Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [93]
The warm night air was humid, kissed by the softest of breezes. The farther we walked from the hotel, the more quiet and peaceful it became. I could hear my own heart beating rapidly. I wondered if Desmond could hear it too. Perspiration was dripping down my back, collecting just above the waistband of my sarong. I told myself I better make my move before I was completely drenched. But it was Desmond who made the first move.
He turned in toward the water and stopped. He let his shirt fall from his shoulders to the sand, kicked off his sandals, then stepped out of his slacks. His almost naked body cast a fierce silhouette against the moon, which seemed to hang in the sky just inches above the water. For an instant, I thought he was going to throw back and beat his chest like he was Tarzan. And damn if he didn’t look like Tarzan dipped in chocolate and caramel.
I had assumed that Desmond was on the thin side of lean, but now, seeing him with next to nothing on, I realized how his usual oversized clothing masked a fabulous physique. Desmond looked like a sculpted Hershey hunk of muscle, not bulky, mind you, but well defined. Arms, back, thighs, calves, ass—especially ass—smooth flawless skin pulled taut over rock-hard muscle. It was not a Basil look-at-me body; it was more natural, less forced and much, much sexier. I was slightly aroused, but was more overwhelmed by the pure, almost spiritual nature of his looks.
“Desmond,” I wanted to say, but the words got caught in my throat and no sound came from my mouth. I coughed to clear my dry throat, and he heard me. He turned around and tilted his head slightly to the side with a quizzical look on his face. When he recognized me, a broad smile spread across his face. I knew I was caught, but the brilliant contrast of the stark white swimsuit he was wearing against the brown hues of his skin had my full attention. His crotch bulged almost obscenely, or maybe my eyes had suddenly become as big as cookies. “Desmond,” I said again with mock surprise in my voice, “fancy meeting you here.”
“That’s pretty weak, Yancey,” he said, laughing at me with his eyes. “How long have you been standing there? Are you following me?”
“Following you? Of course not. I mean, it is a free beach. You’re not the only one who decided to take an early-evening stroll on the beach. Look around,” I said as I whirled around with my arms spread toward the other people walking along the beach.
“True. True,” he said. “Let’s not get defensive.”
“Defensive. There’s nothing to defend. I was on my way to dinner, but that beautiful moon and sea air called out to me. I wasn’t looking for you,” I said unconvincingly.
He walked over and took my hands in his. He looked deep into my eyes, and I could see my face reflected in his pupils. “You are a very beautiful woman, Yancey Braxton. And a very lucky one as well.”
“Lucky? How so?” I asked as I looked at him with affection and just a little fake contempt. I still didn’t want him to think I had chased him down the beach like a brazen schoolgirl.
“Because you are here with me under the alluring spell of the full moon,” he said, pulling me to him.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and I held him around his neck, nestling my head into the space between his head and shoulder. His body was protecting me from the slight night breeze like a shield. We spoke no words, yet we communicated a great deal to one another. I found strength in his raw masculinity, and security in his sensitivity. Within moments, the tiredness and tension that I’d held in my body all day were replaced by calm and peacefulness.
A few moments later, Desmond asked me if I was a swimmer.
“It’s my second-favorite exercise,” I