His Final Seduction

by Lori Wilde

  He took her arm as they passed over large, flat gray stones slippery with foam, and he was pleased when she didn’t resist. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he didn’t want to eat Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “Oh, he wanted to eat her, all right, but she wanted it just as much as he did.”

  “Quint!”

  “What?”

  “You’re disrespecting fairy tales.”

  “All I’m saying is the chick liked red hoods.”

  Jorgie’s face colored. He loved making her blush.

  “Look,” she said, changing the subject the way she always did when he made her uncomfortable. “There are the ruins of the penal colony.”

  Up ahead, near a copse of cypress trees, lay a rubble of weathered gray stone. They spent the next few minutes exploring while Jorgie read from the guidebook. “In the sixteenth century, the prison housed over two hundred men.”

  The day was warm and sunny, but somehow that served to make the location even more eerie. Dark men had seen dark days here once. They’d lived and died here on this spot where he and Jorgie now gazed curiously, with no real inkling of what had gone on. Pushing the thought away, Quint asked, “You hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Let’s eat.”

  “Where at?”

  “Underneath the cypress trees?”

  “Good spot.”

  They had to climb a small hill to reach the trees, but once they were there, they could look down on the ruins and see that on the other side lay a field of colorful wildflowers. Quint spread out the blanket they’d brought with them, remembering another picnic, another blanket, and he chuckled.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Our last outing together.”

  “Fun on the rooftop.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You know,” she said, “I hadn’t been on a picnic since I was kid, and now with you, I go on two within a week.”

  “Does it make you want to go on picnics with me all the time?”

  She looked wistful. “Don’t tease me, Quint.”

  “I’m not teasing.”

  “I know I’m just a summer romance for you. Don’t pretend that we’ll be seeing each other after this is over.”

  “Jorgie…” He reached out to her, not sure what he was going to say, not sure what he was feeling. He suddenly had a fantasy of them. A couple. Married. Kids. The whole nine yards. Celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary together. It scared him, that feeling. He’d never had it before and he didn’t know what it meant.

  “Honestly, that’s a good thing. I’m not ready for anything more than a summer fling. But you’re perfect for that, Quint.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for showing me a good time.”

  He wanted to be closer to her. To hold her like he’d held her last night. Not to have sex—although he wanted that, hell, yeah—but to hold her in his arms and listen to the steady beating of her heart.

  “Oh, look,” she said, pulling food from the basket, already letting go of him, already on to the meal. “Roasted chicken and cold pasta salad.”

  He felt unhappy and restless, but he tried not to show it as she handed him a napkin, plastic utensils and a paper plate. He said something he thought was funny, but he couldn’t hear his own voice, his mind was humming so loudly with thoughts he’d never had before. I want to know her better. I want to see her after this is over. I want her in my life for a long, long time. What he said must have been funny, though, because she laughed gaily and the sound warmed him from the inside out.

  They ate, but he didn’t taste anything. His eyes were too full of her. He noticed everything. The way her chin softened when she smiled. How her blue eyes shimmered like a mountain stream, how her hair ruffled lightly in the breeze. He admired the curve of her breasts underneath the crisp cotton material of her dress, and he loved the way she’d hitch up the strap on her shoulder whenever it slipped down. Her movements were so graceful, feminine, and she captivated him completely.

  They sipped wine and talked for a long time. About their families, her job, his adventures. They talked about music and learned they both really liked the sound of Texas roadhouse blues—vintage Stevie Ray Vaughan, Smokin’ Joe Kubek, Johnny Winter and Delbert McClinton, as well as the cutting-edge sounds of newer artists such as the Screamin’ Armadillos. The sun slipped from high in the sky, sliding down toward the western horizon. Quint was feeling content and at peace.

  “This has been so nice,” Jorgie said. “I really hate to leave.”

  “I enjoyed it, too.”

  “You do know how to show a girl a good time, Quint Mason.”

  “I try my best.”

  She smiled coyly and started gathering up the ravages of their picnic and tucking it into the basket. He helped her, then folded up the blanket and tucked it under his arm.

  “You didn’t make a move on me,” she said as they walked down the hill together. “How come you didn’t make a move on me?”

  “You didn’t make one on me.”

  They skirted the ruins, headed toward the beach. “Did you want me to make a move on you?”

  “Honestly, I was having such a good time I wasn’t thinking about sex.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Okay,” he admitted, “I was thinking about sex but I didn’t want to spoil the fun we were having.”

  “Dumb man. We could have been having even more fun if you’d just made a move. What happened to Casanova?”

  “What happened to Lady Evangeline?”

  She cocked a hand on her hip and furrowed her brow. “Do you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Answer a question with a question.”

  “Not always, no.”

  “Maybe it’s better this way,” she said. The grass crinkled softly beneath their feet.

  “Maybe what’s better this way?’

  “The fact that we didn’t make love. Neither one of us has anything to regret.”

  He stopped walking.

  She kept on for a few steps, then halted, looked back over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Jorgie, I would never regret making love to you.” His voice sounded completely heartfelt even to his own ears. He meant every word.

  A tiny noise escaped her lips. An expression that he couldn’t decipher crossed her face. “Oh,” she said, “you are good.”

  “I’m not just flattering you.”

  “Right.” She turned back, hurried a few paces ahead of him, then stopped again. “Where’s our boat?”

  He pulled up beside her. “It’s right…”

  But the boat wasn’t right there.

  With a grunt of concern, he went to the place where they’d beached the boat; the spot where he distinctly remembered tying it up lay empty. Not only that, but the rope that he’d used to tie it up with had been cut.

  Not wanting Jorgie to see it and grow alarmed, he quickly stuffed the piece of severed rope into the picnic basket.

  Clearly someone had been here. Someone who wanted to keep them stranded.

  JORGIE PACED the beach while Quint pulled out his cell phone to call the resort for help. She scanned the lagoon looking for signs of their errant boat, but she saw nothing except the seagulls winging their way overhead.

  “I can’t get a signal,” he said.“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not joking. Go ahead and try your cell phone. Maybe you’ve got better service out here.”

  “I can’t. I left my cell phone in my bag in the boat. We’re stuck here.” A bubble of panic started to rise in her, but she tamped it down.

  “It’s okay,” Quint soothed. “When we don’t come back to the villa they’ll know something is wrong and they’ll send someone after us.”

  “But how long is that going to take? It might be midnight before they figure out we’re not there.”

  “It might,” he a
cknowledged.

  “You’re saying we might have to spend the night here? On a deserted island that’s haunted.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t, but it’s a little easier to be brave in the daylight, when you have a boat to sail away in.”

  “It’ll be all right. We still have plenty of food. We can take shelter in the ruins. I’ll start a fire. We’ll make a camping trip out of it.”

  She smiled at him, appreciating his optimistic attitude in a crisis. “You really should open a lemonade stand,” she said. “The way you can deconstruct those lemons.”

  “Yeah, well, life’s too short to dwell on the things you can’t control. Come on,” he said, “let’s head back to the ruins.”

  By sundown Quint had a fire going to provide them with light after dark. She was grateful for the warmth, as well. Her thin cotton sundress didn’t do much to ward off the cool night breeze rolling in off the water. They ate another round of roast chicken and drank the rest of the wine. After that, they sat on the blanket, their backs against the remains of the stone wall that had once formed a prison. There was no roof overhead. The fire lay just beyond their feet.

  “Charades, twenty questions, or truth or dare?” Quint asked.

  “Huh?” Jorgie didn’t meet his eyes. She was doing everything she could to quell the urge to kiss Quint. The less she gazed deeply into his sultry eyes, the better.

  “Charades, twenty questions, or truth or dare?” he repeated, tossing a fresh log of wood on the fire. It snapped, crackled, danced higher.

  “You want to play a game?”

  He spread his arms wide, tilted his head up at the star-filled sky. “We’re stuck here until morning. Might as well do something to pass the time.”

  “I’ve never been very good at games.”

  “Well, sweetheart,” he said, leveling his sexiest devil-may-care look at her. “It’s time your luck changed.”

  She wasn’t in any condition to watch him acting out movie titles, his muscular good-looking body moving fluidly about, and the thought of truth or dare scared the pants off her. She chose the lesser of three evils. “Twenty questions.”

  He sat down beside her, although a couple of feet away. “You want to go first?”

  “You start.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Animal, vegetable or mineral?” she quizzed.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. Vegetable, I guess.”

  “Can I put it in my mouth?”

  A knowing smile tipped the corner of his lips. “Yes, you can.”

  “Hey, hey.” She snapped her fingers. “Keep it clean.”

  “It is clean.”

  “Oh,” she said feeling equal parts disappointment and relief that his item wasn’t X-rated. “But is it a little risqué?”

  “Yes.” He leveled a playful glance her way.

  “Does it have anything to do with the bedroom?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you wear it to bed?”

  “I hope so.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Is it made out of silk?”

  “No.”

  “Cotton?”

  “Nope.”

  “Edible underwear,” she guessed.

  “Dammit. How did you get that so fast? That was only…” He paused, counted back on his fingers. “You only used seven questions. You’re good.”

  “Not really,” she said. “I just understand the binary search algorithms.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s simple probability, measurable by Shannon’s entropy statistics.”

  “Huh?” he repeated. “Who’s Shannon?”

  “I’m sure you want me to skip the detailed mathematical description. Let’s just say that if you know a little bit about statistics, you know what kind of questions to ask. Plus, considering that the average male thinks of sex every six seconds, it wasn’t too difficult to determine you were thinking about edible panties. Because you are far from average, Quint Mason, I’m betting you think about sex every three seconds.” She stroked her chin with a thumb and index finger. “I’m guessing cherry-flavored.”

  His mouth dropped open. “How in the hell do you do that?”

  “Please. Do you think I’m dumb? Cherry has other connotations besides fruit flavoring.”

  “You’re saying I’m predictable.”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded smugly. “But I will admit to a secret weapon.”

  “Aha. I knew it. You’re psychic.”

  “Not quite.” She laughed. “My family used to play this game on long car trips.”

  “No fair. I’ve been hustled. And you said you were no good at games.”

  “We’re all good at something. You’re good at seduction. I’m good at statistics.”

  “Not just good, you’re a phenom. Remind me to take you to Vegas some time. We’d kick ass at twenty-one.”

  “That’s about counting cards. Different game.”

  “Yeah, but they both revolve around that mathematical mumbo jumbo.”

  She laughed again.

  “What? You think my poor mathematical skills are a laughing matter? Seriously, I wouldn’t have gotten through college without Ashley Sue—” He waved. “But you don’t want to hear about my old girlfriends.”

  “I don’t,” she agreed.

  “How about a little truth or dare?”

  “I don’t know how to play.”

  “It’s simple. If you pick truth, you have to be honest about whatever question I ask you. If you pick dare, you have to do whatever I dare you to do.”

  “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re Miss All That when it comes to a game you’re good at, but when it comes to something I could best you at, you’re backing off,” he teased.

  “Okay fine, truth.”

  “How old were you the first time you had sex?”

  “Hey!” She swatted his arm. “That’s personal.”

  “That’s the point of truth or dare.”

  She blew out her breath. “For your information, it was my sophomore year in college. So I was nineteen.”

  “Late bloomer.”

  “Not really. I just didn’t believe in sleeping with someone I didn’t care about.”

  “You’re more likely to get hurt that way.”

  “When it comes to love, you’re going to get hurt one way or the other.”

  “I’ve never been hurt by love.”

  “No,” she said. “But I’m guessing you’ve broken a lot of hearts.”

  “I hope not.” His eyes were solemn. “I’ve always made it clear I’m not a long-haul kind of guy.”

  “You’re talking the difference between the heart and the mind.” She leaned forward to poke the fire with a stick, more to hide her face from him in the shadows than to stir the embers.

  “It’s your turn,” he said.

  “Truth or dare?” she asked, turning her head so she could see his eyes.

  “Truth.”

  “What are you so afraid of when it comes to loving relationships?”

  “Who says I’m afraid?”

  “You did. You said you never gave your heart away to anyone. You’re almost thirty. That’s just weird. And come on, let’s face it. You make your living playing Casanova. Clearly you identify with the guy.”

  “You wanna know the truth?”

  “Um, this is truth or dare.”

  “I’m afraid that falling in love, getting married, having kids would be the end of fun and games.”

  “You don’t think married people can have fun?”

  “Not the ones I know. Sex seems to go right out the window once the honeymoon wears off.”

  “Maybe they’re just having a different kind of fun, one you can’t appreciate until you’re in the relationship.”

  “Did you have fun with your ex?”

  “That’s not a good example.”

  “If you didn’t have fun with him, w
hy were you with him?”

  “He was stable, with a good job. Smart, attractive.”

  “But not as fun as me.”

  “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

  “My turn again. Truth or dare?”

  She was tired of talking, afraid that he’d eventually hit on something she didn’t want to be truthful about. Like her feelings for him.

  “Dare.”

  “I dare you to kiss me.”

  The way he looked at her made every cell in her body flush hot. He rested a hand on her knee.

  “Quint—”

  He kissed her firmly and Jorgie took up his dare, kissing him with a fervency she hadn’t known she possessed. It was raunchy, boiling, mind-bending. His arms went around her waist, and he drew her into his lap.

  14

  A life without passion isn’t worth living

  —Make Love Like Casanova

  NEARLY TWO WEEKS’ WORTH of Casanova games and courtesan teasing had heightened their hunger, the anticipation of this long-awaited event surpassing their expectations.

  Her breasts heated. He unbuttoned her sundress, just as she’d dreamed he would—one button at a time, staring deeply into her eyes as he did it, stopping between buttons for another soul-stirring kiss. Finally, her dress was off and the cool night air, as soft as his lips, caressed her bare skin. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra. His fingers tickled.For the first time, she saw that he was trembling and she realized that she was trembling, too. He dipped his head, pressed his mouth to one of her nipples, wet it with his hot tongue. Instantly, she felt herself grow wet and warm between her legs. He played with her a moment, then went back to her lips like a honey bee at a pink peach blossom. His tongue licked hers, a fire dancing in the dark.

  Joy spun her head. She pushed back the thought edging up the back of her brain that whispered she was going to regret this. That once Quint had her, that would be the end of his interest in her. But she couldn’t hold out a second longer. If he walked away from this night and never spoke to her again, she would let that be okay. This savory sensation, this feeling of pure playful bliss, was worth whatever pain she might suffer later.

  His kisses felt different tonight. Urgent, yet tender. Bold, yet reverent.

  Bumbling with urgency, she snatched at his shirt, desperate to wrestle it off him. In the end, he had to help her, shedding it quickly over his head, tossing it alongside her bra and sundress.