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“There are plenty of locations in the world where women don’t feel the need to shave or wax their legs,” she countered.
“Hopefully not at the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club.” Trent met her stare evenly, then let a teasing smile spread across his lips so she caught his meaning.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she retorted softly. Then, even softer, as if she was muttering to herself, he heard her say, “And wouldn’t I just love to show you.”
Knowing the alcohol might have gone a bit to her head, Trent doubted she even knew he’d heard. He grinned but turned away so she wouldn’t see.
Well, yeah, he’d like to know. And he planned to find out. Particularly since the image of those long, tanned legs had been taunting him since the afternoon when he’d seen her in her bathing suit.
As they passed the pool and approached the wooden stairs leading down to the private, moonlit beach, Trent stopped. Since he was holding her by the arm, she halted, too. She stared at him curiously. Without explaining, Trent dropped to a crouch beside her. He reached for the straps of her shoes, unbuckling one, then the other. Taking one of her hands, he placed it on his own shoulder so she could balance herself. He noticed the way her fingers tightened, her skin burning through the thin material of his shirt. Feeling the touch throughout his entire body, Trent had to force himself to focus on the task at hand.
Impossible. He couldn’t focus on anything but her.
Not only did her soft fingers brand his shoulder, but now his face was mere inches from her silky thighs. His hands trembled as he tugged off each shoe. He was completely unable to resist gently stroking one ankle, stalling for time while he tried to control his body’s response to her nearness. Her loveliness. And the sweet, elemental scent of her body.
Controlling the tides would likely have been easier.
“Better?” he asked as he finally rose to his feet.
She smiled and almost cooed her relief as she curled her toes on the cool surface of the pool deck. “Much.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to walk in the sand in these, anyway,” he said, hearing the thickness of his voice. He struggled against the mental fantasy of sliding his hand up the sweet, vulnerable curve of her foot, curling around her calf, then moving higher. Over her knee. Between her thighs. Moving his mouth closer, to explore her softness and that intoxicating feminine scent filling his brain.
“You okay?” she asked when he fell silent.
He swallowed, hard, and nodded. “Fine. Just feeling stupid for not thinking beyond being alone with you on the beach. You’re not exactly dressed for it. Your heels would have sunk three inches deep with every step.”
Now, without the heels, he noticed how petite she was. The top of her head came to his shoulder, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes with her amazingly blue ones.
“You’d have rescued me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, you wouldn’t have left me there, stranded, with my heels stuck tight in the sand all night, right? And me doing my impression of a beach umbrella?”
He grinned as a wicked thought crossed his mind. Beach umbrella? I’d have no problem being underneath you on a beach.
She continued. “I don’t suppose it’s going to be too comfortable walking across sand in these.”
Trent followed her glance down to her legs, still covered by a pair of silky-soft black hose. No way was he going to offer to help take those off. The next time he touched her legs, it would be to explore each inch of them with his hands, fingers and mouth. He hoped it would be in the not-too-distant future. But not here, a few feet away from a clear-glass hotel door, where anyone walking by could see them.
Before he could even offer to walk her back inside so she could change, he saw her reach under the bottom hem of her short skirt and start tugging.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go back inside to change.”
She paused.
“But this works too.”
She went back to tugging.
Trent raised an eyebrow, watching with interest as the skirt rose higher and higher while she pulled. His anticipation rose right along with her hem. As did his heart rate. By the time she pulled the waistband free and was able to begin maneuvering the nylons down her legs, he caught a glimpse of something silky and red at the V of her thighs. Lord have mercy was the only thought he could manage in those infinitesimal seconds before she pushed the skirt back down, along with the nylons.
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