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  His brow twitched and so did his cock. He did as he was told and faced the wall, offering me his long, wide back, tight butt and muscular legs coated in soft dark hairs that thinned to nothing at the top of his thighs.

  “Spread your hands out,” I said, cupping his triceps and urging his arms forward so his palms pressed against the tiles. “Like you’ve been arrested.”

  He grunted deeply in amusement. “You getting all dominant police lady on me?” he asked, dropping his head and spreading out his fingers. The water filled his thick hair and sluiced down the gutter of his spine.

  “Why, can’t you handle it?” I tickled my finger through the river of water in the hollow of his back. “A woman taking control of you?”

  “Oh, I can handle it fine, but just remember, if we’re taking turns then be careful what you get me going on, I might just finish it.”

  “Oh, I think I know what will get you going, and I’m pretty sure I can finish it.” I reached for a big yellow sponge and filled it with dark red shower gel. Squeezed and massaged until my fingers were white with thick, creamy foam and the scent of ginger and cinnamon filled the shower.

  As the water beat on my back I placed the sponge on the top curve of his shoulders and wiped from left to right. The pouring water slid the bubbles over his gleaming, golden skin. I squeezed some more and watched the soapy stream run through every trough and dip of his back, down the neat crack of his butt and on to his solid thighs, finally settling around his ankles before swirling down the drain.

  I touched the phoenix again with my fingertips and trailed upward to several crescent nail marks at the base of his shoulder blades. Stab marks from my frenzied orgasm on the sofa. “Sorry about this,” I said.

  “My favorite kind of wound,” he said in a tight voice.

  “Yes, but I’m still sorry if I hurt you.”

  He huffed. “You didn’t hurt me.” His voice was as dry as he was wet. “But if you feel bad and want to make it up to me, feel free to, at any time.”

  I knew exactly how I was going to make it up to him. “Okay, turn around.”

  He shifted his big body in the shower and loomed over me with the look of the devil in the depths of his blue eyes. But I pressed firmly against his water-slick chest until he was backed against the tiles. “I’ve finished with your shoulders and butt now,” I said. “Though I reckon your front needs some attention.”

  He swept his tongue over his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes. He looked like he was done playing my game and was about to grab me. But he didn’t, he stayed where I’d put him, though his fists clenched and his muscles tensed.

  Deliberately slow, I refilled the sponge with shower gel, worked up a lather and set it on his right collarbone. Sliding it to the left I squeezed and watched as white froth trickled down his sternum, caught through the fuzz at his navel and settled in his pubic hair. “You’re getting good and clean now,” I said, shifting the sponge to the right collarbone again. “What do you think, Logan?”

  “Clean as I’m ever gonna get,” he growled as a muscle flexed in his cheek. I’d noticed this happened when he was getting frustrated or impatient. I couldn’t decide if it was cute or dangerous—probably the latter.

  I dropped the sponge on the floor and rested my hands on top of his soapy hips, right where the sharp angle of muscle tapered inward and downward from his six-pack. “Does that mean you’re always a little bit dirty?” I licked my lips. “Even when you’re soaped up in the shower?”

  “Only when I’m in the shower and your mouth is looking so damn appealing.”

  “You like my mouth?” I raised my brows.

  “Hell, yeah, sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen.”

  He leaned in for a kiss but I dodged and shoved him back against the tiles by his hips. “Mmm, I’m glad about that,” I said, pulling provocatively on my lower lip with my teeth. “Because I’m hungry, really hungry.” I looked down at his erect cock jutting forward, slid my fingers into his pubes and tangled them in wiry hairs and bubbles. Then I headed lower and wrapped my right hand around his thick, rigid shaft and sent the left to cup his balls.

  Logan let out a groan. “Ahh, fuck,” he said, looking down. “Your little hands are so sweet on me.”

  I squeezed until I could feel his pulse beating in my palm and stroked up to the wide head, learning the shape and texture of him.

  “Ah, that’s it,” he said, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back until it rested on the tiles.

  I gave him another stroke downward, right to the base, and glided back up again. Then sank to my knees, making sure my body had as much contact as possible with his as I went, and finally, through the steam, came face-to-face with his big, hungry cock.

  He muttered something approving and suddenly I couldn’t wait to feel Logan Taylor’s beautiful cock slide onto my tongue. I opened up, greedy for him. He twined his fingertips in my wet hair and locked his knees as I guided him into my mouth.

  I had to open to the max. The wide, crested head only just fit. Like the rest of his big body, his cock was on a different scale to everyone else. But as the musky, slightly soapy flavor of him invaded my taste buds and made me dizzy with longing, I knew I could do it. I knew I could take all of him.

  Determinedly, I beat down my gag reflex and fed him in farther with my hand. Thick throbbing veins and skin as smooth as silk rode over my tongue and palate.

  He groaned above me. “Fuck, Brooke,” he said in a tight voice. “You don’t pussyfoot about do you? Straight for a deep throat.”

  In answer I cupped his testicles again, where the hair was sparser, and rolled and fondled them like two balls in a bag, my fingertips gently exploring their shape through loose skin.

  “Ah, fuck, you’re turning me inside out.” His fingers tightened against my scalp and his knees jerked, sending him farther forward in a sudden rush.

  I dragged hot, misty air through my nose as he hit the sensitive flesh of the back of my throat and lodged there. My heart was hammering, my own body flying.

  I created a strong suction. With my thumb and index finger I set up a steady push-pull at the base of his cock. My tongue laved and fondled his shaft as I bobbed backward and forward at his groin, taking him deeper and deeper each time.

  “Brooke,” he gasped above me. “Watch it, sweetie, or I’m gonna come down that pretty throat of yours.”

  That was my plan, but I didn’t stop to tell him.

  “I mean it, Brooke.” His fingers were like claws in my hair.

  I felt empowered and utterly sensual. I had this big, strong man at my mercy and tottering on the edge of his control. I cast my gaze up, his face was lowered, hanging down. His heavy-lidded eyes caught mine, his teeth sank into his lower lip and his hands tightened further into my hair roots. “Stop now, Brooke, or you’re gonna get it,” he said in a voice so hoarse it almost wasn’t recognizable as his.

  I had no intention of stopping, I could almost feel the cum boiling in his scrotum, getting ready to jettison from his cock. I was greedy for him, hungry to taste his desire for me. I upped the pace and tightened the suction.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he panted. “Have mercy.” His hands captured my head in a viselike hold and he forged into my mouth. Sank right to the back of my throat, even farther than before.

  He stilled.

  Any other time, any other man, I would have fought and balked, but Logan had me just about coming with the wildness of his urgency and his domination over my mouth.

  I lashed him with my tongue, sucked like my life depended on it and massaged his balls. I could breathe later. I was consuming him, taking all of him. His body was mine. He was a hostage to the pleasure I was giving.

  He arched his hips tighter into my face. His cock penetrated the very back of my throat and he hissed and cursed above me as semen burst from the tip of his cock, flooding straight down my throat in long, milky jets. It was never-ending, ripping out of him, flowing from his body into mine as he held my head in a fir
m grip.

  I swallowed, managed to drag in air, and continued my assault on the base of his shaft and his retracted balls. I let my finger slide over the thin fold of skin between his sack and his anus, tickled and rubbed the patch of flesh I found.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said. “Wicked little…”

  The last furious pulse of liquid spilled into my mouth.

  “Fuck, you trying to finish me off?” he gasped above me. “Good thing I’m fit.”

  He slid from my mouth and in one quick movement hauled me up against his body. His strength and speed had me dizzy as my feet lifted from the shower floor before he put me down and wrapped me against his panting chest.

  “That worked for you then,” I said breathlessly, blinking as water poured down my face.

  “You know damn well it did.” He pressed his lips to mine, hard and fast before saying, “What are you, a witch or something?”

  “I’ve been called that a few times,” I said on a grin. “When I chatter on about fate and karma and auras, not usually when I take a man in my mouth.”

  A slight frown marred his handsome features.

  “What?” I pulled my head back and looked into his eyes. His lashes were heavy with drips, his lips tight and his cheeks had risen in color beneath his tan.

  “I don’t like to think of you having another man in your mouth,” he said as if he knew he had no claim on me, either my mouth or my past, but couldn’t help saying it anyway.

  I tilted my head.

  “What you just did was special, well, it was for me, I’d like to think it was for you too.”

  “Oh, trust me.” I cupped his jaw with my hands and smiled. “That was very special for me.”

  “Good.” The lines on his forehead relaxed.

  I looked down at his chest—the wet hairs were plastered to his skin and my breasts were flattened below his nipples.

  “What? What is it, Brooke?”

  “I’ve never let anyone, you know.” I looked back up into his face. “I’ve never let anyone come in my mouth before.”

  “You haven’t?” His brows shot up.

  “No, I usually pull away.”

  “So what was different?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to have as much fun as I did, out in the sea.”

  “Oh, I think we can safely say I did.” He kissed me again, long and deep. “And thank you, knowing that makes it even more special.”

  * * * * *

  I slept in Logan’s room that night. After a bowl of pasta and a glass of water we stretched out naked under the cool sheets. Within minutes he was asleep, his breaths coming slow and deep and his hard muscles as relaxed as I imagined they ever were.

  With my head resting on his chest I listened to his heart pounding steadily. I soon realized it had picked up the same rhythm and speed as mine. It was as though our hearts were beating as one, our bodies in perfect tune with one another. My karma felt positive again, balanced. Logan was as good for my aura I was for his. The only blot in my blue was the need to tell Fergal I didn’t want the money. Once I’d done that, all would be perfect, all would be harmonious. We still had another two days to enjoy one another before it was back to work, study and the nerves of the exam.

  Chapter Six

  I woke to the sounds of the sea and the feathery touch of a fresh, salty breeze on my shoulders. Easing my limbs across the bed, I found it empty, but I wasn’t concerned, something instinctively told me Logan was nearby.

  I rolled over and saw the French doors in his room flung open to the day. A small, yellow bird landed on a branch softly swaying between me and the beach, and began a staccato tune. Sighing, I inhaled Logan’s scent, lingering on his pillow. I could get used to waking up in heaven. It suited me very well.

  But I was hungry and knew I’d soon have to cave to my caffeine addiction. So I slipped from the sheets, pulled on panties and a bra, and because I couldn’t be bothered to go to my room, shrugged into Logan’s shirt that he’d worn to the cafe the day before. It was enormous on me, it hung down to my knees and the short sleeves billowed way past my elbow. But it smelled of him, and for once I felt tiny, delicate. It was a good feeling and I padded out of the room humming a summer tune.

  I found Logan sitting under the parasol in just shorts. He was reading a paper and sipping from a mug. There was a plate on the table beside him holding a scattering of crumbs.

  “Morning,” I said, resting my hand between his warm shoulder blades. “What time is it?”

  “Gone noon.”

  “Gosh, I slept in.” I paused. Everything about him was stiff with tension. “You okay?”

  “I am.” He scraped back his chair and stood.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You want coffee and a bagel?” His voice was hard, his jaw tight.

  “Please.” I tilted my head, searching his face for clues to the source of his tension.

  His gaze scanned down my body. “Suits you,” he said, his mouth twitching into a half-smile.

  He disappeared into the kitchen and I rested back into the soft cushions of a chair, wondering what he meant by “I am”. The small yellow bird hopped onto the deck and I tossed Logan’s crumbs onto the wood. He pecked at them with his beak, his little gray feet tapping and his nervous eyes darting as he searched for more.

  “Here you go.” Logan came out with a tray, placing a hot, buttered bagel and a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. He sat and pushed the paper my way. “You better look at this.”

  “Why?” My spine tensed at the stiff tone of his voice. “What’s the matter, Logan?”

  “It just landed in the mailbox by the gate.”

  “It’s the paper, it comes every day.”

  “You’ve probably never seen a paper like this before.” The little muscle in his cheek was hammering away like a tiny drum just under his skin. “Look at the sports section.”

  Sipping my coffee, I turned to the sports pages.

  My hand began to shake. Drips of dark liquid spilled from my mug onto the paper, spreading like ink on silk. I read the headline three times before I believed what my eyes were seeing.

  “PHOENIX AND HIS BIRD,” it shouted, then in smaller writing, “Orlando Vipers star Phoenix was far from grieving last night as his team struggled to narrowly beat the Washington Capitals. Vacationing in paradise with a mystery woman, he looked the picture of happiness and contentment…”

  I couldn’t read any more. Beneath the headline was a black and lime green night shot. It was me. It was me and Logan in the water. Logan was pressed behind me and my head was tipped into the curve of his shoulder. We were up to our waists in waves, and his arms were wrapped around me. One beneath my breasts and one beneath the sea line. His lips touched my extended neck and my arms were raised and locked behind his head.

  I pinched in a juddering breath and shakily set down my coffee before I spilled the lot. At least the paper had had the decency to a fix a black rectangle over my jutting breasts. But it was clear to anyone who looked we were naked and hot for one another. And by the look on my face, even through the shady grains of the picture, I was having a wild time.

  “Oh. My. God.” I eventually managed. “How, what…I don’t understand. Who?”

  Logan dropped his brows. “It must have been that flash you saw coming from the bushes, there must have been some lowlife, scum-of-the-earth photographer camping out up there trying to dig up dirt on me. I bet he couldn’t believe his luck when he saw us skinny-dipping.” He shook his head. “Could have been a camera lens reflecting in the moonlight you saw but more likely just his flashlight as he was moving about in the undergrowth.”

  “But, but, the picture is so, so, in your face, it’s, well, it’s quite rude really, isn’t it.”

  “Yeah, it’s definitely got the shock factor. He’ll have been paid big-time for it. I’m hot news this week after getting suspended.”

  I rubbed my hand over my temple. I couldn’t stop staring
at my own face. It hardly looked like me. I was in ecstasy, my mouth slack, my eyes heavenward and my hair lifting in the wind. I looked wanton, sex-crazed—I looked primitive. The way my back was arched against Logan’s body was downright erotic. Something funky had really happened in the universe last night for this to land on my breakfast table this morning—something funky and messed up that had one hell of a sense of humor and absolutely no respect for our privacy.

  “I’m really sorry, Brooke.” Logan rubbed his hand around the back of his neck. “I’ll speak to your father and apologize. He’ll be having fits. You were sent here to study, not make out with me.”

  I looked into Logan’s concerned eyes. The pale blue was marred with shadows and lines of worry shot from the corners. I searched out his aura and sure enough, black streaks were stabbing at his brilliant blood red again. But what he’d just said was all wrong, I had been sent here for him, to entertain him, to keep him company.

  “It’s okay, I’ll speak to him,” I said, resting my hand on his forearm. “I’m twenty-eight years old, so I guess my father pretty much accepts I’m not a virgin anymore.” That father lie was going to mess up my karma big-time. I had to stop myself glancing over my shoulder for the lurking bad luck.

  “Yeah, that may be, but I’m sure he won’t want you hooking up with a guy like me just before you get down to serious academic work and making something of your life.”

  “A guy like you?” I tipped my head. “What do you mean?”

  Logan shifted his gaze to the sea and his forehead furrowed in a frown. “A jock.” His chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Someone in the news, hassled by the press, divorced, bad-tempered… The list goes on, you know.”

  “Logan—”

  “Aggressive, impulsive, bad reputation, no professional qualifications, coming up for retirement in the next five years when I get to mid-thirties, sooner if I get injured—”

  “Logan, will you stop it,” I said firmly. “Yes, this is a pile of rubbish,” I jabbed at the paper with my fingers. “I can’t even bring myself to read it all, but it’s not your fault our privacy was invaded, this is a private villa, that patch of land is dense with vegetation, someone must have climbed the fence, hacked their way through it and sat through the storm hoping we’d show up. He, or she, was very determined, and there was nothing we could do.”