Chapter One

"Well, well, if it isn't Miss Eastman. I'd recognize those tits anywhere."

Delanie froze, the bright tropical sun suddenly cold on her bare skin. Even with her eyes shut she recognized that deep velvety drawl.

Kyle Wright.

The only man who'd ever seen her naked.

Here? Impossible.

No, more like, improbable.

What were the chances of Kyle bearing witness to the only two outrageous, out-of-character acts of her entire twenty-seven years? Delanie had to admit, her one step on the wild side all those years ago had been incredible, but she'd never expected to see him again.

Besides, it was highly unlikely he'd turn up here, on this inaccessible mountaintop, deep in the jungles of South America, thousands of miles from San Francisco, and light-years from the last time she'd seen him.

After all this time she was still mortified by her uncharacteristic lack of restraint with the man. She was a woman who needed to be in control of her emotions at all times. With Kyle Wright she hadn't been capable of remembering her own name, let alone maintaining her equilibrium.

"Ah," he said, and God help her, no matter how unlikely it was, there was no doubt whatsoever that the man walking purposefully toward her was Kyle. "The perfect woman. Beautiful, practically naked, and mute."

Fiery red burned through the thin membrane of Delanie's eyelids. She sensed the head-to-toe skim and scorch of his gaze as she frantically tried to think of something sophisticated and witty to lob back. The bottom half of a string bikini, a thick gold necklace, a nice tan, and nerves of steel had sufficed until a few moments ago. Now her small bare breasts felt as prominent and conspicuous as mountains.

Come on, she thought frantically. Think, damn it. Think.

Okay. So what if it is Kyle. I'm sensible. Pragmatic. Competent. I can handle this.

Their fling four years ago had been like a comet ride. Quick. Hot. Intense.

And history before they'd learned much more than each other's erogenous zones.

Chances were, she was overreacting—

No she wasn't. After all this time, he'd recognized her by her boobs.

But their blazing seventy-two-hour sex marathon hadn't exactly included delving deep into each other's lives. She'd fibbed, no, downright lied, to him that weekend in San Francisco, pretending to be considerably more sophisticated and experienced than she really was. That would work to her advantage now.

Same pretense.

Higher stakes.

The fine hair on Delanie's nape prickled as Kyle's deliberate footsteps scraped on the brick surrounding the swimming pool. His shadow slid over her. His knee brushed the top of her head.

The thought of his large hands trailing up the swell of her bare breasts brought back memories best forgotten. Nevertheless her nipples immediately perked up in response to the mental stimulation. Sweat pooled at the small of her back with the determination to remain motionless beneath Kyle's up-close and personal scrutiny.

Time's up. Think faster, damn it!

Delanie pretended she was her sister Lauren. Confident in her beauty, comfortable with her naked body, secure in the knowledge that whoever the man may be, he'd wait for her next move.

She finally found her voice. "Don't even think about it, pal."

Copyright © 2001 by Cherry Adair.