by Jo Leigh
She tried to arch against him, needed to melt into him. Even as those wants and needs pounded at her, one thrill after another battered her senses.
She was so aware of everything. The sharp bite of the sea shells pressing into her back. The coolness of the water on her skin. And those hands. They were so strong, so demanding, so masterful. When one of them covered her breast, the arrow of pleasure was so intense that it bordered on pain.
Everything was happening so fast—and she wanted so desperately to hang on to each separate sensation. Sunlight filtered through the palms overhead, and she could feel it on her eyelids, see it form into a hazy red mist just before his head blocked it and his mouth covered hers again. She felt like a whirlwind of wants and needs had captured her, leaving her powerless to do anything but be swept away. And still she wanted more. More.
She was driving him crazy. And he wasn’t about to do one thing to stop her. Because he had to have more. Since that first kiss, hadn’t he dreamed day and night of her, of feeling this flash fire of desire again? Hadn’t he known that if he followed her to the island, he would kiss her again? Only this time, he’d been certain that he’d be able to handle his reaction. Certain that lightning couldn’t strike twice.
But it had. Now with her mouth on his, her body arching against him—demanding, searching, offering—he couldn’t think, could barely breathe. The generosity of her response was more than he’d remembered, more than he’d fantasized: the scrape of her nails on his back, the lick of her tongue, the scrape of her teeth on his ear, the moans that vibrated against his lips at her throat. Each sensation battered at him until he wanted nothing more than to swallow her whole.
In the six months since he’d met her, he’d fantasized scores of different scenarios. One of them had involved a beach. There’d been moonlight and champagne, and a long and sensuous seduction. He hadn’t anticipated being jumped and rolling with her in seawater or being as rough and needy as a teenager high on hormones.
He hadn’t anticipated her.
Gathering what will he had left, he lifted his head. Her lips were moist, parted, and swollen from their kisses. Her eyes were half-closed and clouded with at least some of what he was feeling. What was she—who was she—that she could do this to him?
“Cole…”
The desperation in that one whispered word triggered an explosion of feelings she’d stirred in him from the first. He crushed his mouth to hers and devoured her. With Pepper, everything was new. Hunger had never been unmanageable. Desire had never made him ache. Once again, control was slipping away as surely as the sand streamed from beneath them with each wave that pulled back from the shore. Fear shot through him, sharp and real, at the power that she had over him.
When he tried to draw back, she tightened her arms on him and said, “More.”
Choice and will drained away in an instant. Levering himself off of her, he dragged at her clothes, ridding her of her T-shirt and pulling at the snap of her jeans. Her hands were as desperate as his, scraping his skin with her nails as she jerked his shirt loose and tugged at his belt.
When they were both naked, their clothes scattered on the beach, he pushed her back on the sand and took his mouth on a quick journey over her. He found her skin rainwater soft over her breast, smooth and taut down her torso. The need to savor warred with the need to hurry until he reached her thighs. When they parted and she arched her hips in invitation, he had to linger, had to sample her hot, sweet center. One taste and he feasted.
He knew the moment the orgasm moved through her. She gasped his name, and he experienced the power of knowing that she thought only of him. When her body went limp, he ruthlessly used his mouth on her again. This time, he varied his timing, keeping her shimmering on the brink, spinning out the pleasure for her before he drove her to the next peak and beyond.
She was still trembling, still struggling for a breath when he finally drew back to take care of the condom. Blood pounding, heart hammering, he ranged himself above. “Look at me, Pepper.”
When she did, when her eyes were open and on his, he thrust into her in one long, hard stroke. As he withdrew and pushed into her again, she moved with him, and his own climax began to build. Groaning, he picked up the pace, driving her and driving himself until pleasure exploded and shattered them both.
REALITY DRIBBLED BACK in bits and pieces. The first time Pepper opened her eyes, her vision was still blurred. As it gradually cleared, she saw the pile of rocks to her right and the ocean to her left. The sun beat down, and she smelled the ocean, and Cole. He still lay sprawled on top of her, and she wasn’t sure if it was her heart or his that was still racing so furiously. Or both together.
Closing her eyes again, she tried to think. But pleasure and satisfaction were still streaming through her. Nothing had ever been like this. Like him. In a moment, she’d have to lecture herself for going with her impulses again…and worry about the consequences…and probably have a panic attack. But right now, she just wanted to stop time and savor the press of that hard, muscled body on hers.
He stirred then, lifting his head, and another bit of reality penetrated. He was still inside her. The realization shot a new rush of heat through her body. She quivered and felt herself tightening around him.
“Well, well,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” she said. It was a lie. She felt a little like Humpty Dumpty after his fall. She drew in a deep breath. “We should go. Someone might come along.”
He rubbed a thumb along her bottom lip. “From what I observed yesterday, this is siesta time on the island. People are either snoozing around the pool, or they’re back in their rooms doing what we just did.”
“We could go to my room,” she said dryly.
“I’m not sure I can move yet,” he said, bending down to lick one of her nipples.
Her breath caught in her throat as another wave of desire coursed through her.
“I want you again, Pepper.”
“I don’t think it’s a…good…mmm.” She lost the rest of her sentence when he moved his hips and she felt him harden inside her.
When he lifted his head, he was smiling. “Oh, it’s going to be good. And it’s going to take a lot longer this time. I promise.”
5
Friday, February 13—2:30 p.m.
“MARLENE, ARE YOU CERTAIN Ms. Rossi registered?” With the phone pressed to his ear, Butch Castellano paced back and forth in the office he kept off the hotel lobby.
“I’ll double-check it, Mr. Castellano.”
“And find out which room she’s in. Call her and ask if there’s anything she needs.”
“Right away, Mr. Castellano.”
Damn. Three hours had passed since the morning staff meeting when he’d seen the name Irene Rossi on the day’s list of arriving guests. Renie was coming to the island. Three hours, and his nerves had yet to settle. Once he’d known that the one daily flight to the island had landed, he’d hung out in the office, watching the lobby, waiting for a glimpse of her at the registration desk. And when H had arrived to escort him to the poolside café for his meeting with Evan Atwell, he hadn’t been able to think straight. That never happened to him. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Renie. Why was she coming to the island? He’d told her not to. He’d explained to her that he’d considered it from all angles and decided it was best for them both if they just remained friends. Hadn’t he made his feelings clear enough?
He strode over to the one-way glass window where H stood, watching the lobby. Good thing someone was keeping his mind on business.
Butch shot a look at his personal assistant. “I told her not to come.”
H said nothing.
“She fell in love with a boy. She doesn’t really know me. It just wouldn’t work out. And her friendship is too important to me. Surely, she must have seen the logic of that. Why couldn’t she just follow orders?”
“She’s a woman,” H said. “They don’t think the same way w
e do. And they’re hard to predict.”
Butch grunted his frustration. H had been his cell mate for the last ten years he’d spent in one of upstate New York’s finest penal facilities, and the single initial was the only name Butch knew him by. Standing six foot five in his stocking feet and built like a professional wrestler, H had a high intimidation quotient. That was no doubt why the staff and hotel guests called him Mr. H.
Over the years, Butch had come to value his friend for his qualities that were less immediately apparent. H had an excellent business sense, and best of all, he had a flair for interior design. It had been his idea to decorate and furnish the lobby like one of the old sugar plantations that had once flourished on the islands. Butch particularly favored the ceiling fans and the overstuffed cane furniture.
In his opinion, the décor made a perfect backdrop for his art collection. Butch shifted his gaze to the three French Impressionist paintings that now graced the walls of the lobby, and deliberately shifted his thoughts to the new Monet that he would soon acquire. That was what he should be thinking about.
“What do you think of Atwell?” he asked.
“Soft,” H said.
This time Butch grunted a reluctant laugh. “And the Frenchy?”
H shrugged. “Slick. And he’s not soft. I think the accent’s a fake. I’m running a check on him.”
Butch frowned and swore. “I shouldn’t have missed that.”
“The woman is distracting you.”
No shit, Butch thought to himself. What else had he missed in that meeting? He frowned down at his cell phone. “What is keeping Marlene? All she has to do is pull up the registration record on the screen.”
“The system is slow today.”
Butch shifted his gaze to the spot on the lobby wall where he intended to hang the Monet. His fascination with the French Impressionists had begun thirty years ago when he’d taken a correspondence course in art history. His desire to begin a collection had been one of the reasons he’d decided to go straight. Renie had been the other reason.
In those early days behind bars, he’d had the foolish idea of trying to turn himself into someone who would be good enough for Renie. Her regular letters had not only inspired him but they’d kept him focused. And he’d dreamed of one day building a life with her. But it was a pipe dream. He couldn’t change who he was or what he’d done with his life. And Renie had turned herself into such a success. She had her own TV show, for heaven’s sake. And she had a family in San Francisco. She shouldn’t give all that up for a man like him.
Butch took a cigar out of his pocket, stuffed it in his mouth, and tried to ignore the knot of nerves in his stomach. Now she was here on the island. He pulled out the cigar, then shoved it back in his mouth. Hell. He was a grown man of sixty-two. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had affected him this way. His palms were actually sweating.
“Tommy’s busy,” H said.
Grateful for anything that would distract him from his thoughts, Butch focused on the lobby. The registration desk was quiet but couples were lined up at Tommy’s concierge desk. That was normal for this time of day.
“Should we hire him another assistant?” he asked. “That young Garibaldi is anxious to better himself.”
“Gari wants to take over the flower shop. He works there every chance he gets, and Letitia says he has a real talent for floral design. Besides, Tommy can handle it,” H said. “It takes him a little longer because he wants to match couples up with the perfect activity. In the long run, that will build repeat business.”
“Right,” Butch said. His cell phone rang and he snatched it up. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Castellano?”
“Yes, Marlene.”
“I just pulled up the record. Ms. Rossi checked in at 1:00 p.m. Henry put her in Bungalow 3.”
“Is she all right? Did you ask if there’s anything she needs?”
“She’s not picking up her phone. I checked with Henry and he thinks she and the man she was with headed for the pool.”
“She was with a man?” Butch was appalled when the words nearly came out on a squeak.
“Yes, sir. Henry was clear about that. The man told the bell captain that they could take care of the luggage themselves. All she had was a small duffel.”
Butch glanced at H. “She checked in at 1:00 p.m. And she was with a man.”
H said nothing.
Butch pocketed the phone and then suddenly tossed down his cigar. “Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. I was standing right here at one o’clock. We didn’t go to our meeting with Atwell until one-thirty.” He dredged the details up in his mind. He’d been in the office for two hours, pacing and chewing on his cigar much as he was doing right now. Disgusted, he picked up his cigar and shoved it back in his pocket. “How in hell did I miss her?”
“You haven’t seen her in a while,” H pointed out. “People change in forty years.”
Butch’s stomach sank. Yes, they did. He shifted his gaze from the lobby to his reflection in the glass. He certainly had. The last time he’d seen Renie face-to-face, he’d been twenty-two. His hair had been black and wavy, and his body had been rock solid. There wasn’t a doubt in his head that she still carried that image around with her in her head. She’d always been such a sweet little romantic.
A sweet little romantic who’d brought a man to his island to celebrate Valentine’s Day!
Butch’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not at the bungalow, not yet.” Turning to H, he said, “Send two men, Angelo and Armando, down to Bungalow 3. I want to know the minute they show up.”
“Yes, sir,” H said and punched numbers into his cell.
“C’mon,” Butch said. “We’re going to the poolside café.”
AS FAR AS Friday the thirteenths went, Pepper was certain that this one was going to set a record. As she treaded water, she made a list of her current disasters. Not only had she lost her aunt and the Monet, but she’d just made love with the enemy. More than once.
How could she have done that? Was she really as disaster prone as her grandmother had always said she was? But as she watched Cole walk out of the water and pick his clothes up from where they’d been drying on the outcrop of rocks, she was reminded of exactly why she’d made love with him—and even worse, why she wanted to do it again.
It had been that way from the first. She couldn’t look at the man without wanting him.
Pushing the thought aside, Pepper continued to tread water. She couldn’t stay in the ocean for the rest of the day. And Cole would wait until she joined him. The man was relentlessly patient, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the minute she walked out of the water, he would start pressing her again about her involvement in the theft of the Monet.
Her options were limited. The island was small so even if she managed to shake Cole Buchanan she wouldn’t be able to do it for long. Then there was the fact that her original plan to get the Monet back to San Francisco in time for the charity auction on Sunday night was clearly in jeopardy. With only one flight on and off the island each day, Irene wouldn’t get here until Saturday and chances were good that Pepper wouldn’t be able to leave the island until Sunday.
She needed to make a few phone calls to see if Irene had chartered a flight the way Cole had. Irene didn’t have a cell so there was no way of contacting her directly.
Maybe if she told Cole everything and asked for his help…
But that would mean that he would once again be rescuing her from disaster, and she would be no closer to proving to her brothers that she could be an asset at Rossi Investigations.
Unless…As she began to swim towards shore, a plan took shape in her mind. When she stepped out of the water, she was careful not to look at Cole until she’d grabbed her jeans and T-shirt off the rock and hurriedly pulled them on. Only then did she meet his eyes. “I want to make a deal.”
Cole was silent as he studied her. “What kind of a deal?”
She took a deep breath.
“I’ll tell you everything I know about the theft of the Monet, but in return, you have to back off and let me handle the case.”
For a moment the only sound was the sweep of a wave as it hit the shore and the cry of a seagull. Cole’s eyes were hidden once more by mirrored sunglasses, but Pepper was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been able to read anything in them anyway.
“Why should I agree to that?”
“Because I’m asking you to. Look…” she raised her hands and dropped them, “it’s not either of our faults that we’re in competition for a partnership at Rossi Investigations. But you’ve got to admit that you have an advantage. Several, in fact. I’m perfectly aware that Matt and Luke gave me the job to make me feel at home and to humor me, and I know that my track record so far had been less than stellar. But I want them to take me seriously. Is that too much to ask?”
“No,” Cole said, surprising her. “They should take you seriously.”
His words brought a pleasure that warmed her. “Okay. Well, all I’m asking you to do is to give me a chance. How am I supposed to prove to my brothers that I’m an asset if you keep rushing in to rescue me all the time? I want you to back off and let me recover the Monet.”
Another wave swept into shore, then he finally answered.
“I’ll consider it. But I won’t agree to anything until you tell me what’s going on.”
Pepper let out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. At least, he hadn’t said no. Yet. “This whole heist goes back to the Rossi curse.”
Cole’s brows shot up. “The Rossi curse?”
Pepper nodded. “The Rossis are doomed to be star-crossed when they fall in love. My dad and mom are one example, and Aunt Irene and Butch Castellano are another.”
“Your aunt and Butch Castellano?”
Pepper nodded. “They fell in love when they were teenagers, but my grandparents separated them by uprooting the family and moving to San Francisco. Then Butch made the separation long term by being sent to prison. The way Irene explains it, he took the blame for one of the higher-ups in the crime family. You have to swear not to tell anyone what I’m going to tell you next. Not even my father knows, and Irene swore me to secrecy. Do you promise?”