Vows of Revenge. Dani Collins

fresh start. And you’ve inspired me now with your talk of telecommuting. Tell me how you manage it. Ingrid said you’re a global company, so I assume you travel a lot? I expect I will, too, as I become more established. What are the pitfalls and best practices?”

      She was very smooth in her way of bringing the conversation back to his business. He had to admire her for her dogged stealth.

      “The happy couple is returning,” he noted, avoiding answering by directing her attention to where Ingrid and Huxley had stopped at the far end of the pool, admiring the view of the beach.

      Ingrid glanced at him, and he inferred that a consultation was requested.

      He stood and held Melodie’s chair, getting another eyeful of her breasts, not intentionally, but he was a man and they were right there.

      Her sultry cloud of scent filled his nostrils, imprinting him with the image of marble and turquoise and sunlight off dishes so he would never forget this moment of standing here, her lithe frame straightening before him. She had a slender waist and hips he longed to grip so he could press forward, bend her to his will, cover and possess. He had to school himself against setting a proprietary hand on her back as they moved to where the bride and groom were debating logistics.

      What the hell was it about her?

      She moved with remarkable grace, he noted. Not so much skinny as long limbed. A thoroughbred. Not a mutt like he was. If he didn’t have so much contempt for her bloodline, he might have questioned whether he was good enough for her.

      Instead, he was the one with ethics while her sort wore an air of superiority that was only a surface veneer of respectability provided by old money. Perhaps she wasn’t overt about thinking herself better than those around her, not the way her father had been, and perhaps she didn’t act entitled, but she was among her own with Ingrid and Huxley. She took it for granted she was accepted. He couldn’t help but appreciate that confidence.

      “Would the guests moor here overnight?” Huxley asked.

      “That’s up to Mr. Killian,” Melodie deferred, turning to him.

      “Roman, please,” he said drily. She could use his first name until he made his position clear, which would be about five minutes from now. “There’s a shoal to be wary of,” he said to Huxley, stepping forward so he could point.

      He was fully aware of Melodie’s proximity to his own. He had no intention of bumping her, though, and actually reached out absently to ensure he didn’t.

      Melodie was the one who recoiled in surprise, taking a hasty step backward.

      He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, heard her squeak of shock and snatched again, more deliberately.

      She was already tipping backward. He missed her, tried again. Their fingertips brushed, but he failed to catch her. Her face pulled into a cringe as she fell backward into the deep end of the pool. Roman stepped back from the splash and stared at her one shoe caught in the grate.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ONCE MELODIE REALIZED her fall was inevitable, she let it happen, only splaying out her arms and holding her breath. Above her, through the rippled water, three blurry faces stared. Roman was throwing off his jacket and looking as if he might dive in.

      She let herself sink, waiting until her foot tapped the bottom, then kicked herself back to the surface.

      What an idiotic thing to do!

      But that damned Roman had been throwing her for a complete loop, being all masculine and sexy, sending mixed messages of lust and disapproval, hovering next to her like a raptor, smelling tangy and male. She’d been standing next to him, admiring his build, thinking his voice was too hypnotic, when he’d reached toward her as if he knew she was there, as if he was a lover searching for the hand of his mate.

      Her reaction had been startled fear that she’d betray how thoroughly he was affecting her if he touched her. She’d jerked back and...

      “Pah!” she spat as she came up for air. “You might want to change the design of that grate before the wedding. Either that or we advise all the women to skip the stilettoes and wear flip-flops.”

      Ingrid and Huxley laughed unreservedly. Roman wore a more severe look.

      It wasn’t easy to tread water in a narrow skirt. Her second shoe came off as she kicked toward the edge.

      Roman squatted as she reached for the lip of the pool. His strong hand grasped her forearm, dragging her closer whether she wanted his help or not. His other hand got hold of her opposite arm and he pulled her up and out of the pool as though she was a teensy ballerina, not a five-foot-ten mermaid pushing a hundred and thirty pounds. Soaking wet, she added with a private cringe.

      Water sluiced off her, and she rather wished he had let her take stock before landing her in front of him, dripping and plastered with wet clothes, not a single thing left to the imagination. Her makeup had to be running and— Okay, good. Her pearls were still here, but seriously. She felt absurd.

      She crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples hardened and risked a quick sweep of her gaze around the faces goggling at her. Ingrid was still snickering, hand cupped over her mouth while her eyes danced with laughter.

      “What on earth, Mel?” she asked.

      “You left your shoe on the bottom, Cinderella,” Huxley teased, moving to where a large net lay against the low garden wall.

      “I can’t believe I did that,” Melodie grumbled, mortified but able to laugh at herself. It was so ludicrous.

      Roman didn’t seem to think it was funny, though. He was staring at her so hard her wet clothes should have been nuked off her body.

      “May I have a towel?” she prompted.

      “Of course.” He snapped into motion.

      “Oh! I have a bathing suit you can wear,” Ingrid exclaimed. “I bought it yesterday and left it in my bag.” She disappeared into the house and Melodie shook her head. It was far too late for swimwear.

      She followed Roman into the nearby cabana where he turned with a towel in his hand. His gaze raked down her again, making her acutely aware of how her clothes were suctioned to her like a second skin. She plucked at her knit top, which only stretched the neckline and ruined it.

      Roman came forward, shaking out the towel and slinging it around her. He was so tall it was no problem at all for him to get it around her.

      Her heart did another somersault and his musky scent stole through the air of chlorine as his wide chest filled her vision. Weakness attacked her.

      “I—” It would be silly to apologize. She hadn’t fallen on purpose, but he looked so thunderous. “Thank you” was all she could manage as he drew the edges of the towel to where her waiting fingers brushed his.

      “When you sank like that, I thought I was going to have to come in after you.”

      “It was quite refreshing, to be honest. I needed to cool off.”

      She shouldn’t have said that. The sexual tension she was fighting became something they both had to acknowledge, like it was a real thing holding them in its vortex.

      She found herself staring at his mouth, anticipating its feel against hers. Kisses were about as far as she went these days after losing her virginity for all the wrong reasons. Even kisses, however, always seemed to fall short of the hype. She always felt as though she was going through the motions, not really losing herself to the experience. If she couldn’t get caught up in that much, there was no use going further, she’d decided.

      But she remained ever hopeful that she’d find a man who made things different. Today, at least, she wanted to be kissed. Deep longing filled her, making her ache to know how it would feel to kiss the man before