“The sun has bleached your body hair and the tips of your lashes,” she explained.
“I enjoy water sports.” He handed her a snorkel, mask and fins that looked new. “You have snorkeled before?”
“Yes, off the coast back home.”
“And where is home?”
“North Carolina. On the eastern coast of the U.S. I live hours from the beach, but I used to vacation there every summer.” She missed those boisterous vacations with Mike’s family more than she missed Mike. The devious, dishonest rat. How could such a great family spawn a complete schmuck?
She dug her toes into the fine grains beneath her feet. “Is it true that all this white sand is brought in by barge?”
“Yes. That is the case for many of the Riviera beaches. Of the nations bordering the Mediterranean Sea, Monaco has the cleanest and safest beaches because the government is the most eco-conscious. Thanks to the Grimaldi family, the country is almost pollution free. In recent years the government has expanded its territory by reclaiming land from the sea. The underwater reserve we are about to explore was built in the seventies to repair the damage of overfishing and excessive coral gathering. The reefs are home to many fish species and red coral.” He indicated the water with a nod. “Shall we?”
He’d certainly studied his guidebook. “Don’t you want to take off your T-shirt?”
He tossed his shades on the chair beside hers. “No.”
“Do you burn easily? I could put sunscreen on your back.” Her palms tingled in anticipation of touching him.
“I prefer to wear a shirt, thank you.”
Did he have scars or something? “Damon, I see shirtless men at work every day. If you’re worried that I can’t control myself…”
His chest expanded, and this time she received the full effect of those hot blue eyes. Arousal made her suck in her breath and her stomach. “It is not your control I question, Madeline. Come, the reef waits.”
She’d never get used to the way he said her name with a hint of that unidentifiable accent. It gave her goose bumps every time. And speaking of control, where was hers? She wanted to jump him. Here. Now. “Where did you say you were from?”
“I did not say.” He flashed a tight white smile and strode toward the water, where he dunked his fins and mask before donning both.
She mimicked his actions and then stared at him through the wet glass of her mask. “You like being a man of mystery, eh?”
He straightened and held her gaze. “I like being a man. The mystery is all in here.” He gently tapped her temple. “Stay close to me. Watch for jellyfish and sea urchins. Avoid both.”
Admiring the view of his taut buttocks and well-muscled legs, she followed him deeper into the water. For the next hour she swam and enjoyed the sea life. Each time Damon touched her to draw her attention to another sight she nearly sucked the briny water down her snorkel. Miraculously, she managed not to drown herself. By the time he led her back to shore her nerves were as tightly wound as the rubber band ball the emergency room staff tossed around on slow nights.
“That was great. Thanks.” And then she got a good look at the shirt adhered like shrink-wrap to his amazing chest, the tiny buttons of his nipples and his six-pack abs. An even better sight and definitely one she’d like to explore.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He dropped his mask and fins on the chair, donned his sunglasses and ruffled his hair to shake off the excess water and then finger-combed the dark strands over his forehead.
“What made you decide to become a tour guide?” She dried off as he bagged their diving gear.
“When a country has few natural resources and limited territory, its people and the tourism industry become its greatest assets.”
Surprised by his answer, she blinked. She’d expected a simple response such as he enjoyed meeting new people or the flexible hours, not something so deep. “Studied that, have you?”
“Yes.”
She dragged her knit sundress over her head. “Where? I mean, are there tourism schools or what?”
Holding her gaze—or at least she thought he was, beneath those dark lenses—he hesitated so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “I have a Travel Industry Management degree from the University of Hawaii at M
He seemed tense, as if he expected her to question his statement, and she should. If he had a college degree and spoke four languages fluently then why was he acting as a tour guide? It didn’t make sense. She reminded herself that not everyone was as career driven as she was, but Damon didn’t seem the type to kick back and let the fates determine his future. She’d seen enough type A guys to recognize the signs and he waved them all like flags. But that was his business. A string-free affair—if they had one—didn’t give her the right to interfere.
“The States? No kidding. What brings you to Monaco?”
“I am studying their tourism industry.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll apply what I’ve learned to my future endeavors.” He zipped the dive bag and grabbed the handles. Eager to go, was he? Before she could ask what kinds of endeavors, he said, “If we leave now we’ll have time to stop at the hotel café for a snack before I leave you. You have missed lunch.”
“I’m in no rush. I had hoped we could spend the rest of the afternoon together. Maybe play some beach volleyball or jump on the trampoline at the far end of the beach? And this place is surrounded by restaurants. We could grab a bite here.”
“I have another appointment.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. While she had enjoyed the day, it hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped. Admittedly, she wasn’t a practiced seductress, but if she wanted a vacation romance it looked as though she’d have to work harder for it.
Time to initiate Plan B. First she freed and finger-combed her hair while trying to build up her courage, and then she reached beneath her dress, untied her damp bikini top and pulled it through the scooped neckline.
A muscle at the corner of Damon’s mouth ticked and his throat worked as he swallowed.
“You may change in one of the dressing rooms, as I will,” he said hoarsely. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“No need. Besides, I didn’t bring a change of clothing.” Her nipples tightened when he didn’t look away. Well, hallelujah. He’d been so professional and distant she’d begun to think she’d imagined the sparks between them.
And then in an act more brazen than anything she’d ever dared, she reached beneath her dress and shucked her bikini bottom. She twirled the wet black fabric once around her finger before tucking it along with her top in her tote. Take that, big guy. If Damon insisted on hustling her back to the hotel and dumping her, then he’d have to do so knowing she was naked except for a thin knit sheath.
Never let it be said that Madeline Spencer wouldn’t fight for what she wanted, and in her opinion, Damon Rossi was the perfect prescription to mend her bruised ego and heart. A few weeks with him and she’d return home whole and healed.
“I wonder what all the commotion’s about?”
Madeline’s question pulled Dominic from his complicated calculations of hotel occupancy rates as the taxi approached Hôtel Reynard. He’d been attempting to distract himself from the knowledge that she was completely nude beneath her dress and failing miserably.
A camera-carrying group of a dozen or so paparazzi stood sentry across the street from the hotel with their zoom lenses