A Prince of a Guy

Okay, maybe not plenty, mostly because whatever men there were in her world, rich and educated and a perfect catch—just ask her mother—all bored her.

She had a feeling nothing about Sean would bore any woman.

Not that she planned on finding out. No, she couldn’t add a quickie affair to her current list of sins. An affair, no matter how suddenly tempting, wasn’t on her list of things to do while in the real world.

Learning who she was and what she was made of…that was her plan.

Sean, oblivious to her standing there, continued to swim beneath the starlit night until finally he slowed, then stopped only inches from where she stood, his body strong and pulsing and gleaming in the moonlight.

He was startled to see her. Shoving back his wet hair, he held onto the side of the pool, his chest heaving from exertion. Water ran down his face, over his strong, firm jaw. There was a drop on his lower lip, which he licked off with his tongue.

“You swim like a fish,” she said inanely, as if she wasn’t wishing he’d pull himself out of the water and give her a view of his body.

“Swimming is a stress reliever.”

“Is there a lot of stress in your life, Sean O’Mara?”

She had no idea why she asked, why the obvious probe into his life. She didn’t want to know about him, didn’t want to become friends, because then she would care. And if she cared, she’d have to feel badly about using him and Melissa, not to mention all the little untruths she’d told.

Sean didn’t look any more thrilled than she at the idea of sharing. “Some,” he said, then purposely changed the subject. “You’re looking a little worse for wear. Why don’t you try swimming and see if it works for you?”

“You mean…now?”

At her surprise, he grinned. “No, next week. Yes, now.”

“No, thanks.”

He shook his head, and water flew. A drop hit the glasses that were continuously slipping off her nose, but she couldn’t remove them to dry the lenses or she’d risk exposing herself.

“Come in,” he said.

“In the water?”

He laughed again, and before she could so much as breathe, he reached out with one very big, very wet, warm hand and grabbed her ankle.

He tugged playfully.

Panic replaced any amusement Carlyne might have felt. She couldn’t get wet. She’d lose her wig, her glasses, her contacts. Her clothes would cling to her, maybe slip off, and then the truth would be evident. She’d reveal who she really was…and the jig would be up.

She’d have to go home, and though the day had been nothing short of the most work she’d ever done, she’d loved it.

Loved it.

She wasn’t ready to go back, not yet. Please, not yet.

“Come on, Carly.” His fingers stroked the skin above her ankle.

Never in her life would she have imagined that spot to be an erogenous zone, but suddenly she had visions of him touching her like that all over.

His knowing eyes watched as he continued to stroke her in what should have been a completely innocent way, but nothing about Sean O’Mara was innocent when he looked at her that way, as if she could be eaten up in one bite.

“Come in,” he coaxed. “Swim off the stress.” He tugged on her ankle again, the pressure of his fingers going right through her big, clunky boot. The tingle spread directly between her thighs.

“No!” she said, much harsher than she intended, shoving the slipping glasses up her nose, pressing her other hand to the top of her head in case he dislodged the wig.

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