Luke had a reputation for being ruthless in business—a reputation he deserved. He crushed all opposition, never let emotions interfere with a decision and never lost sight of his goals.
Which didn’t at all explain the turmoil now roiling through him, this odd hesitation to involve Amanda in his plans.
He prowled across his sunny patio toward the pool, the Italian tiles warming his bare feet. He watched Amanda steer her daughter through the sparkling blue water, the kid’s arms buoyed by inflatable wings.
Bringing Amanda here made sense. She needed security, which he could provide. In exchange, she would lend him an air of stability, help pacify the consortium until they voted on the project next week. It was a logical arrangement, mutually beneficial—vital now that he’d read the morning news.
He scowled, skirted one of the twenty-foot Canary Island palm trees ringing the pool, tossed the offending newspaper onto a chair. He needed her help, all right. His project’s success hinged on this plan.
Hell of a time for a crisis of conscience.
She glanced up from the pool just then and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Luke.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not. Come on in.” She steered her daughter to the side of the pool.
He dropped his towel on the chair and dove in, then swam underwater to where she stood in the shallow end. He surfaced near the others, shook the water from his eyes. The kid giggled and ducked behind her mother’s back.
“Say hello to Mr. Montgomery,” Amanda told her.
“Luke,” he corrected.
Amanda smiled, her blue eyes warming, and his heart made a sudden lurch. “Say hello to Luke then.”
The kid peeked out. “Luke then,” she whispered and giggled again.
Luke grinned back and gently splashed her, and she squealed with delight. Claire was a miniature version of her mother with that angel-white hair and big blue eyes. A little shy, cute as hell.
Her mother wasn’t cute. She was a knockout. Thick, dark lashes framed her dazzling eyes. Her hair was wet from the swim, slicked back, emphasizing the feminine lines of her face. Water glistened on her lips and shimmered in the hollow of her throat.
He looked at her shoulders, over the tantalizing cleavage bared by the scoop-necked suit. Water lapped over her breasts, bringing them in and out of focus like a desert mirage, tempting him to peel down that con-servative suit, lick the sparkling drops from her skin.
Aware that he was staring, he jerked his mind to why he was here. “I’ve got news.”
Her full lips pursed, and she glanced at Claire. “Let me get Claire settled down for a nap. It won’t take long.”
“Take your time. I’ll swim some laps.” He watched her maneuver her daughter to the steps. Water streamed from her shoulders and back as she climbed from the pool. His eyes followed in the water’s wake, skimming her naked back, her perfect butt, the taut, creamy skin of her thighs.
She picked up a towel and quickly wrapped it around her waist. The modest gesture amused him, piquing his interest even more.
But it was an interest he couldn’t indulge in right now. He plunged back into the water and began counting laps, relying on the exertion to settle his mind. A mile and a half later, his arms and shoulders tired, and the tension pounding in his temples eased. Feeling more controlled now, he touched bottom and waded to the side of the pool.
Amanda waited in a nearby lounge chair. She’d changed, and her snug, sleeveless T-shirt hugged her round breasts. Her hair had dried, and wispy blond ten-drils fluttered around her face. Her shorts bared her elegant legs.
So much for regaining his focus.
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