Swept Away by Toni Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

it to do over again—that night—I’d make sure you left completely satisfied.”
    The burning warmth that rose to her cheeks wasn’t from standing next to the grill because it was accompanied by a lump in her throat. “Oh,” she said thinly, then forked the two potatoes onto a plate and walked away to the table as fast as she could.
    “I’ll be back in a minute,” she added, then scurried into the house. While Brock had been starting up the grill and putting the food on, she’d taken a few minutes to unpack her bag, so at least now she knew where to find her clothes, scant bits of them that there were. Yanking open a bureau drawer, she drew out a long cotton sarong of fuchsia and white and tied it around her waist.
    Because she found herself suddenly feeling a little naked. Because things were getting sexual here. Which shouldn’t surprise her—things between her and Brock had always been sexual, from the very first moment she’d met him. She just wasn’t prepared to be face-to-face with him again. And she wasn’t used to him being smooth, or seductive. She definitely wasn’t used to being trapped on an island with him all alone, where anything could happen. For five freaking days. And nights. Right before her wedding.
    Deep breath. Deep breath. In. Out. You can do this.
    Yet as she exited the bungalow, she glanced up at a dusky purple sky and sent a silent message to God: You have rotten timing! Do you hear me? Rotten!
    Or maybe this was God’s humorous way of paying her back for being a little wild in her earlier days. And her later days, too, actually—until recently. Until she’d agreed to marry Ian last Christmas.
    “Come and get it, kitten,” Brock said, which in her current frame of mind forced her thoughts to the many things “it” could refer to, so she smirked heavenward once more before heading to the table.
    “Looks good,” she said, being sure to focus on the steaks and not him. He eyed her sarong as she sat down. “What’s with the skirt?”
    “Nothing’s with it,” she said, dropping her gaze to the saltshaker, then reaching for it. “I was starting to get chilled.” Not really, but the late May evening had cooled off the tropical air, so it wasn’t inconceivable. Even if he looked amused by her answer.
    “A little late for modesty,” he said.
    She cut into her steak, refused to let herself look into those darkly provocative eyes or to even notice that familiar lock of hair drooping carelessly onto his forehead, and decided to ignore the remark. But speaking of what she was wearing “By the way, my friend Nina’s boyfriend came out here with us for a weekend last summer and left some clothes behind that might fit you.”
    He arched one brow. “Why did he leave them?”
    “Actually, he’s her ex-boyfriend now. They had a nasty breakup that very weekend, and I think she’s sort of holding them hostage, along with some other stuff.”
    He gave a short, dry nod. “Sounds the same as I remember her.”
    Kat was surprised he recalled Nina at all. “How do you remember her?”
    “Erratic. Vindictive. Maybe slightly hysterical.”
    Unfortunately, Kat couldn’t really dispute any of that. “But she’s a lot of fun. Surprisingly sensible on her good days. And as loyal as the day is long,” she said in her friend’s defense. “Anyway, the clothes are in there, if you want to, uh”—she glanced at his bare chest, then motioned toward the house—“put something on.”
    “I’m fine for now, thanks.” Swell. That makes one of us.
    Well, if she couldn’t get him to cover up those muscles, she could at least force him to get down to business. “All right then. Start talking. About why my boat was blown up today. And who those scary men were. And why they wanted you dead and why you let them think you were.”
    “It’s a long story.” He offered up a light grin, as if this was fun, casual chitchat.
    “As you pointed out earlier, we’ve got some time.” No smiles