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“My fantasies?”
He nodded. “Tell me. I dare you.”
She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, and her eyes focused on the sand in front of her, as if she were doing her best not to step on shells or debris. In the dimming light, he couldn’t read her expression.
“You’re my fantasy,” she said.
Eric stopped short, her words hitting him in the gut. He’d been waiting for her to describe something kinky and wild. “Georgia—”
“I don’t mean wedding bells.” She paused beside him and looked up, meeting his gaze.
“When I lie in the dark at night, I dream about watching you strip out of one of your suits,” she continued, her voice barely audible over the rush of the waves.
Eric stepped closer, unwilling to miss a single word. But he kept his hands fisted at his sides.
“I picture you moving toward me as you undo each button, the way your muscles shift when you pull your undershirt over your head. Once you’re naked, I imagine your hands reaching for me, slowly peeling off my clothes,” she said, her voice low and husky. With each word, the sun dipped lower, further cocooning them in darkness. “Pulling away the layers quickly. No hesitation. And then, you’d touch me.”
“Where?” he demanded. “Show me.”
There was just enough light to see her fingers trace a slow path from her collarbone, over the edge of her shirt to between her breasts.
“Here.” Her hand moved to her right breast, his eyes tracking her movements. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, she palmed the flesh he was dying to touch, lifting it as if she were imagining him testing the weight and fullness.
“Would I stop there?” His words were a near whisper.
“No.”
He glanced up at her face, barely visible now in the dim light. “Tell me, Georgia.”
“In my fantasies, you’re very talented with your mouth. I’ve spent years wondering what if would feel like to have your tongue trailing down over my stomach, to have you on your knees, moving lower and lower.”
The crash of a wave punctuated her sentence. Eric closed his eyes, tempted to rush into the water and escape the mental picture of Georgia’s legs spread wide and his mouth teasing the soft folds that he’d watched her explore with her own hands.
“Is that detailed enough for you?” she asked.
“Yes.” He heard the rough edge in his voice. He raised his hands, reaching for her. But she danced away. Hell, maybe she’d realized how wrong this was and planned to hightail it to the water first.
“My turn,” she said.
It took him a second before he realized she was talking about the game. Through his burning need to touch her, he wondered if she required the pretense. If she did, was that a sign she wasn’t ready to move beyond kisses in a field and dirty talk on the beach?
“Truth or dare,” she said.
“Dare.” Right now, thrust up against the limits of his desire, he craved action. And her touch. It was wrong, damn it, but he couldn’t spend another night watching her run her hands over her body. It was his turn.
“Good choice.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Which condo is yours?”
He pointed down the beach to a townhouse divided into two units. “The deck on the left. The one with the hot tub.”
“Perfect.” Excitement lit up her voice. “I dare you to take off your clothes and climb in.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll join me?”
“Yes.”
The image of her naked body pressed against his in the warm water left no room for doubts. He undid the button on his polo and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it at her. “You’re on.”
He turned and strode toward the stairs leading up to his vacation home. Eric reached the wooden gate and punched in the security code to unlock the latch. He heard soft footsteps behind him on the stairs. Georgia. His Georgia.