What kind of man sleeps with a woman he doesn’t even know? an ugly voice in his head asked. The voice made him pause. What kind of man, indeed.
• • •
The earth was moving. And not in a good way.
Kathleen Witte reached out, trying to grab on to something. Anything. But her hands met only with air.
She shifted, and her shoulder dug into damp sand. Where was she? Her eyes flew open, and she winced at the bright sunlight.
The beach? What happened to the villa? And her… Sweet Mary, Mother of God, what happened to her clothes? Quickly, Kathleen flipped over so she was lying stomach-down on the sand. She shivered as a splash of water reached her feet. Looking left and then right, Kathleen scanned the area. No white dress. No strappy sandals. Had they been washed out with the tide? Had she come to the beach naked? No. She wouldn’t have.
She took a deep breath. Her clothes had to be here somewhere. Maybe she had decided to go skinny-dipping. She was in Mexico, after all. What better way to blow off a little steam than with some late night skinny-dipping? The villa included a private beach, it wasn’t as if she’d run into anyone. The old Kathleen would have balked. Said no with a quiet smile and watched as her sisters had all the fun. The new and improved Kathleen wasn’t leaving life to her sisters, and God knew she had plenty of steam to blow off. So maybe that was all this was. Blowing off a little steam with a naked swim in the warm Pacific. Colorful lights and a heavy bass rhythm had filled her head before everything went dark. The feel of a man’s hands on her waist, leading her around the dance floor echoed in her memory.
With sudden certainty she knew she hadn’t spent the night alone and that she’d not been innocently skinny-dipping last night. Oh, God.
Seven months of fighting with Grandfather about running the ranch, of twisting her life inside out to prove she had the heart and commitment to become the all-work-no-play girl Grandfather needed had blown up after only a couple of nights in Mexico.
Seven months without the feel of a man against her body, holding her close. She shivered, imagining the phantom lover from her dreams.
Seven months of no life was long enough. She’d get one, even if it were only for the next week. That’s what this whole trip to Mexico was about. Declaring her independence. And damn the whole family if they didn’t get on board.
But waking up naked on a Mexican beach was a little too large a statement.
Kathleen took a harder look around. Her dress and shoes had to be here somewhere. Even in her most inebriated state — and with the amount of pounding in her head she had to have been on one huge bender — she wouldn’t have paraded around Puerto Vallarta in the buff.
She saw a crescent-shaped rocky enclave on one side of the beach, and the other side stretched as far as she could see. Above was a thatch of greenery with a path leading upward. Probably to a road. A reflection high above caught her eye. Twin A-shaped V’s rose out of the bushes and trees on the cliff, both filled with high windows. Her villa. Thank you, God.
Chewing on her lower lip, Kathleen weighed her options. She could stay here in the wet sand, risking getting caught by some fisherman or family of four who’d wandered onto her property, or she could get up and run as fast as she could toward the house. The villa staff would not have arrived this early so there was a good chance she might be able to snatch a towel poolside. No one needed to know about last night.
Surreptitiously, Kathleen looked left then right. She angled her head around, but didn’t see anything except clear blue water behind her. Ahead there was only the path leading to the house. The sun rose higher. No time like the present.
Kathleen jumped up, ignoring the heavy drum beats in her skull, and took off across the sand. She’d only taken a few steps when a male voice stopped her cold.
“Leaving so soon?” The words were filled with laughter.
Crap! She had waited too long. She covered her breasts with one arm and used the opposite hand to cover her pubic area. She didn’t turn around.
“I…um…” She couldn’t think of a plausible reason she was naked on the beach.
“Don’t worry about it. I guess we had some night, huh?”
We? Crap. She’d half-convinced herself it was just her skinny-dipping — after all, there’d been no man present until five seconds ago. She racked her brain trying to recall something, anything from last night. But all she remembered were whirling lanterns, a crisp, white shirt and wrinkled khakis. Happy, Latin music bounced through her mind, warring with the drum beats already in residence.
She was going to give the new and improved Kathleen a stern lecture. Just as soon as she got off this beach.
“…so I guess our clothes are up there, because they certainly aren’t anywhere down here.” Mystery Man had been looking for their clothes while she panicked on the sand. She supposed she couldn’t blame him; she wanted her clothes, too.
Kathleen squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to pinch the brim of her nose but was too self-conscious to move either of her arms. Even with her back turned, she wasn’t comfortable being exposed to a strange man.
“Could we just — ” she tilted her head toward the path, keeping her gaze riveted on the sand at her feet. “I just want to get out of here.”
He didn’t say anything, simply walked ahead, leading the way up the path. Taking charge of a situation she couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself in to. She took a moment to admire his firm glutes and tight thighs. At least she’d picked up a great looking random guy and not some pot-bellied loser who was the last man left at closing time.
With his back safely turned away and the cover of several low trees, Kathleen shoved one hand into her hair and clenched her fist. What had she been thinking?
Obviously she hadn’t been. She had taken this fling vacation too far. It was one thing to declare her independence, to take a much needed vacation before beginning the final training leg for her horse, Jester. It was quite another to go home — or to the beach — with a man she didn’t know. Had they taken precautions? She didn’t know, but that they’d had sex was obvious from the tightness in her thighs and the leftover heaviness in her breasts. Her nipples were still hard for Pete’s sake, and not from the chill of the early morning breeze.
The incline grew steeper, and the trees gave way to low bushes and ferns. As they rounded a corner, the villa came in to view. Mr. Gluteus-Maximus stopped dead and whistled low. Kathleen made an abrupt move around him.
Now this she remembered. Two A-frames, attached in the middle by a low breezeway, opened to a wide courtyard. Bright morning sunlight created rainbows on the structure’s many windows. Deep purple peonies lined the drive along with more ferns. Violets spilled from pots flanking the door. Around back, the infinity pool practically slid off the cliff and into the ocean below. Heaven on earth. If she could just get rid of Naked Man before the staff arrived.
Kathleen was almost to the front door when she stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting in the corner of the drive under an elm tree was an unfamiliar car. The low-slung coupe was too nice to belong to any of the staff. Eyeing the front door, she quickly walked to the car, placing her hand on the hood. Still warm, so it couldn’t belong to Mystery Man. A tiny blue and yellow sticker in the bottom corner of the windshield caught her eye. A rental.
With sickening clarity, Kathleen knew who the car belonged to. The question was why had he come here? And could she get Mr. GoodBuns to one of the cabanas poolside before they were caught? Only one way to find out.
“The pool’s this way,” she said, hurrying back to Naked Man to lead him around the house. Modesty be damned, she needed both of them clothed not standing in the courtyard where anyone could see them.
“Our clothes could be there,” he said.
Give that man a gold star.
He walked calmly ahead of Kathleen. Was t
hat to protect her from prying eyes if anyone happened to be around? Or was he just used to being in charge?
It was obvious he knew a little about the house. Hmmm. He sounded calm. As if walking into a stranger’s rented home happened every day. Gigolo, maybe? It would be the cherry on top of her morning so far. Kathleen shook her head and followed.
The greenery gave way to smooth tile surrounding an oval swimming pool. The blue water of Mismaloya Bay was still in the morning light. There were two cabanas and a shower to one side, the louvered doors a crisp white. A rock grotto led from the pool to a waiting hot tub. Several lounge chairs were spaced evenly along the other two sides of the pool. On the side facing the ocean, the pool spread to a ledge, making it look as if whoever was swimming could fall over the side of the cliff and into the ocean below.
Kathleen stumbled, bright sunlight singeing her eyes. At once, the man’s hand caught her elbow righting her world. Lockhardt, Texas, a small ranching community just outside San Antonio, had nothing on Puerto Vallarta. Or the man at her elbow.
The brief touch sizzled up her arm, leaving a warm glow around her heart. Realizing her breasts were suddenly exposed to the warm ocean breeze and sunlight, Kathleen jerked free of his grasp, trying in vain to cover herself. Her eyes flew to the man’s face and she froze.
His startled gaze locked on hers.
“Jackson!”
“Kathleen!” They spoke at the same time.
What was Jackson Taylor doing in Puerto Vallarta? Shouldn’t he be in a New York studio, torturing single women across the city? He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t be happening.
Kathleen did the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She dove inside the nearest cabana, prepared to stay there the rest of her life if she looked back outside and saw Jackson Taylor, her college crush, standing beside the pool.
Pressing her back against the closed door she tried to convince herself that the man out there wasn’t Jackson. It was a trick of the early morning light. The hangover. Maybe she was still asleep. Dreaming. Yes, that was it. This had to be a dream. She’d dreamed about him often enough in the past.
Lord knew, most of the female population at the University of Texas–El Paso had dreamed about Jackson at one time or another. He was sensitive, brooding. Artsy. And all male. Deep brown hair, intentionally kept a little shaggy, chocolate brown eyes a girl could melt into and a runner’s lean physique made him a picture perfect man. Secrets surrounded him — he never went home for holidays, didn’t get care packages, didn’t seem to need anyone. He was also funny and blessed with enough charisma that he could have headed to Hollywood and become People magazine’s Sexiest Man in the Universe ten years in a row.
Please, please, please don’t let that be Jackson Taylor. She would do anything, would gladly give up the New Kathleen, if the man outside would just be a stranger. She would never come back to Mexico. Never drink tequila or whatever she had drunk last night. She would give up her hopes of running the ranch for Grandfather. Just as long as Jackson Taylor wasn’t standing naked beside that pool.
With her eyes closed, Kathleen twisted around and pressed her face to the door. She pried one eye open, lifting one of the louvers at the same time.
It was him.
Crap, crap, crap. She needed to reevaluate New Kathleen. The entire idea of coming down here and sowing some wild oats before she lost them all suddenly seemed like the worst idea in the world. She should have stayed home. Turned seven months of celibacy into seven years if she had to. She was an experienced woman. Knew how to satisfy herself. She didn’t need a man to help her run the ranch so why did she need a man for the ultimate gratification?
Because all the sex toys in the world don’t equal one touch from a man’s hand.
Especially the memory of the man standing outside, tanned body fully exposed to the rising sun. Jackson Taylor.
And sleeping with Jackson Taylor was the biggest mistake this Texas girl could make.
Chapter Two
After his third, “Who are you hiding from?” received no answer Jackson rolled his eyes and began looking for his pants. Kathleen was still locked behind the cabana doors not speaking. Whatever. He wasn’t thrilled that the Texas Princess was his one-night-stand any more than she seemed thrilled the poor boy from the barrio was hers. He needed to find his clothes and get out of here before Mr. Kathleen Witte, God help the man, showed up.
In college, Kathleen’s main pastime had seemed to revolve around hanging out in his wing of the dorm. Fifteen rooms, thirty other men on the floor, but she seemed to always know when he was coming or going. And usually tagged along with her roommate. Sophie? Stephanie? Something like that.
He’d been too interested in Kathleen to actually give her the time of day. Not only was she three years younger, they were worlds apart. Her family owned half of west Texas and most of Lockhardt. He was the bastard son of another long-revered Texas family, only his family had fallen on hard times and his father’s new, rich wife couldn’t stand the boy she’d inherited along with the family wedding ring. So he’d been sent to live with his mother until he was seven, when the rest of his world fell apart.
Back then, Kathleen was the kind of girl interested in forever and a ring. Not the kind of girl who would understand his upbringing, his lack of family. His burning need to get as far from Texas as he could.
No, the kinds of girls Jackson was interested back then were the types he allowed into his life now. Legs that went on for miles, a tight butt, size C bra cup, and a neck that liked to be kissed for hours. Hair color didn’t matter, but he had discovered that the blondes didn’t ask nearly as many questions as the brunettes. No redheads, a fact that had escaped Jackson until he woke up on the beach with red-headed Kathleen Witte this morning. Not that it meant anything. His number one rule for women — then and now — was that they remain peripheral and easily replaced if it came down to that.
Definitely not interested in asking about his past. His women were all about the present, and if they tried to get close…Well, he’d headed off the marriage wagon so far, hadn’t he?
But Kathleen must have changed. Jackson couldn’t make the woman on the beach, the flashes of memory that were coming back from last night, fit his memory of the girl he’d wanted so badly back then. She was obviously more experienced now, as she should be. Twenty-eight was old enough to have a string of men in her past. But women like the Kathleen he remembered didn’t change their moral compasses, and that type of change was the only reason he could think of that she would sleep with him when she was married to another.
Enough! None of this mattered. His past was his past. His alone. He didn’t think about it. He didn’t wish it was different. It simply was. And wondering about Kathleen’s life wasn’t going to find him his clothes.
The area around the pool was clear. A few lounge chairs, more potted plants but no clothing. Inside? Jackson started that direction, and more thoughts about the past bombarded him.
Kathleen taking an interest in his pictures. Asking him how he could see things so clearly through the lens. Her sad eyes the day before his graduation.
He pushed the memory aside. The day he’d left Texas behind was the best day of his life. He didn’t need to be reminded of those days now. Decade-old memories wouldn’t answer the questions circling his mind now. Had she recognized him? Decided to get a piece of the grown man since she missed out on the boy? Or had he seen her first and, different lives or not, decided to take action? It would fit. Since he turned thirty a few months ago he’d been obsessed with his past, finding memories crowding into his mind at the most inopportune times. During photo shoots, finalizing plans for his new Los Angeles office. He’d decided to put the past firmly in the past by finding his mother and confronting the sordid situation.
But that didn’t explain how he’d come to be naked on a beach with Kathle
en Witte. Could she be down here recovering from a bad divorce? Not likely. She was at the age to be married, maybe for a couple of years. Maybe with a couple of kids. Scratch that. Kathleen wasn’t the type of woman to leave her children behind. No kids. No marriage for that matter. Though a dead marriage would explain her having a wedding ring, a divorce didn’t explain why she still wore the band. And Jackson couldn’t picture his Kathleen wearing a ring given by a man who no longer belonged to her.
Maybe it wasn’t a wedding ring. Could be a family heirloom. Kathleen’s family owned one of the largest ranches in West Texas. There were sure to be family jewels. Only the thin, gold band didn’t fit his ideas of family jewels.
Had to be a wedding ring. Which meant — was that a pants leg? Jackson dropped to his knees and dragged his khaki pants from underneath a lounge chair near the sliding glass doors. A bit damp from the morning dew but definitely wearable. He pulled them on and glanced around again. No white shirt beckoned. No shoes.
He swiveled his head from the house to the cabana. He couldn’t walk who knows how many miles back to his hotel on the Malecon barefoot. He needed shoes or a taxi. Preferably both. Striding quickly to the door, Jackson rapped twice but didn’t wait for an answer.
“I found my pants. You can come out now.” No sound from inside the cabana. This was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old virgin any longer; she had to have seen a naked man once or twice. “Look, why don’t I just slip inside and call a cab?”
“That would probably be best,” she said through the door. So she wasn’t coming out. He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and knocked again, curiously reluctant to leave. Which had to be the stupidest move he had made thus far.
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