Free PleasureBound by Kat Black Page A

seating area, each topped
with a plump, tooled-leather cushion. A raised double bed sat off to one side,
mounded with silk pillows and throws and swathed in acres of mosquito netting
cascading down from the roof of the tent like a waterfall. At the foot of the
bed, the overnight bags they’d packed sat already waiting for them.
    On the opposite side of the tent, a bathing area had been
created behind a curtain of yet more sheer netting, the ground there covered
with a wooden platform, cleverly slatted to allow for drainage straight into
the baked earth below. On a carved chest, a wide pewter bowl sat between two
large ewers that contained water warmed by the fire outside.
    It was perfect, Adam acknowledged. Just the sort of
memorable, magical setting in which he’d envisaged making Sam the proposal of a
lifetime. But, of course, that had been—
    “Oh, heaven!” Sam’s exclamation snapped him out of his
thoughts as she investigated a woven basket holding sea sponges and rose oil
soaps. Hardly waiting for the tent flap to be lowered for privacy, she began
pulling at her clothing. “Let’s get clean!”
    But in typical male fashion, his mind instantly preferred to
get dirty—flashing an image of Sam standing naked, wet and slippery within easy
reach. His throat constricted. How could he take that and not touch her? How
could he ever touch her again after last night?
    “You go ahead first while I try to get these damned boots
off.” As excuses went it was beyond pathetic, he knew. He had, after all, been
pretty adept at undoing his shoelaces on a daily basis since he was a small
boy. It was hardly fucking rocket science.
    He could tell from Sam’s expression of hurt surprise that
she also saw the excuse for what it was—a badly disguised ploy to put some
distance between them. At least she refrained from calling him on it as he
retreated to the seating area and dropped down onto a stool with a heavy thud.
    He sat there and set his fingers to work, wishing the
tangled mess of his emotions could be as easily unpicked as the knots in his
bootlaces. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Sam—stripping, filling
the pewter bowl with water, bathing—looking lovely as a dream through the sheer
net barrier that divided them. After the tumble of uncertainty she’d woken in
him yesterday, he wondered if he’d ever be able to see her clearly again.
    “Adam,” she called to him after a while. “Would you come and
help me, please?”
    Procrastinating with the intent of staying well out of her
way, he’d only managed to remove his boots and socks and undo half the buttons
on his shirt. “What do you need?” he asked warily.
    “I need you,” Sam ducked her head around the side of the net
curtain and flashed him a smile, “to come and give my back a wash. Between my
shoulder blades feels all gritty and I can’t quite reach.”
    While there was nothing remotely sexy in her smile, or
suggestive in the words, Adam knew he was being played. But refusing such a
simple-sounding request would be as good as admitting he was scared. And that
was something he never did. He was, after all, a powerful, well-respected
figure—CEO of his own multi-national company, responsible for a revenue of
billions and a staff of thousands. One small woman shouldn’t be a problem for
him. Gritting his teeth, he stood and went to her, determined to keep his eyes
at head level, determined to scrub the sand from her upper back and walk away.
    As he passed through the sheer curtain, he found Sam turned
toward the tent wall, one shapely leg raised onto the chest as she leant over
and dipped her sponge into the pewter bowl before using it to rinse soap suds
from her foot. He did his level best to ignore the curves of her ass,
accentuated by such a position, focusing instead on the hair she’d caught up in
a messy bunch, from which the odd damp tendril hung down to curl about her long
neck.
    She turned her head toward him and straightened,