Stolen Fury by Elisabeth Naughton

off the end of the dock. Startled, she held out her arms. Thepink cocktail in her right hand splashed over the glass as water from his fall doused both her and Lisa.
    Rafe broke the surface, sputtered and drew in a breath of air.
    Lisa pushed the sunglasses into her hair, wiped her hands together and smiled. “Wow. That felt good.” She rolled her shoulders and turned toward the brunette. “I’m Lisa, and I don’t plan on catching your name.” She leaned closer as if she w ere sharing a dark secret. “A piece of advice. Run. While you still can.”
    The brunette flicked her a quizzical expression. “I…”
    Lisa straightened, raised her brows and waited.
    The brunette looked back at Rafe in the water, then quickly skirted Lisa and stepped away. “Um. Okay then.” Her flip-flops echoed quickly down the dock.
    Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at the shimmering water. Knocking him on his ass should have made her feel better. Seeing him in the midst of hustling another woman should have reinforced what a creep he was. Instead, she was remembering those sensual lips pressed against hers and that gorgeous face flushed with passion when he’d looked at her with those dark and probing eyes.
    She tightened her jaw and forced the thought from her mind. No way she was going there again. Ever. And she was an even bigger idiot for even thinking about it now.
    He didn’t make any attempt to get out of the marina, simply treaded water as he watched her with amusement. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected, and it only infuriated her more.
    “Where’s my rock, Sullivan?”
    A slow smile spread across his features. He ran his hands over his dark hair, wiping water back from his rugged face. He seemed to fit this atmosphere so much better than he had the suit and tie in Milan. Why hadn’t she noticed?
    “And here I thought you came all this way ’cause you missed me.”
    She tapped her foot against the dock. “Think again, Slick. Where’s my marble?”
    Without responding, he swam toward a nearby yacht and climbed up the swim ladder. Water ran in rivulets down his body, the wet shirt molding to his broad chest, the jeans sculpting strong thighs and firm, toned muscles.
    He wasn’t sexy, dammit. He was a thief. A no-good lying sack of shit.
    He disappeared around the back of the yacht and reemerged on the other side as her temper bubbled and brewed. The dock swayed when he jumped onto the finger separating the boat from its neighbor. Eyes trained on her, he walked forward until he was only a few inches away.
    Her pulse kicked up. The heat from his body slid over her, igniting an odd tingle in her stomach. Her gaze flicked from his hard eyes to his lips before common sense finally registered and she remembered why she was there.
    “Feel better?” he asked, resting his big hands on his narrow hips.
    “Nice accent.”
    “Like it?” A sexy half grin curled one side of his mouth.
    “There’s not a single thing I like about you.”
    Laughter danced in his ebony eyes. “That’s not what you said the last time we were together.” He turned and climbed onto a pristine white, thirty-nine-foot Beneteau sailboat to her left and disappeared down the companionway.
    She stood slack-jawed for a moment before she caught herself and straightened. He wasn’t going to turn this around on her again.
    When his head darted back up from the depths of the fancy sloop, he was rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He moved up the steps to stand on the deck of the boat and leaned against the grab rail to look down at her. Sunlight glinted off his shiny hair. The black T-shirt molding to his arms and chest only accentuated his physique. “You come all the way down here to make sure I got a bath?”
    Disbelief raced through her. She forced her eyes away from his broad chest up to his eyes. “No, you son of a bitch, I came down here to get back what you stole from me.”
    “Stole?” he asked as if the word shocked him.