water and squeezed my eyes shut, circling it some more. But it was no good, it just wasn’t right. An orgasm at my own hand would not take the edge off my appetite or the heat from the fire Logan had ignited. I would have to wait for it to burn itself out—which could be some time.

  Feeling beyond frustrated, I stepped out, dried off and pulled on sweatpants and a baggy gray t-shirt, scraping my hair into a ponytail and applying salve to my wind-beaten lips to stop them chapping. I couldn’t stay in my bedroom all week, that was ridiculous. But if I made an effort not to look too good, scruffy even, then perhaps it would put Logan off me. Because my armor was thin, and if he kissed me again, touched me in his gentle, seductive way, I didn’t know if I’d be able to resist him.

  I sprawled on the bed and read for a couple of hours, listening to the wind beating the villa and the bushes whipping against one another. Eventually thirst sent me into the living area, where I was greeted by the noise of a cheering crowd and a commentator jabbering eagerly from the surround sound. Logan sat on the sofa, much the same as yesterday—feet on table, beer in hand, hockey on screen.

  I poured myself a tumbler of ice water and took a long drink, then helped myself to a glass of wine and walked over to him. I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

  He didn’t look up.

  “Can I join you?”

  “Suit yourself.” He took a long slug of beer as I sat down a safe distance from him. I didn’t want to smell him, or feel his body heat or be able to do anything dangerous like study his soft mouth too closely—the soft mouth that he knew how to use so well.

  “What are you watching?” Duh! I could have kicked myself immediately.

  “Vipers versus Washington Capitals. It’s an important match. We need the points to go up in the league above Seattle.”

  “We?” I asked. “As in Orlando, your team? Why aren’t you playing?”

  His brows dropped low and he knocked back the last of his beer. “’Cause some dumb-nut wound me up last week and I lost it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I got dumped in the sin bin one time too many. I’m suspended from this game.”

  “Because of the Russian?” My eyes flicked to his forehead. “The one who high-sticked you?”

  “Yep.” His jaw tightened and his lips mashed together. “That bastard has a lot to answer for.” His gaze slid over to me. “Sorry.”

  He didn’t look it. I took a sip of wine.

  The whistle blew and the game started up. Logan leaned forward, put his beer on the table and rested his elbows on his knees. “Come on, Brick,” he shouted at the enormous screen. “Don’t let that fat…” he paused and glanced at me, “idiot have you like that.”

  “Must have been awful growing up with that name,” I said.

  “It’s a nickname, obviously.” He lifted off the sofa slightly as the puck shot toward the goal, but then he sank back down, deflated, when it missed. “Damn.”

  I thought about it. “It’s still odd.”

  “He’s tough, hard and dependable, like a brick. Everyone calls him it, even his mother now.”

  The commentator’s voice filled the living room. “And that’s why they need Phoenix. A shot like that would have counted. A shot like that would have got this game off on the right foot for the Vipers.”

  “You want another drink?” Logan stood, stepping past me to head into the kitchen.

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” I tried not to suck in the delicious scent he’d left hanging in the air right in front of me. He’d showered too, and I’d bet my best aromatherapy candle that his shower gel contained ginger, but only a drop, because the overall scent was like the first taste of mulled wine at Christmas, heavy and fruity, thick with promise.

  He slammed the fridge door, dropped back down next to me and popped another beer.

  “Phoenix has got to be kicking himself right now,” the commentator continued. “A match like this, with the Caps in top form. It would have been right up his alley. The Vipers really are going to miss his on-ice skill.”

  “Who’s Phoenix?” I asked.

  Logan took a deep breath and the muscle in his jaw danced. “Me,” he said with a scowl.

  “He’s talking about you?” I raised my brows. “You’re Phoenix?”

  “Yeah, and everything he’s saying is right. I should be there, they could use me. I never would have missed the shot Brick just took. I’d have been three yards closer, I’m quicker, a better aim.”

  “Modest too,” I said.

  He ga
ve a huff of amusement. “I’ve been doing it longer, he’s still a kid. He’ll get there soon enough.”

  “So if Brick gets his name because he’s hard and dependable, why do you call yourself Phoenix?”

  “I don’t and I didn’t choose it myself.”

  “So why did they give you the name Phoenix?”

  “Because I always get up. You know, like the Phoenix rising from the ashes.” He paused as the puck went dangerously near the opposite goal. When it missed he continued, “I get broken, winded, messed up, and I carry on. I’m not a sissy that cries to the refs at the first drip of blood.”

  I would never have put Logan in the sissy category and I couldn’t imagine anyone, anywhere on the planet would. “So what happened last week, with the Russian?”

  Logan frowned. “He shoved me against the boards one too many times so I retaliated.”

  “But how did he cut your head? Didn’t you have a helmet?” I gestured at the screen where the players wore helmets with cages covering their faces.

  “I threw it off, it got personal.” He shrugged. “I lost my temper.”

  I thought of how he’d held me, touched me. I couldn’t imagine Logan losing it, using that strength to fight, not now I’d seen, felt it used so gently and sweetly. “Do you do that a lot? Lose your temper.”

  “Something I’m working on,” he said, turning to me. “It’s why Fergal sent me here, to have some time out, ‘get a grip’ as he put it.” He cocked his head. “I thought it was a crazy idea. I humored him by coming ’cause I had nothing else to do this week, but the thing is I’ve actually felt better, especially today at the cafe, you know, with you. I felt different, calm, like a weight I didn’t even know was there had lifted from my shoulders.”

  I nodded. “It’s my aura,” I said. “I have a blue aura, similar color to your eyes I believe.”

  “It’s your what?”

  “My aura, it’s pale blue. Blue is always a calming influence.” Well, most of the time it was pale blue, at the moment it was probably blotched with navy. “I have to work at it of course, to keep it calm and healing, I have to balance my karma and ease through problems as they arise.”