The wariness that clouded his eyes made her realize she’d said something wrong. “You know me?”
There was surprise in his tone and in his eyes as they slowly studied her features. He seemed to be wondering if he knew her or not, as if he weren’t so certain.
She shook her head to clear it. “Never mind.”
“Good,” he said, his expression relaxing. “Good to know I don’t have Alzheimer’s yet.” He gave her the most gorgeous, lazy smile again. “I’m Luke.” He thrust out a big, lean hand, that smile still making her stomach tumble. “Luke Alexander.”
“Peyton Lane.” She slid her fingers into his grip, and a shock went through her like an electric bolt. He held her hand for a little too long, making her heart beat a little too fast. Then he dropped it, picked up the ball, and when he tucked it under his long arm, her hormones went crazy at the sexy, I’m-all-that pose.
The boy came running over, panting. “Me vas a pasar la bola?”
“Ahorita. Estoy hablando con la señiorita eh!”
“Is he your brother?” Peyton asked, for lack of anything to say. She didn’t understand Spanish except for the basic “toilet” and “yes and no” questions.
“Him? He’s just a little toad I found harassing the pool goers,” he said, then his brows shot up in question. “What? You don’t like him? I can totally get rid of him.”
He grabbed the boy playfully by the hair and made him laugh by poking him in the ribs with the ball.
Peyton smiled but couldn’t miss the way the guy’s muscles flexed each time he poked the little boy, all six-feet-plus of his magnificent body glistening wet.
She could smell the ocean on him, see the sand coating his firm, hair-dusted calves, and her nipples poked harder out of her bikini top.
Which was just embarrassing.
“Nice to meet you both,” she said quickly, then she went to gather her pareo, her hat, her book, and her empty bottle of water.
“Would you like to play ball with us?” he asked.
Her head shot up, the way he phrased it sounding illicit and sinful, and then her cheeks went on fire. She imagined running around catching a slippery ball in her bikini and wanted to bury her head in the sand like an ostrich. “No, thanks.”
Clutching everything to her chest, she briskly headed to her terrace, aware that he remained standing there, watching. The boy was already leaving with the ball in the direction of the main hotel pool. But the man, Luke, seemed to be battling something.
Turning slightly with a shaky smile, she saw how his diamonds glinted in the sun, how his chest gleamed with sweat. His wicked smile had faded into a more somber expression. Peyton didn’t know what he’d seen in her that he didn’t like, but something had suddenly bothered him. Her stomach clenched.
She didn’t want him not to like her.
Because she had very much liked him.
As soon as she walked into her casita and out of view, she let out a huge breath, dropped everything she carried, and plopped down on a chair, burying her face in her hands. “Shit. Stupid stupid stupid shit.”
She should’ve just told the man yes, she’d play with them. Big deal!
She wasn’t even going to see him again in her life. At least it gave her the chance to find out if he was even available. But oh, no, Peyton had fled like a little coward, like she’d run away from all the men who approached her, like she’d run away from having a relationship—any sort of relationship for all of her thirty years.
She’d planned to find “fling” material this weekend, hating that at thirty, she had few sexual experiences to speak of. She had a successful career but a nonexistent personal life. This week she wanted to have fun, let loose, have an adventure, have an affair. And now that she’d found a man that exceeded her requirements in every possible way, she was hiding from him in her casita?
He was the perfect man to have an affair with. Not only because he was perfection itself, but because crazy, sexy, lazy beach bodies didn’t move in the business circles that Peyton’s investment firm did. She would never see him again and he’d vanish into the past as quickly as he’d come in.
And oh, God, he was just about the sexiest thing she’d seen in her life.
Determined to go for it at her next opportunity, Peyton stepped out of the shower that evening, briskly changed into a cute linen skirt and a turquoise halter top, then she critically surveyed herself in the mirror.
She was accustomed to downplaying her looks because her business required she deal with investors and a lot of them were men. At work, she wanted to be taken seriously as a woman and her business clothes were usually dark, drab, and decent. But this weekend, she didn’t want to be taken seriously.
She wanted to be taken advantage of.
Pleased that her tempting cleavage displayed her rounded breasts nicely and that her legs shone with a new tan and moisturizing oil, she brushed her long black hair and left it loose, then she slipped into a pair of beach sandals.
It was almost evening when she stepped out, and a rush of thrill zipped through her when she found Beach God Luke Alexander again.
He sat at a small round table at the far end of the thatched-roof hotel dining terrace. The terrace was nestled high on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea, where a person could dine in the company of the warm, gentle breeze and the soothing sounds of the crashing waves.
The dining area was crowded with guests at this time; some sat at their tables, others lined the buffet table on the far end, but Peyton only had eyes for the golden god lounging back in his chair, staring out at the Caribbean Sea.
He’d changed, and was now wearing a pair of linen drawstring pants and a plain linen button-down shirt. Drawing in a deep breath, Peyton headed toward him with renewed resolution. She could swear she’d never been this nervous. Not even during those endless job interviews after college.
“Want some company?” she asked when she reached him, gripping the back of the chair opposite his.
He looked up at her, and the beauty of his blue eyes startled her anew. She remembered their intriguing blue-gray color, but she didn’t remember the potency in his gaze. It was as if he could see right through her and know her private, secret longings, know that she…God, that she wanted him.
She was grateful—and seized the moment to compose herself—when his gaze dropped to her cleavage, only to be yanked back to her face. “Tell me where you’ve been all my life, and I might just let you sit in that chair.” He spoke with a playful twinkle in his eye.