Heat Me Up

by Julie Kenner

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I don’t mind a little rain.” She welcomed it, in fact. She’d spent far too much of the evening daydreaming about Stuart’s mysterious Michael, and as the hours wore on, her libido was ratcheting tighter and tighter. If she didn’t cool off just a little, she’d probably launch herself at the next man she saw before he could even say “How do you do?”

  Of course, ravaging unsuspecting male guests probably qualified as a bit more adventurous than Merrilee intended. Still, the thought wasn’t typical of Kyra’s usually calm and reasonable self, and she suppressed a smile. Maybe the fantasy was already working.

  Stuart tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, catching her attention, then looked pointedly toward the sky.

  “I’m walking,” she said. “My mind’s made up.”

  He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he mumbled “Whatever,” and nodded in the general direction of her cabana. “Just don’t get lost.” He tossed her a windbreaker from the back seat.

  She caught it with one hand. “Thanks.”

  “You won’t be thanking me if it rains. That thing will barely keep you dry.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Hey, the customer is always right,” he said, sliding the Jeep into gear, “even when the customer is soaking wet.”

  He pulled out, and Kyra followed in the same direction until she could no longer see the restaurant behind her. Her cabana was on the west beach, and as soon as she saw the little wooden arrow pointing down the footpath, she turned off the main road.

  The gravel walkway that wound toward her beach was lined with small footlights. A slight breeze had kicked up, and now the wind rustled through her skirt, causing it to flutter behind her as the stones crunched underneath her sandals.

  Like the rest of the island, the nearby flora had been only slightly tamed. Native flowers lined the walk, and the glow from the recessed lights cast a magical tinge over the entire area.

  Kyra followed the curving path, breathing in the tropical perfume, then ran her finger over a Bird of Paradise. The flower was aptly named. Certainly, this island was a paradise, and she had one entire week to enjoy it.

  She intended to savor every luscious moment.

  She walked along, her body absorbing the heady tropical beat, tuning in to the island’s sensual rhythms. In the distance, a flash of lightning ripped the sky, setting the trees and shrubs into eerie relief. Kyra jumped as a rumble of thunder followed. The air hung heavy, and she slipped the windbreaker on over her sundress.

  After a while, the jungle-like foliage thinned, revealing the rear of her cabana and the peaceful spread of sand, now glowing under the fading light of the moon. The image was mystical, serene, and she remembered her first impression—a perfect place for a fantasy.

  Once again, her mind turned to the adventure-filled fantasy Merrilee had mapped out for her—and the man she would share it with.

  Who would he be? How would his hands feel? Strong and rough, or smooth and gentle? Would he touch her without invitation, taking what she gave without asking, but somehow knowing her innermost wishes? Or would he make her speak the words, urging her to reveal sensual secrets, things she’d never yet told a living soul.

  Either way, he would be special. A man with whom she would have no secrets, but also no history. A man who would know everything about her, and yet know nothing. A man with whom she could lose herself, in whose arms she could forget her responsibilities, her worries, even her future.

  As if in harmony with her thoughts, the air crackled, on the verge of releasing a thousand volts of untamed energy as wild as Kyra wanted to feel. Hoping to beat the storm, she hurried toward the back of her cabana. The world brightened as lightning again lit the sky—and something small, black and very fast scurried across the path right in front of her.

  “Oh!” Kyra jumped, her hand to her chest. When her heart slowed, she realized it was just a cat, its green eyes glowing from below the broad leaves of a lush island plant.

  “Well, hey there, baby.”

  It hissed and backed up, eyes narrowed to slits. The sky lit up just long enough for Kyra to see the gash on its ear.

  “Poor thing. Were you in a fight? Do you want some food?” The cabana had a well-stocked kitchenette. Surely there was some tuna fish in one of the cabinets.

  Large drops splattered on the path, still far enough apart that Kyra could practically dodge them. Soon, though, the rain would be coming down with a vengeance.

  Above her, mountainous clouds rumbled, bits of light dancing through the billows. Despite the impending deluge, she got down on her knees and patted the ground in front of her. The kitty started toward her, but then, in the wake of another flash, turned around and ran up a nearby tree.

  “Well, great.” She considered forgetting the whole thing and heading back to her cabana. Clearly the cat wasn’t looking for company.

  But as she started to walk away, it started howling, its pitiful mewls drifting down from the tree’s top branches. Kyra tilted her head back and scowled. The cat looked totally stuck and determined not even to try to climb down. When the skies opened, the poor thing was going to get soaked unless Kyra managed to get it out of that tree.

  With a frown, she aimed a longing glance toward her cozy cabana, then looked back up into the kitty’s eyes. “You’re going to owe me one, you know.”

  The old Kyra would probably have run into the cabana to avoid the storm, then called island security or something to take care of the poor cat. The new Kyra, however…

  Saving a kitty wasn’t going to earn her a spot on a Fox Network special about adventurous women, but maybe it was a start.

  * * *

  INTIMATE FANTASY was laid out like a wagon wheel, with the business offices, recreational areas, and restaurant at the center. The main and only paved road crossed the diameter, and the remaining spokes of the wheel were made up of dirt roads, some more rustic than others, leading to the various cabanas for the guests and permanent staff.

  Already, Tony knew every path, every shadow, and he ran through a mental map of the island as he circled the old mission-turned-restaurant. By now, his beat was familiar. Once around each of the buildings, checking out the shadows, once to each of the pools and hot tubs, then finally down the main road to the beach. With a diameter of less than two miles across, the entire perimeter of the island was well under eight miles around. He could make the rounds in two hours, then stroll along the pathways until exhaustion carried him back to his own cabana.

  Tonight was quiet—metaphorically, anyway. He’d hardly seen another human, much less anyone needing his help. The storm, probably. The couples were enjoying nature’s pyrotechnics from the lush comfort of their private rooms. The single guests were most likely gathered in the restaurant, hoping their own personal fantasy somehow involved the storm of the century.

  Tony was walking the west beach, sticking close to the tree line, his ears pricked for any sign of someone in trouble.

  Truth be told, he was pretty sure the crises he’d averted weren’t completely random. After he’d saved one of the restaurant waitresses from drowning in the pool, Merrilee had told him that the island’s summer staff of mostly college kids tended to be less than careful, that they needed looking out for. “Maybe the full moon makes them careless,” she’d said.

  Tony had only nodded. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. It just seemed a little odd that so many people got in so much trouble on the island. He’d only been on the island for seven days, and he’d already become a magnet for folks in trouble.

  So far, he’d prevented quite a few drownings, extinguished a spreading campfire that the staff had built too close to the tree line, and rescued a young woman lost in the island’s wild foliage. He’d even rid the pool of a snake that had decided to call the warm water home—an experience he didn’t care to repeat.

  A couple of large raindrops splattered on his cap, and he rubbed the moisture off his face, surp
rised as always to feel the unfamiliar five o’clock shadow that he would normally have shaved. The stubble was just one more layer of the disguise he’d adopted.

  He didn’t consider himself anyone’s fool, and despite Merrilee’s comments, Tony knew that the island’s run of bad luck probably had more to do with him than it did with the moon. After all, Merrilee and a few of her trusted staff members—Danielle to help with the details, Stuart to spread the story and provide an alibi if needed—had put the illusion together. They’d set him up to be a mysterious hero who moved in stealth through the night. And what good was a hero without something heroic to do?

  The first night he’d opened the package, he’d simply ignored the disguise. For the hours between twilight and dawn, the note said.

  In Tony’s mind, those hours weren’t any different than daylight—lonely and quiet. But by the second night, curiosity and pride had gotten the better of him. And as soon as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, he’d dressed and gone out.

  That very night he’d saved a guest who’d foolishly gone for a midnight swim. Her lover had fallen asleep on the beach and hadn’t heard her cries for help when she became entangled in some fishing line.

  The woman’s thank-you’s had seemed genuine enough, but the next day he’d asked Merrilee. She’d merely shrugged. “The woman is alive. How much more real do you expect it to be?”

  It was a non-answer and, to Tony, almost a confession that she was pulling the strings.

  Still, he’d never know for sure. The woman had truly been trapped. It had taken all his strength to hold her above water and free her. And the little boy he’d saved a few days ago from a capsized boat had swallowed nearly half the ocean.

  In the end, Tony didn’t know where the setup ended and reality began. For him, at least, that meant everything was real. It was certainly real enough every morning when he popped a pain killer and iced down his aching back. And there was no faking the swell of pride and satisfaction he got from helping out, even if just a little.

  As if on cue, a shrill scream cut through the night air, and Tony strained to pinpoint the source of the sound.

  He couldn’t hear anything now. Just the crash of waves kicked up by the oncoming storm, the low growl of thunder rippling across the sky, and the vibrant rustling of foliage tossed about by the wind.

  Nature was about to put on a hell of a show. Whoever had screamed wasn’t going to be too happy to be stuck in the middle of it.

  From where he was, he couldn’t see a damn thing. Frustrated, he ran toward the nearby cabana, then used an oddly tilted palm tree as a stepping stool. Ignoring the ever-present ache in his back, he hoisted himself up to the rooftop for a better view.

  Lightning crackled overhead, and he saw her then—a woman hanging upside down by her knees from a single branch of a majestic tree near where the footpath opened up onto the beach. Her skirt hung loose over her face, and the quick view he had of her legs and stomach before the light faded was damned enticing.

  A tiny black cat with wide green eyes perched a few feet away from her, calmly bathing itself at the base of the branch. Tony grinned at the irony. Despite the stereotype, during his firefighting days he’d never once rescued a kitten from a tree, much less a woman.

  He climbed down then rushed over to her tree, accidentally stepping on a crumpled windbreaker she must have shed. “You okay?”

  He heard a muffled reply as she reached up, unsuccessfully trying to hold her skirt over her legs and underwear. The material was thin, but it was wet and didn’t want to cooperate. Most of it stayed plastered over her face.

  Not that she needed to worry. The footlights didn’t reach high enough to illuminate the little acrobat at all. Except for the one quick glance—courtesy of a cooperative bolt of lightning—her modesty was quite well protected.

  “Miss?” As he always did on his night patrols, he pitched his voice lower than normal.

  “I’m upside down,” she said, sounding far away from behind the wet fabric.

  He put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “So I see.”

  “Great. My heroic knight does stand-up.”

  He still couldn’t see her face, but from the mix of amusement and irritation lacing her voice, he imagined she was rolling her eyes.

  “Do you want me to help you down?”

  “Whatever for? I’m perfectly comfortable.”

  Her soft Southern accent seemed out of place against her biting sarcasm, and he laughed, now even more intrigued.

  “Uh-huh. Okay. I guess I’ll head on back before the skies open up.” He turned and started walking down the footpath, kicking up gravel so she was sure to hear him go.

  “Wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe you could give me a hand, since you’re here and all.”

  “You’re sure? I’d hate to destroy any illusions you have about modern-day chivalry.”

  Silence. Then, “Sorry. I get snippy when I’m embarrassed. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Lady, I never take women hanging upside down and flashing their underwear at me personally.”

  This time, her laugh was genuine, and she shook so much that her legs slipped a bit on the tree.

  He braced to catch her, but she managed to steady herself.

  “Um, maybe you could give me that hand now.”

  He grinned, moving to stand under her. “As you wish.” She fumbled with the material stuck to her face, pushing it aside to reveal exotic eyes. They reflected the lights from the path, and despite a tinge of fear, her slate-gray irises sparkled with a zest and openness he found completely refreshing.

  For a second, she just stared at him, her brow furrowed, then her eyes went wide. “It’s you.”

  “Me?” His stomach roiled. Did she know him?

  “Stuart’s mysterious Mr. Michael.”

  He exhaled in relief. This woman didn’t know Tony Moretti, just his alter ego’s reputation, thanks to Stuart’s efforts to sing Michael’s praises. His secret was still safe.

  “Why don’t we do the socializing once your feet are on the ground?”

  She nodded—more or less, anyway. “What do you want me to do?”

  That was a good question. Normally he’d climb up the tree, but with the drizzle, the wood would be slick, and he wasn’t at all sure he could make it up there, much less get her down. “Can you get turned around? Reach up and catch the branch?”

  “I tried. I can’t seem to do it. In high school, my only failing grade was in gym.”

  “Then we’ve only got one choice. Do you trust me?”

  She caught his eye, her lips pressed tight together. “Yes,” she said, after the briefest hesitation.

  He felt a surprising surge of pleasure sweep through him. Foolish. He didn’t know the woman, had no reason to care about what she thought of him. But still, there it was.

  His career had trained him to compartmentalize his emotions. To just get the job done. The accident honed that skill. He could analyze his reaction to the woman later. Right now he needed to focus on the problem at hand.

  “I want you just to let go.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice rose to near hysterical proportions. “Are you nuts?”

  “If you can’t pull yourself up, it’s the only way down.” He kept his voice level, reasonable. “I can’t climb up there in the rain, and there’s no time to run get a ladder. Your knees have got to be getting tired, and the tree’s only going to get more slick.”

  She mumbled something he couldn’t make out.

  “I’ll catch you,” he promised, hoping his temperamental back wouldn’t make a liar out of him. “You said you trusted me.”

  “I do. But I’m not exactly Calista Flockhart. I’ve had a long-standing love affair with glazed donuts, and I’m not sure you can catch all of me.”

  Considering he’d carried guys weighing over two hundred pounds out of burning buildings, he wasn’t too worried. His back was an issue, of course, but since h
e fully intended to ignore the pain, he decided not to mention that. Besides, he’d caught a nice view of her earlier, and from where he was standing she looked to be just about the perfect size for a woman.

  “I think I’m blushing,” she said when he told her so.

  “I think you’re stalling,” he countered.

  “Well, yeah, maybe. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”

  He had to grin. The woman was upside down, but still worrying about hurting his feelings. He tried to come up with some other options, but no brilliant alternative solution leaped to mind. “You’re going to get tired and fall anyway,” he said. “You might as well let me catch you.”

  He saw fear, then resignation. “You won’t drop me?”

  He reached up, his fingertips brushing hers. “Never.”

  A muscle moved in her throat. She nodded. “Okay.”

  “On three,” he said. “One. Two.”

  “Three.” They said the word in unison, and he braced as she let herself fall backward.

  Before he could react, she was in his outstretched arms. White-hot fingers of pain shot up his back, and he stumbled on the uneven ground. But he didn’t break his promise. He didn’t drop her.

  “Thank you.” Still in his arms, she smiled up at him, her gray eyes wide and her breath coming in small, quick gasps. He held her close to his body, the pulse of his heart echoing against her. Impulsively, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, breathing in the subtle scent of strawberries. Most of her hair had escaped its ponytail holder, and now it tangled wild and wet around her face.

  His first thought was that she was beautiful. His second, that she was dangerous. Hell, even with his back, he felt like he could stand there forever, just holding her.

  Oh, yeah. She was dangerous.

  She shifted, the movement against him igniting a powerful physical reaction.

  Very, very dangerous.

  “You can put me down.” Her voice was soft, as if she somehow realized that speaking would destroy the moment. He mentally cringed. There was no moment, no anything. He’d simply helped an attractive woman out of a bind.

  “Right,” he answered, his back celebrating the decision.