Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Myles
Z ara, her dark brown gaze on mine, slowly pulls the elastic from her hair, shaking out her ponytail, her hair sliding like silk across her shoulders.
Her pupils dilate, a faint sheen of moisture on her pale skin.
Her lips part slightly as her hands go to the tie at the waist of her dress, the dress I gave her.
I hold my breath, a stirring in my groin.
She undoes the tie, and her lips curve in that way that always makes me want to kiss her.
“Come to me,” she says in her soft voice, beckoning, as her dress falls open.
It catches on her taut nipples, revealing her flat stomach and the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs.
She runs her hands over her breasts, her fingers splayed, then takes them lower, touching her clit, sliding between her legs, her glistening sex, her head going back as the dress slips from her shoulders.
Christ, I’m so hard. My heart pounds as I approach her, reaching out.
I bring her to me and, as I do, I realise I’m also naked.
There’s heat as our bodies touch, but she seems somehow insubstantial, as though the harder I hold her, the more she slips away.
I press her down onto the bed and take her nipples into my mouth, first one and then the other, tonguing the springy peaks until she writhes and moans beneath me, begging for release.
Her arms twine around my neck, her lips against my ear.
“Fuck me, Myles,” she breathes.
I need no more urging. My hand slips between her legs and she’s impossibly wet, open, waiting for me.
I slide inside her, into her heat, and it feels like heaven.
Moaning, she arches her back, pressing her breasts into me, her legs wrapping around me, taking every inch I have to give.
I slam into her, my orgasm building, desire taking over my entire body.
My thrusts quicken and I come like a fucking tidal wave of pleasure, Zara riding it with me, heart to heart. She is everything I’ve ever wanted.
There’s a buzzing noise and I falter. Zara pulls me back to her, but the noise comes again, louder.
And I wake tangled in sticky sheets, sweat beading on my brow, my phone alarm buzzing on the nightstand.
What the hell? I haven’t had a sex dream in years.
A short while later I come out of the shower.
My body still tingles with the memory of the dream, of how real it felt.
Too real, I realise, as I look at the shambles I’ve made of the bed.
I pull the sheets off and take them to rinse in the bathtub before leaving them for housekeeping.
Something about it makes me want to hide what happened. I can clean up my own mess.
I wander out onto the terrace clad only in board shorts, coffee in hand, starting to feel more like myself. I lean on the railing, blowing out a breath.
Then I spot Zara on the beach below. She’s wearing a one-piece swimsuit, dark blue outlining her slender curves, and for a moment the dream comes back to me full blast. Then, as she starts walking into the surf, I realise what she’s doing.
I put the coffee down and run out the door, not bothering to lock it behind me as I race down the stairs towards the beach.
The tide is going out and the currents here are strong.
If she doesn’t know what she’s doing, she could be swept out to sea.
I sprint along the sand, splashing through the surf as I get closer to her.
The pull of the water is intense as the waves retreat from the shore, and I can see her fighting it.
Then she loses her footing and goes under.
Zara
I scream, but the sound is lost in bubbling water. I tumble as though in a washing machine, reaching out for something, anything to hold onto.
And something grabs me.
Not something, someone.
A hand pulls me, then arms come around me, and I’m held tight against a tall hard body.
My rescuer’s chest is bare, lightly dusted with dark hair across his pecs, and the arms around me are strong with muscle.
I wrap my arms around his lean waist and hang on, gasping and coughing and trembling all over.
My rescuer starts moving me back, out of the surf’s pull. I realise he’s talking to me.
“It’s okay, Zara, I’ve got you, you’re safe now.”
Zara? How does he know my name? I claw the strands of ponytail from my eyes and look up, just as he looks down at me. Our mouths almost touch. And I realise, with a spurt of horror, that my rescuer is Myles.
“S-sorry,” I gurgle, mortification washing over me. “I just… I didn’t… thank you.”
“What the hell were you thinking, coming out here by yourself? I would have taken you for a swim if I’d known you wanted to!
” His voice is sharp, but I realise it’s with worry, not with anger.
I’m still pressed against him, his arms wrapped around me, his cheek resting on top of my head.
I feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my life. And more embarrassed.
I’m becoming increasingly aware of my breasts pressed against his bare chest, of a pulse beating between my legs. And I don’t think that’s a phone in his pocket. Oh God. We’re almost out of the water now and I push at him, wanting him to let go.
He releases me, but his hands linger on my waist. His grey eyes look down and widen slightly.
I look down as well. Oh, dear god. I’m going to die here, just drop dead from utter humiliation. The top of my bathing suit has given way, and I’m essentially topless.
With a gasp I cover my chest, whirling from him. Heat floods my entire body. I consider going back into the ocean and letting the waves pull me to anywhere, as long as it isn’t here. I will never live this down.
“Zara, it’s okay.” There’s laughter in his voice. How am I ever going to look him in the eye after this? “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”
I keep my arms crossed over my chest as we walk back, while surreptitiously pulling the fabric over me until I’m decent once more.
I glance at Myles. His mouth is all puckered, as though he’s trying not to laugh.
I’m dying of embarrassment. I have no idea what to say to him, or how to salvage this.
What on earth is the protocol for accidentally flashing your boobs at your boss?
Even if I did almost drown? I feel that, professionally speaking, this isn’t something I’ll come back from easily.
Myles guides me up the stairs at the hotel, a hand at my waist. When I dare another glance at him, he looks serious. “You’ve just had a shock. The last thing I need is you fainting and falling down the stairs.”
When we get to my apartment he follows me inside. I stare at him like a frightened rabbit. What does he want now? But he strides past me into the bathroom, and a moment later I hear the hiss of the shower.
“Go on, get in,” he says, back to his curt self as he comes out of the bathroom. “You need to get warm. I’ll make you some tea. How do you take it?”
“Uh, white with one sugar,” I whisper, trying not to stare at his rippling abs, his muscular chest. My teeth are starting to chatter, and I’m shaking.
Maybe he’s right about the shock. I shuffle past him into my bedroom, where I grab a T-shirt and a pair of track pants from the cupboard.
Then I go and step into the blissfully hot shower, all the while aware that Myles, my boss, is just a few feet away while I’m naked.
Despite the fact that we’re separated by several doors and a wall, I feel as exposed as though he’s in the room with me.
Gradually, my trembling subsides and I remember how he held me, how safe I’d felt.
And then how I’d flashed him my boobs.
Oh God. I curl over, hysterical giggles choking me.
Eloise is going to die when I tell her about this.
I cover my mouth, not wanting the sounds to carry.
Finally, my laughing fit ends and I step out of the shower, towel off and slip on my clothes.
They feel as warm and soft as blankets after the sting of salt and sand.
I braid my hair, tying it with an elastic, then head back out into the living area.
Myles is still here, but there’s only one cup of tea, and a plate with a couple of chocolate biscuits, the last of my stash.
“Have these.” His voice sounds oddly strained. “And just sit and rest. I have a meeting to get to, so I’ll check in on you later.”
Before I can say anything he’s gone, the door closing behind him. As I head to the counter and pick up my tea, I realise I forgot to put a bra on under my T-shirt. It’s black, thank God, but my nipples are standing out like cherries under the soft fabric.
What the hell must he think of me?
I sip my tea and eat my biscuits and try not to dissolve into a puddle of shame.