He was making her insides purr, and she didn’t like it. “I won’t be around for another day if you don’t take that stupid shirt off your stupid overdeveloped chest right this second!”

“I never met such an ungrateful woman in my life.” He started to pull it off, stalled to rub his arm, tugged on it again, inched it over his chest, flexed his gorgeous muscles …

“That’s twenty yards for delay of game!”

“It’s a five-yard penalty,” he pointed out from under the T-shirt.

“Not today!”

He finally got it off, and she snatched it from him before he took it into his head to play keep-away, a game she was fairly certain an NFL quarterback could win against a bunny-book author.

“Bare-ass naked …” His smile grew broader.

She ignored him and struggled to put on the shirt, but handling all that wet cotton in bust-deep frigid water wasn’t exactly easy. Naturally, he didn’t help.

“Maybe it would work better if you climbed out of the water before you did that.”

His humor was too infantile to merit a response. She finally got the T-shirt on inside out, but a huge air pocket left it billowing around her. She pushed it down and marched toward the shore, which was mercifully empty of guests.

Kevin stayed where he was and watched Molly emerge from the water. The view from behind was making it hard for him to take a good solid breath. It didn’t seem to have occurred to her that white T-shirts pretty much turned to tissue paper when they got wet. First that trim little waist emerged, then curvy hips, then her legs, as sturdy and pretty as any he’d ever seen.

He swallowed hard at the sight of that sweet little bottom. The glaze of white T-shirt made it look as if it had been sponged with wet sugar.

He licked his lips. It was a good thing the water was cold enough for an iceberg, because the sight of her striding toward the beach had set him on fire. That small round bottom … the dark, seductive crevice. And he hadn’t even caught the view from the front.

A circumstance he was about to change.

Molly heard Kevin splashing behind her. Then he was next to her, taking giant steps in the water. He pulled ahead, back muscles rippling as he pumped his arms. He hit the beach and turned around to face her.

Exactly what did he think was so interesting?

She began to feel nervous. One of his hands moved. He tugged absentmindedly on the front of his wet, low-riding jeans. “Maybe it’s not so hard to believe your mother was a showgirl after all.”

She glanced down at herself and yelped. Then she grabbed the T-shirt fabric, pulled it away from her body, and turned to rush back to the cottage.