Sand, Sun...Seduction!

by Stephanie Bond

  Armando threaded his fingers through her hair, held her head still while he blazed more kisses over her forehead, her eyelids, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose.

  Then when he lowered his mouth to capture first one nipple and then the other, Macy let out a low, soft moan of intense pleasure. Her body caught fire.

  “I have to have you,” she whispered. “Do you have any protection?”

  He groaned. “Damn. You were driving me so wild I totally forgot about protection.”

  “Do you…please tell me you have a condom, because I don’t and I need you so badly,” she whimpered. “I can’t stand it.”

  “I came up here to be alone. I didn’t expect company.”

  “No!”

  He laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Don’t worry.” He kissed her. “I think I have an emergency condom tucked away in my wallet.”

  “You just have one?”

  “Greedy, greedy.” He chuckled and reached into the bedside table for his wallet.

  A minute later, with the condom in place, Armando slipped his hands under her buttocks and rolled her over until Macy was straddling him, her knees on either side of his waist.

  A flash of lightning flooded the room in split-second illumination, emphasizing the intensity of what was happening between them. Myriad sensations pelted her. The sound of his ragged breathing. The heat of his flesh. The scrape of his beard stubble as he claimed her mouth in another kiss.

  A maelstrom of wicked delight swept her away, increasing the sexual drive that had been building since she’d first spied him underneath that waterfall.

  He tasted robust and masculine. Their tongues played. Gliding in and around and over each other.

  The burning urge to stroke him, to travel the tempting terrain of his body compelled her hand lower. She ran her fingertips over his belly, exalting in the way his taut stomach muscles quivered at her touch. His low groan of pleasure lit her up inside.

  She tracked her hand lower and excitement stirred her blood.

  “I gotta have you now, babe,” he crooned.

  Gleefully, Macy sank onto him, gasping as he filled her up completely. A groan tore from his lips as she ground her pelvis against him.

  Armando couldn’t breathe. The sensation of being inside her was that incredible.

  She rose and then lowered herself on him again. He wrapped his hands around her waist, guiding the rhythm of her moves, watching her with fascination. She was gorgeous. Each stroke brought him closer and closer to bliss.

  He fought the urge to come. It was a fierce battle. The way she was contracting around him was almost more than he could bear. He had to clench his jaw and close his eyes and concentrate on making sure her pleasure was as great as his. He lightly pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and she went wild, thrashing and calling his name.

  “Macy,” he breathed, and it felt as if he hadn’t really lived until this very moment.

  “Armando…I’m about to…I…”

  “That’s it, querida, come for me. Let go.”

  It was all the permission she needed. Climax overtook them both, their bodies merging in a crashing frenzy. Together they clung and called out each other’s name, catapulted into the sweetest orgasm he’d ever experienced.

  * * *

  SOMETIME LATER Macy awoke to the now habitual sound of rain striking the roof and the feel of Armando still inside her. They’d never separated. She’d collapsed on his chest in the aftermath of their exquisite crescendo and had apparently dozed. She felt him grow harder and instantly, she was excited all over again.

  And within seconds she was off and flying. She moaned softly.

  Armando reached up a hand to thread his fingers through her hair and guide her face down to his so he could capture her lips in a fierce kiss. Then he carefully flipped their bodies over so they didn’t disconnect. He was on top now and she happily relinquished control. His mouth captured hers as he thrust into her. Pushing harder and faster until the bed slammed noisily against the wall.

  Dear heavens, she was already on the verge of coming again. She clung to him, grabbed his buttocks, pulling him in deeper.

  And then there she was, enveloped in a wave of sensation even more potent than the first orgasm. She shuddered in his arms, moaning soft and low. Her body spasmed around him. He came along with her, his sound purely masculine as his release shattered into hers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WAS SEVERAL HOURS later when Armando awoke from a deep, sated slumber to find Macy’s sweet butt tucked tightly against his pelvis. He had his arm thrown around her, cinching her to him.

  He wanted to make love to her all over again, but they were out of condoms. Still, there were other ways two people who were as sexually compatible as they were could satisfy each other.

  He lay there, smelling the floral scent of her dark, wavy hair and marveled at the feeling burrowing deep into his heart. Being with Macy felt so natural, so easy, so perfect. She’d made him laugh again and when he was with her, hope filled his heart. For the first time in three months he believed he had a future, and he wanted to share it with her.

  The only downside to their relationship as far as he could see was that his insatiable hunger for her sapped his vigor.

  You don’t even really know her. Sure, you’ve spent three days together spilling all your dark secrets, but is that enough? Are you sure you can trust her?

  She turned in his arms, murmuring something he couldn’t make out, and buried her face against his chest. Groaning, he tightened his arms around her and claimed her lips.

  He might not have known her long, but he felt as if he’d been waiting for her his entire life. And sometimes a guy just had to take a leap of faith. Armando decided he would take his chances and let the chips fall where they may.

  * * *

  AFTER HOURS SPENT pleasuring each other in as many creative ways as they could dream up while the rainstorm continued to shake the cabin, hunger and thirst finally pushed Macy and Armando from the blissful cocoon of their bed.

  As Macy watched Armando pull on his T-shirt, she had to admit a disturbing truth to herself. She was falling for him and that significantly complicated the plans she’d made for her life.

  Aside from the fact that she’d come here under false pretenses, she wasn’t sure she was ready for another relationship. Divorce had soured her on marriage and she didn’t know if she’d ever want to try again.

  Marriage?

  Where had that thought come from? No one was talking marriage. Sure, she admired and respected Armando. They definitely had fun together. And the sex? Groundbreaking, phenomenal, the best she’d ever had.

  But here she was, crazily, illogically, jumping the gun, thinking that admiration, respect, fun and great sex meant anything beyond a good time.

  Most of all, she couldn’t forget her goal. The one thing she’d worked for her entire adult life—becoming an investigative reporter for ANN. And she knew that the story she’d gleaned from Armando about lust, greed and corporate espionage was her ticket to achieving this long-held dream.

  Macy padded to the bathroom, racked by guilt and indecision. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and was shocked by what she saw. Her hair was a wild tumble about her face. Her chin was reddened from the friction between it and Armando’s beard stubble. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. And her eyes glowed with a light she’d never seen there. Unsettled, she ran a brush through her hair.

  Armando’s knuckles rapped against the bathroom door. “Macy,” he said. “You’ve got to come see this.”

  She opened the door to find him standing there, his own eyes glowing with excitement. “What is it?”

  “Get your camera and come with me.”

  His enthusiasm infected her. Macy went to her knapsack, sitting on the chest of drawers, and dug out her camera. He took her hand and led her to the back door. Warm rain blew across her skin when he opened the door.<
br />
  Armando draped one arm around her shoulders, leaned in close. “Look there.” He pointed. “Can you see them underneath the shelter of the jacaranda?”

  Macy squinted through the driving downpour. “What am I looking for?”

  “What did you come here to find?”

  You. A story. Something to further my career.

  But she’d found much more than she’d bargained for and it scared her.

  Then she saw it. The small, twin slashes of red on a low-hanging branch of the tree. The vibrant scarlet throats of two, otherwise brown, little birds huddled together against nature’s onslaught.

  It was a rare pair of red-throated Costa Rican swallows. She breathed deeply and automatically reached for the telephoto lens and attached it to her camera, as if these birds really were the reason she had come here.

  Armando’s arm slipped from her shoulders to her waist as she snapped the pictures. It felt good to have him hug her against him. Too good. She didn’t appreciate this glimpse into what things could be like between them if they’d met under different circumstances, if she hadn’t been deceiving him.

  As his now familiar exciting scent met her nostrils, Macy tried to imagine what his reaction would be if she told him the truth.

  What would he say if she told him her name was Macy Gatwick, not Macy Mason? And that she had no real interest in the red-throated Costa Rican swallow? That bird-watching was just a ruse to meet him, because she wrote exposés for an online magazine and his story of sexual betrayal was her ticket to stardom?

  Her stomach churned. What was wrong with her? When had she lost her moral compass?

  Armando swore under his breath and for one bizarre moment, Macy thought he’d read her mind and now knew everything about her, including the fact that she’d lied to him to further her career.

  Just like Jennifer Kemp, who’d hurt him so badly.

  “Where are your binoculars?” he asked.

  “They’re in my knapsack,” she said, alarmed by his grim expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “From here it looks like the west slope is about to break off.”

  She lowered her camera, the swallows forgotten in the wake of his sudden mood change. “What does that mean?”

  “Mudslide,” he muttered, turning and stalking toward the chest of drawers.

  She stood in the doorway trying to see what he’d seen through the curtain of rain. She could barely even make out that there was a valley in the far distance. “Mudslide?”

  “It’ll wash out the main road to San Pablo and El Marro Lindo.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “What does that mean?”

  “We could be stuck here for weeks.” Armando grabbed her knapsack.

  “I can’t be stuck here for weeks,” she muttered. “Three days in this cabin is bad enough.”

  His head came up and she realized how insensitive that sounded.

  “I…that’s not what I meant…”

  “I know what you meant,” he said, but his voice was so neutral she couldn’t read him. “That’s why I need the binoculars, to see if we have enough time to get you out of here before the road goes.”

  She turned back to peer out the door at the deluge. “We’re leaving? In this rain?”

  “It’s now or never.”

  She drew in a deep breath. Anxiety crept down her spine. She felt Armando come up behind her. “I can’t even see the road.”

  “What is this?” he asked in a flinty voice.

  Macy swiveled around.

  Armando stood in front of her, his face as impassive as a rock cliff, her press badge dangling from his finger, her satellite phone clutched in his hand.

  * * *

  “I CAN EXPLAIN.”

  Armando stared at her, unable to believe this was happening to him again.

  No! It couldn’t be true. He didn’t want it to be true. But he could tell from the shamed expression on her face that it was. He thought their time together had been special. What an idiot. She must have been secretly laughing at him while she’d knowingly betrayed his trust.

  Just like Jennifer.

  But this was a thousand times worse. For one thing, with Jennifer, he’d had a hand in his own downfall, but not in this instance. Here, he’d been minding his own business, trying to get his life together. Trying to figure out how he’d screwed up his career so badly. But this…this was all Macy’s doing. She hunted him down. She’d conned him into bringing her into his cabin, letting down his guard and foolishly telling her everything about his past.

  For another thing—and this was what hurt so damned much—he’d fallen in love with her.

  Macy had broken his heart.

  “That’s okay.” He held up his palm. “I don’t need to hear any more of your lies.”

  “This looks bad, I know but—”

  “Let me see if I’ve gotten any of it wrong,” he said. “According to this press badge, your real name is Macy Gatwick and you write for Gotcha magazine. The name seems self-explanatory. Anything about that not true?”

  Macy shook her head as misery saturated her. He looked so utterly wounded her heart shriveled. “Armando, please, I—”

  “You came here to find out what had happened to my career at Hollister Chemicals and why Bond and Martin were suddenly developing the fuel additive that should have belonged to me,” he interrupted her again.

  She deserved to be cut off. She knew it. But it killed her that he wouldn’t listen to what she had to say. He was hurting, she understood that, but she needed to let him know how much she’d changed. How being with him had changed her, in just three short days.

  “You came here,” he continued, “to betray me.”

  The angry look in his eyes took her breath away. He hated her. He wasn’t interested in hearing anything she had to say.

  She was still standing in the open doorway, the wind blowing rain over her feet. She felt as if she was sinking, drowning in the emotions flickering in his eyes—outrage, hurt, bewilderment, humiliation, scorn.

  “This was all a ploy. A scheme you cooked up to get to me. You had no interest in red-throated swallows and you had no interest in me, beyond getting my story.”

  Wretchedly, she nodded. “I’ve been trying my whole career to get a job as an investigative reporter for ANN. It’s my lifelong dream. Your story was supposed to be my big break.”

  “Then you got what you came for, didn’t you?” He spit out the words in obvious disgust. “Let me just help you on your way.” He punched a number into her satellite phone. When someone answered on the other end, he said abruptly, “This is Armando. I have an American tourist stranded in my cabin. The main road to El Marro Lindo is about to wash out. She needs rescue.”

  He hung up and tossed her the phone. Then he put on the rain slicker and rubber boots parked at the back door.

  “Where are you going?” she cried.

  He threw her a look that chilled her to the bone. “As far away from you as I can get,” he said, then turned and plunged into the rain-soaked jungle.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “SO?” MACY’S BOSS, Greg Winston, stood in the doorway of the communal office at Gotcha magazine, hands on his hips, a scowl on his plump, ruddy face. “Where’s the piece on Armando Cutler?”

  Macy exhaled wistfully and pulled her attention from the photograph of two red-throated Costa Rican swallows huddled together under the rain-soaked jacaranda tree that she’d propped against her coffee mug. She’d been dreading this showdown with Greg ever since she’d arrived at the office. She might be a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

  Splaying her palms on the desk, she pushed herself to her feet and met his glare. “I’m not turning in the piece.”

  Greg’s scowl deepened. “Does this have anything to do with the assistant producer from ANN sitting in our lobby?”

  Macy blinked. “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb—it doesn’t suit you,” Greg said. “He’s asked fo
r you by name.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I don’t want to lose you, Macy,” Greg said. “You’re the best reporter I’ve got, but I know your dreams are bigger than Gotcha magazine. Just please do me a favor and take your job interview elsewhere.”

  Stunned, Macy slipped the photo of the swallows into her pocket and then wandered into the lobby to find Tom Sternon, the assistant producer with whom she’d had a past interview, sitting beside the window. He stood and extended his hand. “Macy Gatwick, it’s good to see you again.”

  She shook his hand. “Yes, nice to see you, too.”

  “We heard about your rescue from San Pablo in Costa Rica. It’s our understanding you spent time with Armando Cutler. We tried for weeks to get an interview with him after Bond and Martin scooped his fuel additive.”

  “Mr. Sternon,” she said. “Could we have this conversation in the coffee shop next door?”

  “Certainly.”

  Once they were ensconced at a bistro table in the Latte Café, cups of coffee in their hands, Sternon began his pitch again. “Have you given Cutler’s story to Gotcha?”

  “I have not.”

  “Smart woman.” Sternon smiled and steepled his fingers. “We have a win-win proposition. Give us your exclusive interview with Armando Cutler and we have a job waiting for you at ANN.”

  Macy listened to Tom Sternon say the words she’d wanted to hear more than anything since she was an eighteen-year-old journalism student at the University of Oklahoma. She’d worked hard for this, had dreamed of it for years, but now that it had come to pass, it felt…

  Empty.

  She reached into her pocket, felt the edges of the photograph. She thought about Armando and those hot, wet nights they’d shared in that little jungle cabin.

  She could not forget how she’d behaved—lying to him to get a story, worming her way into his confidence. Was she going to take that last step and issue the blow of ultimate betrayal in order to get what she wanted?

  A crossroads.

  She was staring at a crossroads and her decision would affect the rest of her life. Was she like those black-chested swallows stealing nests from the red-throated swallows? Was she any different from Jennifer Kemp?