“Take your turn, then. Let’s see how you do,” he said, inviting her with a sweep of his arm.
She parked one hand on her hip. “You doubt me,” she said with a curve of her lips. Mmmm, those lips . . . He shouldn’t stare at them, either, but looking away from a pretty little mouth like that was cause for turning in your man card. He liked keeping his man card. And he liked entertaining images of those lips and how they’d taste and feel.
He shrugged as if to say, “Bring it on.”
“Oh, you do! You totally doubt me. You think I marched in here, gave you orders, and can’t back them up.”
“Then show me, Happy Turtle,” he said, ready to keep this flirty banter going on for however long it could last. As he egged her on, a realization smacked him hard—it had been a damn long time since he’d had this kind of a casual, random flirtation with a stranger. Maybe work and women didn’t mix, but bars and beautiful women might be a perfect combination.
She took the dart from his hand slowly, making sure to brush her finger along his, or so it seemed. And hell, that slightest bit of contact tripped a switch in him. The switch that said more contact would be a fine way to spend the evening, thank you very much.
Matters south of the border started rising up.
Down, boy.
The woman never broke contact with his gaze as she stepped away. His brain didn’t issue any orders to look elsewhere this time. She was inviting him to stare, and he did unabashedly, drinking her in, his analytical mind adding up details both practical and physical. The fact that she was here in a bar alone told him she was either an alcoholic or a local. The deep tan said local was more likely, and the bikini top, covered up by the tank and surf shorts, suggested she was a beach bum or simply part of the tourist industry. The toned legs and firm arms said she wasn’t afraid to break a sweat.
He could think of plenty of ways to get sweaty with her.
She broke the eye contact, raised her arm, steadied her stance, and tossed. Right down the center.
“Holy shit,” he said with a low whistle of appreciation.
She shrugged playfully and blew on her nails. Too hot to handle. “My stepdad taught me,” she said, and something dark passed in those blue eyes when she said that, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.
“He taught you well. But can you repeat?”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” she said, taunting him as she jutted out her chin. She proceeded to demonstrate her dart prowess, landing shot after shot, and schooling him in the barroom game.
When the match ended and Jake was thoroughly demolished, he extended a hand. “Congratulations. You are officially a goddess of darts and I am humbly destroyed.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a destructive goddess.”
“By the way, real name’s Jake.”
“Mine’s Ariel,” she said.
He quirked his eyebrows together. “Like the mermaid?”
She nodded, her blue eyes lighting up. “Very good.”
“Most men don’t get the reference when you give them your fake bar name for strangers?”
Her eyes widened, nearly popping out of her head. Her mouth fell open. “Wait. You knew my name wasn’t really Happy Turtle?”
He laughed, but he wasn’t bothered by the fake name or the way she teased. “It’s OK, Ariel. One, I have two sisters, so I know who Ariel is. Two, I have two sisters, so I know about fake bar names. Three, is your best friend a starfish?”
She leaned in closer, and he caught a faint whiff of her shampoo—smelled like coconuts. Perfect scent for an island woman. “I do that, too,” she whispered.
“Do what?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“That whole one, two, three thing.”
“You count?” He pretended to sound shocked. He slapped a palm against the bar. “Then we absolutely, positively must meet up later for another drink,” he said, and though the offer was made playfully, he fully meant it.
She shoved his shoulder. Oh, she was feisty. He liked that. “Listing numbers and answers—that’s what I meant by the counting thing. And why do you ask if my best friend is a starfish?”
“One, you can do that again,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “I really enjoy getting smacked in the shoulder.” She pretended to pout. “No, honestly. I do. It’s this weird thing of mine. I completely crave shoulder punches,” he said, in an intensely serious tone that made her curve up the corner of her lips and nudge his shoulder again, lightly this time. “Two, I knew what you meant by the counting thing. Three, I asked because I saw you have a starfish on your belly button, and it’s ridiculously sexy.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She’d had the piercing for years. So long she didn’t even think about it anymore. She was barely aware of the sky-blue starfish belly ring that dangled along her stomach.
She ran her thumb across the sparkly surface. “I practically forgot I had this. Got it when I was sixteen.”
“So a few years ago?”
“Ha ha ha,” she said drily. “More than a few years.”
“Well, you might have forgotten about it, but I could barely take my eyes off it,” he said, his deep voice going low and sexy. Then he feigned seriousness. “I meant, while I was being a perfect gentleman and not checking out your smoking-hot body when you bent down to pick up the dart—that’s when I noticed the starfish.”
She tingled all over from the compliment. There was something so enticing about this kind of praise from this kind of man. He was tall, built, strong, and with the kind of jawline that made a woman want to reach out and touch that face. That made this woman want to run her thumb along his sandpaper stubble, feel it brush against her chin, and mouth, and lips.
His brown hair boasted golden streaks, and his green eyes crinkled at the corners. Something about the whole package, sans the Tommy Bahama shirt, said strong and rugged. Which was an utterly delicious combination, one that made her skin warm up all over and her mind wander just a little further into let’s-picture-him-undressed land. Yup, she could see him clearly in her mind’s eye: hard planes across his chest, grooves in firm abs, arms so strong she couldn’t even wrap a hand around them.
She blinked, like she was a computer rebooting, as she tried to chase away the dirty thoughts landing in her head. But that body. Oh Lord, that body could cause some kind of sin.
His body should come with a warning. Gaze upon said hotness and arousal will be yours.
She needed to focus on why she was here on this island. Recon. Information. Getting the lay of the land before she connected with her stepdad. The thought that she’d find out he’d screwed over her mom in an even worse way made her shoulders tighten. Only the hope that she’d uncover something else, that it wasn’t what it seemed, could help them ease. She’d stopped in the Pink Pelican on a hunt for a sweet but flighty gal named Penny, who had tended bar last time Steph was here. Penny preferred to spend her days kiteboarding and rock climbing. Penny’s sister Marie was manning the taps now, and Steph hadn’t even had a chance to say a proper hello.
“Well, thank you for saying that.”
“My pleasure. And it is also a pleasure to meet you, Ariel,” he said, extending a hand to shake.
Don’t think about pulling him against you. Stop imagining what his body would feel like above you. No more staring at those full lips and wondering how they taste, and feel, and . . .
Fuck it.
This man was hot and fun, and that was a mixture she liked a lot. After the extreme focus she’d placed on rehabbing her business in the last few years, a little bit of sexy flirting was a welcome relief. Maybe her mom was right. Maybe Steph did need to have a little fun.
“Is it really Jake?” she said, not letting go of his hand, enjoying the way his name sounded. “Or did you pick a fake name, too? Because Jake is the perfect name for a totally hot guy a woman meets in a bar.”
He smiled widely, and she loved that it seemed to light up his whole face, all the way to his green e
yes. He was handsome and then some, but the reaction, so genuine, was lovely to see. So rare to compliment a man and to witness the evidence of his enjoyment of it. “Yes, the name is really Jake, and thank you. Seems we have a mutual admiration society at work here.”
“Yes,” she said with a small grin. “There is much admiration, and I’m glad it’s mutual.” As she let go of his grip, her eyes drifted to a white, raised mark on his forearm. “By the way, cool scar. Is it a new acquisition?”
He tapped his forearm. “Yes it is. Wish I could say the acquisition was intentional.”
“It wasn’t?”
He shook his head.
“What happened?” She flung her hand to her forehead, like a fortune-teller reading the cards. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You got in a knife fight in an alley, Jason Bourne style? You’ve gone rogue and the CIA is after you? Or better yet, you slipped while gutting a fish after one too many beers?”
He pointed at her. “That one.”
She mimed tossing a basketball. “She shoots. She scores.” She tilted her head. “But seriously?”
“What can I say? Fishing and beer go together, but not when knives are involved.”
She wagged a finger at him. “You gotta be careful there, Jake.”
“I know, I know. Maybe if I catch anything tomorrow, I could find a mermaid to help me.”
“Mermaids don’t like it when you catch fish. Or turtles.”
“That is true. Pretend I never said that. I would never catch a fish. I’m absolutely not here on a fishing trip. In fact, I’m here to admire the gorgeous scenery.”
She nodded approvingly. “Much better answer.”
He pointed to her glass, nearly empty. “Can I get you another whiskey?”
“It’s iced tea, actually, and I’m trying to cut back, so I’m all good.”
“Been hitting the caffeine too hard?”
She nodded solemnly. “Evidently, when I drink too much, it makes me say things I shouldn’t say. Like totally hot guy in a bar.”
He grinned and held up the glass as if to ask for more. “Let’s make it a double,” he said, and after they chatted more about fish and the sea and the Islands, he pointed to the dartboard. “Since you have that dart certification and all, any chance you can give me a few pointers?” he asked, standing up to grab a dart from the board. He returned and held it out to her. She rose and moved closer, and when she reached for the end, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her in close.
Just like that. The gauntlet was thrown. The move was made. She was in his arms. Poised. For something more. For this moment to unspool into something else. A ribbon of heat raced through her body as she catalogued everything. His gaze held her hostage. His green eyes blazed darkly as he stared at her like he wanted to eat her up. That fierce look made her shudder. She was so close she could breathe him in, and his skin smelled so damn good. Like sunshine and showers. And he was hard everywhere. Not just there, because she wasn’t exactly in that spot, but his arms, and his abs, and his legs.
His fingers curled around her waist, gripping her as Jack Johnson sang about banana pancakes and pretending it’s the weekend all the time.
“Three things,” he whispered, his voice all rough and hot, turning her on before he even uttered another word. “One, I want to kiss you. Two, I’m going to kiss you. Three, if you don’t want me to, say no now. Otherwise . . .”
He inched closer. She parted her lips, and a small sigh escaped. “Yes.”
She closed her eyes and waited. In that second before his lips met hers, the wondrous thrill of anticipation weaved through her body. The hope that kissing a stranger named Jake in a bar would be worth it. That he wouldn’t kiss like a slobbery Saint Bernard, all tongue and exuberance. Nor like a schoolboy, hell-bent on vacuuming up her lips. Call her greedy, call her needy, or just call her a woman who hadn’t been kissed well in a long while.
But she wanted that kiss.
The kind that made your knees weak.
That sent your heart fluttering.
That spread warmth on a sweet, shivery path through your chest.
His lips met hers. His were so damn soft, and full, and delicious. He didn’t rush it. He took his time, exploring her mouth, brushing his lips over hers, tasting her. That tingly sensation sped up, shooting through her, like an injection of pure, unadulterated pleasure as she melted into his kiss.
He was snug against her, and she savored it—the delicious press of his body as he swept his lips across hers, his touch making her moan. The kiss deepened as he ran his fingertips along her bare arm, igniting her skin. He dropped his hand to her lower back, angling her closer, and oh, how she’d craved this kind of closeness. Badly. She wanted to climb him. She wanted to feel him above her, moving in her, holding her tight. This rampant desire was a matchstick. Roping her arms around his neck, she curled her fingers into the ends of his hair.
Oh, that soft hair. God, it felt good between her fingers as she slid them through his golden brown strands, tugging lightly.
He groaned and yanked her even closer. The quick shift in tempo moved the kiss up the heat ladder into something hungrier. He held her face in his hands, a thoroughly possessive gesture, as he kissed her so hard his stubble left a whiskery burn.
The evidence of a consuming kiss.
Her mind spun wild with images. Pictures of this night turning into something else. Kisses under the stars. Hips, legs, lips moving together. Him wrapping her tighter in his caress, whispering sweet, dirty things he wanted to do to her. In the heat of his kiss, in the urgency of his touch, she had the raw materials to feed her imagination.
Her heart raced. Her blood pumped. She craved him fiercely.
Which was absolutely loony, since he was a total stranger.
But maybe that’s what fueled her desire. They had no history. They had no past. There was no damage or pain between them. He hadn’t hurt her, he hadn’t lied to her, and he hadn’t tried to fling her business into the trash. No, he had one agenda, it seemed. The same one she had.
Let’s spend the night together.
He backed her up against the wall, next to the dartboard, her spine hitting the wood with a thump. The sound of it was like a door shutting. Like the moment when a kiss turns from we’re trying this on for size to this kiss won’t stop at kissing. He cupped the back of her neck, and his other hand clasped her hip, yanking her against him, so she could feel him.
She could feel all of him.
Lust skyrocketed in her, on a mad dash to cloud her reason, her judgment, to ambush all remaining sanity. To simply crush the logical, thoughtful portions of her brain. Lock them up and throw away the key, so she could go somewhere, anywhere, with Jake and let him—
His phone rang.
A Taylor Swift song.
Instantly, he broke the kiss and sighed deeply, a frustrated sound.
“One of your fishing buddies rescuing you from the woman in a bar who won’t give her name?” Steph asked, catching her breath as she arched an eyebrow.
He shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “My little sister. That’s her ringtone.” He swiped his thumb across the phone. “Kylie, give me five seconds,” he said into the phone, then covered the screen. He quickly scanned the bar, on the hunt for something. Steph wasn’t sure what he wanted, and she was still punch-drunk on that kiss, so her brain wasn’t fully processing. He shot out his arm, grabbed a napkin, and handed it to her.
“Give me a number. So I can call you later,” he said.
Did she want to give him her number?
A sob sounded from the phone. Her heart raced with worry. She hoped his sister was OK. She pointed in the general direction of the bar. “I’ll leave it with Marie. I have somewhere I need to be now anyway. But you can reach me later, I guess,” she said, the words coming out in a stumble, like a car sputtering to turn on. Her brain clearly needed a few seconds, maybe even minutes, to string language together again.
“I’ll b
e back,” he said, then he walked out in a rush.
Steph let out a breath and stared at the empty space where he’d been, then she replayed the last few minutes and knit her brow.
On the one hand, he’d asked for her number.
But on the other hand, he was . . . gone.
Little sister? Was that the new excuse? The escape hatch to jettison a man from a bad date? She had no clue because she’d been out of commission for a couple years. Was that what guys said when they didn’t like the way a woman kissed? What if little sister was an eject button or something? Absently, she raised her fingers to her lips. They still tingled. She ran the pad of a finger over her bottom lip.
“Steph!”
She swiveled around, spotting Marie behind the bar. She had been waiting on tables when Steph first walked in. “It’s been too long,” Marie said, then flashed her a naughty look. “But I see you’ve already gotten to know Jake the Fisherman. Looks like you two were going to gobble each other up.”
A huge grin spread across her face. That was all she needed. Nothing wrong with her lips. That kiss had blown her mind, and likely his, too. Mutual gobbling and all.
She wasn’t going to let self-doubt rule the day. Nope.
“Do me a favor, Marie?” she asked as she snagged a pen from the register and wrote a few words on the napkin. No number for him just yet. If Jake wanted to see her, he was going to have to follow her trail.
“Of course.”
“Actually, two favors. Tell Penny I can’t wait to see her.”
Marie nodded. “She’s camping. Should be back in a few days.”
“She’d better call me while I’m here. Then give this to the hot fisherman if he comes back in here. But don’t tell him my name, OK?”
Marie rubbed her hands together and winked. “Ooh, lover games. And I get to be the messenger. Count me in.”
Steph handed Marie the note, then took off for her first stop on her self-appointed job.
CHAPTER SIX
Pacing along the street with his cell phone pressed to his ear, Jake used his best big-brother voice to try to calm Kylie. “Everything is going to be fine. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”
The Sapphire Affair (A Jewel Novel Book 1) Page 5