Meet the POOL MAN @Sabrina_York on #RomanceBeckons
Paige Barber needs a vacation. She can’t resist her best friend’s offer of a remote vacation home on a private Caribbean island. Jimmy, the sexy pool boy, is part and parcel with the offer. But recently dumped Paige has no intention of taking advantage of that amenity…until she sets eyes on Jimmy. He’s not a boy at all, but the sexiest man Paige has ever met.
And he can cook. Oh, man, can he cook!
She thinks it will be easy returning to the real world after an utterly wanton and sensuous week in the arms of a hot, hard, perfect man. But it’s not. It’s not easy at all.
“May I join you?”
I opened my eyes at the deep voice, at the question tinged with a throb.
My heart stuttered. My breath caught.
Gawd.Jimmy. Standing there next to the hot tub, wearing nothing but a tight black Speedo. Everything I had imagined under his casual clothes, everything I had hoped for, was there. Thick muscles roping his chest and forearms, thighs like tree trunks, a flat, taut belly, sculpted abs and a tantalizing dark line arrowing toward a magnificent bulge.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Oh lord, I’d been ogling. “Yes. Please. Come on in. The water’s fine.”
Yeah, lame. Cliché. But there you go. It was the best I could come up with. My brain, apparently, was on vacation as well.
The water rose as he eased in. His groan echoed off the shadows. He’d taken off his glasses so I had an unfettered view of his face. When his eyes closed, in that moment of bliss as the water enveloped him, when his lips parted…I thought, perhaps, that was what his O-face would look like.
One could hope.
Many men were like monkeys when their crisis descended. Which was why I rarely looked. I was possessed of the sharp, sudden urge to see Jimmy in ecstasy. To watch him come.
Okay, not so sudden. But definitely sharp.
Though he sat across from me, the hot tub wasn’t too big, and his foot nudged mine. I didn’t jerk away, though my first inclination was to do just that. I reminded myself that any advance had to come from him. Jimmy was Marlee’s pool boy, not a sex slave. And if he wasn’t interested—I ignored the dark dip of my mood at the thought—that would be that.
So when his foot grazed mine, I steeled my spine and left it there. Next to his.
Our gazes tangled. His toe slipped up my ankle, a tentative foray. A fluttery thrill, an unexpected shower of arousal, trickled through me.
I stroked back.
His focus on me intensified, though it flicked, for a fraction of an instant, to my breasts. They bobbed in the water, as breasts often did, buoyed and jubilant to be released from the bondage of gravity. He licked his lips. My nipples pebbled as I imagined his mouth on them.
His eyes narrowed then raked their way back to my face. “How-how did you sleep?”
Was it my imagination or was he struggling for words? As though casual talk had no place between us, but he needed the lubricant.
The thought of lubricant, and what we could do with it, flashed through my brain. Fizzled there, incinerating all other preoccupations.
“I slept well.”
“Good.” A rough growl. “The room was to your liking?”
The word bed made me shudder. Maybe it was just the way he said it, infusing it with meaning, intent.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that he’d slipped nearer.
The breeze shifted and brought his scent to me on wispy tendrils. That intoxicating bite of his cologne made my head spin.
“Are you…hungry?” His voice rumbled, thrummed with double entendre.
“Not for food.” A whisper. I barely choked it out. Because he’d come close, and closer still. “But first… Rules.”
His brow wrinkled. “Rules?”