He passed by the house, and she admired his sharp profile for a few seconds, then lowered the scope to his body. His chest expanded with each deep breath, and she found herself matching her breaths to his. Even lower, she noted his muscular thighs and calves. His white running shoes pounded on the sand, leaving a steady trail.
He continued down the beach toward the rock known as Petra, giving her a glorious view of his backside.
“Opa,” she muttered as she continued to spy on him through the telescope. She’d seen plenty of fit men during her training days for the Bureau, but this guy put them to shame. While their muscles had seemed forced and clumpy, this guy looked completely natural, moving with an easy, graceful control.
She was still focused on his rump when she noticed the attached legs were no longer moving. Did he run out of steam? He hadn’t seemed tired. His jogging shorts slowly turned, affording her a long look at his groin. She gulped.
She raised the scope to his chest. Oh dear. That huge expanse of chest was now facing her direction. Surely, he wasn’t…she lifted the scope to his face and gasped.
He was looking straight at her!
She jumped back, pulling her blanket tight around her. How could he see her? The courtyard was dark and the walls reached to her waist. But then the walls were whitewashed and she was cocooned in a white blanket, and the moon and stars were bright. Maybe he could see this far. Surely he hadn’t been able to hear her? She’d barely spoken over a whisper.
He stepped toward her, gazing at her with intense eyes. Oh God, he’d caught her ogling him with a telescope! She pressed a hand against her mouth to keep from groaning out loud. Apparently, the smallest of sounds was carrying across the beach.
He took another step toward her, and the moon glinted off his hair. Red? She hadn’t met any redheaded men at the party that night. Who was this man?
“Olivia,” Eleni called through the open door. “Your tea is steeping.”
She strode into the kitchen and waited impatiently for her mug of tea. “There’s a man on the beach.”
“Are you sure? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“Come and see. Maybe you know him.” Olivia wandered back to the patio and peered over the wall.
He was gone.
“He—he was there.” Olivia pointed south toward Petra. There was no sign of him anywhere.
Eleni gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re exhausted and seeing shadows. Drink your tea, child, and go to bed.”
“He was real,” she whispered. And the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dear God, please let him be real.
Coming April 2010
Nine Rules to Break
When Romancing a Rake
A delightful new romance from debut author
Sarah MacLean
Kiss someone passionately, fire a pistol, attend a duel…
Lady Calpurnia Hartwell has had enough. Sick and tired of following rules and never having any fun, the inveterate spinster decides it’s time to throw caution to the wind…at least just this once. But when a little fun leads her into the arms of a devastating rake, good Lady Callie must decide if she’ll retreat to the life she knows…or succumb to a most ruinous temptation.
Who are you?” The Marquess of Ralston’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, taking in the soft angles of Callie’s face. “Wait…” She imagined his eyes flashing with recognition. “You’re Allendale’s daughter. I noticed you earlier.”
She could not contain her sarcastic response. “I’m sure you did, my lord. It would be rather hard to miss me.” She covered her mouth immediately, shocked that she had spoken so boldly.
He chuckled. “Yes. Well, it isn’t the most flattering of gowns.”
She couldn’t help her own laughter from slipping out. “How very diplomatic of you, my lord. You may admit it. I look rather too much like an apricot.”
This time, he laughed aloud. “An apt comparison. But I wonder, is there ever a point where one looks enough like an apricot?” He indicated that she should resume her place on the bench and, after a moment’s hesitation, she did so.
“Likely not.” She smiled broadly, amazed that she wasn’t nearly as humiliated by his agreement as she would have expected. No, indeed, she found it rather freeing. “My mother…she’s desperate for a daughter she can dress like a fashion plate. Sadly, I shall never be such a child. How I long for my sister to come out and distract the countess from my person.”
He joined her on the bench. “How old is your sister?”