Give a Little (13 page)

She ducked under the water and surfaced just three feet away or so. The tile in the pool was dark, so even though the water was lit, Rowdy could only make out a faint outline of her body. Thank goodness—otherwise he wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all.

He didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she squeezed the water from her hair and said, “There was a little town close to the country house, and I met a local there one summer.”

“And Daddy didn’t approve,” Rowdy said, guessing how this story was going to end.

Jasmine faced him. “When Daddy found out about Kevin, he paid him to go away.”

“Ouch.” He winced.

“I was barely eighteen, and it’d been the first time I’d been in love. I thought he and I would get married and have two kids and a dog and grow old together.” She sighed, floating over to his side. “You must think I’m silly.”

“No.” He shook his head and said softly, “I feel sad that you were hurt that way.”

She studied him, her gaze as unfathomable as the water surrounding them. Then she drifted closer and kissed him.

The touch of her lips startled him. He stared at her, his fingers gripping the sides of the pool so he wouldn’t instinctively grab her naked form.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she whispered against his lips.

The water buoyed her into him, so he felt her slide against his arm. The big boy down under reared up, ready to get off the sidelines and into the game.

He opened his mouth and tasted her—one lick, he told himself, and then he’d go back to being a gentleman.

One lick turned into a skirmish of lips and tongues. She hummed and moved closer to him.

He eased back, putting space between them. But not even that was enough, so he did a couple laps, until he had his parts all back under his control, before he came back to the side of the pool.

She pouted at him. “You didn’t like?”

“If I showed you how much I liked it, you’d have run.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you mean that?”

“Sugar, you want me to show you?”

She glanced down at the water, where the big boy was starting to get interested again. “Maybe.”

He groaned. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, and you’re making it hard. Literally.”

“I never asked you to be a gentleman,” she retorted, floating up so the water ebbed occasionally from her nipples. “And you’re the one who asked me to go skinny-dipping. You must have thought we might do more than just swim.”

“Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better.”

“Uh-huh,” she said with a disbelieving roll of her eyes.

“I feel so misunderstood.” He adopted a serious face and pantomimed a notebook and pen for notes. “Ms. Hayes, what’s your favorite book?”

“Seriously?” she asked, treading the water.

“Seriously.” He nodded. “I want to know you.”

She looked stunned by that.

Had no one ever cared enough to ask her these questions? That was going to change. He narrowed his eyes. “Favorite book, Hayes.”

She backed up to the edge of the pool, away from him, her arms out as if she needed the support of the ledge. “I can’t name just one.”

“Your top five then.”

“
The Light Bearer
,
Nobody’s Baby But Mine
, anything by David Eddings,
The Count of Monte Cristo
, and the Lymond series.” She pursed her lips. “Although there are six books in the series so I’m not sure that counts.”

“You really do love to read.”

“Have you ever seen
Sabrina
? The modern one?”

“Don’t think so.”

“The family’s chauffeur in the movie took the job because what he wanted most in the world was to read, and driving gave him that luxury.” She smiled softly. “I always loved that.”

“If you love books so much, do you ever want to write one?”

“No.”

Rowdy blinked. “That was fast. You didn’t even think about it.”

“I don’t have to. I think if it became my job, I’d get less pleasure out of it.” She looked at him curiously. “You don’t feel that way about rugby?”

“Nah. I could play rugby all day. But running around in shorts with a bunch of guys isn’t challenging the way I imagine writing a book is.”

“I don’t know.” She smiled crookedly. “I think it’d be fairly challenging.”

He laughed picturing her playing rugby. “Sugar, if you were out there with the boys, running around in short-shorts, you’d be surprised how easy it’d be, because the guys would just stop and stare at your gorgeousness strutting by.”

She laughed.

The husky sound of her pleasure gripped him low. He cleared his throat, shifting his focus before things got out of hand. “Okay, another question. If there was one author you could have tea with, who would it be?”

“Dead or alive?”

“You have a time machine, so either.”

She raised her brows. “Fancy. I think Chaucer.”

“Really?” He widened his eyes. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Chaucer had a bawdy wit. I think he’d have been fun to chat with.” She tipped her head. “Like you.”

“You think I have a bawdy wit?” He puffed up his chest. “I’m totally putting that on my business cards.
Rowdy Stimson, Bawdy Wit
.”

She laughed again.

Crikey he loved that sound. “Favorite vegetable,” he blurted. He shrugged when she raised her brow. “Just answer the question.”

“Red bell pepper.”

“Specific. I like that. Favorite city.”

“London.”

“Favorite position.”

“All of them,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Hubba-hubba.” He fanned himself. “I think I need to take a dip to cool off.”

“You’re already taking a dip,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. “And you haven’t given me a turn.”

He shook his head. “A turn of what?”

“A turn with questions,” she said as though he were dim.

He wrinkled his nose. “You want to ask me questions?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “You ready?”

He was ready for so many things, but he just nodded.

Putting a finger to her lush lips, she pretended to think about it. “Favorite book.”

“
How to Win Friends and Influence People
.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged. “How could I not like a book written about me?”

She shook her head but had a smile on the edges of her mouth. “Favorite city.”

“Auckland,” he said with a nod. “Without a doubt. London is a close second though.”

“Favorite rugby player.”

He raised his brow. “You have to ask?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Me neither.”

“Okay then.” She treaded water, arching back, gaze firmly on his. “Favorite position.”

“All of them.” He swam across to her and took her in his arms. She felt silky and slippery in his arms, and feeling her bare legs entwined with his excited him so he could barely breathe.

Because he had to, he kissed her, taking his time and going deep until she couldn’t breathe either.

He smoothed her hair away from her eyes. “I kind of like you. A lot.”

“Kind of?” Jasmine studied his face. “You aren’t sure?”

“That depends on how you feel.”

The water’s ripple was the only sound in the stillness of the night as she watched him. Finally, she said, “What if I said I kind of liked you a lot, too?”

“I’d ask you on a legit date.” He grinned. “Meaning where there’s no exchange of money or crime committed.”

“Well then.” She tipped her head. “Since you asked me to be your date, will you be mine to a party I have to go to?”

“Will I have to do a striptease?”

She grinned. “Not unless it gets dreadfully dull, which it likely will, because it’s an engagement party. And my father will be there, so—”

“Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” he replied, feeling warm beyond the water. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Bea woke up suddenly, confused, not sure where she was.

Luca’s house in Bologna.

Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her face. She hadn’t slept well.

Correction: She hadn’t slept well after she’d snuck back to her room sometime early in the morning. Before then, she’d slept perfectly well. The only thing that had disturbed her sleep while snuggled in Luca’s arms was his love making.

Morning routine, she told herself. She jumped out of bed to take a cool shower. She immediately felt more herself once she washed away the night and the scent of Luca on her skin. Getting dressed, she went downstairs in search of coffee and to answer emails, even though she’d technically agreed to no work. A woman had to do what she needed to do sometimes.

Her phone rang as she finished making herself a cappuccino with the fancy espresso machine on the kitchen counter. She looked at the screen and answered it since it was Inga. “Hello,” she said softly, taking her cup outside.

“Why are you whispering?” Inga asked.

“I’m not whispering,” she lied as she walked away from the house. The last thing she needed was to wake Luca. She wasn’t ready to see him yet—not until she’d regained her equilibrium.

“You are too whispering,” Inga insisted. “Are you in a church?”

“Why would I be in a church?” She had no intention of telling her assistant that she’d agreed to no work for a week. Likely Inga would have her admitted for psychiatric care. “Is everything all right at the office?”

“Yes. Marcus Sutter left a message for you, and I wanted to make sure you arrived and didn’t need anything.”

She needed her flat and her office and her driver. Maybe a massage, too. “I’m fine.”

“Beatrice!” Luca’s voice called out.

Damn it. She glanced back at the house. “I must go, Inga.”

Her assistant’s voice went sly. “I see.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, but I’m glad someone else is taking care of your needs in my absence.” Chuckling, Inga hung up.

“Cheeky sort,” Bea said, ending the call. She turned around to find Luca in the kitchen threshold, looking like he hadn’t slept any better than she had.

His gaze fell on her mobile, and his expression darkened with disapproval.

It bothered her that he assumed she was working—she could have been on the line with one of her sisters. It also bothered her that he was right, and that he looked like she’d gone back on her word.

His disappointed expression wasn’t the worst thing—the fact that she cared so much that she’d disappointed him was though.

She held on to her mobile, because it was the only thing keeping her from running for high ground. She couldn’t run, she reminded herself. She’d made a deal. She wanted Stallon-E.

Lifting her chin, she marched toward him.

“Where have you been?” he asked as she approached, his voice gravelly.

“Right here.”

“You’re not supposed to use your mobile this week.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know that I was working.”

“Were you working?”

“I was talking to my assistant,” she said defiantly. “And you were asleep. It surely can’t count if you aren’t here.”

He opened his mouth, but then he just shook his head and went back inside.

She glared at his back, hating that he looked frustrated by her. She also hated that she cared. Taking her cup, she went back into the kitchen.

He leaned against the counter near the espresso machine. He looked deliciously casual barefoot with his hair rumpled. He stared at her like he was a cobra preparing to strike.

So she struck first. She set her cup in the sink with a loud clank and then crossed her arms. “You can’t tell me I’m not allowed to use my mobile. We said no work, not no contact with the world.”

He crossed his arms, too. “Are you telling me you hadn’t intended on working this morning?”

“I don’t intend to tell you a thing.”

He ran a hand over his hair and muttered something in Italian.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing.” He discarded his cup in the sink and stalked out of the kitchen, shaking his head.

She took a step to go after him, her hand out, wanting to apologize. She hated that she put that look on his face. She much preferred it when he was playful and charming—when he was happy.

But if she apologized, it’d weaken her position.

Stopping abruptly, she stared after him. One never chased a deal; it made a person look desperate. If Luca thought she was desperate for him, it’d shift the balance of the power in their relationship to him.

She never gave up her power—not since her father had tried to steal hers from her in her youth.

This was Luca’s fault, anyway. She paced back and forth. Why did he have to push her so?

She heard his car roar out of the driveway. Frowning, she hurried to the window in time to see him racing down the street.

Where was he going?

She should have been happy to have time to herself, she paced for a while before she got her mobile out again. If he was going to abandon her, she might as well get things done.

Only she couldn’t focus, so she watched the minutes creep by, wondering when he’d return.

Some time later, he was back in the kitchen, standing in the doorway like a gladiator determined to win. In his arms was a small pile of clothing, and in his eyes there was a glint she didn’t find comfortable at all.

He pushed the clothes at her, so she had no choice but to take them. “You’ll need to put these on.”

She glanced down at the clothes in her arms and then back at him. She didn’t change for Reginald—she’d certainly not going to change for any other man. “Why should I?”

“Because you need to. We’re going for a ride. On my motorcycle.” He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

Something was going on. “What are you up to?”

He raised his hands in the air, as though he could possibly be innocent. “Why do you say that like an accusation? A ride on my bike. That’s all, Beatrice.” He smirked. “Unless you’re afraid.”

She shook her head. “That won’t work.”

“It always works.” He grinned. “In this case, not because you’re being taunted but because you
want
to ride my Monster.”

She arched a brow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”