Jill Shalvis: A Prince Of A Guy

Okay, maybe not plenty, mostly because whatever men there were in her world, rich and educated and a perfect catch-just ask her mother-all bored her.

She had a feeling nothing about Sean would bore any woman.

Not that she planned on finding out. No, she couldn’t add a quickie affair to her current list of sins. An affair, no matter how suddenly tempting, wasn’t on her list of things to do while in the real world.

Learning who she was and what she was made of…that was her plan.

Sean, oblivious to her standing there, continued to swim beneath the starlit night until finally he slowed, then stopped only inches from where she stood, his body strong and pulsing and gleaming in the moonlight.

He was startled to see her. Shoving back his wet hair, he held onto the side of the pool, his chest heaving from exertion. Water ran down his face, over his strong, firm jaw. There was a drop on his lower lip, which he licked off with his tongue.

“You swim like a fish,” she said inanely, as if she wasn’t wishing he’d pull himself out of the water and give her a view of his body.

“Swimming is a stress reliever.”

“Is there a lot of stress in your life, Sean O’Mara?”

She had no idea why she asked, why the obvious probe into his life. She didn’t want to know about him, didn’t want to become friends, because then she would care. And if she cared, she’d have to feel badly about using him and Melissa, not to mention all the little untruths she’d told.

Sean didn’t look any more thrilled than she at the idea of sharing. “Some,” he said, then purposely changed the subject. “You’re looking a little worse for wear. Why don’t you try swimming and see if it works for you?”

“You mean…now?”

At her surprise, he grinned. “No, next week. Yes, now.”

“No, thanks.”

He shook his head, and water flew. A drop hit the glasses that were continuously slipping off her nose, but she couldn’t remove them to dry the lenses or she’d risk exposing herself.

“Come in,” he said.

“In the water? ”

He laughed again, and before she could so much as breathe, he reached out with one very big, very wet, warm hand and grabbed her ankle.

He tugged playfully.

Panic replaced any amusement Carlyne might have felt. She couldn’t get wet. She’d lose her wig, her glasses, her contacts. Her clothes would cling to her, maybe slip off, and then the truth would be evident. She’d reveal who she really was…and the jig would be up.

She’d have to go home, and though the day had been nothing short of the most work she’d ever done, she’d loved it.

Loved it.

She wasn’t ready to go back, not yet. Please, not yet.

“Come on, Carly.” His fingers stroked the skin above her ankle.

Never in her life would she have imagined that spot to be an erogenous zone, but suddenly she had visions of him touching her like that all over.

His knowing eyes watched as he continued to stroke her in what should have been a completely innocent way, but nothing about Sean O’Mara was innocent when he looked at her that way, as if she could be eaten up in one bite.

“Come in,” he coaxed. “Swim off the stress.” He tugged on her ankle again, the pressure of his fingers going right through her big, clunky boot. The tingle spread directly between her thighs.

“No!” she said, much harsher than she intended, shoving the slipping glasses up her nose, pressing her other hand to the top of her head in case he dislodged the wig.

Though he didn’t let go, his hold gentled, and the teasing went out of his eyes. “You don’t swim?”

She blinked at him, nearly laughing in relief as he unwittingly gave her the out she needed. “No,” she said quickly, shocking herself. This lying was getting too easy.

“That’s dangerous.” But he let go of her almost reluctantly, and she shivered with something that had nothing to do with the slight chill in the air.

“Your family never made sure you learned?”

“No.”

“Where did you say you grew up?”

“I didn’t.”

He looked at her for a long moment while she waited for him to grill her. “I could teach you,” he finally said.

The image of him doing just that, of his nearly nude body brushing hers in the water, his work-roughened hands all over her- “Bad idea,” she said, her pulse rocketing.

“I’m a good teacher.”

No doubt, with a low, husky voice like that, he could teach her anything. Everything. “ Really bad idea.”

He didn’t pressure her, just nodded. Then patted the brick edging of the pool. “Sit down, then, put your feet in. At least get used to the water.”

He thought she was afraid. He had no idea that Princess Carlyne Fortier was afraid of nothing. Nothing at all. Except for maybe deep, dark, piercing eyes, a voice smooth as whiskey and hands that promised heaven. “I don’t think-”

“Oh, come on. The pool won’t bite.” His beautiful mouth curved. “I won’t, either. Not unless I’m invited.”

“I’m not inviting, just so you know.”

“You’re not even going to put your toes in?”

“No, I-” But before she could draw another breath, he’d untied her boots and was tugging at them. To keep her balance, she was forced to sit, right there on the edge, and it wasn’t a graceful sit, either, trying to keep her modesty and not get wet. She didn’t get wet, but as for her modesty, with Sean lower, still in the water, God only knew what kind of view of her underwear he’d gotten.

Panicked, she pressed her skirt closer to her body. He slid his hands over her feet, pulling off first her boots, then her socks.

And then her feet were in the deliciously heated water, brushing against Sean’s even warmer body, and she could hardly breathe.

He hadn’t seen anything, she told herself. His head was bent, concentrating on her feet, but then he looked at her.

She’d never seen a look of such pure…heat, certainly not directed at her, and it was titillating, to say the least. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, but finally she managed a weak smile. “This is nice.”

He didn’t respond. Around them, the air sizzled with tension, sexual tension, and even as she told herself to get a grip, she wished she’d been wearing something, anything other than serviceable white panties. Leopard print, maybe, or even a thong. Something outrageous. Something as sexy as Sean.

“Tomorrow night wear your bathing suit,” he said. “You can get all the way in. I’ll show you how easy it is to swim.”

Of course, she couldn’t. But the sheer honesty in his gaze brought a twinge of guilt she was beginning to hate.

This, while exciting, thrilling, even arousing, was wrong. Very wrong. Knowing that, she got to her feet as gracefully as she could, which wasn’t very, and backed away. “I have to go.”

His arms and chest and belly flexed as he pulled himself out of the pool. He wore dark blue swim trunks that fit him like a second skin, molding his contours, his…shape in a way that made cohesive thought a distant memory. “It didn’t chime midnight,” he said, teasing in the face of the panic he couldn’t possibly understand. “And anyway, running will do you little good. I know where you live.”

But he didn’t, really. He couldn’t. She needed to be in her room with the door locked. She needed to pull off the itchy wig, needed to dump the glasses and contact lenses, needed to haul off the too many layers of clothes and give herself a good hard look in the mirror to remind herself who she really was.

Princess Carlyne Fortier. On vacation from her life. On a mission to find herself.