Island Fantasies: An Island Escapes Travel Romance

by Anna Lowe

  Kyle snorted. He could tick off a dozen reasons. Job. Family. Responsibility. Long-term goals. He could practically see the cartoon-style angels hovering overhead, calling out one reason after another, telling him to do the right thing.

  But a single devil perched on his other shoulder and dismissed all that with a wave of his forked tail.

  The only thing holding you back, man, is yourself. Go for it!

  He tried shrugging the images away, but they weren’t easily dislodged. If Hannah could step out of the rat race, so could he. Maybe after he wrapped up the Kaufmann contract, he could try the same thing. He could head to the Caribbean, maybe, and take a sailing course or sign on as crew, like Hannah did. He could trade business suits for shorts and flip-flops and live the good life. He could—

  He stopped there, because the image wasn’t quite right.

  Without Hannah, it didn’t have the same appeal. Maybe the sailing life wasn’t what pulled at him now. Maybe it was just her.

  He reached out toward Hannah’s back and let his fingers float a millimeter above her skin. If she felt anything, it could only be his warmth or that sixth sense that set in when a person came close or stared intently. Right now, he was doing both, admiring the intricate topography of her back. All those swimmer’s muscles, raised in ridges and humps and hollows.

  Her eyes fluttered open, then slid shut as she smiled like a cat settling into a nap. Sometimes, she could be so hurried, so anxious. About what, he didn’t know. Proving something? Escaping something? Those were the times when she needed him, and he loved being the provider. But at other times, she was calmer than calm. Serene, even, like no one he’d ever met before. Like she was now.

  Those were the times when he needed her.

  Needed? He tried convincing himself otherwise.

  He touched down and skimmed a finger over her skin, exploring it the way he’d reached out toward the manta. His fingers registered soft skin over tight muscles, countless little cords hardened by all that swimming, hull cleaning, and who knows what else. Maybe she’d gone rock climbing when he wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t be surprised.

  Hey, Hannah, he wanted to say. I really like you.

  But that would have been woefully insufficient, so he didn’t say anything.

  The wind pushed the palm fronds into a dance, throwing shifting patterns across her back. He traced them, following a line that started at the crest of her shoulders and continued along the dip of her spine. Curving down until his fingers swept lightly over her rear. He did it again, starting at the top, a second and third time, but his fingers kept getting snared in her bikini bottom. Another long stroke and he stopped there, foiled yet again.

  Damn bikini.

  He let his fingers play along the edge of the cloth, pacing back and forth like a knight searching for weaknesses in a castle wall. Waiting. Either she’d play possum, or she’d pick up her hips and let him slide the bikini off. He held his breath, hoping.

  He let it out slowly when Hannah shifted and rose beneath his touch. His finger hooked the cloth and rolled it slowly down her perfectly rounded cheek. With the help of her left hand and a little wiggle, he worked the bikini all the way down those gorgeous legs, around her ankles, and away. Two long legs and a delightfully bare bottom met as one at her torso, one shade lighter than the rest.

  “Nice,” he murmured. Nice to be able to slide a finger along her curves unfettered and free.

  If it weren’t for the bikini straps circling her neck and back, that is.

  So he did the same thing: hinted, then waited until her shoulder twitched in consent. A tug, a click, and he had her top off, too. He eased himself over her body and carefully settled over her, spread-eagled like a man distributing his weight over thin ice.

  “Okay?” he murmured, kissing the nape of her neck.

  “Perfect,” came her breathless whisper.

  He nestled his head into a spot between her shoulder blades and lay there a moment, soaking it all in.

  Her. Him. Maupiti.

  Paradise.

  Palms rustled overhead, and her chest rose and fell in a steady wave beneath him. His heart thumped in time with hers. Salt, sea, wind, and an intriguing woman under him: a thousand impressions to absorb quietly.

  And for once, he had time to do just that.

  At home, life — and love — unfolded in rooms with closed windows, and the staleness of it all was concealed by a thousand artificial perfumes. Out here on his own treasure island, vibrant, natural scents drifted in from all sides. From the sand under them, the sky above, the island all around.

  Fresh. It was all so fresh. So free. So natural.

  He contemplated those mysteries for another few minutes before realizing what he was doing — or rather, what he was not doing. A gorgeous woman, poised for sex under his body and he was…basking? Okay, he would have to get himself checked as soon as he got home. A full physical. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation, too. After that, he’d put in a three-year subscription to the Economistand hit a few sports bars with the boys. Because, damn, there must be something wrong with him. He could have stayed there, floating, for…well, for a long, long time.

  Hannah’s hips stirred under his groin in a subtle summons.

  “Women,” Kyle murmured in feigned annoyance. “Always in such a hurry.”

  She chuckled and let him bask a second longer, then stirred. “I wonder how mantas have sex,” she said, her voice muffled by the blanket.

  The invitation went down like a warm drink on a cold night. The pirate queen wanted him! Might even beg him, if he did this right. Kyle took a deep breath and coiled his frame, ready to begin.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hannah wanted Kyle’s slow, heated touched to go on and on, but something in her barked impatiently for more. He had gotten her good and heated up with the bikini removal operation, then slowed to a delicious crawl. It was like he was enjoying it up there, just lying on her. Could it be that men really did think about something other than sex?

  Maybe she should test that hypothesis…some other time.

  “I wonder how mantas have sex,” she’d murmured in a thinly veiled hint.

  He scraped his stubble across the center of her back, making her tingle the way the manta had. Only the manta hadn’t followed up with a sizzling trail of kisses.

  “Oh, I know all about that,” he said. “I researched it last night.”

  She smiled into the blanket. “Oh, did you?”

  “Oh yes,” came his authoritative voice. “It goes like this.”

  His weight shifted slowly into motion in a single, flowing continuum. When his arms stretched wide, she echoed his movement so they were draped wing to wing with their fingers meshed. The man fit so smoothly into her curves, and his touch was so gentle and right, it might have been directed by an angel.

  Or devil, maybe. She hid a grin.

  “First the male flies — swims, I mean — over the female a few times.” He rocked gently left, then right. “Making sure she wants him.”

  “Oh, she wants him, all right.” Hannah backed up her words with another butt nudge.

  He dragged his body up along hers and spoke right into her ear. “So he gets into position.” He slid down again and let his groin drop, rub, and tease.

  He straddled her, spreading his broad hands on her back again, and the complaint she was about to voice turned into a heavy purr when his hands went wide around her upper ribs. They smoothed the sides of her breasts. His touch smoldered there for a moment, and she pictured wisps of smoke rising from her skin.

  “Sadly, some things, mantas just can’t do,” Kyle continued.

  “Oh, yes? Like what?”

  “Like this,” he said, sliding a hand under her stomach and circling there before gliding up to tease a breast. Hannah rose just a little, making space for his hand. Her nipples promptly pressed into his palm, and she bit back a coo of pleasure.

  Kyle gave an exaggerated sigh. “Poor mantas. Missing so
me of the best hardware.”

  When he chuckled, the sound vibrated through her chest. He squeezed again, and she couldn’t stifle a moan.

  “And they can’t do this,” Kyle continued in a gruffer voice. He shifted his weight and curled his free hand around her middle, tugging her close. Then his hand wandered to her core, and a shot of electricity ran the length of her. He stroked her folds, asking to come in.

  “Kyle,” she moaned, hitching her hips up to give him space. “Please.”

  He slipped a finger inside easily; she was already that slick and ready. He sucked in a breath and prodded deeper, eliciting another moan from her, then a sigh when he paused. A second finger joined the first and worked her in wide, slippery circles, winding her higher and higher.

  “You have no mercy, pirate.”

  He chuckled in her ear. “If you think I have no mercy, you should feel my dick burn.”

  Hannah meant to laugh, but all she could do was beg for more.

  “Soon,” he said in a voice layered with satisfaction.

  He pushed deeper, withdrew, and then plunged his fingers even deeper, making her cry a strangled song of pleasure. He repeated the pattern until she convulsed in a wild, wet rush. Hannah rode the wave, rocked to it, shuddering with uncontrollable pleasure.

  Slowly, she melted back on the blanket with a sigh. She focused on Kyle’s hand, his fingers threaded through hers. The palm trees overhead threw tattoos over their bodies in shifting patterns, and she doubted she’d ever felt closer to a man.

  “Does life get better than this?” she murmured, as much to herself as to him.

  Sex certainly didn’t. That much she knew. She’d never gotten so hot, so fast with any man. Never been so impatient, wanting it hard and fast, yet slow and smooth all at the same time.

  Kyle’s heart thumped above her, and his cock jutted against her tailbone while he waited for her. Somehow, the man knew all the places guaranteed to make her wild. Places she hadn’t even suspected existed.

  And one of those places was her heart, fluttering and flopping like a butterfly drunk with love.

  She shooed the thought away. She wasn’t falling in love. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. And that was that.

  The palm trees giggled and swayed in their own private joke.

  Above her, Kyle’s muscles bunched under the flesh and he pulled away.

  “No! Don’t go.”

  “Just a sec,” he said, rooting around his backpack.

  She heard a rustling sound and a happy grunt. His hand moved into her field of vision, presenting a rubber ring.

  “You have a condom?” she asked, incredulous and delighted. She’d brought a picnic, sunscreen, and snorkeling gear, but no condom. Thank goodness one of them had been thinking.

  “Are you kidding? After the humiliation of green?”

  She ticked a scolding finger at him. “You knew we’d be having sex?”

  He kissed the back of her neck. “With you, I can never tell anything.”

  She reached a hand back, trying to help him with the condom, but he nudged her hand away.

  “I’d love to let you do this, but it’s one of the trade-offs of manta sex,” he murmured over her shoulder. “One of the very few.”

  Hannah all but growled; not a very mantalike sound. Then she stilled as he moved into position. He paused behind her, poised for the dive she already knew would be yet another highlight of this perfect day.

  “Then the male slides over the female,” Kyle narrated. His voice was a tight growl, his hands braced on either side of her head.

  Her hips bucked up just as he swept forward, and she nearly howled with pleasure at the feel of him sliding inside. So broad, so slick. She was wide and ready, but even so, the stretch created a momentary burn, then a gush of pleasure that threatened to sweep her away too soon.

  “Hannah…”

  He pulsed in and out exactly the way his fingers had before, but this particular piece of hardware was specifically engineered for this job, and damned if it didn’t do it well. The ecstasy she’d felt before doubled, tripled, then flew off the charts as they hit a rhythm she knew they couldn’t maintain for long.

  “Kyle!”

  He pushed, she clenched, and the roar of the reef urged them on. She pushed back against him when he hit the perfect spot deep inside. Forget pride; she let loose the desperate cries building in her throat and clenched down on him with all her might. Everything became the dance inside until she crested onto a wave that thrust her impossibly high, then sent them both tumbling over the edge, stripped of any orientation until they washed onto the foamy bliss of the shallows, panting and intertwined.

  When Hannah could again think clearly — which was a good long while — they were nestled together under the palms, and she had to fight hard to avoid the riptides of emotion.

  This was coming awfully close to her ultimate fantasy: being in the perfect place with the perfect man. It felt so good, yet frightening, too. Reality was never far away: a shark waiting for its prey to stray too far, ready to tear it into a thousand pieces with its jagged teeth. Reality told her this couldn’t last.

  But Hannah pushed that thought away because she had a solution. Yes, she did. The perfect solution.

  For the next few days, she would pretend. Pretend there was no Robert and no departure date. No airline ticket in Kyle’s name. The two of them were a couple with their own boat and a happy life and the luxury of a week in Maupiti.

  Yes, she would pretend. Waking up from this dream would be a killer, but at least she’d have it sealed in her memory forever.

  Yes, damn it, she would pretend.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  If there were monuments to sex, Kyle decided, manta sex would get the biggest one.

  And the picnic lunch wasn’t bad, either. He licked his fingers and chuckled at his own private joke. Not that anything could hold a candle to manta sex. Nothing could hold a candle to any part of this incredible day.

  He was in the South Pacific with a woman who couldn’t be further from how he’d imagined the woman of his dreams, and she was amazing. And right now, she was kissing his shoulder.

  “Mmm, still salty.” She smiled. “Add a little pepper…” She sprinkled imaginary flakes over him and licked again. “Mmm, nice.”

  “A very nice lunch,” he agreed. “And now it’s time for dessert.”

  “Dessert?” The woman could eat a rugby player under a table. “I didn’t pack any.”

  He interlocked his fingers and stretched them out. “Get on your stomach, lady,” he ordered.

  She arched an eyebrow, then stuck up her hands. “Um, manta sex was great, but I could use a little time to digest.”

  Kyle hid his chuckle. He’d need a month just to digest the tastes of this day.

  “Women,” he snorted. “Always thinking about sex.” He shook his head in mock exasperation. “I’m giving you a massage.”

  Hannah drew a long breath, then reached out and pinched him.

  “Ouch! What’s that for?”

  “Just checking if you’re for real. Ouch!” she cried when he pinched her back.

  “I’m the one who has to check if you’re for real.”

  “God, I hope you don’t come to your senses any time soon,” she murmured.

  “I am in full command of my senses, lady. You’re the one who’s delusional. And please stay that way. Now be quiet.” He straddled her, dividing his weight between his knees and her rear, and hoping his cock wouldn’t decide it was play time again.

  “You are a prince among men.” She sighed. “Make that a prince among mantas. Tell me again what I did to deserve this?”

  “This isn’t for you, even though you do deserve it. It’s for me. Now shush.”

  He was telling the truth, too. Cats clawed rugs, pigs rolled in mud, and he liked to massage women’s backs. Not that he’d done much of it since splitting up with Cindy, but still. It was like sculpting out of living, breathing material, the sa
me way braiding hair was. And Hannah was perfect, with all those cords of muscle. Some of them, by the feel of it, really in need of a little rub. Clearly, she’d been working too hard on that boat.

  “God, you’re good at this,” she mumbled. He could hear the relaxation in her voice, and it spread into him, too.

  “I took a course.”

  “You and who else?”

  He hesitated, then dug back into her shoulders. “Me and Cindy.”

  She let a few breaths go by, then piped up again. “The one who taught you to do hair?”

  “Actually, yes,” Kyle said, relieved that Hannah didn’t seem to have an issue with that.

  “Thank God for women who teach men useful skills,” she said and let it go.

  Thank God for women who don’t make an issue out of past relationships, he thought just as she piped up again.

  “Tell me about Cindy.”

  He let out a long breath. What was there to say about Cindy, other than he’d learned a lot from her — the hard way. “Do you really want to know?”

  She thought it over, wiggling a little under his hands. “No. Well, maybe just a little. No gory details.”

  “What do you want to know?” He rolled his knuckles over one tight, tanned shoulder.

  She twitched in a tiny shrug. “What was she like?”

  He thought back to that winter night in New York they’d first met at the company party.

  “She liked limos and shiny purses.” Purses with inexhaustible supplies of condoms she insisted on using even when we’d been together for a year and she was on the pill, he almost added bitterly. Cindy’s one-track mind had targeted him from the start. And he’d been such a fool. He hadn’t even spotted the dollar signs in her eyes.

  Cindy was the polar opposite of Hannah. Hannah was genuine. The only wealth she seemed to care about were rich views and unforgettable experiences. That, and she kept condoms buried at the bottom of a bag in the next room.

  Hannah laughed at his description of the woman who’d stolen a part of his soul, and surprise, surprise — he couldn’t help from joining in.