Going Overboard by Christina Skye Read Free Book Online

find out how that trim body felt beneath all that silk.
    He scowled at the thought. “And if I ever get my hands on the man who gave you those reasons, you might want to leave the room.”
    “I'm not sure whether to be grateful or insulted.” “Neither,” he grumbled. “Let's just get this job done.” He turned away, tugging off his shirt as he headed for the bedroom to change.
    Carly refused to be nervous. He was just another body and this was just another job. There was no reason for anxiety. She frowned down at the third battery she'd dropped in the last five minutes.
    Daphne watched Carly reach for her cappuccino as they stood on the veranda. “You want to watch the caffeine consumption. That stuff is pure rocket fuel.”
    “Who's jittery? I'm solid as a rock.” Carly stuck out her hand and watched it lurch. “That's just ship movement.” She raked back her windblown hair, scanning the horizon. The sun was perfect, a ball of liquid gold glowing behind red clouds. The props were ready, and her crew was focused and in place.
    So where was he? If he didn't hurry, they'd miss the light.
    She turned toward the cabin and stopped dead, facing six feet two inches of hard, dangerous male in a tuxedo that fit like a masterpiece. The silk skimmed his broad shoulders and rode smoothly at his lean waist. As she had instructed, his feet were bare, his cuffs were rolled up, and his formal black tie lay open over his unbuttoned shirt.
    He was all control on the surface, but an edge of violence simmered beneath, and the contrast was striking. Carly swung up her camera and ran a few frames, unable to take her eyes from the monitor.
    He claimed the screen. The man was a study in disciplined power, right off the alpha chart.
    God help the women of the free world when this picture hit the airwaves.
    “Catch me,” Daphne whispered. “I'm going to faint.”
    “Don't even think about it. I need you sane and focused so I can finish this scene in time to save my job.”
    “Forget sane. Does the man look half as amazing as I think he does?”
    “Absolutely,” Carly murmured. “He also looks annoyed as heck and ready to back out any second. Hank,” she called. “Let's get those colored filters fine-tuned and the champagne misted.”
    With the last details covered, Carly turned and took a deep breath. “You look—”
    “Phenomenal,” Daphne said.
    Carly ignored her. “I'm glad the tux fits so well. If you'll stand beside this line taped on the deck, you'll be in position for the cameras.” She guided McKay into place, ignoring a sudden stab of tension. She wasn't going to be silly about this. He was just a job, after all.
    “Let's get started.” She raised her camera, checked the lens, and cleared her throat, realizing something was wrong.
    “The camera is upside down,” Daphne said helpfully.
    “Of course it is. I was checking the battery,” Carly lied.
    Pre-shoot nerves, nothing more.
    She moved one of the teak deck chairs, pulled the champagne bucket closer, then arranged two crystal flutes on the glass table next to a spray of Indonesian orchids.
    Satisfied, she stood back, watching McKay—watchingsunlight turn his face into an arresting clash of light and shadow. It was a pity that his features would not appear in the final scene, since they were still committed to use Griff Kelly for the head shots. The transposition work would take place after the filming.
    Carly scanned the main cameras, painfully aware of how little time they had until the sun went down. “Hank, how's the setup?”
    “Okay over here, Carly. Ready to roll.”
    “Excellent.” She looked at McKay, his expression cool and arrogant, impatience in every hard line of his body.
He really hates doing this
, she thought.
    On impulse, she decided not to tell him the cameras were rolling, afraid he would tense up. “Hank, you are cued.” Her cameraman nodded. He knew her well enough to guess what she was doing.
    She saw the red light appear,