‘Almost decadent,’ she murmured, smiling to herself as she trailed her fingertips through the soft, clean sand.
After a moment, she rolled over again, then sat up and leaned back on her hands. How beautiful it was here. She was completely alone and had been for hours, with nothing but the lake, the sky, and the jewelled iridescence of the hummingbirds to keep her company.
And she was perfectly content, even without a book to read. Sighing, she closed her eyes. The only thing she missed was lunch, or, at least, something cool to drink, but she’d decided to head straight for the lake and not to make any detours after she’d observed that touching little scene beside the pool. All she’d wanted to
do was get as far from El Corazon as she could manage—
‘Are you trying to roast yourself to death?’
Arden’s eyes flew open. Conor was standing over her, his hands planted on his hips, his legs apart, the expression on his face stony.
‘What are you trying to do?’ she gasped, ‘scare me to death?’
‘You’re lucky I came along,’ he said brusquely. ‘Another few minutes and you’d be burned to a crisp.’
She glared up at him. He was still wearing the cutoffs but he’d topped them with a shirt that hung open, revealing glimpses of his muscled chest and ridged abdomen. Her gaze fell to his navel and to the silken line of dark hair that arrowed past it until it was lost beneath the low-slung shorts.
A sudden dizziness snatched at her and tilted the horizon. Of course she was dizzy, she thought irritably. Here she sat, her head held at a crazy angle so she could carry on a conversation she didn’t want to have in the first place!
‘What I do is none of your business,’ she snapped. She started to rise, but Conor had already dropped to his knees beside her.
‘Frankly, Miss Miller,’ he said between his teeth, ‘I don’t much give a damn if you turn yourself into a french fried potato. But you won’t be any good to my uncle if you end up sick. Drop those straps.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ He dug into his shirt pocket, took out a small plastic tube, and twisted it open. ‘It’s probably too late to matter, but I’ll put some sun block on your shoulders.’
‘Don’t bother. I—hey!’ She gasped as he began stroking his hand over her skin. ‘Hey, that’s cold.’
‘Only because you’re practically bien cocido.’
‘I am not well done,’ she said stiffly.
‘If you’re not, it isn’t for lack of trying. Turn around.’
Did she have a choice? Not really, not when his hand was firmly on her shoulder and the feel of it told her that he was probably right, that she was probably burning instead of tanning. Arden gritted her teeth and scooted around until her back was to him.
‘This is ridiculous!’
‘What’s ridiculous is a gringa with skin the colour of cream offering herself to the sun. Turn towards me again.’
She did, her body unyielding and stiff. She watched as he squeezed more ointment into the palm of his hand, then began smoothing it over her throat. His fingers moved lightly against her flesh, dancing across her collarbones to her shoulders, then slid down her arms. A chill went through her again, and she shuddered.
‘That’s enough.’
‘Dammit, look at your legs!’
She looked down foolishly, her gaze following his. ‘What about them?’
‘Lie back.’
‘No. I mean—’ Arden caught her breath. His hand was on her thigh, caressing her skin. No. No, he wasn’t doing that at all, he was—be was simply putting a layer of sun block on her, but—but—
She sat up, slapping his hand away. ‘I said, that’s enough! Maybe Linda likes to be petted and stroked, but I—’ Their eyes met and held for long seconds, and then Arden flushed. ‘You needn’t have gone to all this trouble,’ she said, her voice sharp as she scrambled to her feet. ‘I’m going back to the house anyway.’
‘Were you watching us?’ She looked down at Conor. There was an amused little smile angling across his mouth. The smile grew, and he laughed softly as he rose and stood beside her. ‘You were, weren’t you?’
‘I was not,’ Arden snapped. She brushed sand from her bottom, then turned and began marching up the beach to where she’d left her things. ‘I just happened to look out my window, and—’