“Detroit area. Ann Arbor.”

“Ann Arbor.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “And what are you doing, all the way down south?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

He takes a sip from his wine. “The owners… were people I knew.”

“Were?”

He winces. “Are.”

I stop poking at my cooling lasagna and drink some more wine. It’s fruity and fresh, gliding easily down my throat. “Family friends, then.”

“Something like that.”

He keeps saying that. Whatever it means. “Who are the owners?”

“You sure are curious.”

“So are you.”

He chuckles, but that flash of fear and pain crosses his face again. A wince. A tightening of his mouth. “The Jordans.”

Jordans. I feel like I’m supposed to know the name. Then again… Rich people. Their lives must be splashed all over the tabloids.

“So you’re housesitting and fixing stuff? Like the hedge?”

“I like fixing stuff.” He tilts his head to the side, studying me, as if I’m something he can fix, too.

But he can’t. He can’t fix my past, or my present.

Two million dollars. The sum flashes in my mind erratically, like a broken shop sign. Holy shit. Who could pay that back? My only way to survive is running and hiding.

Forever—if I’m lucky and they don’t kill me to make an example out of me.

“I gotta go,” I say, and push my chair back. “Thank you for the dinner. It was great.”

His eyes are on me, and I see a shadow pass through their blue depths. It looks an awful lot like sadness, and my breath catches.

Then it’s gone, and his brows lift. “No dessert?”

I lick my lips as I take a step away. He looks like dessert, with his dark hair tousled and all that gorgeous muscled body slumped back in the chair.

Bad, bad idea. “No… Thanks.”

He nods. “Then I’ll walk you out.”

***

Tripping over my own feet in my haste, I cross the living room and step out of the house, onto the patio. He follows, his bare feet whispering on the tiles. The blue light from the Olympic pool floods the air. I rush around its rim, my breathing echoing in my ears.

“Ray,” he calls out from behind me. “Raylin.”

I don’t want to turn around and see him. If I do, I may not leave. I may stay, and then all bets are off.

“I’m sorry!” I shout over my shoulder. “I have no manners, I know. Dinner was delicious. Thank you!”

“Slow down.”

“No, sorry. I have things to do. Dishes to wash. Cans to check for expiration dates. You know. Important stuff.”

“Hey, Cinderella. Your sandals.”

Oh shit. I turn around slowly, cursing myself. “Um… thanks?”

They’re dangling from his fingers. He’s stalking toward me, a slight limp to his gait I never noticed before. A crooked smirk pulls at his lips, his eyes twinkle at me, and I lose my train of thought.

God…

See, I knew this would happen if I turned. Butterflies somersault in my stomach, my mouth is dry and my pulse is beating everywhere—at the base of my throat, in my wrists, between my legs. I need something, I need him, and my hands clench helplessly at my sides.

He comes to stand in front of me, and I want him to kiss me. I want to taste his mouth and kiss my way up that square jaw, wrap my arms around him, feel the power in his body.

I gasp when he goes down to his knees and taps on my foot. “Lift.”

Automatically I lift my foot, and he growls in the back of his throat, startling me.

“Good girl,” he says as he pulls my sandal on, then lowers my foot, his fingers trailing over the arch, stroking. Sparkling pleasure shoots up my leg to settle where I’m burning. “Now the other.”

My mind blank, his scent wrapping around me like a vine, I lift my foot, and this time he takes his time, massaging the sole with strong fingertips before slipping the sandal on.

He glances up at me, the heat in his gaze scorching. He wraps his hands around my ankles, and I suck in a sharp breath as he runs his palms up, under my dress, the calluses on his palms catching on my skin.

He stops right at the edge of my panties and licks his lips.

What is he going to do? I want to ask him, but then I’m afraid he’ll stop. I don’t want him to stop. His touch is electrifying.

“Ray…” The rasp in his voice is stronger, his eyes darker. His thumbs dip under the elastic, under the thin cotton—

He grabs my hips and pulls me down, onto his lap.

I squeal, flailing, my knees folding. His hands support me, easily lowering me on top of his thighs where he’s kneeling by the pool, then move up to my waist, steadying me.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I hold on for dear life, waiting for my heart to stop hammering. “You’re crazy.”

He grins, a slow, lazy grin that robs what little breath I have left in my lungs. “And you’re beautiful.”

Beautiful. He finds me beautiful, I think, and then his mouth is on mine, soft and warm, salty and sweet and spiced with his scent. I part my lips for him and his tongue thrusts inside, stroking me. I moan, sinking my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, like I’ve been wanting to do since I met him, and it’s softer than I imagined.

Spun silk, wisp of cloud.

He tastes of wine and male, dark and heady. His lips move over mine, and I can’t get enough. My fingers tighten in his hair and he groans, his hands dropping to my ass, pressing me to him.

To the hard-on bulging in his pants, its thick ridge rubbing through my soaked panties, sending jolts to the core of me.

I break the kiss because my oxygen is running out, and he chases after my mouth, nipping at my lips. He’s breathing hard, eyes heavy-lidded, his solid chest pressing into my breasts, and his hands slide under my dress again, tugging on my panties. Cool air rushes between my legs, and I shiver.

His thumbs stroke up, parting my folds, striking me with need.

“Storm…” My breathing is coming fast and hard, my hands kneading the thick muscles in the back of his neck.

“Stop thinking,” he whispers. “Hold on to me.”

I start to shake my head, my legs tensing to get up.

He peers up at me through dark lashes as he pushes a finger into me. I shudder, my whole body shaking at the intrusion. The pressure inside me ratchets up, and I can’t think or move. He strokes me, his thumb sliding up and down over my clit, while he adds another finger into me, working me deep and hard.

Oh God. I’m going to come. Straddling him, his fingers inside me, with the tang of the sea and him filling my senses, the feel of his muscular body pressed to mine…

Pleasure spikes down my spine, and I start to shatter, my hands clawing at his back.

“Kiss me,” he says, his breath hot against my neck. “Kiss me, Ray.”

I dip my head, and he bites at my lips, drawing me down until his mouth covers mine. He parts my lips with his tongue and licks at my mouth, making me moan. It’s so hot, I tangle my tongue with his.

It’s his turn to groan, and he presses deeper into me, stroking into me with his callused fingers. My hips roll, taking him in, and I gasp in his mouth—or he gasps in mine, not sure which—as the pressure crests and breaks, gripping my body in an earth-shattering orgasm.

I tremble as one of his hands comes up to grip my hip, keeping me from toppling over, my pussy clenching so hard I see stars. His kiss turns soft and slow, his lips moving lightly against mine, letting me draw breath.

But he doesn’t withdraw his fingers until the last spasm has eased and the last wisp of pleasure has faded, leaving me boneless in his arms.

He lowers me back to his lap, where he’s still thick and long, pressing into my throbbing folds through the thin barrier of cloth.

And I panic. I scramble off him, registering for a second his startled expression, then I’m off and running to the gate, letting myself out. I run down the beach, not caring one bit about the sand in my sandals and the burning building behind my eyes.