her was irresistible. Lord, she was cute in a dither. She’d piled her thick black braid on top of her head, making her neck look longer and so inviting.
“I meant, go from this room. Get out. Now.”
“Harriet. You don’t have to hide yourself from me. I’ve always found female bodies to be quite beautiful. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed,” she said in her defense. “I want—”
“Good,” he said, cutting her off. “I was worried. I like sex with the lights on. Then all the senses are stimulated.” He listed them slowly, “Sight. Sound. Touch. Taste. Smell. It’s much better that way, don’t you think?”
“Will you please leave? I’d like to get out now.” She used her best stern schoolteacher voice this time—not that it made much of an impression on him.
“Fine. I’ll dry you off, if you like.”
“Like hell. Get out this minute, or I’ll ...” She stopped to watch a slow smirk spread across his lips.
“Please, continue. You’ll what?”
She glared at him. It didn’t frighten him.
They remained just so, him smirking, her scowling for long seconds, measuring, gauging, evaluating each other.
He couldn’t stop himself. He got to his feet like a man with a purpose, turned as if to leave, then reached out and snagged her towel from the rack. He unfolded it and watched as her eyes widened and her brows lifted. He shook it out and with both arms extended invitingly, he stepped to the side of the bathtub.
“Mr. Dunsmore ...” She wanted to sound angry and indignant. Her voice squeaked like a mouse’s.
“Payton.”
“Payton. ...” Her heart was beating in her throat, choking her.
“What happened to your glasses?” he asked absently, half-mesmerized.
“My ... they’re downstairs.”
“Don’t you need them?”
“Not to take a bath,” she muttered, caught up in his fixation. “I’m nearsighted.”
Abruptly he was all business again. He dropped one end of the towel and handed her the other. “Dry off and get dressed. I’m dying to hear about your prison experience.”
“My prison experience?” she said, startled, but then he was gone.
She sighed, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She hadn’t really speculated on what might happen once she sank the boat, simply assuming, she supposed now, that the island’s magic would take it from there and they would either fall in love or they wouldn’t. She hadn’t expected to feel awkward and nervous. She’d planned to be in complete control.
It was a miscalculation. A big one. She hadn’t factored in the possibility that Mr. Dunsmore would have a mind and a will and a few ideas of his own on how to proceed—now that he’d accepted the notion that he wasn’t going anywhere until Sunday.
The Fates were smiling on him. The nut case had a contingency plan. There was a way to get off the damned island before Sunday. All he had to do was to convince her to use it.
The big-bad-wolf routine was fun, and it had certainly made her jumpy, but ... well, people could get carried away on that stuff, he thought, recalling how tempted he’d been to dive into that tub of bubbles with her.
Acting out the homicidal maniac wouldn’t work either. She wasn’t afraid of him—she never had been. And if he were going to kill her, he’d have already done it down on the beach. The time was past for such splendid thoughts, though he couldn’t help but wonder if the investigator she’d hired had given her a straight line on who he was. The last person to cause him this much trouble had been a summer tutor his mother had hired to keep him occupied during his vacation from school. He’d been sixteen and ready to teach the world—and his mother—a thing or two about Payton Dunsmore IV.
He’d made a few mistakes in the beginning, but he’d known immediately that he liked calling the shots and that he didn’t like being crossed. He came to value loyalty and dedication in people, rather than words of love and
“I meant, go from this room. Get out. Now.”
“Harriet. You don’t have to hide yourself from me. I’ve always found female bodies to be quite beautiful. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed,” she said in her defense. “I want—”
“Good,” he said, cutting her off. “I was worried. I like sex with the lights on. Then all the senses are stimulated.” He listed them slowly, “Sight. Sound. Touch. Taste. Smell. It’s much better that way, don’t you think?”
“Will you please leave? I’d like to get out now.” She used her best stern schoolteacher voice this time—not that it made much of an impression on him.
“Fine. I’ll dry you off, if you like.”
“Like hell. Get out this minute, or I’ll ...” She stopped to watch a slow smirk spread across his lips.
“Please, continue. You’ll what?”
She glared at him. It didn’t frighten him.
They remained just so, him smirking, her scowling for long seconds, measuring, gauging, evaluating each other.
He couldn’t stop himself. He got to his feet like a man with a purpose, turned as if to leave, then reached out and snagged her towel from the rack. He unfolded it and watched as her eyes widened and her brows lifted. He shook it out and with both arms extended invitingly, he stepped to the side of the bathtub.
“Mr. Dunsmore ...” She wanted to sound angry and indignant. Her voice squeaked like a mouse’s.
“Payton.”
“Payton. ...” Her heart was beating in her throat, choking her.
“What happened to your glasses?” he asked absently, half-mesmerized.
“My ... they’re downstairs.”
“Don’t you need them?”
“Not to take a bath,” she muttered, caught up in his fixation. “I’m nearsighted.”
Abruptly he was all business again. He dropped one end of the towel and handed her the other. “Dry off and get dressed. I’m dying to hear about your prison experience.”
“My prison experience?” she said, startled, but then he was gone.
She sighed, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She hadn’t really speculated on what might happen once she sank the boat, simply assuming, she supposed now, that the island’s magic would take it from there and they would either fall in love or they wouldn’t. She hadn’t expected to feel awkward and nervous. She’d planned to be in complete control.
It was a miscalculation. A big one. She hadn’t factored in the possibility that Mr. Dunsmore would have a mind and a will and a few ideas of his own on how to proceed—now that he’d accepted the notion that he wasn’t going anywhere until Sunday.
The Fates were smiling on him. The nut case had a contingency plan. There was a way to get off the damned island before Sunday. All he had to do was to convince her to use it.
The big-bad-wolf routine was fun, and it had certainly made her jumpy, but ... well, people could get carried away on that stuff, he thought, recalling how tempted he’d been to dive into that tub of bubbles with her.
Acting out the homicidal maniac wouldn’t work either. She wasn’t afraid of him—she never had been. And if he were going to kill her, he’d have already done it down on the beach. The time was past for such splendid thoughts, though he couldn’t help but wonder if the investigator she’d hired had given her a straight line on who he was. The last person to cause him this much trouble had been a summer tutor his mother had hired to keep him occupied during his vacation from school. He’d been sixteen and ready to teach the world—and his mother—a thing or two about Payton Dunsmore IV.
He’d made a few mistakes in the beginning, but he’d known immediately that he liked calling the shots and that he didn’t like being crossed. He came to value loyalty and dedication in people, rather than words of love and
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