Damian (The Caine Brothers #3) Read Online Free Page B

the hospital, and after making sure the kid was breathing and on his feet, the rest of the onlookers converged on him patting his back, shaking his hand, telling him he was a hero and had done a fabulous job.
    Most of the rest of the party didn’t even notice what had happened, because it had started and ended so quickly. Only the people nearest the pool paid any attention, but now they mobbed him.
    “Okay, all right, enough already,” Elena said, shoving through the people to Damian’s side. “He saved the boy’s life. Give the man some room.”
    The opening chords of the band’s most recent hit blasted from the stage, and the bystanders began to disperse, heading back to the dance floor or over to the buffet or the bar. They’d be telling the story of the big man who flew into the pool and rescued the boy, all night long.
    “You’re soaked,” Elena said. “Let’s get you inside and dried off.”
    They headed for the house. “Don’t you mean get me out of these wet clothes?”
    He had no idea. As if growing up into a six-and-a-half foot muscle-bound adonis wasn’t enough, he danced like a god, and saved small children. Seriously, how was a woman expected to resist such perfection?
    He trailed behind her through the kitchen, and again the staff watched them, the heat of their eyes burning into her back until she and Damian took the back stairs up to the second floor.
    She led him to her suite at the end of the hall, checking their back trail to be sure they hadn’t been followed before shoving him inside and shutting the door behind them. It reminded her very much like being in high school again and sneaking a boy in under her dad’s nose, except Damian had left before she’d lost the braces and glasses and finally got some boobs, so she’d never been able to drag him to her bedroom.
    Being the daughter of a rich, prominent senator didn’t make it easy to do anything surreptitiously. In retrospect, the thrill of that kind of furtiveness might have been one of the appeals of becoming a CIA agent.
    She crossed her arms and leaned against the door for a moment to catch her breath and get a good look at the huge, wet man standing in the middle of her room, dripping on the hardwood.
    He fixed his gaze on her, then ran his hands through his hair shaking the resultant water from his fingers. “What?”
    Wet white linen left nothing to the imagination. He may as well have been wearing plastic, yet she still wanted that shirt gone.
    “I thought you were all worked up about getting out of those wet clothes,” she said.
    She couldn’t speak for him, but she was about as worked up as she could stand without some sort of release.
    He must have agreed, since he made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shucking it with a shrug and dropping it to the floor in a sloppy-sounding splat.
    Fat drops of water trickled down the smooth, bronze skin of his chest leaving wet trails in their wake, and disappearing into his shorts.
    Ho-ly something. Blood seemed to have escaped her brain and headed down to points south.
    “You’re drooling,” he said.
    She checked the reflex to swipe at her mouth. He was teasing her, she knew, but damn, it wouldn’t surprise her to discover she actually had been drooling.
    “Cocky much?”
    He glanced down at his shorts, then back up at her with a grin that made her mouth go dry.
    “What do you think?”
    She followed his gaze to find his shorts tented again. Okay, so maybe he had reason to be cocky. She swallowed past the anticipation in her throat and gave him an offhand shrug. “Yeah, but do you know how to use it?”
    “I’ll let you decide that.”
    A zing of excitement shot to her core which clenched in eagerness. While he held her gaze, he unbuttoned his shorts and let them drop, kicking them aside when they hit the floor.
    Well...
    She’d apparently lost the ability to rub two words together.
    Now, a huge, wet, naked man stood in the middle of her room with the biggest, most