Susan Connell - Reese - The Untamed

“My name is Beth Langdon. How did you know where I was staying?” she asked, trying not to look at the stray water droplets still dribbling down his body. His muscular, masculine and perfectly sculpted body.

“Monte Carlo is a small town. Word gets around,” he said, glancing toward the flower-edged steps leading up to the villa. “Have you known Billy for long?”

“Billy?”

“Billy Waleska, the owner.”

“Oh, Billy.” She smiled. “Yes, for quite a while.”

“Then you’re lovers?”

“Lovers?” She wouldn’t know Billy Waleska if he’d popped up on her doorstep with a rose between his teeth and a bottle of champagne in his hands. But that was beside the point. Now wasn’t the time to melt into an embarrassed mound of middle-class mush. This was Europe. More than Europe. This was southern France. “Mr. Marchand—”

“Reese,” he said, his quiet response blending with the soft shushing of the sea.

“Reese.” Tilting her head, she nodded in a way that she prayed made her appear unruffled. Fat chance of that. Smiling, she slid on her glasses. “If it pleases you to think we’re lovers, go right ahead.”

“I’d rather not,” he said, in a way that made her smile disappear and her gaze narrow.

Moving away from him, she headed for the security of her beach chair. Dear Lord, where had she come up with such glib drivel? Damn you, Eugene. What else did you conveniently forget to tell me? Dropping her hat in the sand, she sank down in the striped canvas seat and sighed.

Following her a few seconds later, Reese took something from the tiny waistband pocket of his swim trunks. Squatting in front of her, he placed a small object in her hand.

“You dropped this last night.”

She looked down and saw a pearl resting in the center of her palm. The humiliating moment when she’d lost the pearls and whatever dignity she had left came back to her in one cheek-stinging rush of recognition. “But I thought you’d left. How did you know…?”

“I don’t miss much, Beth,” he said, taking a leisurely inventory of her face and then her body as he stood. “Will you be staying for the season?”

Crossing her legs, she casually rearranged her royal blue, knee-length cover-up across her thighs and shrugged. “If nothing else interests me more, I will,” she said, as she noticed him realize the filmy material was see-through and covered up nothing.

His gaze lingered over her, making her feel as closed in as that moment she’d been thrust against him last night. Only this time, they were inches away and all alone on a private beach in the middle of a sun-drenched morning. She squirmed in the chair. The scent of roses and the sea were mixing in the steamy atmosphere surrounding them. What happened to that lovely breeze just minutes ago? She was positively melting.

He smiled.

She melted a little more.

He leaned close and a drop of water fell from his chest and plopped on her knee. For a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. For a crazier moment, she wanted him to.

“Mind if I use your phone?” he asked, reaching into the canvas bag beside her.

“Not at all,” she said, but he’d already clicked it on and was punching out the numbers.

While he stood next to her, waiting for his party to answer, she stared at her toes, half buried in the sand. Men like Reese and moments like these only existed in James Bond movies. Didn’t they? She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. Shoving her toes deeper into the sand, she tried putting his surprise visit into perspective, but making sense of the last few minutes wasn’t easy. She had serious business to attend to, yet here she was dressed in a scandalously small thong bikini, listening to a drop-dead handsome man having a conversation in French on her cellular phone, and she was on the verge of having a full-blown fit of nervous laughter. This was unreal. What would her sister think of her lazing on this beach below her very own villa next to…him? Sliding her sunglasses down her nose, she glanced up at Reese, then shook her head. Teddy would definitely eat this with a silver spoon.

Leaning back in the chair, Beth laced her fingers across her middle and pretended to relax, while Reese continued his conversation. By the time he dropped the phone in the bag, she was certain she had herself under control again.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes. They’re expecting us for dinner at ten tonight.”

“They? Us?” Grasping the arms of her beach chair, she planted her feet flat in the sand. “Dinner?” Twisting her head to look up at him, she hadn’t realized he was already moving away. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t think I came all the way over here just to deliver your pearl?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I assumed that was a random act of kindness.”

“Not when I was delivering it to someone as senselessly beautiful as you are.”

“You know, you are a little presumptuous.”

“Sooner or later one of us had to be, Beth. I’ll pick you up at your front door at nine,” he said, sloshing back into the water.

She was on her feet and running after him. “Hold on.”

“Can’t. I have a tennis match in half an hour.” He kept on walking away, his powerful legs stirring the water into a churning froth of bubbles.

“What makes you think I’m going out with you tonight?”

“Because we have so much to talk about,” he said, raising his voice for her to hear.

“Is that so? Like what?” she shouted as she waded in ankle-deep.

“Like why you’ve been following me around town for the past four days,” he said, before diving beneath the surface.

After several well-aimed spritzes, Beth thunked the crystal perfume atomizer onto the vanity, then leveled a warning look at the mirror. Under no circumstances was she allowing Reese Marchand to get under her skin again. The humiliating moment at the casino when she’d panicked at his touch should have been lesson enough. Obviously it wasn’t, or he wouldn’t have been able to catch her off-guard at the beach this morning and then make matters worse by leaving her standing there slack jawed and speechless a few minutes later.

“You’re not seven years old anymore,” she murmured as she reached for the gold watch beside the perfume. Her heart fluttered as she noted the time. Reese Marchand was due in five minutes, and she was going to be just fine. Snapping on the watch, she centered the mother-of-pearl face on her wrist, then fingered the bracelet-styled band. Expensive but understated, the watch, like the rest of the jewelry Eugene Sprague sent with her, was exquisite. When she caught the beginning of her smile in the mirror, she dropped her hands to her sides and glared at her reflection. “This is not your first visit to the county fair, Beth. This is work.”

Grabbing her evening bag from the vanity, she hesitated before starting toward the front hall of the villa. Her work clothes never looked like this. Staring into the mirror again, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. She owned evening clothes, too, but they were all bought off the sale racks, for crowded campaign banquets and stuffy receptions. None of those clothes made her look and feel this way. This sexy. This powerful.

Mesmerized by her new image, she slowly traced the swells of her breasts above the plunging neckline of the designer dress. Turning around, she looked over her shoulder at the way the dress flattered her slender curves. The simple white lace number with the saucy kick pleat sent out sixty different messages. Demure, devastating, capable, sweet, sophisticated, ready…the list went on. All Reese Marchand had to understand was one message—she’d dressed with him in mind.