Relentless

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve learned to accept the fact that I’ll never be mistaken for a femme fatale.”

Remembering what she looked like under that jacket, Ken had to bite his tongue to hold back a retort. As he watched, Pamela reached into the pocket of his jacket and drew out the last small bottle of alcohol. “You’re sure you want that?”

She opened the bottle and lifted it to her lips. “Hey, it’s my wedding day. Doesn’t the almost-bride deserve a toast?” Without pause, she drained the small bottle. This time she didn’t collapse into a coughing fit, though she gave one shudder and blinked her watery eyes.

“So, I guess your father’s going to be out a small fortune, hm?”

She nodded. “Guess so. It’s not like he can’t afford it. I didn’t want the country club wedding, anyway.”

“What did you want, Pamela?” Ken asked, studying her profile as she watched the surf.

“Just an awesome honeymoon.”

He laughed.

“You think I’m kidding? After dealing with Peter’s, uh…lack of interest, I wanted to go somewhere alone and make sure we were really compatible.” Pamela took a step back, wobbled a little on her feet, then bit her lip. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Go right ahead.” He grinned, wondering how uncomfortable the sand was going to feel against the huge amount of bare skin exposed by her underclothes. Just thinking of that sent a burst of heat rushing through him. Don’t even go there!

“So, where were you going on this honeymoon?” he asked as he sat next to her in the sand.

Pamela glanced over at him, wondering why he didn’t seem to care that his trousers were probably going to be ruined by sitting on the beach. Then she remembered she was wearing his jacket. While it didn’t entirely protect her fanny from the damp ground, it would more than likely be in pretty bad shape by the time she got up.

Remorseful, Pamela leaned over, holding his jacket down over her backside with the flat of her palm, and grabbed the beach towel. She spread it out and moved over to sit on it.

“Might not be too late for this suit,” she offered with a grin. She patted the other half of the towel, inviting him to join her. When he did, she realized exactly how small the kiddie beach towel was. While it had wrapped once around her torso, it certainly didn’t provide enough width to keep their bodies from touching, shoulder to hip, bringing every one of her senses roaring to life.

“Uh, now, what did you say?” she asked, focusing on wiggling her toes into the sand to avoid staring at the well-defined shoulder just inches from her cheek.

“I was asking about your honeymoon. Where were you going?”

“Lake Tahoe. To a gorgeous couples-only honeymoon resort called The Little Love Nest.”

She heard him chuckle, then he said, “Sounds pricey. Guess Daddy’s going to be out some cash on that deal, too.”

His words reminded Pamela of the truth. No, her father wasn’t going to be the one losing out on the small fortune her honeymoon trip had cost.

She leaned back, dropping her elbows to the sand and reclining on them, frowning in disgust. “Nope, that was all mine! Peter didn’t even know about it. I paid for everything and had planned to surprise him tomorrow when we got there.”

“No trip insurance?”

She snorted and cast an incredulous look at him. “Gee, do they offer insurance against jerk-off fiancés who cheat and lie?”

“Guess not.”

She didn’t even want to think of the amount of money she’d spent on the trip. Actually, she couldn’t really think about it, because her head was a teensy bit spinny. From the alcohol. From the stress. From the nearness of this stranger whose cologne made her want to bury her face in his neck, and whose warmth made her long to crawl back into his arms.

She shook her head once, hard, trying to clear her brain. “I think maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink,” she whispered as she tried to focus on sticking her toes into the damp sand. “I also think I’m going to wake up tomorrow and wonder if this whole thing was a nightmare.”

“I think you’ll be glad you found out tonight that your fiancé is a cheat and a liar,” Ken replied, “rather than after tomorrow.”

She sneaked another glance at him, liking the strength of his jaw, the quirk of his brow as he cast a knowing grin at her—not to mention the muscular neck, the broad shoulders, the long legs stretched out next to hers against the damp sand.

Pamela suddenly realized there was more than alcohol making her feel sort of funny, like she had butterflies in her stomach. She was responding to him physically. More than that, though, she found she liked him, this stranger who’d found her on the beach and somehow made her laugh on what was turning out to be the worst night of her life.

She liked his eyes, and she liked his laugh. She liked those big strong hands that had held her with such gentleness when she’d cried. Yeah right. As if that’s all she liked.

She’d also very much liked the look of his lips and wondered if he used them for kissing as well as he used them for grinning.

The fact that they were so close together fueled her feelings. The elemental churning of the waves, and the moisture in the air brought forth a response deep within her. She suddenly found her mind filled with the most vivid picture of her and this man lying in the surf in a passionate embrace.

Now she knew she was tipsy. She was having sexual fantasies about a complete stranger! She tried to force them out of her mind, but they stayed, making her pulse beat faster, her breath come harder, and making her legs shake, though she told herself that was only because of the strong ocean breeze blowing across her. Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, she again noticed the strength of his face, the long lashes hooding his expressive eyes, and his hard body, hidden under the dress shirt and slacks.

She wanted him. “How crazy is that?” she muttered out loud, ignoring his questioning glance.

It was true. She wanted this gray-eyed man, wanted his hands on her breasts and his mouth on her throat. Wanted him on top of her. Beneath her.

Inside her.

“Oh, goodness, I definitely had too much to drink,” she whispered.

Knowing she had no business even thinking such things did not halt the thoughts. They did, however, remind her of that last scene with Peter up in the suite. She wondered where on earth she’d found the courage to do what she’d done, to say what she’d said. Because she was a big, fat liar. She’d taunted Peter that she wasn’t a virgin. Whoops! Not exactly true.

As ridiculous as it seemed in this day and age, Pamela, at twenty-six, was a virgin.

Some people might wonder how she could have remained basically untouched all her life, but Pamela knew her upbringing and her job were the reasons. Growing up, she’d listened when her parents had talked about their respect and love for one another. Subconsciously, she’d wanted that for herself.