"Don't call me " She trailed off. What was the point? "Coffee," she prompted.
His lips quirked, but he reached across, his arm brushing the side of her breast. He poured a mug of steaming coffee, added cream and sugar, and handed it to her. As she breathed in the rich scent, the rest of the tension drained away. The pain was seeping away as well, and for a moment, she felt at peace. Ignoring the man beside her, she closed her eyes and sipped her drink.
She didn't open her eyes even when the mug was empty, and he took it from her fingers. She felt suspended in time.
"How's the leg?" he asked, interrupting her pleasant interlude.
"Fine."
"Why don't you swim?"
"Swim?"
"You know, in the pool, to exercise your leg."
"My physio did recommend it but " She shrugged. "I'm not a guest here, and I didn't want to intrude."
"You won't. It's a big pool."
His hard hand came down on her thigh, and she nearly jumped. She forced herself to relax and not move as he rubbed over the tight muscles.
The touch was gentle at first. And felt so good, her lids drifted closed. How long had it been since someone, other than a doctor or therapist, had actually touched her? And this was purely medicinal after all. She had an idea she was deluding herself, but all the same she settled back into the cushions. His strong fingers kneaded the tense muscle, and she swallowed the groan.
"Does that hurt?"
"No."
She hardly noticed when the nature of his touch changed. Instead of massaging, his fingers stroked. First over the top of her thigh, then up the inner seam of her sweatpants from her knee to she held her breath nowhere near enough.
What the hell was she thinking? But she couldn't move. A warm, heavy weight was building low down in her belly. He trailed his fingertips over her hip until they reached the bare skin between her pants and her top. She tingled everywhere he touched. A finger dipped into her belly button, and she felt the touch between her thighs, warm liquid heat flooding her.
One hand cupped her breast. He paused, but when she didn't react, he ran the pad of his thumb over the nipple then pinched it between his finger and thumb. A jolt ran through her from her breast to her groin. Her back arched, and her lashes fluttered open. His face was close, so close she could see the golden stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. He was going to kiss her, and she didn't dare move. In case he did, or in case he didn't. She wasn't sure.
The moment stretched out between them. Then he dropped a quick kiss on her lips, removed his hand, and pushed himself away from her. He rose to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared down at her.
"I'm going for a swim," he said, a vaguely rueful expression in his eyes. "Have some more coffee. Stay as long as you like."
He strode away from her and out the glass doors. A minute later, she heard a splash.
This time when she peeked at her breasts, she could clearly see her traitorous nipples pressing against the thin Lycra.
Fuck.
So much for staying away from the boss.
The water wasn't anywhere near cold enough to douse his erection. He swam a fast crawl back and forth until his body regained some semblance of control and the blood retreated from his dick back into his brain. And he could think again.
How the hell did such a tiny woman have such a profound effect on him?
And what the hell had just happened?
He'd had her, literally in the palm of his hand. And he'd backed off.
Was he turning all noble as well as protective?
Christ, he hoped not.
Chapter Five
The sun was rising out beyond the edge of the sea, a huge red ball coloring the sky orange like some exotic cocktail. Dani slid into the water. Still warm from the previous day, it felt like silk against her skin.
This was the fifth morning she'd been swimming and so far, she'd had the place entirely to herself. Each morning, she waited-her body strung taut-for Zach to show himself, to come on to her. So she could tell him, once and for all, in no uncertain terms, to get lost-she wasn't interested. Then maybe she could relax and the nagging sense of anticipation would leave her.
Instead, Zach had been conspicuous in his absence. And at last, she was beginning to relax.
She dived under the water and swam the length of the pool along the bottom, coming up gasping at the far end. She was out of practice, but each day she pushed herself further, loving the stretch of her strengthening muscles.
She turned and did the slow, almost languid breast stroke advised by her physiotherapist. Back and forth, until she came up against the end of the pool to be faced-at nose level-by a pair of bare brown feet. The toes were long and golden, the toenails in better shape than hers. She grimaced then raised her eyes slowly up the length of his body. He was wearing a pair of cream drawstring trousers and nothing else. His belly was almost concave and ridged with muscle, his chest tanned and golden furred, the hair narrowing into a line that ran from the neat indentation of his navel to disappear where his trousers hung low on the jut of his hipbones.
Warmth stole slowly across her body, making the water feel cool by comparison, and she blinked, forcing herself to look higher. His hair was tousled, as though he had just risen from bed, and his sleepy eyes were smiling.
She turned abruptly and dived under the water, trying to cool her heated skin and think up a plan for a dignified retreat.
But she hesitated, because while falling in love and living happily ever after wasn't on her agenda, she wanted what Zach was offering. Desperately.
Besides, she was one hundred percent certain that, whatever Zach offered, it wouldn't include forever. This would be purely sex.
Hot, sweaty, wild sex.
And sex with Zach was something she hadn't been able to drag her mind from since she'd first spotted him naked.
But he was still her employer. Ethically, he was out of bounds.
Also, she didn't trust this man. He was toying with her. She wasn't his type, wasn't anywhere near it, so what were his motives?
When she surfaced, he was still standing there, and he reached to help her out. She stretched up and her hand was engulfed in his larger one, his palm hard and warm. He pulled her from the water with ease and set her on her feet in front of him.
She stared down at the ground but could feel his eyes wandering over her small form in its modest black swimsuit, lingering on the scars that wound around her left thigh.
"You weigh next to nothing," he commented.
"I lost weight after the accident, but I'm putting it back on now. You might not believe it, but I actually eat like a horse."
"So I've heard. Well, a pasta-and-ice-cream-eating horse anyway."
"Gary and Simon again, I presume."
"They do seem to like to talk about you." He strolled around her, paused at her back. "You have a tattoo?"
"So?" She shrugged. "It was a dare from some of the guys."
"Do you always do what people dare you?" His fingers traced the pattern on her shoulder and a prickle ran over her skin. The tattoo was of a paw print-she'd thought it was appropriate.
"It suits you." He came back to stand in front of her, then picked up a large white towel and handed it to her. "Here, dry off. I thought we could talk."
"It's too early to talk," she muttered but took the towel and blotted her hair and body dry before sitting awkwardly on one of the striped poolside loungers.
"You woke me," he said. "My bedroom is just there." He pointed to a set of French windows directly above the pool.
She didn't want to think about Zach in bed. "I'm sorry."
"You don't sound it. I was having the most amazing dream, and you woke me right at the interesting part, so you owe me something now."
She sniffed. "I have absolutely no intention of entertaining you."
But she spread out the towel and lay back on the lounger. She didn't bother to cover up; perhaps if he saw her in all her scrawny glory, scars and everything, he would lay off. She couldn't even begin to compare to the voluptuous blonde she had first seen him with. She bent her left leg at the knee, almost displaying the scar, but he just looked down at her and grinned.
"Think a little thing like that is going to put me off?" he asked.
Yes, she had. It was almost as if he had the ability to read her mind. Damn him. "It's hardly little."
He took a seat on the lounge chair next to her, turning to examine her leg closely.
Strangely, she found she didn't mind. In her experience, most people, when faced with the physical evidence of someone else's suffering, tried their best to ignore it; it was refreshing to find honest interest.
She watched, mesmerized, as those long fingers with their blunt, manicured nails reached out and glided over the pattern of scars that twisted around her thigh. The skin burned where he touched, and she had an almost overwhelming urge to lie back and enjoy the rare contact with another human being. She had a strange inkling of what she had been missing by cutting herself off from physical contact. She'd held herself aloof for so long until it had become second nature, and now she felt the lack almost like a pain in her chest.
Then his fingers stroked smoothly, surely over the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and she closed her eyes and stopped thinking entirely. Long moments later, the movement ceased. She sighed and reluctantly raised her heavy lids to look up at him. His eyes glowed dark gold as they stared down at her. Thankfully, there was no pity reflected in their direct gaze, only some emotion she was reluctant to analyze.