Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

for company, donated afterward if the condition is still good. I buy enough from a shoreline family to keep them in the black for the year.”

With the matter settled, she reached greedily for a pair in royal blue, embroidered with gold threading in the shape of sea birds.

She clearly had a thing for blue. And the sea.

The thought brought a smile to his lips.

She would adore the island in daylight.

Their feet adorned, he led her on a tour of the converted fort, locating each of the necessary items, including the four luxurious spa bathrooms, outdoor shower, both kitchens and all three kitchenettes. Then he showed her the superfluous stuff—the saunas, the workout room, the home theater, each of the six guest rooms, both libraries, the various patios, the war room, the wine cellar and, finally, all eleven indoor pools.

The pools were the gems of Yancy Grove, the features of true brilliance amongst a sumptuous sea—diamonds on a silk cushion. Unlike indoor pools common to million-dollar homes, these were hand-hewn, like the walls, literally built into the room, seamlessly integrated and oriented—either starring in or supporting the overall design of the room. Each pool was accented with features to complement its intended use, whether soaking, sky viewing, swimming, drinking, or playing. Seating, places to balance glasses, long wide lanes and broad wall cutouts were common sights among the pool rooms, as were intricate hand-tiled mosaics featuring dazzling designs made from brilliant ceramics and glittering gemstones.

“Amazing,” she breathed, eyes glued to the design before her. It was the last of the pool rooms, and his favorite. This pool was designed for stargazing, its mosaic a celebration of the heavens, boasting an incredible blue ombré sky dotted with stars of golden filigree, arranged in imitation of the view above, constellations and all.

A curved archway opened up to the great yawning sky, the pool’s edge drawing nearly to its gate. Alongside the pool were long cushioned benches, their fabrics and designs subdued and minimal compared to the rest of the rooms—whites and pale blues repeated in simple patterns. Made from the same material as Turkish towels, each pillow’s interior was waterproof with absorbent, moisture-wicking cases, ensuring comfort as one drifted between soaking and lounging in the moonlight.

“I want to get in,” she said, her eyes hungry as she took in the clear water.

He laughed, gesturing toward the pool with an open palm. “By all means.” He was fine letting Yancy Grove and the sea do the work of seducing her for him. They had stolen his heart long ago.

She looked at him then, her brow furrowing. “I don’t have a suit.”

He shrugged. “Haven’t we moved past modesty by this point?”

She quirked up a golden eyebrow in response and said, “Interesting that a man with slippers available in every size and eleven pool rooms does not have spare swimming attire.”

Grinning unapologetically, he said, “You got me. Ah, well then. I suppose I must tell you about the storage closet full of an assortment of guest clothing.”

Laughing, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and nodded. “I suppose.”

He gave her directions and she was off, her one-track mind focused on its goal, and he smiled after her.

Though he had researched her thoroughly, she was turning out to be different than he had expected—transparent one moment and inscrutable the next, electric fire and cold logic, utterly a soldier to her core. Unlike her father, she was courageous, committed, willing to risk herself for anything greater, or, perhaps, anything at all.

Following her lead, he exited the star pool, heading for his own rooms rather than the guest closets.

The air in the room was still, hushed and undisturbed since his last visit to the island, only weeks before. Quickly finding a pair of trunks, he slid them on, not caring of the style or design, instead more eager to get back to his target, so to speak.

He found her in the star pool, already in the water. To no surprise, she had chosen a blue swimsuit. Deep navy, it was a simple bikini, of high quality, because that was all he bought, handmade and local. It fit her well, highly adjustable as it was, being mostly comprised of string.

As she had aboard the Ibrahim, she watched the stars above, her back to him, her skin pale and shining, the swatch of dark, thick, water-resistant fabric stretching across the toned cheeks of her derriere, held in place by perfect ribbons tied at either side of her hips.

If there was a part of him that was forever young, it was the part that rose up to whisper to him how easy it would be to pull one of those strings, to free the gallant cloth from its tremendous burden of covering her creamy curved behind.

“You didn’t say the pool was heated,” she said on a moan, breaking into his prurient thoughts.

Nothing about her demeanor indicated that she had become aware of his reentrance, yet she knew he was there.

Smiling, he answered, “It didn’t seem important to you either way.”

Turning around with a smile, she froze him in place with a look. “I was willing when it was cold water. I am compelled now that I know it is warm. I am never leaving.” She drew her words out like a purr and he felt himself stir, even as something in him cautioned that he had tested her far enough tonight.

Ignoring the voice, he smiled, his mouth and tongue working, though his mind was still mildly stunned by the sight of her breasts pushing against the small triangles of fabric, as determined in their effort to press the bounds, it seemed, as their owner. It was her smile, though, unguarded and bright, transporting him to times before he’d learned the world was hard—times he thought he’d long ago forgotten—that truly held him in place. “I’ll have to keep that preference in mind,” he muttered, trying but unable to shake off her glamour.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but she made