Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

WILLOW

W illow's bare feet sank into the warm sand as she walked along the coastline, Weston close by her side. Neither had spoken a word other than a perfunctory greeting since seeing each other at breakfast. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over the tranquil waves that lapped gently against the shore. She breathed in the salty air, feeling the limited freedom that came with being allowed outside of the limited scope of the castle and the one private beach. This place, with its relatively untouched beauty, had become something other than a sanctuary, it had felt like a prison from the start and that hadn't changed. It was a nice prison, but a prison, nonetheless. Even the salt-tanged air had begun to feel cloying. Willow was beginning to feel as if she had exchanged one type of imprisonment for another.

They reached a rocky area where the beach met a towering overhang. The rocks jutted out into the sea, forming natural pools where tiny sea creatures darted about. Willow's eyes lit up with curiosity. Without a second thought, she stripped down to her swimsuit and waded into the water, beckoning Weston to join her. He shook his head, presumably to be able to scan the horizon and watch for danger.

"Come on, Weston, just a quick swim," Willow said, backing into the water until she was chest deep.

"Willow, come back."

"No," she called over her shoulder as she stretched her body down into the sea and began to swim.

She heard him mutter what sounded something like "Damn it."

Weston undressed to his briefs, carefully folding his clothes and setting his rather impressively large gun on top of the pile. The gun wasn't the only thing impressive about the man. Willow had turned to watch, treading water as she did so. Turning, she swam towards the overhang, drawn by the mystery of what might lie beneath its shadow. The water was cool, but somehow invigorating, and she felt a rush of excitement as she neared the rocks.

Suddenly, Cage's shout broke through the rhythmic sound of the waves. "Willow, stop! Come back!"

Willow looked around and could see nothing. There was an urgency to his voice she hadn't heard before. The cool water was a refreshing contrast to the sun's relentless heat on her skin. She floated on her back, ignoring him and letting the current carry her where it pleased. She knew Weston was watching just a few yards away.

She brought her legs down into the water, treading it to watch as his strong strokes sliced through the water with ease. He had the most beautiful, muscular arms that rippled as he pulled the water to him, propelling him forward. As she watched, a wave of desire washed over her, more powerful than the pull of the tide. Weston reached her, wrapping his strong hand around her arm and pulling her back to him, anger and concern etched on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked as his arm snaked around her waist in an almost vice-like grip.

"You can't go near those rocks," he snarled. "There's a whirlpool beneath the overhang. It'll suck you in. You would've drowned."

Willow's eyes widened in shock as she looked back at the innocent-seeming rocks. The thought of the hidden danger sent a shiver down her spine. "I didn't know," she whispered, clinging to Weston.

"No. Instead you just blithely swam towards danger, hoping someone might save you."

Willow pushed away from him. "You're a jerk, Weston."

The push was ineffective at best. Was it just her imagination or did he tighten his hold on her when she tried to push away?

The current shifted, pushing them closer together. Their bodies were pushed together both by the unrelenting, incoming tide and the strength of Weston's grip. Suddenly, their bodies were pressed tightly against each other, the soft mounds of her breasts flattened—or at least as flat as they could be—against the hard, muscular planes of his chest. Willow's breath caught in her throat, the unexpected intimacy sending a surge of arousal through her.

Instinctively, she wanted to wrap her legs around him, to close the final gap between them, but just as she was about to, Weston pulled away, his movements swift and fluid as he dragged her behind him. He released her as he removed them from the deeper, more dangerous water in the shadows back to the brightly lit, shallower water.

She pouted with a playful expression that he didn't see. Her heart was racing, a mix of frustration and desire churning within her. Determined not to let him get away so easily, she followed him, her strokes quick and determined.

When she reached the shore, Weston was already standing on the sand, the last remnants of the waves lapping at his feet, his back to her. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed as he ran a hand through his wet hair. Willow waded out of the water, the sun warming her skin as she approached him.

"Running away from me, Weston?" she teased, her voice light but laced with the undercurrent of a challenge.

He turned to face her, failing to suppress the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just needed a head start," he replied, his eyes dark and intense as they met hers.

Willow's playful frown melted into a soft smile, her heart pounding in her chest. This was just further proof or actually proof positive that Weston was one of the good guys. If he'd been sent there to kill her, why hadn't he done it before now? And it would have been easy enough to let her keep swimming and explain away her death as an accidental drowning. He was something else entirely, something that made her pulse race and her thoughts blur.

"You're not going to get away that easily," she said, stepping closer to him, the water lapping at her ankles. The heat between them was palpable, a magnetism that drew them together despite the cool water.

Weston took a step forward, his hands reaching out to grasp her hips. He pulled her against him, the wet fabric of her swimsuit clinging to his all but naked body. Willow's breath hitched as their skin touched, the sensation electric. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of anticipation and need.

"You think I'm trying to get away?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. His fingers traced a path along her spine, sending shivers down her back.

"I don't understand you at all. I'm beginning to wonder if you just like the chase," she whispered back, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Maybe I do," he admitted, his breath hot against her skin.

Willow's hands moved to his neck, pulling him down to her. Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, an escalation of the tension that had been building between them. She felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her even closer. Her body responded instinctively, pressing against him, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing together in a rhythm that held unspoken desires and promises. Willow's hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as if afraid he might disappear. But he was solid and real, his presence grounding her even as it set her heart and mind ablaze.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own private universe.

"I knew you weren't an assassin," Willow whispered, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

Weston chuckled softly, his hands still cradling her face. "You're just now figuring that out? Good lord woman, given the shows you've put on—was that something you'd do for someone you thought wanted you dead?" He shook his head. "So, what made you come to that stunning conclusion?"

She smiled, ignoring his taunt. "Because if you were, you'd have let me keep swimming."

His laughter was warm and genuine. "Maybe I just wanted another show. Maybe one where I had an unobstructed view and could choose to participate," he said, his voice tender yet mocking.

Willow refused to be embarrassed. Her smile widened, her eyes shining with happiness. "That sounds like a much better idea. You should have mentioned it before."

"Maybe I should have," he said nodding.

"Weston," called a man running toward them.

Cage turned away as he walked back to his own neat pile of clothes, reaching down to pick up the coverup she had carelessly tossed onto the sand. He pitched it back to her. "Put it on."

She caught it. "And if I don't?"

"Your ass might have an encounter with the flat of my hand it won't enjoy."

She grinned foolishly at him. He was so sexy when he was being a Neanderthal.

Cage leaned over to pull on his own trousers, which was a good thing as his briefs had done little to hide the state of his arousal.

"Sorry, sir," said the man as he got closer to them. "Omega Team needs to use this area for training."

"It's not a problem. We were headed back to the castle anyway. Let's go, Willow."

"Can't I just sit and ogle the gorgeous men working out?"

"No, you cannot. Move it," growled Cage.

"He can get so testy when he's being a jerk," said Willow to the man who had come down to tell them about Omega Team.

She almost felt sorry for him, as he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in this awkward moment on the beach. Almost. After all, if he hadn't shown up, she might have been enjoying sex on the beach, and she didn't mean the cocktail. Willow flounced off toward the path that led back to the keep.

Willow felt the first sense of liberation from her old life she'd truly experienced as she stepped into the dining room, her damp hair cascading over her shoulders. In the past she would have been worried about not having her hair and makeup perfect, but she just didn't care. Cage wasn't an assassin… and the man knew how to kiss.

The shower had refreshed her, and she'd chosen to wear a slouchy top that clung to her curves in all the right places and a pair of tiny shorts that left little to the imagination. These were the kinds of clothes Frank—she needed to start thinking of him as her ex, even though it might be a while before he became that officially—would never have allowed, and the freedom of wearing them now filled her with a sense of rebellious glee.

As she moved, the loose shirt slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her upper breast right down to just above the nipple—there was even a hint of the darker skin of her areola showing. She caught Cage's eyes, drawn irresistibly to the exposed skin. His gaze lingered there, and she could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between desire and restraint. That, too, enhanced her feeling of joyful empowerment.

Willow met his gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and pulled the shirt back onto her shoulder. The look of regret that flickered across Cage's face was worth all the tea in China. She could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure, the way he forced his eyes back to his plate, the tension tightening his jaw. Served him right. He'd kept them apart. He could have acted on things long before now.

Dinner was a tantalizing dance of restraint and temptation—Cage was restrained; Willow was as tempting as she could be without stripping herself naked, straddling his lap, and pulling his dick out of his pants. Willow enjoyed every second of it, the way Cage's eyes would flicker to her whenever the shirt slipped down her shoulder again, as though she were unaware of how much skin she was revealing. Each time he stumbled over his words, his professional demeanor faltering before he quickly regained his composure was one more notch on the scoreboard for her.

When dinner finally came to an end, and they moved to the patio, the night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. Willow cradled her glass of wine from dinner in her hand, the light aroma mingling with the scent of night-blooming flowers. She watched Cage, her smile hidden behind the glass as she took a sip. She was really enjoying the role of seductive temptress.

Several times, the top slid down her shoulder, and each time Cage's reaction was the same. His words faltered, his eyes betraying his desire before he managed to mask it once more. Willow could feel the tension between them, so thick it could be cut with a knife. It was a delicious feeling, knowing she had this power over him, the ability to sit back and watch as his professional facade began to crack.

She leaned back in her chair, the glass of wine resting on her knee. "Cage," she said softly, her voice a seductive whisper in the night. "Are you all right? You seem... distracted."

He cleared his throat, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm fine, Willow. Just... a lot on my mind."

She smiled, setting the glass aside and letting the shirt slip again. "Anything I can help with?" she asked innocently, knowing full well the effect she was having on him.

Cage's eyes darkened with desire, and for a moment, she thought he might give in. But then he shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "No, just... work stuff."

Willow nodded, her smile widening. "Well, if you ever need a break from all that work stuff, you know where to find me."

The look he gave her was smoldering, filled with unspoken promises. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, his voice low and husky.

As the night wore on, Willow continued to tease him, letting the shirt slip, watching him struggle to maintain his composure. She couldn't remember the last time she'd ever had so much fun, and then realized, she never had. She knew it wouldn't be long before his restraint crumbled completely. And when it did, she would be ready, eager to see and embrace where this undeniable chemistry between them would lead.