by Diana Palmer
“I wasn’t teasing,” he said quietly. “Could you handle an affair with me?”
She couldn’t speak. The contact with his body had drained her strength; the words made oatmeal out of her mind.
“Cal...” she whispered shakenly as her eyes dropped to his wide, chiseled mouth and she wondered achingly how it would feel against hers.
“I didn’t mean to let this happen,” he whispered gruffly, catching the hair at her nape to jerk her head back as he bent. His mouth caught hers before she could react and ground against it with a hard, uncompromising pressure that seemed to burn brands in her mind.
“Don’t fight me,” he breathed, pulling away enough to brush his lips softly, tantalizingly, across hers until they parted involuntarily. “That’s it...” He trailed off, breaking her mouth open under his, and the world disappeared in swirls of blue and white and pure blinding silver...
His mouth was warm and wise and stirring her senses in ways she’d only dreamed about before. She tasted salt on it, as it demanded response; she felt the powerful muscles of his shoulders tauten as her hands clung to them, her fingers biting into them, her body dissolving against his like melting gold.
He let his lips slide down her cheek to her ear while his arms crushed her close, letting the sea rock them gently in its watery embrace. She heard his quick, rough breath whisper past her ear.
“It’s good between us,” he said gruffly.
She licked her bruised lips, her eyes closed against the blinding sun, the radiance of that passionate kiss. She felt incredibly weak. “The people on the beach...” she whispered shakenly.
He laughed softly. “They’re all stretched out under sunglasses and suntan oil, oblivious to everything. See for yourself.” He chuckled, releasing her a little so that she could look for herself.
Sure enough, not one pair of curious eyes had seen them. She couldn’t quite look at him. She felt a surge of shyness. Even when she’d been engaged to Ralley, it had never been like this...
“Soft little mouth,” he whispered, tracing its slightly swollen contours with one big finger. “I like the feel of it,” he whispered, bending to brush his lips softly, briefly against hers. “It’s like touching a gardenia petal, smooth and silky and cool against my mouth.” He kissed her again, just as briefly, his face beaded with salt water, his body cool where her hands rested on his hard-muscled chest over that curling thatch of black hair.
One hand moved, taking her fingers and working them sensuously into the mat of hair over the silky muscles, in an aching caress.
He drew back and his eyes searched hers while a sudden silence hung between them, warm and sweet and wild.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, and darkness invaded his eyes as she slid her free hand to join the other, discovering the hard, cool contours of that massive bronzed chest with a smoldering excitement. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Ralley with his shirt off, or wanting to. But she loved the sight and the feel of this man, the texture of his skin, the tone of the muscles, the faint scent of expensive cologne that clung to him, the magic in those hard, warm lips... She felt as if she were drowning in him, and she never wanted to be rescued.
“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, watching the lights dance in her eyes, color her cheeks.
With a shock she suddenly realized where she was, whom she was with and what she was doing, all at once. She drew in her breath sharply, pushing away from him to stare up into his eyes with shamed fascination.
That stare said it all. Something dark and quiet lay in his eyes, relaxed the hard lines of his face for just an instant. He smiled—a slow, smug smile that made him look faintly wicked and devastatingly attractive.
“I’ll race you to the wall,” he challenged, narrow-eyed.
“You’ll probably beat me, too,” she replied, joining in the game. If he wanted to ignore what had happened, she’d go along. It was probably for the best, anyway.
But long after they’d parted company at the elevator, and she was dressing for lunch, she remembered the hunger in that rough kiss. His wife was dead. But had he been a long time without a woman in his life? That might explain a lot. But it was disappointing, too. Nikki ran a brush through her hair with a long sigh. Trust me to lose my head over a man I’ll never see again, she grumbled to her reflection. Just my luck these days.
Cal had already told her that the conference would most likely last all day. He was having lunch with his associates and would probably have supper with them, too.
But he might have time for a nightcap, he’d added, and if he could manage it, he’d call her. She’d smiled and said that was fine and walked away. But she’d felt like wailing. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. She’d wanted to spend the rest of the day with him, sightseeing or swimming, or just talking. She wanted to learn more about him, what he did, what his life was like. She wanted to be kissed again in that wild, hungry way.
She put her suitcase back in the small closet with a sigh. This must be that second childhood she’d heard about. Ridiculous to get that nutty about a man she’d only known for two days.
She went down the hotel arcade to the chain restaurant for lunch, treating herself to a delicious hamburger and fries and coffee while she watched the seagulls play over the water.
Next door was the restaurant and lounge where she’d had supper last night with Cal. It seemed so long ago now. They’d learned a lot about each other since then.
When she was through, she wandered back down Bay Street and browsed through the shops, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she saw elegant emeralds, colorful imported fabrics, perfumes and all kinds of exotic imports. But something was missing. The wonders that had been so exciting before were just routine now. It wasn’t the same anymore, being alone.
She thought back to the days before Ralley’s interest in Leda became obvious, to things they’d done together. Strange, she couldn’t remember Ralley ever enjoying simple things like window-shopping or strolling down streets. He was only interested in football games, noisy parties and talking shop with other reporters. But at the time, she’d forced herself to like those things, even though it went against the grain of her own nature. Nikki wasn’t a sports fan. She hated noise, alcohol and people who played Russian roulette with mind-warping drugs. Her tastes ran to symphony concerts, the ballet and art exhibits. Ralley wouldn’t have been seen at any of them. She wondered now what they’d ever had in common, besides infatuation. Poor Leda. But perhaps she’d shared those interests, too, as well as being in love with the tall, sandy-haired reporter. Nikki hoped she had. That one year of happiness was all fate had allowed her.
And Nikki had been wary of men ever since. The humiliation of sending out wedding invitations and accepting gifts for a wedding that didn’t happen had been a killing blow to her emotions. She wondered if she could ever trust anyone else, if she could believe in love again. Simultaneously, she thought of Cal, and something inside her began to dance.
Nikki went back up to her room around four, ignoring the beach, because if Cal’s conference had ended early, he just might call. It could be anytime now.
She took a bath and threw on a beige slacks set with a silky brown patterned matching vest. Then she pored through the few paperbacks she’d packed, listened to the radio, stared out the window, paced the floor and chewed on her nails until six.
In desperation she went down to the restaurant to have supper alone, her eyes restlessly catching on every tall, dark man she noticed on the way. But Cal was nowhere in sight. She rushed through her steak and salad, gulped down her lemonade and went straight back upstairs, just in case he called. But when seven o’clock, then eight o’clock, came, she began to realize that he wasn’t going to call.
He’d said he was busy, but hope had died hard. And maybe it wasn’t only business, maybe he did have a woman with him, in spite of his denials. She’d thought when they first met
that he was a cold sort of man, with hardly the time to attract women. But she’d revised that opinion drastically. He’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d kissed her. There was no fumbling, no hesitation, about it. He was obviously an experienced man, and far beyond Nikki’s small knowledge of men. If anyone had told her a month ago that she was going to allow a stranger to kiss her in front of a beach full of people, she’d have laughed hysterically. But he’d undermined every logical objection she had. And she hadn’t fought him. Not at all.
She went back to the dark window and peered out at the streets below. Tourists were still coming and going in droves, and on the street were three young French sailors in their white uniforms with their little red-pom-pommed white caps. She watched them stroll away back in the direction of the docks with a sigh. What would it be like to be a foreign sailor in port, young and single and probably away from home for the first time? She felt a sense of loneliness herself. America seemed a world away from this, and for a moment she missed Uncle Mike and Aunt Jenny. She’d faced all the faint terrors of a tourist alone before the plane landed: What happens if I get hurt? What happens if I get sick? What if someone steals my money and my plane ticket? What if I miss my flight back home...? And the list went on. But she’d come to grips with all those questions the moment she landed and got her first look at the island from the ground. All the fears had disappeared by the time she got through immigration and customs. She’d worry about it when and if it happened. Not until. And she hadn’t had a problem so far.
The phone rang twice before she heard it, and then she made a wild dive across the double bed that left her breathless as her hand made a grab for the receiver.
“Hello!” she burst out.
A deep, slow chuckle came over the line, stopping her heart just before it ran wild in her chest and brought a sunstruck smile to her face.
“Cal?” she asked.
“I can’t think of anyone else who’d call you at this hour of the night,” he murmured, “unless your uncle called to check up on you.”
“I thought about calling him,” she admitted breathlessly, “but I was afraid of the overseas charges.”
“It would cost you more to call Atlanta from your hometown and talk fifteen minutes,” he replied lazily. “It’s not expensive. Join me for a drink?”
“I’d love to,” she said sincerely.
“Meet me at the elevator in five minutes.” And the line went dead.
She scurried around searching for her shoes, lost one, called it foul names for the minute it took her to locate it, brushed her hair again, checked her makeup and grabbed her purse. Then she stood watching the clock until four and a half minutes had gone by. She jerked open the door and peeked down the hall.
Seconds later Cal came into view, wearing a tan bush jacket and beige slacks, and she wondered if coincidences like his colors matching hers meant anything.
She closed the door behind her and ran the length of the corridor to meet him at the elevator, her eyes shimmering like jewels underwater, her face slightly flushed, her smile contagious.
“Hi!” she burst out.
He didn’t smile. His eyes were narrowed and quiet and he looked down at her for a long time before he spoke. “It’s been quite a while since anyone was that glad to see me,” he murmured absently.
She flushed scarlet. “Oh...uh, I just didn’t want to keep you waiting,” she explained.
“Sure.” He helped her into the elevator that had just arrived and punched the ground floor button.
“Hard day?” she asked.
“Honey, when you’re dealing with any government, they’re all hard days,” he said with a faint smile. He studied her slender body in the beige leisurewear and the smile grew. “Are we reading each other’s minds already?” he mused.
She laughed. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” she admitted. Her eyes held his shyly for an instant before the elevator doors slid open.
They passed a smiling, nodding group of Japanese tourists as they walked down the long corridor to the patio bar.
“You sounded breathless when you got to the phone,” he remarked. “What were you doing?”
“Watching the French navy,” she replied dryly. “Wondering what it would be like to go on liberty in a foreign port.”
He cast an amused sideways glance at her as they passed the showcase at the entrance to the bar, where artifacts were displayed—like the old cannonball found in Nassau Harbor by divers.
“What will you have?” he asked as he seated her by the window overlooking the hedged swimming pool and walkways out behind the huge hotel.
“I can’t hold my liquor,” she admitted sheepishly. “So I don’t drink anything stronger than wine usually. But I’d love to try a piña colada.”
“Had supper?” he asked, and when she nodded, he added, “It shouldn’t give you any trouble. Of course, if you try to get up on one of the tables and do the flamenco, I’ll do my best to stop you.”
She laughed delightedly. When he stopped being the high-powered executive, he was such charming company. She watched him walk to the bar, all rippling muscle and power. Two older women sitting at a table across the room watched him unashamedly, whispering back and forth, and Nikki couldn’t blame them for those intent stares. She liked looking at him, too.
He was back minutes later with two tall, frosty glasses full of a milky substance with cherries in them.
“A piña colada,” he said, handing hers to her as he took the seat beside hers. “Coconut rum, milk, pineapple, dark rum and a cherry.”
She sipped it and her eyes grew wide. “It’s very good,” she said, surprised. “I thought it would be bitter, but it’s faintly sweet.”
“Liquor doesn’t have to taste like medicine, you know.” He chuckled. “And in this heat, a ‘tall, cool one’ is almost de rigueur at the end of the day.”
She took another sip and sighed contentedly, her eyes going past him to the patio with its neat little white wrought iron tables, where a flower-scented breeze shifted in through the open sliding doors.
“We can sit outside if you’d rather,” he suggested.
She was on her feet almost before he finished the sentence. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, leading him outside into the delicious-smelling breeze. The bay was just visible through the palms and sea grape trees and the hedge around the huge swimming pool.
Cal seated her again and settled down into the chair on the other side of the small table, idly watching the waves curling white and foamy onto the beach beyond.
“Peace,” he murmured, “I’d almost forgotten what it was. You’ve made me slow down, Georgia.”
“I just pointed your eyes toward the sights.” She laughed. “You slowed yourself down. Mmm, isn’t it lovely here?” she asked, closing her eyes to savor it all. The wind ruffling her hair, the scents, the faint buzz of conversation from inside the bar, the swish of the palms.
“It reminds me of Miami,” he said.
She opened her eyes and took another sip of her drink. “I’ve never been to Miami,” she remarked. “Mike and Jenny—my aunt and uncle—flew down for some convention not too long ago. They said it was hot.”
He chuckled. “In more ways than one,” he murmured. “And crowded. And maddening to get around in. I’d rather take my chances on New York.”
“I’ve never been there, either.” She sighed. “I guess before now, the farthest away from home I’ve ever been is Daytona Beach. And all I remember about it is sun and sand and Leda pushing me in the swimming pool at the hotel with my clothes on.” She smiled at the memory. “She was so much fun, always into something...” The smile faded and she took another, longer swallow from the glass.
“Don’t look back,” he said gently, meeting her eyes across the table.
“It’s hard...” she said tightly.
/> “It gets easier,” he countered. “Take it one day at a time.”
“Just like that?” she asked.
He reached across and touched her fingers with his. “Exactly like that.”
The touch of those warm, hard fingers made her tingle with sensations she hadn’t felt since he’d kissed her. She studied the back of his hand, the darkness of it sprinkled with crisp, curling hair, the fingers broad and long.
“Look at me,” he said curtly.
She raised her eyes to his and found him watching her. His fingers brushed against hers sensuously, lightly teasing them until they trembled, caressing the soft length of them until they parted and began to respond.
Her lips parted at the awesome surge of emotion the simple action ignited. Her fingers arched under the brush of his, and he eased slowly, sensuously between them in a silence that seemed to cancel out the world and every single thing in it.
He contracted his hand so that it was palm to palm with hers, with all five fingers securely interwoven, and pressed it hard and close while his eyes teased hers.
“Your heart’s going like a watch,” he murmured lazily. “I can feel it.”
“You’re not playing fair,” she whispered breathlessly. “It’s like shooting ducks while they’re asleep.”
His fingertips were at her pulse, feeling the rough rhythm of it, and his hard mouth was pulled up at both corners.
“Wrong, honey,” he said softly. “I’m not playing at all.”
She tried to catch her breath, but there was magic in the clasp of that big, warm hand and she couldn’t have torn hers away on penalty of death.
“I don’t think I could handle it,” she protested weakly, her eyes frankly pleading.
“What?”
“An affair,” she whispered.
He lifted her hand in his and ran his lips over the back of it with a slow, sensuous pressure. “You’ve got ten more days to think about it,” he murmured. “While I put on the pressure,” he added with a wicked grin. “And to pass along a trite expression, ʻif you think this is my whole routine...’”