by Dee Tenorio
What if he had the time he needed, whether she liked it or not?
Tempting, very tempting. Enough so that he stood, dusting the sand off his pants so he could walk and think a little more clearly. His shoes, sand-scuffed and heavy, kicked up clomps of the wet stuff with a strangely satisfying sucking sound while he paced.
They did have a contract, even if he’d been trying to get Taylor to fax it so he could light the damn thing on fire. As a plan it could work. Provided he could really do this. Convince her that his feelings were dependable. Odds weren’t exceptional, considering he was still grappling to understand them in the first place.
Being with Krista had changed him in ways he never expected. He’d stopped apologizing for being different. Stopped being defensive when people made assumptions about him. He was a better person now, more connected to her and through her, to the world beyond his work. He saw that bright as day, but somehow she couldn’t. But then, she had no idea how it used to be.
Life with his father had been a lonely experience. Steven Ellison’s devotion to his son was true, but his autism interfered in ways neither could overcome. Steven required his son to speak a different language—mathematics—in a way others wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t comfortable with hugs or words or, in most instances, excessive noise. His face was still nearly unlined by expression because he couldn’t grasp the nuance of a frown or a smile or those strange configurations in the middle that David didn’t quite grasp either. He almost never made eye contact with anyone and spoke with the soft rustiness of vocal cords rarely used. If Steven’s mother hadn’t arranged a brief marriage for him, David wouldn’t exist. By the time David could walk, both his grandmother and his mother had died and his father was all he had.
But when David began to grasp numbers, something as simple as counting, they’d found a way to connect. Steven didn’t mind counting to a million, just to see if he could. There was praise there, in watching his father’s eyes light up if David could solve a difficult problem. If he could present a theorem or comprehend a concept that Steven worked for months on. Most of their time together centered around proofs and there was a special kind of happiness in that.
But it wasn’t the kind of happiness he could extend to Krista. Her lashes had flickered often when he’d introduced her to his father. Not because she was unkind or repulsed. He realized later that she was confused, the things his father said swirling over her head. She probably didn’t know Steven had approved of her, referring to her symmetry and the surprising variation of colors in her hair. There were many things she probably didn’t know.
Like the way he would stay up some nights, memorizing the rhythm of her heartbeat. Or that when she kissed him, every thought, any thought, in his head simply evaporated. That the first time he saw her he nearly tripped over his own feet, or that a day hadn’t passed since that he hadn’t come up with a reason to spend some kind of time with her. The whole contract idea, presenting a business relationship extended into personal arenas, had been devised because he couldn’t think of any other reason she might want to spend more time with him after he sorted out her finances, and he hadn’t been willing to let her go. He still wasn’t.
He found himself next to her landing, the sky still black, the breeze cool and the ocean beyond glowing where it rolled toward the shore. The party from earlier was still going on, lights and laughter pouring from every window of the large hut. People sat on the deck, huddled in small groups on the walkway, sometimes in threes and fours. He saw three sets of couples as he came closer, two of them sets of men talking with broad gestures and bright-colored drinks in hand. But the last couple, he noted, his brows crashing together, was a man and a woman.
His woman.
{
“I should be getting back inside,” Krista said again. The guys in Bungalow Four—Ricky, Stevie, Jake and Cobb—hadn’t taken no for an answer and had finally drawn her into the party. At first, she’d been a little concerned that she might be the only woman there, but it turned out the guys had invited half the island. Or half the island had simply stumbled in, it was difficult to tell. At any rate, the four of them were perhaps the nicest men she’d ever come across.
Ricky and Stevie were the twin underwear models, she learned. Jake—or Cranky, as she’d mentally nicknamed him—was a stuntman and Cobb…well, no one knew quite what Cobb did for a living. He just seemed to happily float along in a blur of fashion, music, hair styling and Manhattans. After getting her over for some hors d’oeuvres, Cobb was content to float next to her like kelp tied to her ankle. She could shake and shake, but he stayed firmly by her side.
“Whoa, hot babe alert.” Cobb’s big hand suddenly grabbed her wrist as he walked her back to her bungalow. “Defcon five.”
She jerked her attention to the walkup and almost choked. David. Given the heavy pace of his walk and the lines of barely restrained fury on his face, she thought he probably had the wrong idea about the man next to her.
Cobb leaned down close to Krista’s face, distracting her from the stupidly arousing effect of her ex’s flaring masculinity, and asked, “Is my breath all right? What about my hair? Oh my God, Ricky is so not going to believe this!” He straightened, raising his chin and shifting his shoulders so his powerful bare chest looked even more impressive.
“Down, boy,” she murmured, tempted to laugh at what could only end in dissatisfaction for the young man. Even if David weren’t straight as a steel support beam and twice as unbending, Cobb wouldn’t get as effusive a response as he was no doubt used to. “I’m pretty sure this one’s for me,” she added as David came to stop in front of them. She fought to hold in a sigh. Truly unfair that there are few things sexier than a man who thinks he’s got something to claim. And he definitely thought she was his.
He eyed the clasp Cobb still had on her wrist before nearly roasting the man next to her alive with a burning glare. “Would you mind letting go of my fiancée?”
Cobb glanced down at the indicated grip and let go with a moue of dismay. “Luc-kee,” he mumbled, his densely lashed green eyes fluttering briefly before he did what David asked.
Krista, on the other hand, had no interest in doing anything David said. She clasped hands with Cobb’s, going so far as to twine their fingers. “I’m not your fiancée. I’ll do what I like.”
David’s eyes flickered, the blue so arctic she shivered. But she didn’t let go, even with Cobb’s fingers twisting desperately. She tightened her grip, hearing the six-foot-three, body-sculpted Adonis reduce himself to a strangled whine. The noise was so odd that even David noted it, which got Cobb to stop making it, thank God, but not to stop wriggling his hips in an effort to get away. He smiled, face reddening, green eyes blinking madly.
David’s stare nearly set fire to her skin when he aimed it her way. “Is the bungalow unlocked?”
Krista released Cobb’s fingers, frowning, unsure if she was unnerved by the question or the primal response in her belly to his silent vehemence. “Of course not.”
“I’ll need the key, then.”
“Excuse me?”
“This was supposed to be my honeymoon, too, wasn’t it?” He held out his hand. “I paid for half of it.”
“You’re married?” Cobb’s disappointment didn’t seem to faze David. Of course, she realized, David probably thought the disappointment was in her direction.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Cobb looked back and forth between the two of them. Since his hand was free, he was able to slink out of her reach again. “How about I just catch you later, Krista.”
Well, that’s what she got for trying to recruit a man who thought her enemy was hotter than she was.
Without Cobb as her ticket back toward the party, she was left with David at the gate of her own bungalow. She’d make damn sure she went in alone. “Hotel’s that way. Book a room of your own.”
“Why would I do that when there’s a perfectly good one right here? One I have just as
much a right to as you do.” He leaned in, voice tight, his scent catching on the warm breeze to wrap around her. His body heat radiated at the edge of her senses, teasing.
The answering want washing through her lacerated her pride. Even dogs learned after getting kicked so many times. Why couldn’t she? “What part of ‘broken up’ don’t you understand?”
“Part three, section two, line five.” He rattled off the information without notable thought. As if he’d memorized every stroke of ink it had come from.
Krista’s blink was slow and disbelieving. “You can’t possibly think you can hold me to that contract.” No one ended a relationship in writing, signed by a certified notary. No one. Or was that the line about not embarrassing the other party in a public arena? Damn.
“Why not? You signed it. Now open the gate.”
She stared at the latch. He could open it with the flick of one dexterous finger, but he was making a point. She didn’t have a choice.
“Are you trying to make me hate you?”
“No,” he replied evenly. His voice rasped, the only indication of the absolute fury she could see in his eyes. “I’m trying to make you listen to me.”
“By forcing yourself into my room?”
“No.” He grazed her cheek with his lips. “By reminding you what you’re running away from.”
“Like I could forget,” Krista murmured.
David pulled back an inch. Even he could see the “don’t touch” signals coming off her. He hated each and every one of them. She opened the gate and stormed through. “You can have the couch.”
The couch? His brow rose. He caught her about to kiss another man, a younger man—though why that qualified, he wasn’t sure, but it did—and she thought he cared where he slept? If it meant keeping her from someone else, he’d lie across the damn gate and be happy about it.
She pulled her card key from her back pocket and sliced it through the gold lock on the French doors. The doors opened inward, revealing the blue glow of the ocean water lighting up the living room from the floor. So much for sleeping. That would keep him up like an interrogation light.
He followed her in, closing the doors firmly as she walked on toward the kitchen and the hallway leading deeper into the bungalow. He glanced around, calculating how much a place like this would go for. Fancy glass floor in the living room and dining room, hardwood everywhere else. Woven linen wallpaper. Fresh flowers in gleaming glass vases on nearly every surface. Genuine rattan furniture outside, along with heavy dark wood pieces for the living areas. Marble countertops in the kitchen, which was easily twice the size of his own at home. The bedrooms would no doubt reflect the casual opulence surrounding him already.
His income had more than tripled in the last two years, but he’d been grossly overestimating his input when he said he’d paid for half this vacation. He’d maybe paid for the rental of the chaise on the deck, he thought with a regretful shake of his head.
He’d seen that other man lean down close to her, about to put his mouth on her, and all reason had fled, leaving him with a need to separate them if he had to knock the guy to the ground to do it. When she’d rejected him, he’d let his temper do the talking and now she was even angrier with him. One step forward, two steps back.
Maybe three, given her own temper.
Four, if he counted how much she’d spent to be away from him.
Despite what he’d told her, the truth was that Taylor had checked Krista’s answering machine and found a message from Betty. A few glib lines from the secretary he had no idea was so sneaky, and the travel agent had spilled all kinds of information for him, but only after making Taylor promise not to tell Krista. Perhaps it was a promise he shouldn’t have kept, but he hadn’t expected a place like this.
He knew every aspect of her finances. He’d taught her how to handle them herself, and she’d taken to it well, determined to have control over her own future, something he’d been proud to help her do. She hardly needed him anymore in that respect. She worked hard, lived on what she earned, and he knew to the penny what was in her savings. She didn’t have enough to cover this trip on her own. Which meant he’d done more than push her into running. He’d pushed her into doing the thing she’d vowed never to do—dip into the trust fund her father had offered her. The one she believed was simply another of Elmore James’s machinations to lure her back into submission. And she’d done it to get away from him.
David scrubbed his face with his hand. She valued her independence. After the way her father had cut her off, showing her in no small way that he controlled her at his whim, she refused to be indebted to anyone. The trust she’d been granted on her twenty-seventh birthday had been Elmore’s bribe, she’d said, because her actual fund shouldn’t have come into maturity until she turned thirty-five. Returning her access to his money was her father’s way of trying to get her back. She’d left every penny in there as her answer.
Until now.
Guilt a stone in his belly, he followed her down the hall. He reached the doorway of her bedroom in time to hear the water from a shower turning on. Any other day, he wouldn’t have thought twice about going in, or even joining her, but this didn’t seem the right time. For whatever reason, she didn’t feel connected to him anymore. It would be an even worse violation than demanding he had a right to her room.
He waited, if not patiently then quietly, while the water made pattering ripples on his imagination. He’d memorized her form almost from the first moment they met. As she bathed, he pictured her standing under the flow, trying to imagine the changes a child would make to her curves. Her breasts would be fuller, her belly curving outward inch by inch. Would they see the little hands and feet, pushing at her skin? Or would it only be something they’d have to feel? Would she let him be there to help her stay steady on the stairs to her condo? Would she let him be there to welcome their child into the world?
Scented steam drifted out of the bedroom. He had always wanted a family of his own. His mother’s death and his father’s distance left him aching for someone to talk to. Back in those days, it had been the dream of siblings, a dream he never put any stock into as his father rejected any possibility of remarriage. Later, he thought how fulfilling it had to be to have a houseful of children. Small people with huge expectations of grand holidays and weekends. People he could learn from as well as teach, as he had done with his own parent. But would this child be the only one he ever had? And how likely was he to be able to provide all that boisterousness that he craved on his own? In that respect, he definitely didn’t want to be like his father. He’d never wanted to be a parent alone. He wanted to be a parent with Krista.
She’d make an incredible mother. She was singularly patient. She had this slow smile that made you feel a thousand times more impressive than you were, for doing nearly nothing at all. And she had that habit of touching all the time. A hand on your hand. A touch to the side of the face. A caress across the back of the shoulders. As if she just wanted to remind you that you mattered to her.
He’d become addicted to those touches. Starved for them. But had he ever given any? He knew how to give her pleasure in bed. How to lead her there. But was Taylor right? Had he been negligent in giving Krista any sign at all that she mattered to him?
He frowned, his head jerking up at the sudden cutting off of the water. Stepping into the room, he blinked when she came out of the bathroom, yanking at the too-small towel she was trying to wrap around herself. He almost said something to remind her that there were most likely a dozen larger towels in the bathroom, but if she was too irritated with her own mistake to go back, she wouldn’t take his advice well. Meaning to help, he scooped the fluffy hotel robe off the back of the chair near the door and tried to fit it over her shoulders.
Krista spun with a shrieked gasp, her hands landing on his chest, faint moisture seeping through the fabric. “My God, David, you scared me half to death.”
“I didn’t mean to.” The same way he didn’
t mean to notice that her towel had landed on his shoes. His hands tightened on the edges of the robe, pulling it around her shoulders. He bundled her with it, determined to ignore his inevitable physical reaction to her. He roped his arm around her back, willing her not to fight him. If she walked nude in front of him, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Her eyes widened when her hips pressed against his, but all he did was shake his head at her. She reared her head back, definitely intending to yank herself free of him. David lifted his hand from her shoulder, touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
Not sexual, he thought, willing her to understand. Just a touch to show he cared.
She stilled instantly, like a doe scenting danger, but unsure which direction was safe to go. “What are you doing?”
“Communicating.” He touched her cheek again, captivated by the soft silk of her skin.
“This doesn’t feel like communicating.” Her head tilted into his caress. That was good, wasn’t it?
“Because you’re not listening.” He let her go, hoping she’d stay close, trusting that she would. He dipped his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back just a little, so she could meet his gaze with those sleepy eyes of hers. Her lips parted in response, but she didn’t move away. The wet strands snaked over and under his fingertips before releasing him. Rather than repeat the stroke, he concentrated on how she often touched him. Fingers flexed open, he slid his palm down her arm, his hand grazing dewy drops of moisture and guiding them carefully along the length of her limb. When he reached the end, the next natural step was to take hold of her hand.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she burbled suddenly, unsteadily backing up half a step.
David followed instinctively. She still hadn’t let go of his hand. That had to mean something. He knew it did. He cupped her jaw, lowering his face to slide against the side of hers, putting his mouth close to her ear. “I just want you to hear me.”