Taste of Love: A Romance Sampler

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  Sandy checked that all her buttons were buttoned, then reached for the door handle. She managed to close her fingers all the way around the brass lever before withdrawing them. She stared down at the floor, then took an extraordinary amount of time straightening the corner of the throw rug with her toe. Her hesitant manner was beginning to irritate her.

  "For goodness' sake," she chided herself. This wasn't the end of the world. If she couldn't remember undressing for bed last night, then there could be only one explanation. Alex had been the one to remove her clothes, dress her in her diaphanous negligee, and tuck her into bed. Circumstances had necessitated those actions, and if she mentioned them at all to Alex, or if he did to her, she would thank him for his efforts. After all, it couldn't be much fun undressing dead weight. Could it?

  Saying a silent prayer that her cheeks weren't flaming, she flipped a lock of hair behind her ear and opened the door. It took her a few minutes to find the kitchen, but the search turned out to be pleasant and revealing. The rambling house was inviting in its fashionably rustic simplicity. Large and small flokatis and woven rugs were scattered around the marble and wood floors of the sun-filled rooms. Unlike the fragile antiques she'd lived with, Alex's furniture looked comfortable and indestructible. The only thing in common with her home in Atlanta was the choice of fine-quality appointments.

  "Alex?" Her voice echoed off the thickly plastered walls, timbered supports and ceilings, and colorful Grecian tiles. When he didn't answer, she gave up her house search and stepped out onto the patio. The remains of his breakfast were still on the table there, along with a place setting, presumably for her. As she drank a glass of orange juice, she looked around the patio, hoping to keep her mind off last night. This part of the house jutted close to the cliff and the towering rock formations rising straight up from the: shore. At the far end of the spacious patio was a bright blue railing, with an entrance to a set of steps leading down to the sea. Picking up a piece of toast, she went to the top of the steps and started down.

  Halfway down and past a dogleg turn, she saw the thick crescent of sand hugging the sparkling Aegean. The sun was already high in a cloudless blue sky, its reflections a scattering of broken gold glass on the aquamarine water. She wanted to set up her easel and capture the breathtaking scene:

  Towering rocks and cloudless sky, the soft beige beach and jewel toned-water... and Alex as he broke through the surface....

  The artist inside her appreciated the unique quality of the light bouncing around the little cove, but the woman inside centered her appreciation on the way it played on Alex. Sinking slowly to the steps, she welcomed in the details. He was standing waist-deep in the water and facing away from her. Sandy propped her good arm on her knee and leaned her chin into the cup of her hand. The definition of his muscles and the straight indentation of his spine were enough to inspire any artist, but something else set him apart. Rivulets of water cascaded from his hair and down over his shoulders and arms and back. Water and sun worked together, glazing him in a glorious gold light. When he reached up to rest his hands on his head, the muscle definition in his back and shoulders begged to be reproduced by her paintbrushes. Suddenly he leaned sideways and into the water, disappearing for a long time, then breaking through the sun-dappled surface again.

  His boyish antics had brought him closer to shore this time.

  It would be just a matter of seconds before he saw her... spying on him. Jumping to her feet, she waved and shouted his name. "Good morning!"

  Soon he was waving too. "How's the wrist?" he shouted.

  Holding up her hand for him to wait until she joined him, she climbed down the rest of the steps and crossed the sand to the water's edge.

  "My wrist is fine."

  "Did that pillow help? I thought you'd be less likely to roll over if I propped up your wrist."

  So he had undressed her. An uncomfortable silence hung between them. She licked nervously at her lips, then decided to get it over with. "Yes, that pillow did the trick. Thank you for, uh, getting me to bed last night."

  He rubbed water from his mouth, then shrugged. "Don't you remember? My housekeeper did that. I just propped your wrist."

  "Your housekeeper? Oh, yes, of course I remember."

  He was giving her a doubtful look that was slowly turning into a knowing smile. She had to change the subject. Now.

  "How's the water this morning?"

  "Would you believe, it's cold at first, but once you're in—"

  "—it warms right up," she said along with him.

  Her gaze drifted lower. The gentle waves lapping at his stomach soon had a hypnotic effect on her. Starting at his breastbone, thin arrowheads of wet hair ran down his stomach and disappeared into a dark blond whorl around his navel. After each breaking lap, she noticed, the arrowheads-continued lower.

  "Sandy?"

  She looked up to catch a curious grin growing on his face.

  "Yes?"

  He urged her toward him. "Come on in." He made it sound like a reasonable suggestion. Something close to "Have a seat."

  Opening her arms, she looked down at her clothes, then back to him.

  He tasked in disapproval. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

  "But I'm not wearing my suit."

  "No problem. Neither am I."

  She fixed her eyes on the horizon over his right shoulder. "I—I knew that." Flustered, she quickly lowered her gaze to her splint. "It's my wrist."

  He pushed forward in the water. "Well, if you came all the way down here, I guess I'll have to have a look. I thought you said it was fine."

  She took a step sideways." The splint's come loose. I mean, I don't want to get it wet. You don't have to come out now." Her words ran together like stampeding horses, but Alex reached the finish line first. Churning up a screen of white water with both his hands, he was out of the water and standing beside her before she could catch her breath. He'd splashed her from head to toe, and when she stopped blinking, she stared at him in disbelief. Hanging dangerously low on his hips was a pair of green-and-blue swim trunks. "You tricked me!"

  He slipped his thumbs inside the waistband and began lowering the wet trunks. "Never let it be said Alex Stoner tricked a lady."

  "Don't you dare."

  He took them down another half inch.

  She backed up. "Stop that!"

  He did, but only to peruse her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "You knew I wasn't wearing a suit, did you?" he asked, waving a scolding finger at her.

  Relieved that he'd pulled the waistband back to its proper place, she let down her guard. "At first I thought you had, but... well... that's beside the point! You led me to believe you weren't."

  "Are you always so trusting?"

  She picked at the Velcro fasteners on her splint. Back in Atlanta no one would dare bother her—Jackson's widow, Patterson's daughter, the garden-club artist—with such picayune antics.

  "Not going to tell me?" Picking up his towel from a nearby rock, he began rubbing his chest. "Truth is, I usually don't wear anything in the water. I wore these because I wasn't sure how you'd take my libertine lifestyle if you happened to find your way down here this morning." He finished drying, then knotted the towel around his waist and moved closer. Taking the splinted wrist in his hands, he began a readjustment of the fasteners. "How's that? Too tight? Wave your fingers."

  She waved her fingers. "No. It feels better now. Thank you."

  "Sandy?"

  He was still holding her splint, his fingertips cool and soothing against her sun-warmed hand. She raised her eyes without raising her head. His lashes were spiked with water, he needed a shave, and his eyes were still brimming with boyish mischief. He took her breath away.

  "Wondering what it's like without your suit?"

  "No." But she was.

  "Yes, you are. Everyone wonders at one time or another."

  Her eyes were locked with his as he continued.

  "This is
my beach. My private beach. No one gets onto this beach unless it's through my property up there. I can see a boat approaching for miles. Do you understand why I'm telling you this?"

  She shook her head.

  "If you stay here long enough, your inhibitions will drop out of sight, like stones pitched in the sea."

  "I don't think so," she whispered.

  "It's true, Sandy. Most people on this island swim nude. Sooner or later you'll look at them and start to think about it. About how it feels. All that water flowing over you, being one with the sea. It's exhilarating. Almost spiritual." He leaned closer, his voice low and inviting. Frighteningly inviting. "It's some kind of wonderful."

  He wasn't teasing anymore. He meant every word of it. "Alex, I've never taken my clothes off in public, and I don't intend to start now."

  "Like I said, this isn't public. It's private."

  He kept on smiling. Waiting. Challenging her to cross a line she'd been taught never to cross. She looked up at the surrounding walls of rocks, then at the aquamarine water turning to a frothy line at her feet. And Alex's. There were certain things good girls just didn't do. Withdrawing her hand, she stepped away from him. "Never. Not in your lifetime or mine."