Hayworth, swimming in lazy circles across the pool, grinned at her enthusiasm. She tried to swim close to the base of the falls, as he had, but the push of the water was so strong she gave up after only a few strokes, arms aching with the effort.
She turned to find him right in front of her. Sunlight glinted off his slicked-back hair and glimmered like diamonds on his muscled shoulders. Water droplets trickled down his nose and gathered at the corners of his mouth.
Caro couldn’t look away. She had the most insane urge to lick those drops from his lips, to taste the cool water on his warm skin.
He drifted closer. “Caro.” His voice was a deep growl, almost a warning.
Her gaze flicked up to his. “Yes?”
“When you look at me like that—”
“Yes?” she prompted, half teasing, half terrified of what he was going to say. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and not just because of the unaccustomed exercise.
He took a deep breath. “Never mind.” A rueful smile curved his lips as he reached out and smoothed a strand of wet hair from her cheek. “Is ‘disheveled castaway’ a fashion style back in London? Because if it’s not, it should be. It suits you.”
She let out a snort and tried to stay afloat. He was tall enough to stand, but her toes barely touched the bottom of the pool.
“Pfft. You’re only saying that because there’s no other woman on this whole island for you to flirt with. You, Max Cavendish, are a scoundrel.”
“That may be true, but that doesn’t alter the facts. You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”
Caro’s pulse skipped a beat, but she feigned airy amusement. “And you’ve clearly had a blow to the head that’s affecting your judgment.”
A wave buffeted them, and she grabbed his arm to steady herself—then immediately regretted it as the muscle flexed beneath her fingers, slick and impressively solid. Her stomach flipped, but before she could push herself away from temptation, he caught both her shoulders in his hands.
The upper part of his chest rose above the lapping water, mere inches from her own. Caro glanced down and realized she might as well have removed her chemise, for all the coverage it was providing. The cold had peaked her nipples into tight buds and their dark tips were clearly visible through the near-transparent fabric.
Heat scalded her cheeks as she realized Hayworth had noticed, as well. His sea-blue gaze roamed over her and his fingers tightened on her upper arms. For a blissful moment she thought he was going to drag her against his chest and kiss her, but he pushed himself away with an almighty splash.
She quashed a groan of disappointment.
“You should get dressed.” His voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it. “I’ll wait until you’re done before I get out.”
Thoroughly flustered, Caro nodded. She swam to the shallows and made her way out, but when she glanced back to see if Hayworth was watching her, he was swimming with purposeful strokes to the far side of the pool.
Bloody hell.
Max ducked under that water and blew out a stream of frustrated bubbles, willing the chill of the pool to cool his ardor.
Had he really thought this place was heaven? It was hell. Pure hell. And he’d been sentenced to a never-ending state of aching, yearning lust.
He was deliberately not looking at Caro, but the image of her was seared into his brain. Her shift had been rendered completely sheer by the water. It looked like a sheen of icing. Her perfect breasts had reminded him of glazed buns; each with a gorgeous cherry nipple on the top begging for his mouth.
God, he wanted to taste them. To taste her.
He’d been a split second away from doing it, too. The interest, the invitation, in her eyes had been unmistakable, and it had sent a punch of primal satisfaction to his gut. But she was an innocent, and he would not seduce her until he was absolutely sure she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His cock, however, needed no further convincing. He was as hard as an iron bar in his breeches and he couldn’t leave the water until the damn thing had subsided—which was unlikely with Caro half-naked just a few paces away on the bank.
Max ducked beneath the water again and scrubbed his hair vigorously. By the time he resurfaced, slightly more in control of himself, Caro was dressed and loitering in the shade of the trees with her back turned to give him privacy.
With a resigned sigh, he waded from the water, dried himself as best he could with his shirt, and pulled it on, along with his boots and stockings. If he’d been alone, he would have swum naked—and wouldn’t now be saddled with wet breeches trickling water into his boots. He sent a silent apology to his bootmaker, Hoby, back in London, who would have an apoplexy to see his finest—and most expensive—creations in such a pitiful state.
Giving Caro a wide berth, he started down the trail. “Let’s get back to the beach.”
They walked in silence, with Max acutely aware of her behind him, when he suddenly heard her stop.
“Max.”
