I’m not in the mood to swim, though, and so I emerge, then lightly towel off. I like the sensation of being damp, of lying back and feeling the breeze brushing over my moist skin.

The lounge chair is padded, with a nice cup holder built right in. And since I’m planning on napping anyway, I detour to the small refrigerator and take out a wine cooler. I pick a chair under the pergola so that I’m at least a little bit out of the sun. And then, finally, I settle down to read and relax.

I make it only a few pages into the magazine before my eyes start to droop. I drop the magazine to the tiled decking, then close my eyes. Just a short nap, I think, as sleep beckons and I’m pulled down, down, down into my dreams.

He is there.

Ryan.

I am standing in a wide green field, and though I cannot see him clearly, I know that he is the man in the distance. Hunter, I think. And I am his prey.

He stalks toward me, jeans slung low on his hips. He wears no shirt, and the sun beats down on broad shoulders and a lean, sculptured chest. I move toward him, drawn to him by some unassailable compulsion.

And then he is there, and we are no longer in a field but on a beach. I am in his arms and there is an orchestra, and Nikki is there with Damien, applauding as Ryan spins me around and around and around until I am so dizzy I need to lie down.

Then I am on the ground, and the waves crash over me. The tent is gone, the orchestra vanished. There is only the sound of the ocean crashing upon the beach. There is only the feel of the water sluicing over me.

It is not cold—instead it is warm, so warm. And I stretch, feeling soft and languid and needful—I want his hands, his touch. And then, in the way of dreams, he is there, his hard body over me, his mouth trailing up my calf, my thigh.

I shiver, realizing that I am naked, but there is no shyness. I spread my legs for him and arch back as his mouth closes over my cunt. He kisses me there, so deeply intimate that shocks of pleasure ricochet through me. His tongue plays me, laving me, then teasing my clit, bringing me so very, very close before he torments me even more by trailing those kisses up my abdomen.

His hands massage my breasts roughly, his fingers pinching my nipples, sending live wires of electricity all the way down to my sex. My cunt clenches, desperate with the need to have him inside me, and I moan in an incoherent demand for more.

Then his mouth closes over mine, silencing me, and I taste him—taste me. I feel his erection hard beneath my legs, the steel length of him rubbing provocatively against my sex.

I moan against his mouth, and he gently pulls away. The shock of the break tugs me toward wakefulness. “Do you want me inside you?” he whispers, his voice still filling my dreams. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” I murmur, even as sleep abandons me. “Oh, yes.”

I am awake now but somehow still trapped in the dream. My cunt is slick with need, and the way the sun beats down on me makes me feel loose and sensual.

Slowly, as if in a dream, I skim one hand down my body. I am wearing a tiny bikini, and as I brush my fingers over my breast, I gasp from the contact with my too-sensitive nipples. Then I continue south, my palm flat on my stomach, my muscles quivering, as I move so painfully slowly down my belly.

He is still in my head. Hunter, I think. I like it. It seems wild. Hot. Hunter wouldn’t have walked away. Hunter would have thrown me back on the beach and fucked me right there, and not cared in the slightest if anyone walked by.

The thought makes me a little crazy, and I squeeze my legs together even as I wiggle my hips. The motion takes some of the edge off, but not enough. I need more. I need Ryan, the fantasy.

I raise one hand to my chest and slide my fingers under the bikini top and over the swell of my breast until I brush against my nipple. The sensation is delicious, and I arch a bit under my own touch. My breasts feel heavy, my nipples straining against the thin triangles of material that form the top.

I stroke my nipple, teasing it even as my first hand sinks lower and lower, until those fingers sneak in beneath the elastic band at the top of the bikini bottoms. Then I slide them further still, until I find my own slick heat. I gasp, arching up at the sweet jolt that shoots through me when I lightly stroke my clit.

I’m desperately wet, frantically wanting. But it’s not just release that I want, it’s the man.

There’s no denying it—I want Ryan Hunter. And if I can’t have the man himself, I’m going to have him in my imagination.

I move my finger in small, teasing circles, letting the pleasure build, arching up to bring it tighter, hotter.

I bite my lower lip and squeeze my eyes shut as I slide two fingers into my sex, then arch up as my body clenches tight with unfulfilled need. I quiver, arching, moving, trying desperately to reach satisfaction.

I tug the bikini top down, freeing my breasts, and gasp at the sensation of warm sun upon my nipples. I take one between two fingers and pinch, crying out as heat shoots all the way down to my overly sensitive clit.

I withdraw my hand and stroke an ever-quickening circle on my sensitive sex, but it’s not enough. I want to be claimed, taken. I want to feel his cock inside me, not just his hands upon me. And I abandon my aching and heavy breasts to slide that hand down, lower and lower until I am gasping with the pleasure of having two fingers stroke my clit while I fuck myself with my other hand.

No. Not myself.

Hunter.

“Yes,” I murmur, not even certain if I’m speaking aloud. “Oh, god, yes.”

In my mind, I can see him above me, his eyes searching mine. I can hear his voice, telling me to come for him, to explode with him. It is his cock in me, thrusting deeper and harder, taking me. Claiming me. Owning me.

“Hunter,” I cry as my eyes flutter open while his fingers—my fingers—thrust even deeper inside me.

And there he is.

I go tense, frozen, as Ryan Hunter stands there watching me—with a heat in his eyes so intense it is a wonder I don’t get burned.

Chapter Three

I start to yank my hand away and am rendered frozen by his sharp, firm, “No.”

My heart is beating. My skin is flushed. I’m embarrassed and turned on and confused. “Ryan,” I say. “I—what are you—”

I start to shift. I need to move. Hell, I need to run.

“No,” he says more softly this time, but the word is equally firm, and the force of it holds me in place. “Don’t stop. Come for me, Jamie. I want to watch you explode for me.”

I am tempted to tell him to go to hell. To wrap a towel around myself and run inside.

I’m tempted to do that—but only because I think that is what I should do. But I’ve never been a girl who pays attention to should. I’m all about want.

And what I want is to finish this.

What I want is to make him hard, to drive him crazy. And I know that he is close. I can see the evidence even from this distance. The bulge in his jeans. The tightness in his jaw. The way his hand is closed tight around the decorative finial on the gate by which he stands.

He is as turned on as I am, and that knowledge makes me bold.

He’d driven me a little crazy when he’d left me on the beach. And now, I think, as I run my teeth over my lower lip and slide my finger over my swollen clit—now it’s my turn to drive him wild.

And that’s a game I’ve been playing for years.

I don’t speak. Instead, I keep my eyes on him as I slide my hand further down. I’m wet and slick, and the tension I see on his face only excites me more.

I thrust my fingers inside, my hips bucking as I finger fuck myself with him watching, him wanting.

I slide my fingers in and out, teasing myself by rubbing lightly over my clit. I keep up the motion, my eyes on Ryan, my mouth open and my breath coming hard.

I draw my other hand up to fondle my breast, and as I do, I hear him suck in air. The sound only turns me on more, and I start to close my eyes as the tension inside me builds, higher and higher.

“No,” he says. “I want to see your eyes. I want to look at you when you come.”

I open my eyes and our gazes lock. He is heat. He is power.

He is everything I want, and I am starting to wonder if I will be able to survive this. If I will be able to withstand the force of the explosion that is building inside me.

“That’s it,” he says. “You’re close. Christ, Jamie, do you have any idea how hard I am? How much I want to be inside you?”

I thrust my fingers into my cunt and slide my other hand down, my hips bucking violently. I am wild. I am shameless, and my eyes never leave his. Not as the tension starts to build. Not as the sparks start to gather. Not as the electricity surges through me, building and building until there is nowhere left to go, and I cry out because there is no way I could keep that much passion inside.

I hold his gaze as my body shudders, as the tremors calm and I return to earth.

I watch his eyes and think that for the first time, someone has seen into the heart of me.

I lie there, my breathing shallow, as Ryan strides toward me, all power and purpose. His expression is hard, his eyes blazing. My lips are parted, and I arch my back without thinking, bringing my body that much closer to him in a silent plea for his touch.

He doesn’t reach for me, though. Instead, he stops beside the chaise and looks down at me. His gaze moves slowly over me with such sweet deliberation that I tremble, my body quivering as if in reaction to his touch.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me who you were thinking of.”

“No one,” I say though I know he will see through the lie.

“Don’t lie to me, kitten. I don’t like it.”

I lick my lips. “I had you wrong,” I tease. “I thought you were a nice guy. I made you eggs one morning, remember? I never thought that the nice guy I shared breakfast with would have—”

“Would have what?”

“Would have watched me finger fuck myself,” I finish boldly.

“Watch?” he repeats as he lowers himself to sit on the edge of my chaise. His hip brushes the bare skin of my waist, making me hyperaware of his proximity. “I did more than watch, sweetheart.” He lifts my hand, then strokes it slowly, making me even more crazy in the process.

“I imagined that these fingers were mine. That it was me stroking your skin, sliding under your suit.” He moves my hand to my belly as he speaks, then he places his own hand flat on the back of mine before easing our joined hands down.

“Do you have any idea how hard I got imagining how slick you were, how tight your cunt was?” He guides two of my fingers inside me, and I gasp in pleasure and surprise as he pushes them deeper and deeper.

“Please,” I beg, but I don’t even know what I am asking for. I am a wild mess of feelings, hot and out of control. I want to come. I want to explode. I want his hands all over me.

“That’s it,” he says as I thrust my hips shamelessly, wanting more. Wanting everything. “Oh, yes. You like that, don’t you, kitten?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “God yes.” And yet I don’t know this woman—this girl who melts at a man’s voice, who submits to his whims. The Jamie I know keeps control by keeping a tight grip on a man’s cock and leading him around with it like a leash. But this Jamie—oh, dear god, right then all this Jamie wants to do is surrender to pleasure.

He is only tormenting me, though, a sad fact I realize when he withdraws my fingers, then tugs our joined hands free. Then he raises my hand to his lips, and I begin to melt again as he draws my finger in, sucking and licking with such deliberate intensity that I can feel the tug of pressure all the way down to my clit.

“Am I a nice guy?” he asks as he releases my hand. “I don’t know, Jamie. I guess that’s up to you. If you need a nice guy, I’ll be a nice guy. But I don’t think that’s what you need right now.”

I try to speak, but can’t seem to manage. I swallow, then try again. “What do I need?”

But he says nothing. He just smiles. And, honestly, he’s turned me into such a confused and emotional mess that I’m not sure if I want to kiss him or slap him.

I don’t like being confused, and my discomfort makes me bold. I prop myself up on my elbows. “What the hell kind of a game are you playing?”