by Avery Flynn
The other man clasped his hands together, his dark brown eyes misty with emotion.
Ryder’s insides bounced around just as they did before a sparring match at the gym with a determined opponent. Anticipation, nerves, and something undefinable skittered through her veins. As if sensing her unease as he had on the jet, Devin pressed close to her side. The move turned out to be as much of a torment as a blessing, as her body responded to his nearness with a hungry yearning.
“May our own De Mis Promesas watch over you and your futures. May the gods, both old and new, grant you favor.”
Borja withdrew a pair of thin bracelets from his pocket. The bracelets were made up of gold threads woven into a rope. He fastened one around Devin’s wrist, then turned to Ryder. It was like being in a dream where she watched herself hold up her right arm. The gold bracelet felt warm against her skin as he encircled her wrist with the threads and fastened it.
Smiling, Borja grasped their hands and joined them under his calloused palm. “Bless you and bless your future.”
A shiver danced up her spine, and she turned to Devin. Gone were the tension lines around his eyes and the grim set to his way-too-kissable mouth. They’d been replaced by something that looked a lot like awe.
“It is traditional for those who are blessed to exchange a kiss.”
Devin went dead still next to her.
Borja winked and squeezed their hands. “Go on. You do not need to be shy at your own blessing ceremony.”
He continued to talk, but all Ryder heard was the wah-wah-wah voice from the Charlie Brown TV specials.
“Kiss! Kiss!” the small group in the courtyard chanted.
“No, really,” Ryder told Borja. “He’s my boss. I’m his assistant. We can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”
Borja smiled. “Don’t you think it’s good to try something unexpected?”
The volcano in the distance wavered a bit as the crowd’s catcalls and laughter became louder. Fine. As if in a hazy dream, she leaned in and brushed her lips against Devin’s. She’d give him a quick peck to silence the islanders.
He let out a strangled groan before his hands were tangled in her hair, his palms bracketing her face. The look in his eye was anything but professional—unless she counted the world’s oldest profession. He lowered his lips to hers, and the earth rumbled beneath her feet.
Her insides turned to warm, electrified Jell-O. So much…everything. Heat. Passion. Danger. Lust. Hope. Possibility. This instinctual-level connection…this was why she’d never returned his calls. She had no control over it, and that scared her right down to her bright red toenails.
Another quake jostled them apart. A cheer went up from the crowd.
“De Mis Promesas approves!” Borja cheered. “A stirring from the volcano is a very great sign! But we don’t want him to wake too much.” He giggled. “Come now, to the feast.”
Heart knocking around her chest like a bowling ball in a pinball machine, she kept her gaze trained on the tender green grass beneath her bare feet and followed Borja to the table. He seated her in one of a pair of chairs near the head of the table. Without a word, Devin slid into the one next to her. He grabbed the glass of wine already on the table and gulped it down. The crystal had barely touched the table cloth again when an older woman appeared and refilled it.
Before Borja could walk away, Ryder grasped the hotel manager’s hand. “Thank you so much for the blessings. I’d love to talk to you about your beautiful island and its people.”
“But, of course.” He smiled, showing off the deep smile-lines bracketing his mouth. “What would you like to know?”
She and Devin warmed him up with questions about the weather and the history. Then after Borja had finished a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes happy, she hit him with the real questions.
“We visited Tea Time this afternoon. I’ve never seen so many teapots in one spot. I understand it’s owned by a local family. The Molinas.”
Borja’s eyes narrowed. “It is.”
The two word response after his loquacious previous answers meant she was on the right track, but had to be cautious.
“Do you know them?” Devin asked.
“I don’t know what information you’re after, Ms. Falcon and Mr. Harris, but a blessing ceremony won’t protect you from some of the worst dangers on this island.” He took her hand between his calloused ones, meeting her gaze. A sliver of determination shone through the sadness she saw in his dark eyes. “Please, don’t go looking for trouble. You won’t find many who will help.”
She squeezed his hand and slid hers from his grasp. “Trouble can’t always be avoided.”
“Then I will pray for you both.” Borja pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Good night.” He left to mingle with the crowd.
“That got us bupkis,” Devin muttered.
“Not quite. We have an ally. He’s just not ready to talk, yet.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He said not many will help.” Certainty filled her. “He didn’t say he wouldn’t.”
Devin shook his head. “You’re parsing it pretty damn close.”
“As my dad always said, sometimes you have to go with your gut.”
Two men lumbered out of the hotel, hauling a large, heavy pot between them, and everyone at the table clapped.
“We have for you something very special.” Borja told the gathered fashionistas. “This is a curanto. It is a mix of clams, oysters, lobster, mussels, sausage, potatoes, the potato bread milcaos, and chapaleles, which are dumplings. We make it in the traditional manner. We dig a meter-deep hole into the ground and cover it with heated stones. The ingredients are added in layers. Each layer of food is covered with Chilean rhubarb leaves. There is nothing like the curanto made in The Andol Republic.” He spooned the curanto onto Ryder’s plate. “Enjoy.”
Spices and the scent of the sea wafted up from her plate. The heavenly taste exploded on her tongue and she couldn’t stop her moan of delight. Devin tensed beside her, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his eye twitch had returned.
“Is it a migraine?” she whispered.
He gulped and shook his head, then shoveled the curanto into his mouth like a man who’d been fasting for a week.
So, they ate, talking to the other guests and asking if anyone had seen Sarah yet, but studiously ignoring each other.
“Oh, I haven’t seen her,” said one designer’s assistant who couldn’t be a day over twenty and had snow white hair that fell in carefully arranged waves across three-fourths of her face. “But she’d never miss an Andol Fashion Week, now that she’s finally home. From what I hear, she couldn’t wait to come back and be a part of it. The way the locals treat her, this place is like her own little fiefdom.”
“I wonder why that is…” Ryder let the statement hang, betting that, like most people, the woman wouldn’t be able to stand the silence.
“I hear her son is some big muckity-muck who owns most of the island. They also own a pineapple farm outside of town.” The woman shot back the last of her champagne. “Did you know pineapples grow on the ground? I always thought they came from trees.”
A slightly-built man with thick-framed glasses and a handlebar mustache leaned forward. “Who cares about pineapple? I hear her son makes his money the old-fashioned way.”
The girl blinked, her blue eyes as sparkly as the walnut-sized diamond pendant around her neck. “He inherited it?”
“No, he steals it.” The man waggled his thick eyebrows like a Saturday morning villain on a bad cartoon show before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. “God, you two are so gullible.”
Turning away before she clocked the guy, Ryder mingled with the fashionable crowd, chatting with the guests, asking everyone about the last time they’d seen Sarah, and if they knew anything about her family. But all the while, she couldn’t help but be aware of every intake of breath an
d shift in position Devin made next to her. Awareness settled in her belly and tightened her lungs, her destined-to-be-denied anticipation ratcheting up in intensity as the sun settled lower on the horizon. Her brain was all for pretending Devin wasn’t right beside her, but her body wasn’t willing to give up the fight.
“I’ve talked to half the people here about Sarah,” Devin grumbled.
“Well, I’ve hit up the other half,” she retorted. “And we both have jack shit. The best I’ve got is that she confirmed her attendance at the shows tomorrow, and that her son is the big man on the island who isn’t afraid to throw his weight around—possibly in Tony Soprano fashion.”
“So we’re at a dead end.” He rubbed the short hairs of his buzz cut.
Her fingers itched to follow his path. “Only until the shows tomorrow.”
They rose to leave the party, but an older woman stopped them.
“I have something special for you, dear. You must have a taste.” She uncorked a bottle of homemade wine, its clear glass container without a label, and poured Ryder a small amount. “This is for a traditional blessing toast.” She captured Devin’s attention with the snap of her fingers and poured him a glass. “Salud y amor y tiempo para disfrutarlo.”
Ryder and Devin clinked glasses and sipped the wine. Dry and warm with an aftertaste she couldn’t quite place, it slid down her throat.
“You must drink the whole glass or it is bad luck.” The woman pushed their glasses back up to their lips.
The rest of Ryder’s wine went down like warm honey laced with a hint of anise. A flush heated her belly and climbed to her tingling breasts. “What’s in the drink?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. It’s just an herbal mixture to help you appreciate all the blessings in your life and to let you see what your heart truly desires.”
“What.” Ryder’s breath hitched.
“Was.” Hot liquid want pooled deep in her belly.
“In.” Her skin itched for Devin’s touch.
“The.” Her thighs buzzed.
“Drink?” Ryder’s heart raced, scattering her thoughts like the flashing lights of a Fourth of July sparkler.
“Damiana for the heart to see better.” The old woman got up from her seat, patted Ryder’s heated cheek with a papery hand, then disappeared into the hotel.
Putting her college botany minor degree to good use, she wracked her brain trying to remember why damiana sounded familiar. Then it hit her. It was a wild shrub said to be an aphrodisiac that gave people a mild, pot-like high.
Pushing away her plate filled with decadent-smelling oysters, lobster, and albacore, Ryder accepted her current reality. She hungered for only one thing: Devin.
Chapter Seven
“My only interest in women’s clothes is what’s underneath them.”
— Lynda Carter
Ryder couldn’t close the door to the suite fast enough. With her brain screaming “Escape!” she’d hightailed it back so fast she’d left her shoes in the courtyard. So what if she wanted to double dip with the hottest man she’d ever had a one-night stand with? That didn’t mean she was going to. The knee-erasing need was just a pre-hangover from some crazy, volcano-blessed ceremony on a tropical island paradise.
And why, exactly, that made her want to cry or punch a wall wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now.
Wanting to get as much space as possible between herself and the evening’s events, she untied the filmy sarong from around her neck. It slid down her body, caressing her taut nipples and narrow hips like the reverent touch of a man’s hands. And damn her black soul, she wished it was Devin’s fingers trailing across her flushed skin.
The material puddled at her feet, trapping her in its mocking, cheerful circle. This was why she only wore black. Because she wasn’t cheerful. Or sweet. She was cold, hard, and calculating. She had to be, and it was about time she remembered that.
Standing in only the gold bracelet and her black satin panties with her hands on her hips, she contemplated burning the stupid dress in the bathroom sink. The smoke detector’s blinking green light called her back from that bit of insanity. Instead, she kicked the yellow fluff into the corner. Back in more familiar sartorial territory, she muttered a quick prayer of gratitude that at least the effects of the blessing-enhancing wine had worn off.
“I didn’t realize you were so eager to get back to our room.” Devin’s voice warmed her like a fur coat in the middle of an August heat wave. “Everyone clapped when I got up to chase after you.”
“Well, they’re not here now.” She whirled around, not caring that she was practically buck naked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her completely in the flesh already.
The memory of their night together ratcheted up her body heat to face-of-the-sun levels, and judging by the tent Devin’s cock made in his sarong, she wasn’t alone.
A light sheen of sweat made his hard abs glisten in the dimly-lit room. The urge to lick her way across his six-pack weakened her knees. Maybe that special enhancer hadn’t evaporated from her system, after all.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He uttered the words as soft as a prayer, and her black, strappy sandals slipped from his grip. They hit the floor with a boom in the silent room.
Anticipation thickened the air in her lungs, making it hard to breathe…or to think. Feeling, on the other hand, became the only thing she could do. All she wanted to do. And that loss of control scared the shit out of her. She’d been down that road before, and sure as hell wasn’t getting her passport stamped for a return visit.
With deliberate care, she sauntered across the room, her bare feet slapping against the tile floor. “I’m getting my clothes and going to bed. You can take the couch.”
His need was so palpable it practically reached out and touched her as she passed him to grab her black cotton tap pants and threadbare tank top from the tote in the closet. She fished out her pajamas from the stuffed bag. Ignoring the catch in her breath and the want dampening her panties, she kept her back to him and pulled the tank over her head.
“Why?” The simple word, heavy with meaning, hung between them.
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you return my calls?” Most men would have whined the question or asked with a snide edge. But Devin wasn’t most men.
For the briefest of moments, she considered lying, but the truth was always a more brutal way to stop further inquiries. “Because I wanted to so badly. You were the first person since Heath that had me thinking ‘what if.’ I promised myself a year without any ‘what ifs’, without any heartbreak. So I don’t sleep with anyone more than once, unless there is a very clear fuck-buddy only understanding.”
“Ever?”
”Not for another four months. I gave myself a leave of absence from relationships.”
Warm, strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around until she was practically nose-to-nose with him. “I hate that someone fucked with your head this much, but I’m not that guy.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, because the end result is the same.”
They stared at each other, their bodies so close his hard cock brushed her thigh. It took everything she had not to reach down, wrap her fingers around its wide base, and stroke him. His head angled downward, his mouth slightly open. One tiny move and those lips would be on hers. A few more, and his thick length would fill her up until she couldn’t take any more and broke apart in his arms.
“Are you saying you’re scared to sleep with me again?” Challenge sparkled in his eyes.
Her heart hitched up. A challenge was something she never let slide. “As I recall, we didn’t do a lot of sleeping.”
“Don’t try to turn the argument around.” He shook his head and placed a palm firmly on the wall beside her head, trapping her on one side but leaving a route for escape. His gold bracelet, the one that matched hers, twinkled in the dim light.
Silly man. Didn’t he realize by now that she rel
ished the battle—because she always found a way to win? She batted her eyelashes and stayed her ground. “Were we fighting?”
He cut the space between them, proof of his arousal rubbing against her slick, panty-covered folds. “There is always make-up sex.”
She tsk-tsked, and used a single, determined finger to ease him back—before she came just from the casual contact with his cock. “I’m not sleeping with you again.”
“Then you won’t mind just kissing me.” He dragged a knuckle across her bottom lip, setting off electric shocks through her body. “I’ve been dreaming about this sweet mouth for weeks now. Kissing it. Licking it. Watching it open as you moan my name while you come. How it would look wrapped around my dick.”
Her tongue turned to powdered chalk as the rest of her dissolved into molten liquid.
“What’s wrong? You’re not scared of one little kiss, are you?”
She straightened her spine, pushing out her boobs until they grazed his own hard nipples. “I’m not scared of anything.”
His eyes darkened and he raised his other arm, enclosing her between his sinewy, inked biceps. “Prove it.”
Oh, it was on.
She sucked her bottom lip, drawing her front teeth across it, never losing eye contact with her challenger. The man thought he was ready. He was about to learn how wrong he was.
Her first touch came not from her lips, but from her thumb brushing his slightly parted mouth. He shivered under her fingertips and nipped her thumb. She clenched her thighs together in an effort to maintain control over the desire rushing in waves over her.
“That’s not a kiss.” Gravel infused the honey of his voice.
“No.” She brought her mouth millimeters from his. “This is.”
Giving in to the wicked temptation he offered, she pushed her hands against his shoulders, shoving him against the opposite wall. Her mouth was on his before the shock of her sudden move could possibly register in his brain. This wasn’t just a kiss, it was a full frontal attack. She melded her lips to his, not waiting for an invitation to sink her tongue into his luscious mouth, but instead pushing her way in. He tasted of fruity wine, seafood, and all the deliciously bad things her mother had warned her about with boys. Dragging her hands upward, she relished the coarse texture of his close-cropped hair against her palms. She plastered her hungry body against his muscular frame, rubbing against the steel between his legs.