Page 24

Chapter Eight

Scarlett

I wake from a dreamless sleep, grateful my subconscious has decided to give me a break for once. I’ve had enough memories resurface lately to last me a lifetime. After my run in with Alan last night, I plan to stay in my room until the luau dinner tonight. Climbing from the bed, I stretch my tired muscles and walk to the large window overlooking the side gardens. The sun has just risen. I’m never up this early, but then again, I’m not used to sleeping normal hours.

Staring out the cool glass, I contemplate climbing back into bed for the day. Coffee…I could definitely go for a cup of coffee. I know it makes me infinitely less British, but I tolerate tea, while I love coffee. My stomach growls, and I add pastries to that cup of coffee.

Movement catches my eye, and a gorgeous specimen of a man comes into view. He’s jogging just below in the garden wearing trainers and joggers slung low on his hips, displaying his perfectly sculpted abs. I wish I liked running, had that outlet.

I press my face to the glass, and as he gets closer, I can help but notice a dark trail running from his navel down into his joggers that matches a full head of thick ebony hair.

Holy hell, he’s gorgeous. He’s focused straight ahead, but as if sensing someone watching, he stops and looks upward to the second story where I’m ogling him. Bollocks!

I jerk back, pulling the linen curtain in front of my face to hide, nearly tumbling back on my arse. So much for going back to bed. Coffee it is.

I set off in search of caffeine. Deciding there are probably very few guests up, I throw on a long chenille jumper over my sleep shirt and slide my feet into a pair of moccasin sandals. The mornings are still quite chilly this time of year.

I try to figure out what I should do as I walk to the main house. I can’t very well leave. Anderson wanted to get business out of the way so we could enjoy our weekend.

But I don’t feel much like celebrating since Piers is across the Atlantic with his “one true love,” and I’m stuck here fighting off tossers like Alan Anderson. He may have been the only one who actually made a pass, but I saw a few of the others looking at me like I was an easy trollop.

I’m still fuming at how ridiculous it is that a woman has to work twice as hard to be taken serious in this business. My temper flares, and I pick up the pace, not looking where I’m going. I run smack dab into a wall. A hard wall. Sweaty.

My breath catches as my arms flail out for support. Nothing, they grab empty air and I’m falling. Closing my eyes and bracing for impact, I land with a thud, and the wall falls with me.

Something very firm against my hands confirms I’m pinned down. Further exploring and a few groans later, I quickly surmise the wall is a man. A very fit, sweaty, nearly naked man who smells like spice and sweat. The runner!

Open up earth and swallow me whole!

I keep my eyes shut as he shifts off me, but doesn’t attempt to move completely. Throwing my arms up over my head, I hide, hoping if I stay like this he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t. In fact, the cheeky arse chuckles at me as I stay on the ground hoping he will just disappear. I crack open one eye, risking a peek to see he’s still staring at me…well, at my chest. Where my wrap has fallen open and my ample chest is nearly on display, my nipples are saluting the cold morning air like it’s their life’s mission. Bloody hell. He probably thinks it’s because of him.

“If you wanted a tumble in the grass, all you had to do was ask, love. No need to knock the wind from us both and throw yourself across the lawn at me.” His voice is a perfect tenor, dripping with testosterone.

“Do you mind, sir!” I sit up, pushing him off, wrapping the soft fabric tightly around myself. He rests back on his feet and watches me, clearly amused. I struggle not to drop my own gaze and get a closer look at just where exactly that trail leads.

“I don’t know. Do you?” he asks, and I’m reminded I asked him a question.

“Come again?” I busy myself with picking damp grass off my sleeves.

“You asked if I minded, and I said I don’t know. But now that I think about it, I most certainly do not mind staring at a body as exquisite as yours.” Now he’s really being cheeky. “But I asked if you did.” He stands, offering me a hand.

“If I did what?” I accept his gentlemanly gesture, careful to hold my jumper in place.

“Minded.” He smiles, keeping hold of my hand, and for the first time, I really get a look at his face. It’s gorgeous. Not just handsome, but like a Greek Adonis. Chiseled jaw, covered in dark stubble, a perfect faded trim leading up to a thick, almost wavy black mane. A slightly crooked nose set between eyes as blue as ocean water, but icy. Like the Nordic waters. Blinking, I focus on his question.

“Minded what?” I smile, clearly missing something, unable to focus while he stares at me like that. Like it’s Sunday brunch and I’m on the menu.

“Minded staring at my body.” He tries to suppress a laugh. “Earlier.” He nods toward the guest house.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t.” My pale cheeks flame. There’s no way he could have seen me.

“Oh, so that wasn’t you then?” He carries on as I move to walk past him, mortified to have been caught. He jogs backwards, keeping pace right in front of me.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I huff out, hoping he doesn’t detect my lie. All this for a cup of coffee.

“Too bad,” he informs me, stopping to block my path. I look up as he reaches out and pulls at lock of golden hair that has escaped my messy bun, running it between his fingers, tugging gently. “I rather liked it.” He winks as I gently shake my head and pull free.

Two can play this game, sweetheart. Time to teach this wanker a lesson.

“Look. It’s obvious you’re gorgeous. I’m not blind.” I step toward him, breathing him in. “Your body is godlike, the sweat dripping off you makes me want to run my tongue from your throat to way past this…” I lick my lips and run my fingertip down the column of his throat, where I feel him swallow, lightly down his bare sternum, before coming to rest at his waistband, and dipping my finger in, snapping the elastic, my eyes never leaving his.

“When I’m ready for a tumble, you’ll know it. You certainly won’t be cracking cheeky one liners then.” I bring my finger to my lips, licking his sweat off before I press my finger into his rock hard pec and empathizes every single word. “You. Won’t. Be. Able. To. Breathe. Much less talk.”

Check mate. A quick glance at his joggers lets me know he got the message. He remains speechless. My work here is done.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve come down for some coffee.” I move to go around him.

“You said when,” he calls after me, his voice slightly hoarse.

“What?” I stop walking.

“You said when. When I’m ready for a tumble. Not if.” He talks to my back, so I can’t see his face or the cocky smile I’m sure he’s wearing. I feel my own cheeks lift in response as I find myself smiling over something simple, silly even, for the first time in a long time.

“So I did,” I reply, then resume walking, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. I really showed him.