His familiar low rasp sent a hot rush sizzling down her spine and tingling out to her fingertips. 

Oh god, that voice!

Her heart suddenly fluttered like a robin red-breast in a cage and Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat as she twisted round and saw him walking out of the house.

David Street, Stacey’s dad. A god among mortal men.

A tall feast to behold with long limbs dusted with soft dark hair and he was dressed in tan shorts, sandals and a plain white short sleeved shirt stretched tight over broad musculature. Beneath those thick waves of raven black hair, his face was like a chiselled slab of white marble, hard and brutal with a sharp nose, wide jaw rough with the morning’s growth, and full lips that she had so longed to feel pressed against her skin.  

And his eyes were the stormiest shade of grey she had ever seen, and so intense, they seemed to crash over the banks of her own and wash her away. 

“Oh, hey Mr Street.” Cassandra forced herself to smile, but couldn’t drag her gaze from the vision of him coming to stand over her with a colourful drink in hand. It didn’t help that he’d left the top three buttons of his shirt open, teasing her with a glimpse of the treasure beneath. “Sure, help yourself.”

Oh if only I could... David mused, drinking in the bounty stretched out before him, before stepping around her lounger and instead settling down on the next. “Thanks, how’s the sun?” he asked before sipping his drink.

“Hot and bright. Just another beautiful day in paradise,” she said, forcing a broad smile and trying to remember she was meant to be on holiday. She was supposed to be enjoying herself, not a bag of nerves just because her friend’s dad was sitting next to her. Sitting next to her while she was dressed in nothing but this damn micro bikini!  

Then he chuckled, a deep warbling rumble that rose up from within his throat to crash over Cassandra as he turned to look at her. “You say that now but give it a couple more months and you’ll be praying for some good old English weather.” 

She could feel his eyes moving over her body, devouring her from head to toe, and the heat of his gaze made her skin flush and tingle.

“If you say so....” She licked her lips nervously, her mouth suddenly dry. “How’s your book coming along?”

Realising he was staring, David quickly dragged his eyes back out across the bay. Past the menagerie of brightly coloured sail ships, an immense cargo tanker was cutting through the dark turquoise waters towards the Spanish port. He focused on it, trying to ignore the stirring between his legs. It didn’t help.

“Oh... you know, it’s coming along, about as well as British Rail. I’ve got the nucleus of a plot, but it’s missing... something. I don’t know. It’s there, right in front of me but I just can’t see through the block.”   

“The dreaded block huh, is there anything I can do?”

Oh he could think of a few ways. 

Every author had their ways for dealing with writer’s block. It was just an unpleasant fact of life in his trade, like taxes, the government, or Amazon’s ever shifting policies. Making a big deal about them wasn’t going to make any difference, you just had to be practical and deal with it. Sex had always been a great help for him when trying to get over the wall. 

Fuck, how long had it been since he’d last gotten laid. Three months? Four, at least. Not since his divorce. Too long. Much too long if just looking at Cassandra in that sexy little thing was getting him hard. 

He’d need to do something about that once the girls had gone home.

But first he needed to make it through the next few days without making a fool of himself. 

He coughed, trying to drag his attention back to the tanker, the coast, a bird, anything but the flawless curves of the beauty beside him! Dammit, just being so close to her was a fucking turn on. “No, not unless you can slow down time, get the publisher’s off my back or know a trick for breaking down the wall.”

She hummed for a moment, as if actually mulling it over. “Afraid I’m fresh out of ideas, though I might know a guy with an undead dragon that could deal with that wall of yours.”

“Thanks, but I already have an ex-wife,” he joked, and they both chuckled. It was official, ex-wife jokes were funny no matter the situation. “So, where’s my daughter scampered off to?”

“Shopping, where else?” Willing herself not to look at him, Cassandra forced a chuckle, the same one she used whenever customers told the same bad joke she’d heard a hundred times before. “The sales are on in Puerto Banus and she’s been dying for a chance to splurge.” 

She could do this, it was just Mr Street. 

The man she had known almost as long as she could remember.

Who had indulged her girlish princess fantasies when she was eight and promised to marry her when she was grown up.

That used to take her and Stacey to dance class every Saturday.

Her best friend’s recently divorced and sexy as hell dad, who she’d spent years fantasising about.

David couldn’t help another chuckle of his own. His daughter was nothing if not consistent. “Ah yes, as you said, where else.” He took another sip of his cocktail, a crystal drop of condensation rolling down the glass to touch his lips as the sun beat down on them, the air growing hotter by the moment. Or maybe it was the alcohol. 

Considering the already almost half empty glass before deciding he’d had enough for now, he laid it down gently in a shady spot before rounding on her. “So she just left you here all alone?”

The concern in his tone was so disarming, Casandra met his gaze without thinking and touched his shoulder with a placating hand. The contact sent a thrill racing through her fingertips. “It’s okay, I don’t really feel like hitting the town now and anyway I’m not alone, you’re here with me.” The words were out before she could stop them, and the confession made her cheeks burn. Yet she didn’t look away. 

Yes, she was all alone with her bestie’s daddy at his Gibraltar Villa. 

Out in the wilds, miles from anywhere or anyone who could hear her scream- or beg as his sexy mouth did such wicked things between her... Dammit! 

Why did he always make her feel this way?

Then Stacey’s words echoed in her ears. The best way to get over a man is under one...

“You poor girl,” David cooed playfully. “Trapped on the Rock with just this decrepit old man for company.”

She couldn’t resist the bait. “Aww... you’re not so old, and the silver fox look is a classic for a reason.”

“Cheeky minx!” he snapped in mock outrage, but couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from curling. “You’re not too old to go over my knee you know, young lady.”

She shrieked girlishly, playing along in her best upper-class voice and squealed “Oh no, don’t spank me, please Mr Street!”

The mock innocence of the words sent a thrill racing down to the base of David’s spine, igniting thoughts of her bending over to bare the full swells of her luscious derriere for his judgement, trembling slightly as she awaited the sting of his hand striking her flawless skin. 

Just the thought of it stirred his desire to a rod of iron. 

“No, really,” he forced out, crossing his legs, inwardly cursing and trying in vain to coax the beast back into its cage. “What are you doing here with me? Why didn’t what’s-his-name come along, ugh... you know, that guy with the funny hair...”

“Nathan.” 

Just saying his name brought the taste of ash to her mouth. No, she didn’t want to think about him, not here, not with Mr Street, when she’d just been starting to forget him. But the dam had cracked, and no sooner had the words left her lips, her eyes had begun to burn with hot, salty tears as all her buried emotions suddenly boiled to the surface. “He dumped me.” 

“Oh God, Cass, I’m... I’m so sorry.” David didn’t know what else to say. What else was there to say?

He’d never met the boy, but Stacey had told him about Cassandra’s new boyfriend once or twice and there had been a few pictures of the two together on Facebook. 

He’d rather reminded him of Justin Biber. 

He had a face he just wanted to smack.

Somehow however, he got the feeling voicing that thought wouldn’t help very much.

He’d never really been a great one for dealing with emotions. It was one of the reasons his ex-wife had listed as grounds for divorce. Siting him as a cold, unreachable iceberg of a man who had sucked all the joy and happiness from her life. She had even gone so far as to use it to justify her rampant extramarital nymphomania, saying it was just a way of seeking the warmth of human comfort. The honourable judge Blackwood had been sympathetic but expressed the suggestion that if that was the case, he would have thought one lover would have been enough, rather than five. For his part, David had just said he was one of old school and as such, an ardent follower of the philosophy actions speak louder than words. With the dedication and spirit of all true believers, heedless of his body’s treacherous desire, he wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. 

She was shaking as all of the unsaid hurt and emotion that had welled up inside her suddenly burst its banks. “He said I was dull and boring and passionless and couldn’t-” Her words dissolved into thick wet sobs as the tears came and she just buried her face into the crook of his neck. 

David couldn’t bear it.

“Then he’s a fool,” he promised, crushing her to him. “You’re a wonderful person Cass. You deserve better than that and you should be with someone who knows how special you are, who knows how lucky he is to have you.”

She didn’t respond, just kept sobbing, so he held her close and waited for the storm to pass. Yet his little brain couldn’t help but notice how well she fit in his arms, the sun-warmed softness of her skin, and the way the heavy weight of her full breasts were squashed against his chest.

No, dammit, don’t think like that you dirty old sod! 

He chided himself, but when he took a breath to clear his brain, he only inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair, still with hints of her wild berry scented shampoo.

Then it was suddenly over. She was still, her breathing deep and even as she looked up at him from beneath her dark bangs, the last wet tear sparkling down her cheeks in the sunlight. “Thanks, Mr Street... er Stacey told the same thing.”

“Well she’s not often wrong.” He forced a reassuring grin.

She blushed and looked away, out towards the coast, unable to meet his eyes, while resisting the urge to snuggle closer. Cassandra revelled in their closeness, the feel of his arms enveloping her, holding her close and tight. 

She never wanted the moment to end. “I’m sorry... I don’t know what came over me.” She made to pull away...

Except David wouldn’t let her go. “It’s okay, we all need to let go sometimes,” he soothed gently, cupping her chin and gently turning her to face him, before gently brushing the tear away with his thumb. “Break-ups can be tough.”

They were so close, Cassandra felt like she was getting drunk on him. His scent, his warmth, his very presence was enveloping her, intoxicating her. All it would take was one little push onto tiptoes, and she would finally know if those lips tasted as good as she’d imagined.

“Was that how it was for you? With your divorce?” The words were out before she could stop them, and when his hand dropped away she would have done anything to take them back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... forget I said anything. It’s none of my business.”

Again he held her fast, refusing to let her pull away, denying her any chance of escape. 

“No, no it’s fine,” he urged, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “My marriage was over years ago, it just took me a while to figure it out. Then I just didn’t want it to, so I threw myself into my work to avoid it, but it was only a matter of time. After that, well I just didn’t really care anymore.”

She couldn’t help herself. There was an edge to his voice she’d never heard before. It sounded darkly dangerous, and very sexy. “So it doesn’t bother you at all?”

“It did, at first,” he growled. “When I found out, but not because of what she’d done. Only that she’d done it behind my back, rather than just come out and tell me she wanted a divorce.”

“Did she say anything after?”

“No, what was there to say?” he said simply, before reaching down for his cocktail and bringing it up to his mouth. Cassandra’s mouth dried as he swallowed the colourful contents of the glass, his head arching back and the muscles of his neck rising and falling while the first drops of perspiration rolled down his skin. 

Cassandra’s nails bit into her palms. They were close enough for her to lean in and lick up the drops.

“Do you blame yourself for... what happened?”

“No.” He shrugged, then laughed. He actually laughed, a deep rich sound that rolled over her like dark chocolate. “We just married too young, settled down too soon, then grew apart. Becky wanted one thing, and I wanted another.”

Their eyes met, and the contact sent a fresh wave of heat and awareness ebbing through her. Instinctively she looked away. “So... what are you drinking? “

“This?” He raised the near empty glass, almost as if he was toasting her. “It’s a Tequila Sunset.” 

Cassandra arched a brow. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” David shrugged, his eyes bright with mischief. “And hey, when in Spain...”

“But isn’t Tequila Mexican?”

“Smart ass,” he grinned ruefully. “Actually, the indigenous Mexican Indians did brew a fermented liquor from the same plant. What we know as Tequila was concocted by the Conquistadors after their brandy ran out, making Tequila actually Spanish and Spain’s only indisputable, worthwhile contribution to western civilisation. Just the thing for out here in the tropics. All the kick but none of the mess.”

He raised the glass to finish it, but at the sight of the drink swirling within the glass, Cassandra couldn’t resist. “Could I try? Just a sip.”

“My dear girl, there’s nothing but a sip left.”

“Please Mr Street, I left my water in the kitchen and it’s so warm out here...” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

Tempting minx 

David cursed inwardly, his cock twitching at her little act. Dammit, the thing would start hurting if he didn’t get out of here. Forcing his smile to stay in place though he shifted ever so slightly to pass her the glass. “Help yourself.”

And that was when she saw it. 

It was only a momentary glance as she reached to take the offered drink, but it was enough. Enough for her to note the bulge straining against his thigh through the fabric of his shorts, thick and huge. Enough to send a shiver racing through her. Enough to have her grabbing the offered cocktail and downing it. 

God, had she done that to him.

Then their eyes met again, over the rim of the empty glass, and the warmth the spirit raced down to burn between her legs. It made her brave, ready to take a leap. 

Still holding his gaze, she lowered the glass back to the ground, before slowly sliding her tongue across her lips, collecting the last of the fruit-laced bravery there. Then, moaning a throaty purr, she asked “Mr Street, would you mind putting some sunscreen on my back for me?”