Sand, Sun...Seduction!

by Stephanie Bond

  “Liz, about what happened with Tim and the—”

  “Ho-bag?” she asked with a twist of her lips.

  “I was going to say ‘the affair,’” he said with a chuckle. “I was just wondering if you’ve dealt with it. If you can talk about it.”

  Why he’d want to, she honestly didn’t know. Yet she answered his question. “I’ve dealt with it. But no, I will not talk about it.”

  “I was hoping—”

  She cut him off again. “Not going there, Jack,” she said, throwing a hand up, palm out, stopping him midsentence.

  “I understand,” he murmured, though that thoughtful look remained.

  Fortunately he didn’t have the chance to try another personal topic of conversation. They suddenly rounded a curve in the windy road and spied the entrance to the marina. “We’re here,” she said, her manner cool, all-business. “Now let’s see what we can do about getting the Duke to invite us onboard. Remember, for all intents and purposes, we’re just out for a day of relaxation.” She cast a quick glance over his clothes—shorts and a T-shirt. The kind of look that on anyone else would look island-casual but on Jack was just damned sexy. “You look okay.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I meant,” she said with a chuckle, “that while neither of us looks ready to hit a boardroom in Boston, for the Duke’s yacht, bathing suits and shorts are de rigueur.”

  She saw the wicked gleam in his eye before he said, “Can’t wait to see yours.”

  Damn. She really should have thought about that and worn a one-piece under her lightweight shirt and sailor pants. The bikini was fine for the yacht, probably a lot more modest than what most tourists wore on the beaches. But she didn’t know if even a ski parka would have been enough to insulate her from Jack’s intense gaze.

  He parked the car and cut the engine, but instead of getting out, turned in his seat to face her. “About what we were discussing before, Liz… I’d really like to talk to you.”

  “Don’t,” she said, quickly shaking her head. “Please, don’t.”

  Without giving him a chance to say another word, she reached for the door handle and stepped outside. She might be working for the man for a few days, but that didn’t mean he had any right to pry into her personal life, into her feelings.

  It wasn’t entirely his fault. She’d started the conversation, sharing too much. But she also needed to end it, here and now. From this point on, their relationship was going to remain strictly business. No sharing, no tenderness, no laughter.

  And definitely no more kissing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE ANTI-MOTION-SICKNESS bracelet worked. At least, it worked for about an hour.

  Then it stopped working.

  It happened abruptly, between one heartbeat and another. One second Jack was firmly planted on two feet, watching Ray Marchand pilot his sixty-foot yacht. The next he was on his ass on a lounge chair, his head between his knees.

  Why, he wondered, had ancient man ever decided to venture onto the water, when land was so blessedly still and solid?

  “Hey, my friend, you’re no’ looking so good.”

  Ray Marchand, aka the Duke, sounded both concerned and a bit amused. The older man, who was probably about sixty, though his smooth face and enormous smile gave the impression of someone much younger, had been every bit the friendly, outgoing man Liz had described. And his much-younger wife was, indeed, an incredibly beautiful woman who obviously adored her husband.

  Jack, on the other hand, hadn’t conveyed quite as positive an impression. Liz had managed to get them an invite onto the man’s yacht, but Jack had only been able to remain upright long enough for them to leave the coast.

  “You’re looking a little green.”

  A little? He could probably pass for the love child of the Jolly Green Giant and the Wicked Witch of the West. And if his stomach was still attached where it was supposed to be, and not doing loop-de-loops throughout his midsection, he’d be shocked.

  Why in hell was he doing this again?

  “You must really want to sell your magazines in my stores.”

  Oh. That.

  Right now, the current circulation of every one of their periodicals sounded just fine to him. No expansion required.

  “Or else you must really want to spend some time with Trinity’s pretty bartender.”

  Jack slowly lifted his head, seeing the amused, knowing expression on the other man’s face.

  “Aha!” the Duke said, laughing as he slapped his thick, beefy hands together. “The things we do for love, eh, my friend?”

  “Liz and I are not in love,” he muttered.

  “The things we do for lust, then?” the other man suggested, undeterred. “Though your seduction plan, it isn’t going to work so well, I think. Not easy to woo a woman if you are looking like you drank a glass of raw eggs.”

  His stomach lurching, Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. The Duke’s laughter only grew louder.

  “I tell you what. We’ll turn around, you get on dry land. This weekend, we’ll get together. Me and my wife, you and your lady friend. I’ll introduce you to some people. We’ll talk some business.”

  “You’re not a duke,” Jack replied in a grateful whisper. “You’re a prince.”

  Marchand laughed heartily, then waved toward the deck. “Go aft—that’s toward the stern.”

  Jack just lifted a brow, not sure what a stern was.

  Tsking, Marchand said, “You have no idea what I mean. You really have no sea legs at all, do you?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head. “Pity. Liz likes the sea. I see her taking her small sailboat out all the time.”

  “I think I prefer yours,” Jack replied. “Because at least if I fall overboard I’d probably be lucky enough to die.”

  Another belly laugh from the Duke, whose sparkling eyes and bright white smile said he knew how to enjoy life, liked surrounding himself with all the exclusive trappings. “Now, go toward the back of the boat. Sit in the center, don’t lie down. Let your body roll with the ship, don’t fight it. We’ll be back at the dock soon.” The man wagged his eyebrows. “Maybe Liz will wander back to look after you. It’s nice and private back there. Great place for romance—nobody will see a thing.”

  “Believe me,” Jack said as he lurched to his feet, “there will be nothing romantic about me if I don’t get back on solid ground soon. The only thing you could see is me leaning over the railing. I am in no condition for romance.”

  “You never know. I think Liz could make you forget your troubles—and your bellyache—for a little while.”

  “I’m not gonna hold my breath.”

  Unless it helped him hold his breakfast.

  Nodding his thanks, Jack did as the captain suggested. Moving slowly, carefully, he took a seat near the back railing, where the motion was much less noticeable. Though his instinct was to close his eyes and lie down, he resisted. Sitting upright, he focused on letting all his muscles relax. And gradually, as his host had promised, the tension eased, until his body began to sway along with the waves lapping against the hull.

  Then he realized he was no longer alone.

  “You okay?” Liz, who had been up front with Mrs. Marchand, took the seat beside him.

  “Getting there,” he murmured, not confident enough to risk moving his head to turn and look at her.

  “You really weren’t exaggerating about how hard this is for you.”

  “No.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Distract me,” he ordered, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He’d managed to find a good position and wasn’t about to risk losing it. “Talk to me.”

  “What about?”

  It really didn’t matter, though he didn’t tell her that. Right now, Liz seemed sympathetic. She might be more willing to open up if she thought it would help him relax. But coming right out and questioning her about the choices she’d made could also send her running in the other dir
ection. So he decided to ease into it.

  “Did you plan to work as a bartender when you came here?”

  “Not really.” She shifted, stretching her long legs out in front of her to sun them.

  To sun them?

  The lightweight cotton pants she’d been wearing when they’d arrived at the marina were gone, and her skin gleamed with some kind of lotion.

  Though his pulse began to gush in his veins, he forced his breaths to remain normal and steady. Shifting his eyes to the left, he let his gaze travel over her. He inhaled slowly at the prettiness of her red-tinted toenails, then breathed out when he focused on her slim ankles. In again at the shapely calves. Out again at the knees. Jack fought his sudden urge to press his mouth to the warm, soft bit of skin just inside them.

  Then there were no inhalations. He couldn’t breathe at all, the air was stuck between his lungs and his mouth as he let his stare travel up those slender, golden thighs, so supple and smooth.

  Geez. It would take days to properly explore every inch of those legs.

  His perusal ended at the top of her thighs—he couldn’t see farther unless he turned his head. And if he turned his head, saw the curvy hips covered in some miniscule bit of string pretending to be a bathing suit, he’d probably do one of two things.

  Dive onto her in sheer lust.

  Or fall out of the chair from sheer vertigo.

  Either way could be very embarrassing.

  He looked away, staring at a life preserver hanging from the railing, wishing someone would throw him a lifeline before he drowned in desire for the woman sitting beside him.

  “I ended up at Trinity’s place on a night when her old bartender had called in sick…again,” she murmured with a soft, satisfied sigh, as if she was a cat curled up in a spot of sunshine on a cold day. “She desperately needed help and I jumped in to lend a hand.”

  Relieved to get back to normal conversation and determined not to look at her again, he asked, “And you never left?”

  “Nope.” Liz scooted her chair forward, enough for him to realize her bikini was fire-engine red. His heart skipped a beat. She turned so she could see his face. “Sorry, but are you purposely not looking at me? Is it the sea sickness?”

  “It’s safer this way,” he bit out, his equilibrium thrown off now by her nearness, by the glorious sight of her nearly naked body, rather than by the motion of the water. “I should probably just try to stay still and not talk.”

  And not look. That was what he needed to not do. Not think, either.

  He wished he could shake off the flash of lust that had turned his brain into mush, but settled, instead for pulling his sunglasses off the top of his head to cover his eyes. Which he then closed.

  Liz said nothing for a moment, though he was conscious of the warmth of her leg next to his. Finally she rose from her chair.

  He figured she would leave, head back to rejoin their host’s wife. Which was good. Fine. Safe.

  Instead, she stepped over to stand behind his chair. Before he could prepare himself, he felt those cool, soft hands touch his face. Her fingertips were at his temples, moving in small, tiny circles with just a hint of pressure.

  “Good God,” he said with a groan.

  “Helping?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She continued to stroke, as if she was easing a headache. Then she slowly moved her hands down, the pads of her fingers tracing his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck.

  Her touch, meant to ease and comfort, instead brought a renewed heat and tension. Standing directly behind him, so close he could lean his head back and rest it on her full breasts, she seemed oblivious to the fire she built with every stroke. She smelled of tropical flowers and coconut, and her skin was softer than the island breeze that drifted through his open window every morning.

  “You have magic in those hands,” he murmured, suddenly remembering what their host had said. About this area of the yacht being so private, out of view.

  “Just relax.”

  Funny how relaxation and tension could twist together, creating a dichotomy of responses inside him. He couldn’t be more relaxed if he was reclining in the most luxurious bed ever made. But with Liz’s nearly naked body just inches away, her hands doing magical things to him, the tension that came of pure, ragged longing was enough to make him shake.

  Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to sample, had to taste.

  He turned his head, his cheek brushing her inner arm, and pressed his mouth to her wrist. Though she gasped a little, she didn’t pull away.

  Kissing the pulse point, he slid his tongue over the vulnerable spot. He nibbled lightly, feeling her pulse grow more rapid against his lips. Moving higher, he heard the tiny catch in her breath, the sigh she couldn’t contain. Her skin was hot under the sun, but so damned soft. Delicious. As he explored every inch, he couldn’t help imagining how it would feel when her arms were wrapped around his neck in a close, sensual embrace.

  Needing more, Jack moved his hand to hers and laced their fingers together. With a gentle tug, he brought her around the chair and down onto his lap.

  He hesitated for a second, losing what sanity he had left at the sight of her beautiful body in the sexy bathing suit. Her perfect breasts were hugged by the fabric, her taut nipples jutting out in visible, blatant arousal. All from the touch of his mouth on her forearm.

  What would happen if he indulged in a complete banquet of the rest of her?

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, sounding a little dreamy, a little lost.

  “I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do since I met you,” he admitted as he slid a hand up to cup her head, tangling his fingers in her long hair. He drew her close, until their lips shared the same inch of morning air. Then he eliminated it, kissing her softly, all slow seduction.

  She tilted her head, parting her lips on another of those soft sighs. Their tongues slid together in a slow, lazy mating. Neither took, both gave, in a sultry, shared kiss that had been years in the making.

  Needing to feel her, Jack cupped her hip, then slid his hand up to caress the indentation of her waist. She arched toward his touch, silently telling him what she wanted.

  As if he could resist.

  He continued until he could scrape the side of his thumb across her breast. Going slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he toyed lightly with the sensitive peak. She jerked, groaned, then tugged his hand more fully over herself.

  “Perfect,” he mumbled against her mouth, taking every bit of what she offered. He slid his fingertips beneath the fabric, touching and plucking at the hard, pink nipple. Liz jerked again. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of beautiful, aroused woman and salty ocean air.

  He wanted so much more. Wanted to tug the fabric down, move his mouth to her soft curves, suckle her deeply.

  But a shout from the front of the yacht suddenly interrupted him, reminding them both of time and place. True, they were alone, Liz shielded from view by Jack’s body. But the things he wanted to do with this woman required ultimate privacy. And a whole lot of time.

  Not to mention a completely clear head.

  Swallowing visibly, Liz pulled away, staring at him in confusion. Then, lifting her hand to her mouth, she slid off his lap and stood before him. “What was that?”

  “I think it was called a kiss.”

  She frowned. “You’re not feeling well.”

  “For some reason I’m feeling a lot better now.” It was true. Maybe taking his focus off the roll of the waves and directing it at the incredibly sexy woman standing in front of him was all it took to combat seasickness.

  “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “I never said it was.” He slowly rose to his feet, keeping his attention squarely on her face, ignoring the lush curves of the body he had been only moments from exploring.

  “I can’t do this, Jack,” she insisted, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I’m just supposed to be working for you.”

&n
bsp; “Liz, we’re both adults—”

  “No. This was only a job. Nothing personal, nothing intimate about it.” The stiff jut of her chin said she meant it. She was erecting those barriers between them again. “If you can’t agree to that, I’m afraid that when we get back to shore, we’ll have to part ways.”

  “Impossible,” he said, thrusting a frustrated hand through his hair. How the woman could be so hot in his arms one minute and so aloof the next, he honestly didn’t know. “I need you.”

  “The Duke likes you, he told me that. You don’t need me anymore.”

  Oh, was she wrong. So wrong. After having her in his arms, he was beginning to suspect he needed her more than he even needed to see another sunset.

  He wasn’t fool enough to say so. Seeing the tension in her stiff form, the self-protective way she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, he knew she didn’t want to hear it. He also knew he couldn’t risk giving her any more reasons to back away.

  Forcing a note of nonchalance he did not feel into his voice, he insisted, “Look, it was a kiss. I needed a distraction and you provided it. I feel a lot better. Thank you.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip, as if she wasn’t quite sure she was happy getting what she’d appeared to want—an acknowledgment that their embrace hadn’t meant anything.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t still need you.” He thought quickly, wondering what limits she’d accept. “Mr. Marchand wants to get together this weekend,” he said, suddenly coming up with the perfect thing. “He plans to introduce me to some other local businesspeople. I’m thinking of having a small party at the rental house, and I need your help.”

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “To do what?”

  To be by my side. To give me a chance to show you how good we can be.

  He didn’t admit that. “To help me with the party. I don’t know anyone on the island and you do. I’ll pay you extra. I’ll even provide something for you to wear.”

  Her lips parted in surprise and her gaze shifted. She no longer met his eyes, as if his answer had taken her aback. “A uniform?”

  Jack managed to hide his shock. He knew exactly what she was picturing. Black slacks, a white tuxedo shirt. Standard bartender wear.