More Than a Mission - Caridad Pineiro [13]
Like the woman running along the shore, he reminded himself, fighting her sexual pull.
“Okay, so she’s…cute,” he confessed.
Lucia laughed and let her binoculars drop down on the strap hanging around her neck. “I hope you’re a more convincing liar when you’re around her.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said and headed to his room, intent on testing the waters in more ways than one.
Elizabeth was nearly back to the cottage when she noticed first the lone swimmer moving toward her from the docks and then the pile of clothes and towel sitting on the beach just behind her home.
Finishing her jog, she paused by the towel and placed her hands on her hips, took a few deep breaths as she watched the swimmer head into shore. His strokes were sure and even. They propelled him through the water elegantly as his head turned from side to side in a rhythmic breathing pattern.
She recognized that head, she realized—Aidan. This was confirmed as he reached the shallows and got caught up in a surge of water. He body-surfed the wave in before he rose up out of the wash of the breakers.
Elizabeth gulped and this time, had to force herself to breathe. He was all lean muscle and athletic grace. As he headed toward shore, he picked up his arms to slick back the longer strands of his hair from his face and all that muscle rippled beneath smooth tanned skin. He wasn’t wearing the loose shorts that so many American men wore, but a sinfully slinky Speedo that barely covered him. Barely being the operative word.
Breathe, girl. Breathe. She fanned her face and blamed the hot flash on her jog.
He smiled as he noticed her and hurried from the water, jumping over one wave and then battling the backward pull of the wash until he was standing before her. “You were right about how great the waters are. Although a little rough in spots.”
“The swimming and surfing beaches are up more toward town. It’s a little rocky here. You’ve cut yourself,” she said and motioned to a raw scrape along his collarbone. “Let’s get that cleaned.”
Aidan looked down to where a bit of blood mingled with the salt water and ran down his chest. He hadn’t planned it that way, but he wouldn’t waste a prime opportunity. Especially since he had noticed how she was checking him out as he had come onto shore. “I’ll be fine,” he said and met her gaze directly.
She blushed and stammered, “W-we really should clean it. You wouldn’t want it to get infected.”
Again it occurred to him that she was too easy to read, but then again, he hadn’t been all that obscure up in the hotel room with Lucia. Was it a cosmic joke that they should both obviously find themselves attracted to one another? Spy v. Spy Sexcapades before they had to do each other in?
“Thanks,” he said, bending to pick up his clothes and looping the towel over his shoulders. She walked toward the cottage but didn’t offer to let him in as he had expected. As he had hoped, since in the pocket of his pants, he had another set of cameras ready to install. Instead, she pointed to a rustic outdoor shower by the back door.
“Rinse off over there while I get some first aid stuff.”
Elizabeth walked into the cottage and he waited for her to return before he stepped beneath the shower and turned on the water. He wanted an audience for his show. When he was certain she was observing him, he made a point of getting good and wet. Slick. Then, he ran his hands all along his body, as if wiping away some dirt, and as he did so, he could feel her gaze on him, tracking his every movement.
Knowing she was a voyeur to his little act brought an immediate and unwanted reaction. The upside of it was that in turn, his rather obvious excitement created a riot of color along Elizabeth’s cheeks. She ripped her gaze from him then and nervously fingered the plastic box in her hands—the first aid kit.
He stopped and shut off the water, grabbed his towel and dried himself as he walked toward her. He toyed with the idea of wrapping the