Free At His Whim by Erika Masten Page A

And, furthermore, why was everything inside me bristling with stomach-twisting anxiety and panty-soaking desire every time he so much as glanced at me?
    Raising one admirably muscled arm, clad in a deceptively simple but expensively tailored white linen shirt, Knight motioned toward the arched marble entry.  He reminded me more of a ringmaster than upper management providing a personalize concierge welcome for privileged clientele. The breeze ruffled his thick, blackish brown hair rakishly but did not truly muss the shiny strands; perhaps even nature knew better.  His eyes—I had never seen eyes quite like his—were light brown with a silver sheen, as though they reflected moonlight even in broad daylight.
    “Welcome to Ilha de Flor,” he pronounced with smooth officiousness, and I detected a faded European accent in his burnished voice, possible British.   “We are pleased to offer you all the hospitality and amenities of our resort spa while your ship is in port at Natal.  If you will follow me…”
    While the others who had come over to the island with me by ferry from the mainland filed slowly through the massive double doors into the air conditioned interior, I paused to take a breath and settle my anxious stomach.  It was the first time in a month I could feel anything, so I guess the erratic flutter wasn’t entirely unwelcome, but the first two weeks of the cruise had been anything but the wild revelry I told myself I needed after my breakup with Penn.  As I deliberately studied the lush tropical rainforest pressing insistently against the strip of champagne golden sand and the twin blues of ocean and sky, I tried to release the tension holding my shoulders and spine so stiff.  Maybe Ilha de Flor was the playground I needed.  A little flirting.  A little dancing.  A few trips to the dessert table.  The last thought had me smiling to myself.
    When I turned back to fall in line with the group, I found Adrian Knight lingering at the door, ushering people along.  I didn’t look up as I started past him.  There was a certain caliber of man I had always found too handsome to look at up close, at least without breaking into an obvious blush, and Knight clearly fell into that category.  The demure bow of my head and the curtain of my long hair kept me from seeing what was coming.
    Warm fingers circled my bare elbow, sending a shiver up my arm and through my shoulders despite the heat and humidity.  My gaze shot up to meet those gleaming amber eyes and a smile that curled crookedly at one end.  That expression of his—cool and confident and playful—left me open-mouthed and weak-kneed.
    “You, miss, should follow closely ,” Knight said, his tone theatrically flirtatious.  After a pronounced pause, he released his hold on my elbow only to softly but insistently catch my fingers and guide my arm under and around his, until my fingertips pressed restlessly to the tanned skin of his forearm.  Firm, lightly corded, muscular.  It was an effort not to caress …
    My pussy fluttered as hard as my stomach and now my heart, which annoyed me as much as it thrilled me.  I’d been on enough cruises and first class business trips to recognize the kind of attention that comes with the package .  Impossibly good-looking hostesses and private servants always flattered the women and deferred to the men.  To have Mr. Knight choose me for his courtesy flirtation galled.  I was an attractive enough woman, almost the beauty my mother was, though not as warm and inviting as she had been—to a fault.  Yet I felt like the plain, shy step-cousin in the hand-me-down dress as this dazzlingly handsome man made me part of his song and dance for the guests.
    I could have slapped him, it grated so badly.  Of course, I also could have kissed him.  The latter was supposed to be half the purpose of this trip.
    Well-practiced at maintaining my demeanor, I fumed to myself as I let Knight lead me at the head of the group