up along her barely concealed breasts to her fresh-faced grin. He had to admit she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met, and he’d met quite a few.
He would have paid her a compliment but that seemed inappropriate, as he wasn’t the man whose attentions she craved. So he merely grunted, “About time you got here. Let’s go.”
She followed him through the revolving doors and out onto the street. The bright sunlight was even brighter than she’d imagined, especially after spending most of the day cooped up inside, and the heat from the sun on her skin was a pleasant change from the air-conditioned circumstances inside the posh hotel.
They quickly crossed the street to the boardwalk and she couldn’t help notice that Stuart moved with the lithe grace of a panther, and she imagined he must have been a formidable enemy to whomever he’d encountered in Iraq.
“Will you be going on a third tour of duty?” she now asked, and had to admit she hoped he wouldn’t, for she suddenly felt very concerned about his safety.
“Not a chance,” he replied as they descended the stone steps onto the beach. “The company being in as much trouble as it is my duty is to my family now.”
“Of course,” she said, though secretly she was relieved that he would be staying in London from now on. Visions of Stuart cradling a baby suddenly broke into her consciousness, quickly followed by an image of herself swelling with life, her belly growing with Stuart’s child, its father safe and sound and not lying dead on some battlefield in the Middle East. She gasped when the purport of those images came home to her. Stuart’s baby? But she didn’t even care for him. He’d always been the bane of her existence, the one who lived only to tease her without remorse.
“What’s wrong?” Stuart asked, and she realized her gasp had been audible.
She forced a smile onto her face. “Nothing. Just surprised that the sand is so hot.”
She’d kicked off her flip flops and relished in the feel of the sand under her feet, curling her toes as she walked. She was amazed at the softness of the white sand, quite different from the pebbled beaches of England’s seaside resorts.
All around them tourists were enjoying sun and surf, stretched out on colorful towels and set up in beach chairs, and she followed Stuart as he found them the perfect spot not too far from the water.
“Here, let me help you,” he told her as he grabbed the towel she’d taken from her bag and spread it out on the sand, smoothing it so she could lie down.
Stuart watched with a kindling eye as Kirsty shucked off her jeans and shirt and the bikini he’d admired upstairs popped into view, hugging her curvy features. Some men liked their women skinny but he’d always felt a woman should have curves and as he watched Kirsty smear a healthy helping of sunscreen on her alabaster skin, then tie up her red curls beneath a baseball cap, the fire burning in his gut became so overwhelming that he had to grit his teeth against the surge of life powering his erection. Good thing he hadn’t removed his own Bermudas, he thought ruefully, for he wouldn’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure.
“Could you do my back?” she asked softly, handing him the sunscreen.
He squirted a dollop of the creamy substance into the palm of his hand and started applying it to her shoulders. The feel of the silky skin under his fingers was giving him heart palpitations, and as his hands traced a path along the arch of her back to the dimples above her buttocks he had to fight the urge to throw her down on the towel and use his lips instead of his hands to explore the rest.
“I think you’re covered,” he finally said thickly after gently applying a final layer to her neck, carefully lifting a wispy tendril of hair as he did so. To kiss her there—to feel the satin smoothness of her skin under his lips while his hands circled to her front and covered her breasts, slipping beneath