by Gina Wilkins
Savannah whipped her head up and stared at Kit, not at all certain she’d heard him correctly.
His devilish expression confirmed that he’d said exactly what she’d thought he’d said.
She gave him a quelling frown, though she had to fight an answering smile. “Let’s go for a swim.”
He sighed deeply. “If you insist.”
He would never know how tempted she’d been to pull him into the bushes and take him up on his other suggestion, Savannah decided, resisting an urge to fan her overheated face with her hand.
3
IT WAS EARLY EVENING by the time Kit left Savannah at her door to shower and change for dinner. She entered the cottage with a smile that felt permanently etched on her face.
She’d had a wonderful afternoon with Kit. A picnic on the beach, followed by an afternoon of playful flirtation in the delightfully cool ocean waves. And when he had taken her into his arms and kissed her, with salt water clinging to their lips and dripping down their faces, she’d forgotten about anyone who might be watching as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her wet body close to his to kiss him back.
She moved slowly toward the shower, replaying every moment of the afternoon in her mind, carefully storing the memories. She never wanted to forget the way Kit had looked, stretched out on a beach blanket, the tropical sun washing over his delectable bare chest, glittering in his coffee-colored hair, gleaming in his wicked dark eyes. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue every time she’d looked at him.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But it wasn’t only his appearance that drew her to him, she realized. She enjoyed being with him. She liked him, very much.
Maybe she even more than liked him.
But she refused to allow herself to indulge in if only…
She turned on the shower, then reached behind her ear to remove the splashy red flower Kit had impulsively tucked there while walking her back from the beach. He’d assured her gravely that Rafe wouldn’t mind that he’d picked just one of the many brilliant blooms on the island.
“Especially,” he’d added, “if he could see how pretty it looks on you.”
And then he had kissed her again.
Swallowing hard, Savannah set the flower on the sink and stepped into the shower. The cool water did very little to reduce the heat that last kiss had left smoldering in her.
KIT FELT GREAT as he sauntered across the resort compound toward his cottage, where he intended to take a shower and then make a few calls that he’d been putting off for the past couple of days. He would only be killing time until he could be with Savannah again, he thought with a surge of eagerness that he found both wryly amusing and a bit unnerving.
What, exactly, was going on between the two of them?’ What was it she made him feel? Whatever it was, it was powerful. Incredible. Like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Something in her eyes got to him in a way that no one ever had before. There was a sweetness…almostan innocence…in their brilliant blue depths that contrasted intriguingly with the air of maturity and hard-earned experience that she projected at times. He was fascinated by the way she changed so mercurially from cautious to reckless, from a bit shy to delightfully bold, from guarded to stunningly passionate.
Everything about her fascinated him. And he couldn’t wait to learn even more.
He let himself into his cottage and pulled his slightly sticky T-shirt over his head, tossing it over a wicker chair. The cottage was clean, welcoming, and impeccably furnished. Only the best would do for Rafe Dancer’s guests, Kit thought with a smile.
Rafe certainly had it made these days. A home in paradise, a staff of loyal employees who waited on him hand and foot, a beautiful, intelligent wife, and a cute, healthy kid. A big change from when Kit had first met him eight years ago, while doing research for his first novel.
Rafe had been with the Drug Enforcement Agency then. Kit had found Rafe to be a hard, stem, dangerous man who rarely smiled. A loner. And yet, Kit had liked him. They’d become casual friends during the weeks they’d worked together, and had kept in touch sporadically since. When Rafe had left the DEA to open this resort, Kit had been given a standing invitation to visit. This was the second time he’d taken Rafe up on the offer.
He hadn’t enjoyed himself nearly this much the last time. Savannah hadn’t been here then.
Kit thought of the quizzical look in Rafe’s eyes when he’d found Kit kissing Savannah. He was tempted to go look up his friend and ask him if this was the way Rafe had felt when he’d first met T.J. Harris, the hottempered, smart-mouthed reporter Rafe had rescued and then married.
But something stopped him. Kit wasn’t quite ready to talk about Savannah yet, not even to Rafe. After all, what could he say? That he’d spotted the woman sitting on a beach, and hadn’t been able to look away from her since? That he had danced with her and felt as if he’d finally found the partner he’d been searching for all his life? That he’d fallen damned hard for her, even before learning her last name?
No. He couldn’t say any of that now. He wanted to wait, spend more time with her, find out if these feelings were really as special as they seemed.
And yet he couldn’t help thinking that Rafe would understand. After more than three years, Rafe was still visibly in love with his wife, and proudly devoted to their young son. He was content in a way that he had not been when Kit first met him.
And if that could happen for Rafe Dancer, it could happen for anyone. Even him.
SAVANNAH HUNG UP the telephone harder than she’d intended, making it jingle in objection. She could still hear the echoes of her mother’s cool voice. Although everything at home was fine, Savannah’s mother still disapproved of Savannah’s decision to take this vacation. Words like “irresponsible” and “selfish” had marked her conversation, along with questions like, “What if something goes wrong here while you’re off lying in the sun and pampering yourself? How can you enjoy yourself when you’re so far from your family?”
Seething with resentment at the unfairness of her mother’s accusations, Savannah brushed her hair with rapid, choppy strokes.
“Selfish,” she muttered. “Irresponsible. I can’t believe she would talk to me that way.”
Savannah had become a pattern card of responsibility. For the past thirteen years she had worked and struggled and taken care of everyone but herself. While she didn’t begrudge the things she’d done for her family, and would never regret having her children, she couldn’t help missing the carefree, youthful years she’d lost She refused to feel guilty for taking a few days to relax and have fun, especially since she hadn’t been needed at home this week, despite her mother’s innuendos to the contrary.
She didn’t even want to think about what her mother would have said if she’d seen Savannah plastered intimately all over a man who was still a virtual stranger to her.
She looked into the mirror as she applied her lipstick, involuntarily taking note of the fine lines just developing at the corners of her eyes. She thought of her approaching thirtieth birthday. Though objectively she knew she was still young, thirty suddenly seemed old. Maybe because she’d had to give up her childhood so abruptly, had been forced into the responsibilities of adulthood before she’d been quite ready to take them on.
She wasn’t unhappy in her life—far from it, she assured herself as she glanced at the silver-framed photograph of the twins on her nightstand. It was only this approaching birthday that had her down, she decided.
From what she’d heard, most women found their thirtieth birthday unsettling.
All she was asking was one last carefree night before she returned to the stressful, but usually rewarding, routines of her life back home. A lighthearted, private farewell to her twenties. And what could be better than to share it with a charming, utterly gorgeous man who made her feel young, beautiful…and desirable.
A couple of taps on her door made her look quickly into the mirror for one last ch
eck of her appearance. She’d left her hair down, soft and loose around her shoulders, which were bare beneath the narrow straps of her cream-colored dress. The rather low-cut garment fit smoothly across her full bust, skimmed .her waist and hips, then flared into a flirty, floating hem just above her knees.
One more night, she promised the two smiling faces in the nightstand photograph. That’s all I’m asking.
And then she hurried across the room and opened the door. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that Kit had chosen to wear exquisitely tailored pale gray slacks and a loose-fitting ice-blue shirt that draped softly over his well-proportioned shoulders and chest. He looked almost too good to be real.
“I’ve brought you something,” he murmured, holding out his hand.
A bit warily, she took the little resort gift-shop box and lifted the lid. And then she smiled.
The box held a small gold pin shaped like one of the tropical flowers she’d so admired on the island. The petals had been lacquered a brilliant crimson, the leaves a rich green. It looked so real that Savannah could almost smell the flower’s scent.
“This is lovely, Kit,” she said, wondering if she should accept this gift from a man who was still technically a stranger to her.
“It made me think of you,” he replied, looking pleased with her expression. “I wanted you to have it as a souvenir.”
A souvenir. Something to remember him by—as if she could ever forget this man.
Impulsively, Savannah tightened her fingers around the box and made her decision. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s go dance, shall we?”
Without further hesitation, she allowed herself to slide back into the fantasy.
KIT COULDN’T KEEP his eyes off Savannah again that evening. She looked so beautiful. Her dark blond hair gleamed in the candlelight that was reflected in her vivid blue eyes. Her flirty dress bared her smooth throat and shoulders, showing just a hint of soft cleavage. Her legs were long and slim, and she moved gracefully on her high-heeled sandals.
Beauty. Intelligence. Maturity. Wit. An appreciation for classic tunes and films. Kit was beginning to wonder if she could possibly be real.
She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about herself. There was so much he wanted to know about her. So many questions he wanted to ask. Her last name, for example. Her hometown. Her career. Her background. Whether he was going to have to fight another man to win her.
Wryly amused at his raging curiosity, Kit forced himself to be patient. There would be plenty of time for questions, he promised himself. But tonight there was music to dance to, champagne to savor, a tropical moon to smile over them. The night was pure magic, and he didn’t want to waste a moment of it. He, more than anyone, knew how rapidly illusion faded into reality.
The orchestra played a sultry version of “Moonlight in Vermont,” utilizing the talents of its brilliant pianist. Kit swayed slowly with Savannah in his arms, their gazes locked, their smiles intimate. He made a few tight turns and she matched his steps precisely, as if they’d danced together for years. Gently, he swung her away from him, twirled her beneath his upraised arm, then pulled her back against his chest.
She laughed softly and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I didn’t know I could dance like this until I danced with you,” she confessed.
He liked the sound of that—as though no one else had ever really danced with her before him. He almost winced at how possessive he felt at the thought. He certainly had no right to be possessive about this woman he hardly knew. But he wasn’t at all sure he could help it. At least not tonight.
He forced himself to answer lightly. “I guess all those dancing lessons my mom forced me to take paid off.”
“Obviously a very wise woman.”
“She’s amazing. I was very lucky to have been raised by her.”
“It’s nice that you and your mother are so close.”
Kit thought there was a touch of wistfulness in Savannah’s words. Was she not close to her own mother? Or had her mother, perhaps, passed away?
He wished he knew her well enough to ask without seeming to pry.
Instead he said only, “My mom would like you.”
He felt Savannah stiffen almost imperceptibly. She didn’t respond.
An older couple, in their late sixties perhaps, danced closer and smiled at Kit and Savannah. “We were just saying how nice it is to see a young couple who enjoy the old songs,” the woman said. “And who know how to dance to them.”
Kit smiled at the woman in return. “How could we not enjoy this?” he asked as the orchestra played “What’ll I Do?”
“Lot of young people your age are out contorting themselves to all that new garbage,” the older man drawled in disapproval. “Hasn’t been any real music written since 1954.”
“Now, Gus, that’s not quite true. Elvis didn’t even get started until 1956,” he wife reminded him as they danced further away from Kit and Savannah.
“Well, yeah,” her husband admitted. “I wasn’t countin’ Elvis, of course.”
Kit grinned down at Savannah when the other couple was out of earshot, and noticed that she was struggling not to laugh. “Did that accent sound a bit familiar?” he asked.
“I’d say they were from Mississippi,” she replied with exaggerated haughtiness. “I’m from Georgia.”
He was delighted to have learned something new about her, even in such a roundabout way. “I should have noticed the difference immediately.”
“Of course. There’s no similarity whatsoever.” She gave the latter two words at least a half dozen extra syllables, making him grin.
Damn, but he was glad he’d come to Serendipity.
HAND IN HAND, Savannah and Kit walked along the deserted beach in the moonlight, their shoes dangling from their free hands. Savannah couldn’t help thinking that it was like a scene from a romantic movie. A fragrant tropical breeze, surf lapping at her bare toes, a gorgeous man at her side.
What a lovely memory this would make when she returned to reality, she thought with a bittersweet pang.
Kit smiled down at her. “It’s getting late.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want the night to end,” he confessed.
She sighed lightly. “Neither do I.”
But of course it would end. Fantasies couldn’t last forever.
“Maybe tomorrow we can go sightseeing or something,” he suggested.
Tomorrow she would be gone. This was her last night on the island, and she would be on a launch that departed in the morning before most of the guests were even awake. She started to tell Kit so, but something made her fall silent. It had been such a perfect evening, after such a perfect day. She didn’t want it to end with awkward goodbyes.
Instead, all she said was, “Perhaps.”
Kit seemed satisfied with her answer. He began to hum as they strolled along the damp sand.
“‘Star Dust’,” she murmured with a smile.
He grinned, then impulsively turned and took her into his arms, startling her into dropping her shoes. His fell beside them. Still humming, he guided her into an impromptu dance. Savannah laughed and cooperated.
This had to be the most romantic man she’d ever met.
He probably treated many women this way, a practical little voice in her mind warned. Took them on picnics, gave them flowers, danced with them in the moonlight. Heck, he might even do it for a living.
She didn’t care. Tonight, she didn’t want to know.
She didn’t even consider protesting when he drew her into his arms for a long, deep kiss that was as perfect as the rest of the evening had been.
The laughter died inside her. Desire took its place.
Every time Kit kissed her, her reactions to him were stronger. The more time she spent with him, the harder she fell for him, and it seemed only natural to want to pursue that overwhelming attraction to its inevitable outcome.
Deep inside, she was aware o
f a sense of amazement that she was standing here kissing him this way, right out in the open where anyone could see them.
No one here knew her. No one cared what she did. Nothing she did could possibly come back to haunt her.
The realization was liberating.
She wrapped her arms around Kit’s neck and kissed him exactly the way she’d been wanting to kiss him from the first time he’d taken her in his arms on the dance floor. With absolutely nothing held back.
A groan rumbled deep in Kit’s chest, vibrating against Savannah’s breasts.
Kit cupped her face in his hands, and scattered kisses across her face. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her chin.
“Let’s go back,” he murmured, his voice rough.
She knew where he meant. Back to the compound. Back to the cottages—hers or his. They had been leading up to this all day.
I want him, she thought, drawing back to look up at his moonlight-silvered face, his dark, intense eyes. She’d never wanted another man this way. For all she knew, she might never feel like this again. Tonight could be her last chance to know true passion.
He held out his hand. She noted that it wasn’t quite steady, and it touched her that he didn’t seem to be taking this any more casually than she was. She wanted to believe that this connection between them was as wondrous, as unique, as completely unexpected for Kit as it was for her.
She hadn’t come to Serendipity Island to fall in love. But she had, at least a little. Would it really be so wrong for her to give herself this one night with this incredible man?
No one would ever have to know. It would be her own private birthday present to herself. An adventure to savor, a memory to treasure, an experience never to be repeated.
She slipped her hand into his.
Savannah sighed as she and Kit walked slowly toward the guest cottages, using the full moon and discreetly placed security lights to guide their way. It was well after midnight, but she wasn’t tired. Far from it, in fact. She felt wide awake.