Prince of Midtown / Marriage, Manhattan Style: Prince of Midtown. Jennifer Lewis
sarong.” He handed her a shimmering piece of greenand-gold fabric.
Their hands brushed as she took it from him. A swift touch that made her heart beat faster.
For all she knew it was actually five hundred dollars and the sarong twice as much.
She sucked in a breath.
Eek. This was all a bit much.
It wasn’t appropriate to let her boss dress her up like a Barbie doll. Especially when she was practically engaged to someone else.
Thoughts of Patrick seemed rather out of place here in Caspia. He didn’t like hot sun and he’d be bored on the water. When they’d gone sailing out of Westport with one of his clients, he’d kept flipping on his PDA to check stock quotes.
Very practical. Sensible. The kind of person who’d make a responsible husband and father. So she’d better make sure she kept Patrick—and her own future—foremost in her mind.
Five
White liveried servants brought Tessa and Sebastian a lunch of handmade delicacies on the private palace dock. Hidden from the world by carved stone walls, they sipped fresh lemonade with sprigs of fragrant mint while seawater lapped at the sun-bleached quay. Bright flowers bloomed in ornate urns, their leaves occasionally ruffled by the warm breeze.
Tessa wriggled, trying not to get too comfortable on the soft lounge chair. She wore the bikini. She could hardly refuse when he’d sunk so much money into it.
“I really should call the attendees for the meeting.”
“Not yet. You need heliotherapy.” Sebastian picked up the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in a quick motion.
She jerked her gaze away from the sight of his bronzed washboard abs.
“Helio-what?” She fixed her attention on a seagull, then quickly became dizzy as it turned in tight circles, scanning the water for its lunch.
Sebastian was stretching. She could tell without looking.
Her nerve endings could see him. All the tiny invisible blond hairs all over her. Her nipples must be looking, too, because they buzzed like pressed doorbells.
“Heliotherapy. Sunlight as a curative. Practiced in Caspia since the time of Hippocrates.”
She couldn’t manage to avert her eyes as he eased back into his chair, settling his broad shoulders into the soft fabric.
A narrow cyclone of black hair started between his well-developed pecs, twisted down the center of his rockhard stomach, then disappeared below the button of his black trunks.
“I thought…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat. “I thought the sun gave you skin cancer.”
Sebastian snorted. “Caspians have the longest lifespan of any people on earth.” He lifted his arms behind his head, and his impressive biceps bulged.
Tessa blinked.
“Well, you have pretty dark skin.” All over. At least the parts she could see. She tried not to think about the others.
“So did you last summer. Have you been living under a rock this year?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I have, lately. The rock of Caspia Designs and its gritty financials.”
Sebastian turned his head and assaulted her with one of his penetrating stares. “And that is exactly why I won’t have you scurrying off to bury yourself again.”
His eyes grazed her face, then wandered over her neck. “You need sun, good food, fresh air and laughter. Then you won’t want to run away to California in search of things that can be found right where you are now.”
He settled his head back with a smile of satisfaction and closed his eyes.
He’d noticed her tan last summer?
She’d managed a large group plot in a local community garden, which kept her outdoors digging, weeding and watering at least an hour a day.
She’d had a great time, too. Hadn’t spent one single evening sighing over her lack of husband prospects or her ticking biological clock.
This year she hadn’t the time or energy for the garden. So she’d also missed out on the companionship, sunshine, fresh air and fresh food that came along with the experience.
Instead she’d been telling herself things would get better once she left New York and started over.
Maybe Sebastian had a point.
A self-protective urge to argue with him tickled her vocal cords. But he looked so peaceful and contented lying there in the sun. She didn’t want to be snotty and point out that the older citizens of Caspia were pretty leathery looking.
Besides, she liked leather.
Still, sunblock would be a good idea. She fished the bottle from her bag and started to rub it on her exposed belly.
“Let me help.”
She glanced up to see Sebastian’s winning smile again. The one that made her so suspicious of his motives.
She fought the urge to laugh. “That’s okay, I’ve got it covered.”
“Not yet, you haven’t. I’ll do your back.” He took the bottle from her in a firm swipe. “Turn around.”
She turned, swinging her legs to the other side of the lounger. “Are you this commanding with people who aren’t your employees?”
“I prefer to think of myself as straightforward.”
His hands settled on her shoulders.
One way to be straightforward.
Breath rushed out of her lungs at the sensation of his broad fingertips, moist with lotion, rubbing her skin. He smoothed the sunblock over the nape of her neck, feathering it over her vertebrae with little thumb motions. She curled her toes, trying to fight the warm pool of arousal spreading in her abdomen.
His broad palms swirled lotion over her shoulder blades, kneading her muscle at the same time. It was hard to ignore the sensation of release spreading through her.
Then his fingers slid under the scanty string of her bikini. She gasped. For some reason the gesture seemed shockingly intimate.
“Hold still. I need more lotion.” His voice was unusually gruff. She felt quite naked as he pulled his hands from her body.
She heard him rubbing the sunblock between his hands to warm it, and her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch.
Ooh. Right there in the sensitive spots on either side of her waist. She tried not to wriggle. Or giggle.
His fingers slid around to rub it over her belly button. She should protest that she could do that herself, but she’d lost the power of speech.
Probably because in reaching forward to rub her front, Sebastian had moved so close that she could smell his stirring male scent.
“Relax,” he commanded. “Why are you tightening up?”
Um, because my boss is rubbing my bare flesh with his fingers?
She managed to clear her throat. “Guess I’m overworked. Must be my demanding boss.”
“I’ll have a word with him.”
She could hear the smile in his voice.
He pushed his fingers into the tight muscle on either side of her spine, causing her to arch her back and let go a tiny moan of pleasure.
“Ah, yes.”
“What?” she croaked.
“I can see the problem.”
“What problem?” Ohhhh. His