One Little Kiss (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

  The deep-coral bikini top she wore hugged her curves, dipping low enough in front to give him a delicious glimpse of cleavage. The itsy bitsy bottom, and about a mile and a half of silky smooth legs, were wrapped up in a gauzy skirt tied lazily at the curve of her hip. As she moved toward him, the skirt fell away to expose a flash of creamy thigh and he envisioned those legs wrapped around his waist. Man, she looked even sexier now than she’d looked an hour ago, naked, tucked underneath his sheets.

  “Nice bikini,” he said, amazed to have strung two words together.

  “Thank you.” Kate smoothed her skirt over the curve of her hip, and his mouth went dry. Seemingly unaware of the effect of the simple gesture, she stepped closer and eased the drill from his hand. “Maybe you better let me take over from here.”

  His male ego kicked in. “I can finish.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, letting the whirr of the drill bit add punch to her words. “But I’d like to offer you a deal.” Her mile-long legs climbed up the aluminum step ladder, and the sway of her ass sent his brain along another detour. He tried to focus on her deal. “For every hurricane panel I remove in under forty seconds, you answer one interview question.”

  “And if you fail?”

  A smile lifted the edges of her mouth as if failure was impossible. “I’ll tell Jane her match was a miss. No more interview. No more bachelor.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Ever.”

  “Ever?”

  “That’s right. She drops the subject entirely.”

  “Jake…I can’t guarantee she won’t try again.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re very convincing. I’m sure you can make it happen.”

  She pursed her lips, like she was considering every possibility. “This’ll either be the shortest interview in the history of interviews, or…”

  “Or you get exactly what you want.” Jake looked at her. No doubt about it, she held a tool like a pro, but the kind of speed she’d promised required top-notch execution. No way could she do it. He grinned. Ten minutes, he’d be an interview-free zone. “I’ll take that deal.”

  Her ensuing smile was sugar-sweet and innocent, but the gleam in the back of those mischievous green eyes sent a different message: game on, sucker.

  She tossed him her phone with the stopwatch app open on the screen, and in less than six minutes, she’d removed all the panels protecting the windows of the wraparound porch, stacked them by the door, and handed him the drill. So much for less-than-superior execution. The woman could probably operate a high-speed power tool in her sleep.

  Jesus Christ.

  He shot her a sidelong glance. “Guess I owe you a few answers.”

  “Six, to be precise.” She nodded toward the windows lining the back of the house. “Unless you want to go for more.”

  He stabbed at his glasses and handed her the phone. “Better quit while I’m ahead.”

  He’d answer her six questions. After all, she’d won fair and square, and he was a fair and square kind of guy. But if they were going to spend the afternoon trading more of her sexy questions, keeping his hands to himself might prove to be impossible. Especially given the way she looks in a bikini. Time to conjure up that famous self-control of his.

  Her flight back to New York was confirmed.

  For better or worse, he wasn’t about to change his mind about relationships. Still a matchmaking-free zone. She was a Relationship girl. Seeing her try to cover her feelings earlier? He wasn’t going to hurt her again.

  Truth be told, he wasn’t that mad about having to do the interview. At least this would help her career. He couldn’t offer her anything beyond last night, but at least he could offer her this. First things first, though. They had to get out of here. If he was going to do an interview, it would be as far away from anyone else as possible.

  He tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “We can’t do the interview here. Ready to take a ride?”

  Her answering smile was slow and knowing. Like last night’s sex. He shrugged. Well, it was a good question. A very good question. He pointed toward his vintage Ducati. “That is our ride.”

  On impulse, he’d parked there earlier. He loved that bike. He’d relinquished most of his former high-flying lifestyle, but the motorcycle? The motorcycle he’d kept.

  Kate eyed the bike with a healthy mix of suspicion and fear. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Aw, c’mon now, Miss Frequent Flyer.” He reached past her and lifted his leather bomber from an outside hook near the door. “Afraid of racing down the open road with me?”

  Her expression said it all. Yes. Hell, yes.

  He wrapped the jacket over her shoulders and pulled her close. “Bikini and leather. Not motorcycle club approved,” he said, resisting the urge to place a fast kiss on her mouth. “Looks good on you, though.” He linked his fingers through hers and led her across the fifty yards to his workshop. “C’mon, you need a helmet and, while I hate to lose the view”—he gave her bare legs a lazy glance—“a pair of jeans, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Which you just happen to have.”

  He tossed out a teasing, not-so-boyish grin, “Always prepared.”

  The sound she made in response spoke volumes about how she felt about that.

  He chuckled, punched the code into the keypad, and waited as the workshop door rumbled open. Inside, he opened the closet and grabbed a pink motorcycle helmet and a pair of very feminine, very sexy dark denim jeans.

  “These ought to work,” he said, turning to Kate.

  Her gaze was glued to the jeans, her expression now telegraphing a seven word question: who the hell do those belong to? He grinned again. His love blogger was jealous, and he’d be damned if that idea didn’t please the hell out of him.

  He winked. “I’m pretty certain my sister packed that pink duffle bag, and since she failed to pack you a pair of jeans, you can borrow hers.” He pressed the jeans into her hands.

  “How did you know?” She stopped. Shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.” Making little circles in the air with her index finger, she looked over at him, the expression on her face as prim and proper as her bikini would allow. “Turn around.”

  Jake couldn’t help a small chuckle. “I’ve already seen what’s underneath that bikini.” He set the helmet on the table and took a step closer. “In fact, I’ve already enjoyed what’s underneath that bikini.”

  He reached for the edge of her wrap, and she backed up another step, pressing her gorgeous backside against his Chris Craft cruiser. What he wouldn’t give to coax her out of her bikini and into that boat for an afternoon of lovemaking. But—no.

  He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and bent his head to breathe in the cherry blossom scent of her skin. Damn. Not a good idea. Her scent reminded of springtime in New York. Keeping control of himself wasn’t going to be easy.

  She turned her face toward his, her lips parted, her breathing soft and sweet—

  And yep, willpower was a finite resource, because this time he couldn’t help but kiss her, his lips falling to hers as if drawn in by some gravitational force. He kissed her slowly, pressing her body up against the smooth planks of the boat as she returned the kiss, sinking her fingers into his hair to pull him closer.

  He took pleasure in the kiss, the press of her lips against his, the feel of this woman in his arms. He ran his hands down her waist, settled on her hip and slowly ended the kiss, letting his mouth linger against her lips. She looked up at him, flushed and beautiful. He felt unsettled, off-balance somehow. This woman arrived on his island and shot his peace all to hell in ways he didn’t dare contemplate. He took a small step back, his hands falling from her hips.

  “If you want to see the rest of this island, you better get those jeans on so we can ride. Now.” Right now. Before they wound up creating more trouble than he’d bargained for.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped around the hull, presumably to untie her silky skirt, wriggl
e her hips into those sexy jeans.

  Self-control, self-control, self-control.

  Jake strode across the room. Distance. Distance is good. He pulled an old quilt from the closet and grabbed a small bottle of champagne—compliments of one of the resort’s vendors—from the workshop fridge. As he closed the door, Kate came back around the boat, and he caught a glimpse of her reflected in the stainless steel. She’d woven the airy skirt through the loops of the jeans like a belt, allowing the floral fabric to float over her hips and thighs. Standing next to Island Time, her blonde hair falling across bare shoulders, no makeup or artifice, she looked like some kind of bohemian goddess. She was beautiful.

  Jake felt something shift inside him. Yesterday he’d expected a hot-shot Manhattan girl, all tailored clothing and New York attitude. But today he was seeing a woman who was soft and lovely and totally unexpected. If he were a better man, the kind capable of feeling and offering the love she needed, he’d be a fool not to try. He just hoped one day she found that man.

  He walked over, traded the quilt and champagne for the butterfly-embossed helmet, and settled it squarely on her head. The damn thing made her look even more beautiful.

  “Perfect.” He choked back his feelings and secured the strap. “Now you look like a biker.”

  Her dubious look made him smile, and he took her hand and led her outside to the Ducati.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked, eyeballing the bike, pulling the helmet strap tight.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” While she got used to the idea, he opened the seat trunk, added the champagne to the soft-pack cooler he’d filled this morning while Goldilocks had been sleeping in his bed, and strapped it carefully on the back of the bike.

  Kate gazed longingly back at the truck. “Can’t we take the Ford?”

  “Not as much fun as the bike, sweetheart.” He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and traded his specs for a pair of prescription sunglasses. “Trust me,” he said in a teasing whisper, “you’re going to love it.” He straddled the bike and reached out his hand.

  She made a defeated sound in the back of her throat, put her hand in his, and climbed onto the back of the bike. With her settled behind him, Jake fired up the bike and accelerated forward. An exhilarated cry escaped her as the coastline disappeared in a rush behind them. When he’d suggested taking the bike to a better place for the interview, he’d stupidly failed to imagine the way she’d look wearing her bikini under his leather jacket or the way she’d feel pressed against him as they zipped along the island roads, outracing the balmy air. Her palms fell low across his abdomen as the twin engines thrummed beneath them. Not exactly a recipe for emotional distance.

  “You okay back there?”

  He felt her nod against his shoulder blade. “Just stay on the right side of the road.”

  Without bothering to fight the smile easing across his face, Jake turned the bike onto the narrow road that led to the island’s interior. She curled into his back on the curve, and he took pleasure in the feeling of her arms wrapped around him. The way her body tucked into his as he maneuvered the bike. The way her hipbone felt pressed up against his backside.

  “Don’t worry,” he called back into the wind, “you’re safe with me.”

  But was he? Last night had been incredible, and yes, okay, probably just a function of being alone for so long, and yet, part of him wanted her to stay.

  He shifted down to release the clutch and brought the motorcycle to a stop along the edge of a hidden cove on the far side of the island. His favorite place. He hadn’t planned on coming here, but…“Welcome to Memory Cove.” He accepted the helmet she handed him and tried not to think too much about why he brought her here. To this place. “Caribbean legend says the memories of a day spent here can’t be forgotten.”

  “Pretty romantic.” Sitting astride the bike, she shrugged his jacket away from her shoulders like some kind of island fantasy come to life. “Any memories you can’t forget?”

  He hung the helmet on the handlebar, pretty certain he’d never forget this woman straddling his bike, slipping out of his leather bomber, challenging his solitude. “On the record?”

  “On the record.” A smile moved slowly across her pretty face, an inviting smile that called to the impulsive desires simmering beneath his skin.

  “No memories,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not yet, anyway.”

  She peeked over at him. “Maybe we can change that.”

  His gaze gravitated to the exposed curve of her neck. The damned strings on her bikini practically whispered, “Untie me.” His slow smile met hers. “Maybe we can.”

  Careful, Jake. He needed to tamp down his not-to-be-trusted instincts. He twisted a blonde curl around his index finger. This woman had managed to slip under his reserve, chip away at his practiced loneliness. She should have been out on the first flight, but the truth was that he wanted her as badly as he could remember wanting any woman, a literal physical ache. She’d reawakened a combination of sensual and emotional instincts he’d buried a long time ago. Instincts that had brought him pain once before. As he unhooked the cooler from the back of the bike and tucked the faded quilt under his arm, a small part of him worried he’d be less content with his peace after she was gone.

  Not that it changes anything, he thought, helping her from the bike. With his fingers linked through hers, he led the way through the natural stone arch, down a hidden staircase lined with sea grapes ripening on vines bent by the storm’s wind. He moved at her pace, careful not to rush.

  At the bottom, the steps gave way to a quiet beach of white powdery sand and an endless expanse of turquoise blue water. The storm had washed away the island’s imperfections, and now the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, the summer air warm and still. He breathed in, enjoying the way the warm, salty air mixed with the sweetness of the flowers, the sea grapes, the tumbling vines. He still remembered his arrival on the island—a semi-famous guy whose life had turned on him, a neglected city kid trying to outrun his mistakes. The moment his toes sank into the warm sand, he’d felt quiet in his soul. No cameras. No interviews. No runaway celebrity scandal. Just miles of endless blue sky. About as far from Brooklyn as a guy could get. He’d loved it here. He still did.

  Inside the cove, red and purple flags flew over an abandoned lifeguard station, indicating high surf level. He’d set them up yesterday before she’d crashed into his peace. He’d take them down later, but for now, the colorful warning afforded some much-desired privacy.

  He stole a glance at the woman standing next to him, listened to her breathe in time with the rhythm of the crashing waves, took in the way the tropical bikini top hugged her curves, the way the tight denim jeans coasted past slim ankles to bare feet.

  Seclusion never looked better.

  Chapter Eight

  The shining sun illuminated the white sand of the hidden cove, but she refused to let the romance of the setting distract her from the fact that they were back on the record. Naturally, her heart wanted to indulge in the dream of love after a night of amazing sex, but looking for forever in every man and every relationship never worked. Besides, last night wasn’t a relationship. It was a time out from her everyday world. A wicked, sexy time out.

  Today, she had a new outlook and six questions. Not much, but combined with the allure of a stormy night, his expert status, and a perfect kiss, enough to build an article on. If only he’d be a little more forthcoming.

  “I’m waiting on an answer,” she said.

  “That can’t be a real question.”

  “Does it matter? A deal is a deal, and this is the kind of stuff Smart Cupid readers want to know.”

  He shook his head. “Listen, just because you conned me into answering a few overly personal questions—”

  “I did not con you.”

  “Are you kidding?” He snapped open the threadbare quilt from the workshop and spread it across the sand. “The shutters, the power tool, the biki
ni?” A hard chuckle erupted from his throat. “I’m a gambler’s kid. I know a con job when I see one.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his palm. “Six questions—fine. Six answers—no problem. But you want me to share my private, sexual fantasies with a group of readers looking for a Man Candy Crush?” He gave her a look that said something along the lines of, tough shit on that, and moved the cooler on to the quilt. “No way. No way in hell.”

  “Oh, don’t take it all so seriously.” Kate fought back a self-satisfied smile, less inclined to share him with the women of Manhattan than she’d like to admit. “A crush can be fun.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying my island candy crush, but if you expect me to sign on Smart Cupid’s contractual dotted line so you can splash my bachelor status all over the Internet—yeah, not going to happen.”

  She held up her hands like she was holding a pen and piece of paper, and she pretended to write. “Note number one: Jake reveals that contrary to popular belief, he will absolutely welch on a bet.”

  “What? I’m not welching on anything.”

  She smiled. “Answer. The. Question.”

  He pulled her close, teasing her—goddamn him—making her as uneasy as she’d made him feel. “If you really want to know,” he said in a deeply mischievous tone, “blonde, sweet, sexy as hell…now that’s a fantasy I can get behind.”

  “That is definitely not a legitimate response.” She pushed playfully at his shoulders, and he let her go. “We’ll come back to that one.” She settled primly onto the edge of the faded quilt. “Next question,” she continued, all breezy and cool, as if she didn’t have a personal interest. “What is the one thing that turns you on most about a woman?”

  He chuckled and lowered his body next to hers with an easy grace. “Like I’m going to fall for that one.” She opened her mouth to object, but he held up his palm. “I agreed to answer a few questions, not stroll through a minefield of gotcha questions.”

  “Fine.” She pulled a snack-sized bag of chips from the open cooler and hurled it at him. “Let’s keep it simple. If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?”