There's something so sexy about a mature man who goes after what he wants. And what Mitch wants is Greta. Well, what he originally wanted was Greta's motel so he could build a new hi-rise hotel complex. But Mitch soon finds out that Greta has a lot more to offer to a jaded ex-surfer and self made millionaire. Like a home and a ready made family. And love. Greta stood motionless, her feet rooted to the floor of the cabana. Mitch didn’t seem to mind, just swayed back and forth, their bodies connected, not asking her for any more than she was willing to give.
Finally, she found her feet and followed him. He led her around the table. The cabana wasn’t large, and between the table and chairs and the sofa—correction—bed that loomed in the corner, they had to stay close and dance in small steps. But still, it was magical. The music and the man who held her, the scent of salt breezing in from the ocean, the flicker of torches dancing along the edges of the sand outside, was all a sensual assault that overwhelmed her.
Part of her wanted to fight it, but another part of her realized that was stupid. Mitch was an attractive man, and she was a grown woman who’d had too little fun in her life. He’d offered her an amazing night. She’d be foolish to turn tail and run. He wasn’t offering her forever, or even a relationship. As long as she kept her wits about her and realized he was trying to seduce the motel out from under her, she could accept the fun and keep the motel.
She knew exactly what Mitch was up to. But she could still enjoy being with him, without giving him everything he wanted.
“Let’s take a walk.”
He held her hand while she slipped off her shoes. He took off his jacket, his shoes and socks, rolled up his sleeves and pants legs, and they stepped out onto the sand. Mitch led her down to the water’s edge where the breeze blew stronger, whipping her hair, salt stinging her skin and the waves teasing her toes.
She loved it. This was her home, the water as much a part of her as her own skin. The moon cast a silver glow over the dark water, lending its depths a mysterious quality that had always compelled her.
She stopped and turned to the sea. “I used to stand at the water’s edge at night when I was a kid, and could swear all the mermaids and mermen came out in the dark when we couldn’t see them.”
Mitch slid his hand in hers. “I looked for ghostly pirate ships on foggy nights and imagined stowing away and sailing to the ends of the earth.”
She laughed. “The endless dreams of children. How sad that we have to grow up and face reality.”
He looked down at her. “Do we?”
“I hardly think there are mermaids or pirate ships out there.”
“No, but there are new dreams to believe in. The problem with adults is that so many give up on having dreams.”
She turned and started walking again, but Mitch held on to her hand.
“Some dreams aren’t attainable,” she said.
“You can do anything you set your mind to do.”
“Easy if you already have money.”
“Not everyone starts with money, Greta. You just have to figure out what you want, then determine how you’re going to get it. Then let nothing stand in your way until you do.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Having something that really matters to you is never easy. But it’s not impossible.”
“Sometimes it is impossible.”
He stopped, reached for her shoulders, his fingers warm against her wind-chilled skin. “It’s only impossible if you give up your dreams.”
“My dreams died a long time ago.”
He slid his knuckles against her cheek. “They shouldn’t have. You’re way too young to give up on what you really want.”
“I don’t know what I really want anymore. I stopped thinking about myself a long time ago.”
“Maybe it’s time you started again.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need or want anything.”
His slight smile made her belly quiver. “Don’t you? Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”
He wasn’t talking about her motel. She knew it, and he knew it.
Waves pounded the shore, sending water across her feet. But she stood rooted to the spot, her toes digging into the wet sand as Mitch moved in, erasing any space between them.
Now her own blood rushing through her veins obliterated the sound of the crashing surf. Mitch leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She tasted wine, the salty spray of the sea, and she raised up, twining her arms around his neck to press closer, hungry for more.
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