Was it arrogant to want more of her, to hold and adore her? To want to inhale her scent as she lay tangled with him in his bed?
He had shrugged mentally, because he knew what he wanted—Leigh, the woman, his woman.
"I take care of my family," Leigh was saying, settling in to sulk. With her arms crossed in front of her, the top of breasts surged over the tight maillot's scoop neckline and the soft flesh quivered as she moved.
He could have picked her up and hurried to the closest dressing room door—one with a good lock on it, his body already hardened, sensitized to the heartbeat along her throat, to the memory of the heat inside her...
"I like bikinis better. But this one-piece thing is nice, too." He wanted her with no clothing at all, rich and soft and flowing and hot.
Leigh's sulky pout reminded him of Ryan. Her body reminded him of the woman he'd made love to last night and this morning, who met the day with him, snuggled back in his arms.
