Carole Mortimer - Untamed

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Cover

Title Page Untamed Carole Mortimer www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

‘MISS KEILLY GRANT, I presume?’

She looked up with a start, used to having the beach to herself this time of the evening, seven o’clock being too late for the children to be here playing, and too early for the late night strollers walking their dogs.

The man standing several feet away from her as she vigorously dried her hair after her swim certainly didn’t look as if he fitted into either of those categories. Her first thought was that he was big and powerful, her second that he could be that third category of people that occasionally wandered down to Beachy Cove, the sort of man her Aunt Sylvie was always warning her about—a man looking for an easy pick-up. The cove was usually full of such men during the short summer season, all of them out for a little holiday fun and sure she could provide it. But this man looked too handsome to be that type either, surely having women chasing him, not the other way around! Besides, there was the puzzle of him knowing her name.

Nevertheless, she stood up to pull her full-length beach robe over her head, and pulled the zip up to her chin, glad of the warmth of the towelling material after her dip in the coolness of the October sea. The task of covering herself completed, she turned her attention once more to the man standing a short distance away.

He hadn’t moved as she dressed, his hands still thrust into the pockets of his thick sheepskin jacket, his shoulders broad and powerful, as was his chest, his legs long and lean in the fitted denims of faded blue, tancoloured boots on his feet. For all of the casualness of his appearance his clothes looked expensive, and Keilly raised her gaze to his face with more than just idle curiosity. Looking at each feature separately, the piercingly deep blue eyes, the long straight nose, firm but sensual mouth, and strong square jaw, he was nothing spectacular, but put them all together and he was—breathtaking. At least, she assumed his jaw was strong, it was difficult to tell beneath the neatly trimmed beard and moustache, usually finding that such facial hair was grown to hide the weakness of a chin or mouth. In this man’s case she doubted that were true; he exuded power and assurance, the deep blue eyes looking at her steadily, as if he didn’t allow himself any kind of weakness. His hair was thick and dark, several grey streaks laced through its mahogany colour, although the beard and moustache showed no such ageing. His age was hard to define, perhaps his early thirties, although the lines of experience fanning out from the blue eyes seemed to say he had knowledge far beyond those calendar years.

Keilly took in all this about him in a matter of seconds, knowing he had taken the same few seconds to appraise her own appearance. And she knew it couldn’t be very favourable! The salt water had left the feathered style of her shoulder length black hair tangled and lacklustre, needing the shower she always took after her daily swim to give it back its naturally glossy beauty. Her face was bare of make-up, naturally sooty black lashes framing dark grey eyes that could often look blue, her nose short and stub, her full mouth a deep pink colour, her chin small and determined. It wasn’t an unattractive face but neither was it a beautiful one, and her lack of make-up made her appear younger than her twenty-two years. But her body, despite her smallness in stature, was completely adult, full breasts, a slender waist and gently curving hips, her legs long and attractive. And the man in front of her hadn’t missed a single inch of her appearance, not before she donned the towelling robe or after, the black bikini showing the tan she still had from the summer months.

She didn’t like being made to feel self-conscious about her appearance; as the receptionist in the hotel owned by her aunt and uncle she was usually coolly assured in any situation, had learnt to deal with people with calm patience and understanding. But this man made her feel inadequate in a way she didn’t like, her chin rising with stubborn pride. ‘Yes, I’m Keilly Grant,’ she answered him coolly. ‘How did you know who I was?’ Because he obviously had known. She had watched his approach as he walked down to the beach from the cliff, and he hadn’t even hesitated, coming straight over to her.

His mouth quirked, his teeth very white against the darkness of the surrounding hair. ‘Your aunt told me to look for the only lunatic down here swimming,’ he looked pointedly at the deserted beach. ‘You appear to be it,’ he mocked, the blue eyes full of humour.

His voice was deep and attractive, as smooth as honey, filling Keilly with a pleasurable warmth that she dismissed as being ridiculous. She didn’t even know who this man was, let alone feel attracted to him! ‘My aunt told you where I was,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Why were you looking for me in the first place?’

He hunched down even further into his fleecy jacket as a strong October wind blew in from the sea, the fine golden sand about them whipped into the air to land painfully against their faces. ‘Could we get off the beach now that you’ve finished your swim?’ The lines had increased about his eyes where he had narrowed them against the wind. ‘You’re likely to catch pneumonia!’

With a shrug Keilly bent to thrust her wet towel into her beach bag, dangling her shoes from the other hand as they walked across the softness of the sand that led up to the pathway that went to the road on the cliff. ‘I only stay in the water a few minutes,’ she offered the information stiffly. ‘I’ve swum every day like this since I was a child. And I rarely, if ever, even get a cold,’ she announced confidently.

The man at her side glanced back at the grey-black of the Irish Sea, shivering involuntarily. ‘It looks freezing!’ he grimaced.

‘It is,’ she gave an amused grin. ‘But I can’t stand the way it gets so crowded down here during the summer months.’

He quirked dark brows. ‘When your aunt and uncle run a hotel?’

‘I know,’ she pulled a face. ‘I should be glad we have the business. But in the summer you can hardly get near the water. Then I have to come down at five o’clock in the morning.’

He held her arm as she bent to put on her shoes, maintaining that hold as they began the steep ascent up the cliff path. ‘You like to be alone?’ he asked softly.