Great body, great looks, great sense of presence, she listed reluctantly. In a sharp suit and tie he was dynamic and sleek; now simple beach shorts and a white tee shirt should have turned him into something else entirely, but didn’t—dynamic and sleek still did it for her, Rachel decided as she ran her eyes over him. She began at his brown bare feet with their long toes that were curling lovingly round one of the bar stool crossbars, then moved onwards, up powerfully built legs peppered with dark hair that had been bleached golden by the sun.
How did she know the sun had bleached those hairs? Rachel asked herself.
Because she’d seen his legs before—had seen all of Elliot Wills before!—on that terrible night at her grandfather’s house in Athens, when she’d dared to walk uninvited into his
