âTHIS is a private beach.â
The deep Latin voice with its hint of censure brought the slender young woman scrambling to her feet. Struggling to fasten the top half of her bikini with eyes narrowed against the sunâs glare, Annalisa drew herself up to her full height, only to find herself steering her gaze into the naked chest of a powerfully built man.
âIâm sorry,â she said automatically. So where was the notice saying this stretch of Menorcan sand was reserved for the use of arrogant Spanish males? âI was justââ
âI gathered what you were doing,â he cut in.
âThereâs nothing to say this area is restricted,â Annalisa said, fighting to keep her gaze in check. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties. Black bathing shorts still wet from the sea clung to well-muscled thighs, while drops of water glistened on his bronzed, toned body. Her heart gave a jolt as she lifted her chin to take a proper look at his face. He had the most amazing eyes⦠Not just the colour, the shape, or even the fact that twin crescents of thick black lashes cast deep shadows across his chiselled cheekbones; they were simply the most expressiveâ
âDo you have signs in your garden back home?â he demanded, reclaiming her attention.
He spoke with all the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to respect, Annalisa thought as she took stock of her adversary.
âNo, but my garden has a hedge around itâ¦and a gate.â
To her surprise he almost smiled. âTouché, Missâ?â
âWilson. Annalisa Wilson,â Annalisa told him, feeling the need to cross her arms over her chest. It wasnât that his gaze ever left her face, and he certainly didnât try to crowd her like most men. But even standing a good few feet away he made her extremely nervous.
And now he smiled. But, instead of making her feel better, the flash of strong white teeth against his improbably handsome face made her feel more awkward than ever. Maybe it had more to do with the look in his eyes that suggested he knew a lot more than she did.
âPleased to meet you, Annalisa. That is a beautiful and unusual name.â
âThank you. My father was Spanish.â
âReally?â
Why that should amuse him she had no idea.
âRamon di Crianza Perez,â he said, extending his hand in formal greeting.
As they connected she felt the strength in his fingers close around her, and instinctively snatched her hand away. âIâm sorry if Iâm trespassing. Iâll goââ
âGo?â he queried sharply. âHow do you propose to do that?â
âIâll swim back the way I cameâ¦around the point,â she said, nodding towards a spine of rocks that divided the two beaches.
âThe point!â
His incredulity stung her. âWhy not?â
âItâs far too dangerous!â
âI think I can be the judgeââ She held back the rest of the retort. Why on earth was she attempting to justify her actions to a complete stranger?
âYou do?â His voice, like a whiplash, lacked all suggestion of Mediterranean charm, but his eyes still possessed the same infuriating sparkle that had captured her attention in the first place⦠It betrayed an interest that went far beyond a natural desire to protect his boundaries.
Staring back at him, Annalisa knew the fact she felt hot and edgy had nothing to do with the sun. âWell, you swam here from that yacht,â she argued, glancing towards an impressive cruiser moored offshore. When his sardonic gaze licked over her she felt hotter still.
âYou must consider yourself an exceptional athlete.â
âI swam for my schoolââ
âIn a swimming pool?â
âWell, yes. Butââ
âThe Mediterranean is not a swimming pool, Annalisa.â
Was it really necessary to drawl her name like that? she wondered, conscious of the inadequate scraps of material struggling to contain her figure.