"Doesn't this work great?" he asked a few minutes later, hauling up another bucket of seawater. "We're really making progress."
She propped the brush handle against the lifelines and straightened, rubbing the small of her back with one fist, then took the bucket from him. "Except I seem to be doing all the hard labor."
"What'd you think I meant when I said scrubbing the deck was an art?" He laughed at her scowl. "I'm kidding. We can switch jobs."
"Sure, now that we're almost finished."
He leaned forward to grab the brush handle, and that quick, she threw the bucket of water on his back. He yelped, glared at her in a mock threat. "You've had it, matey."
She started backing away, then turned to run.
"No running on deck," he yelled, darting after her. He caught her in two strides, catching her wiggling body against his. Accidentally, his hand brushed her breast, and they both stilled.
He knew he should release her, laugh off the entire incident, yet some nameless demand compelled him to turn her yielding softness in his arms to face him.
Her smile died when their eyes met. Hers were wide with surprise and wariness. He almost felt sorry for her; she was such an easy target. His stance was wide, natural compensation to the motion of the boat, and her lower body fit into him as if it belonged there.
A groan escaped from deep inside him, and he lowered his hands to her buttocks, urging her against his growing response.
Her lips parted, drawing his mouth irresistibly toward them. His head lowered little by little. He knew once his lips touched hers, he'd lose control; devour every savory inch of her. Like the tide, with some women, there was no stopping until the flow reached the rip stage.
She was one of those women. He wanted to make mad passionate--
)
