His body was hard, all tough muscle and lean, disciplined lines. She liked a man with plenty of hair, and his was full and thick and as dark as the night around them.

She skimmed her fingers up into his hair. The taste of her tickled his hormones, engaged his imagination, and made him grateful their hotel was only two blocks away.

'Why don't we give him something to splash on page one, sugar?' And because he figured the pair of them were as shallow as a dry creek after a drought, he laughed and turned her into his arms. I'm so weary of being viewed as an object for the pleasure of men.' She sighed, testing the strength of that thin silk, and let Cameron guide her down the moon-dappled street. 'They're such pests,' she said with a hint of a lisp or a French accent. Her red-is-the-color-of-sin dress, barely thicker than a coat of paint, made an abrupt halt just south of the Gates of Paradise. The woman pouted-it was, after all, her trademark look-but gave her endless mane of ribbon-straight silvery-blond hair an artful toss and shifted her killer body expertly. When they stepped out of the casino into the balmy March night, one of the ubiquitous paparazzi leaped out, snapping frantically. Yes indeed, Cameron mused, luck was definitely being his kind of lady. Between the paparazzi and a reporter from Sports Illustrated, the glory showed no signs of dimming either.įortune continued to smile-no, make that leer, Cameron thought-by turning him toward that little jewel in the Med at the same time that popular magazine was wrapping its swimsuit-edition shoot.Īnd the leggiest of those long-stemmed gifts from God had turned her high-summer blue eyes on him, tipped her full, pouty lips up in an invitational smile a blind man could have spotted, and opted to stay on a few days longer.Īnd she'd made it clear that with very little effort, he could get a whole lot luckier.Ĭhampagne, generous casinos, mindless, no-strings sex. He had the glory, and the hefty purse, and he'd taken both over to Monte Carlo to see how they held up.Ī few hands of baccarat, a couple of rolls of the dice, the turn of a card, and his wallet weighed heavier.

Just the day before, he'd raced his hydrofoil to victory in the world championship, edging out the competition by the point of the bow and breaking the standing record for time and speed. He believed absolutely in the ebb and flow of luck, and right now his was flowing fast and hot. He liked to think it was just the two-steps-short-of-sloppy state that was holding his luck steady.

He could get there if he put his mind to it, but at the moment he preferred the nice comfortable buzz of the nearly there.

Sea Swept by Nora Roberts