THE blazing sun dazzled the eyes and the steady crash of waves on the long sandy beach lulled Sophie Johnson to sleep. She snuggled deeper into her towel on the warm sand. Sheâd had more fun in the last ten days than sheâd hadâ¦well, than sheâd hadâ¦ever.
Abruptly the sand shifted and a shadow stretched over her. Sophieâs stomach tensed: a knot of excitement and fear. Shading her eyes, she glanced up, knowing it was Alonso Huntsman. How could she adore someone so much when he made her this nervous?
Alonso was standing over her, dripping wet, his black hair slicked back from his face, the hard planes of his chest darkly tan from a summer spent in the sun. âYou smell fantastic, Sophie. I think Iâll eat you.â
She tried to ignore the way her heart jumped. âItâs just lotion, Lon. Iâd taste disgusting.â
He flashed her a wicked grin. âIâll be the judge of that.â
Clive Wilkins, son of prominent banker Lord Wilkins, stirred restlessly on his towel next to Sophie. âWill you two kindly shut up?â
Alonso reached for his towel, his muscles rippling as he mopped his face dry. âAre we disturbing your sleep, old man?â
âYes. As a matter of fact, you are,â Clive retorted, burying his blond head deeper into the crook of his arm.
âJust one little taste,â Lon whispered to Sophie over Cliveâs head, his light blue eyes glowing. He knew he was being wicked. He also knew it thrilled her.
âOne taste?â
He nodded seriously. âJust one good lick.â
Squirming on the inside, trying not to laugh, she picked up her bottle of suntan lotion and tossed it to him. Lon caught it with one hand. âHere you go, big boy. Enjoy.â
âOh, for Godâs sake!â Clive swore, sitting up. âYouâve just ruined a brilliant nap.â He grabbed Sophieâs arm, pressed her wrist to his mouth and flicked his tongue across her warm skin.
âDisgusting,â Clive pronounced, tossing her arm away. He lay back down again, nestling his unshaven cheek to his arm, the blond bristles glinting gold. âShe tastes like synthetics and plastic. Youâd hate it, Lon. Now, will you two please shut up so I can sleep?â
âYou just donât want me to taste her,â Lon mocked, dropping down next to the two of them. âI think youâre jealous, old man.â
Clive didnât even bother to open his eyes. âJealous of you two pathetic human beings?â His aristocratic English had never been more precise. âOf course, you big Scottish meat-head. You and the princess are the two best friends a man could ask for.â
Meat-head. Princess. Sophie bit her lip, trying not to giggle, but she couldnât hold the laughter in. Once she started to laugh Lon and Clive joined in, and suddenly her eyes were burning with tears she wouldnât cry.
This was the best school holiday of her life. No, make it the best summer of her life. Clive and Lon were impossible. Incorrigible. Irredeemable. And sheâd never loved anyone so much.
Nothing, she thought as she surreptitiously wiped a tear away, gazing out at the Pacific Ocean where the waves crashed against Buenaventuraâs white sandy beach, nothing would ever top this. Nothing would ever be as sweet; nothing would ever be as innocent.
If only time would stop and the three of them could remain together, forever, like this.
âHOW much?â Lady Sophie Wilkins asked, holding her hand up, watching the ring catch the light. The marquis cut emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds glittered in the jewelry storeâs bright fluorescent lighting, throwing off white sparks like fireworks exploding on New Yearâs Eve.
âTen thousand pounds,â the jeweler answered.
She turned her hand a little, mesmerized by the hot glow of the emerald and the brilliant blue and yellow streaks of fire in the white stones.
She heard the jewelry store door open but she couldnât tear her gaze from the glittering stone on her finger. Ten thousand pounds, she silently repeated, ten thousand pounds, knowing sheâd never have anything half so beautiful again. But she couldnât keep it. She had to get to Brazil, and she still had so many bills to pay, and ten thousand pounds would settle a lot of debts.