An almighty splash from a few feet away sends a wave of water cascading in my direction. For fuck’s sake. My eyes narrow, then snap to the source.
‘Fuck,’ a woman in an indecently decent white bikini curses.
Fuck is right.
Because that’s all I can think about as my eyes rove over the tiny sculpting Lycra clinging to her womanly curves.
Her eyes are impossible to make out, hidden behind oversized sunglasses, but her face is utterly flawless. Delicate features. Chiselled cheek bones. Full red lips which roll into a pout as she battles to adjust to the temperature of the water.
The sight of her raised nipples sets the air whooshing from my chest.
She isstunning.
I drink in every detail as she glides towards me. Well, towards the bar, I suppose. Confidence rolls from her in undulating waves, and it’s equally as sexy as her long dark glossy locks—the ends of which brush enticingly over the swell of her generous breasts. My greedy eyes roam over them before dropping to her taut, tanned stomach. Her belly button is pierced. The stone glints in the sunlight like a five-carat diamond.
She’s young, there’s no doubt about it, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three.
Yet her body language—her posture, and the way she carries herself screams that she is all woman.
My eyes flick to her left hand. No wedding ring. Well, well.
Is it possible that I’m not the only single ready to mingle at this ridiculously romantic resort? God knows my neglected dick is dancing at the mere prospect.
I sit back and watch as she drops into the seat beside me. She pretends not to notice me—most women do the opposite—but there’s something in the flick of her gaze, the twitch of her mouth, that tells me she clocked me the second she hit the water. She’s playing it cool. I respect that. Hell, I like it more than I should.
She’s probably too young for me. Or she would be, if I was a good man. But I’m not a good man. And I don’t evenpretend to be. I’m the kind of man who sees something he wants and takes it.
And I want her.
I scan the perimeter looking for any sign of a boyfriend—or even a girlfriend, but everyone else is paired up.
I grin into my glass, but it freezes on my face the second she speaks to me.
‘Water ruins whiskey,’ she tuts, pushing her Chanel sunglasses up on top of her head. Striking ebony eyes, framed with thick, long lashes, fall to my drink.
Her accent takes me by surprise—I’d recognise that soft Dublin lilt anywhere. ‘Know a lot about whiskey, do you?’
She huffs out a long low laugh. ‘More than most.’
‘So you’re a fan of the hard stuff?’ I wink, flirtatiously.
I’m rewarded with another infectious bout of laughter. ‘Only when it’s hard, rich, and tastes exquisite.’ Fire dances in her irises.
Blood rushes below as an image of her cherry red lips wrapped around my dick highjacks my head.
‘Is that so?’ I knew this woman was something else the second I laid eyes on her. But in addition to being stunning, she’s sassy, with a smart mouth as well. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ I motion to the barman.
‘Are you offering to buy me a drink? Or are you trying to buy your way into my bikini bottoms?’ She arches a brow.
A deep chortle rumbles at the back of my throat. Busted. ‘Both.’
‘In that case, I think I’m safer getting my own.’ She arches a single eyebrow, smirks, and turns her attention to the barman. ‘An Old Fashioned, please. What kind of whisky do you have?’
The barman’s eyes stray to her chest. Irritation ripples down my spine.
Eventually, he picks his jaw up from the floor to answer. ‘Macallan, that okay?’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’
