by Cherry Adair
"Where's your mother these days?"
"In Kenya, with friends. Safari. We don't stay in regular contact, although she'll call or e-mail occasionally. I can find her on e-mail if I want to. Of course that doesn't mean she'll reply. We talk at least a couple of times a year."
"Jesus, I can't imagine that kind of relationship with my family. My mother died when I was pretty young, but my father and I are close, and so are all of my brothers and our sister. My grandmother stepped in and took to raising us. God, I miss that old battle-ax. Talk about an iron fist in a velvet glove. Did you happen to notice the painting on the Nemesis? The cabin in the woods?"
"I did, yes. It's beautiful."
"Yeah, I think so. My sister, Marnie, painted it. It's the cabin my grandmother owned in the Sierras, where we used to spend our summers."
She smiled. "Sounds like a happy childhood."
"The best. I'm sorry yours wasn't great."
"It was fine. Unconventional, but interesting." Tally smiled. "Honestly, I didn't tell you all that to garner sympathy. I had a perfectly happy childhood. And look at me. I'm all grown up and reasonably normal."
"Yeah, all things considered. Beautiful, impulsive, intelligent, and charming. I'd say you turned out better than they had a right to expect."
"Thank you, sir. Listen, that must be the waterfall."
"Or rain," Michael said as the sky opened. They were drenched within minutes.
"Liquid sunshine." Tally laughed, twirling around, arms open, head tilted up. She stopped spinning and staggered, dizzy and giddy with sheer joie de vivre.
Michael dropped the picnic hamper at his feet, then caught her by the shoulders to steady her. Their eyes met.
"I don't think you should kiss me." Her hands rose to his shoulders, then slid around his neck. His skin was hot, slick with rain. She felt the flex of his muscles as her hands glided over the column of his neck so she could tunnel her fingers through his hair.
He dipped his head, his mouth a breath away from hers. "Is it okay if you kiss me?"
It took her a moment to remember she was the one who'd instigated the no-hands rule. "One wouldn't hurt. Would it?"
Michael's chuckle sounded rusty. "Can you eat one peanut?"
"Sure." Tally rose on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. "I do it all the time." It was chocolate she had a problem with. And Michael was dark and rich and decadently tempting.
His mouth closed the scant inches between them and came down on hers.
Because her own blood was racing, because her own heart beat a million miles a minute, Tally expected, wanted, the kiss to be hard. What she got was a gentle exploration. His kiss was slow, languorous. As if they had all the time in the world. As if they were in a quiet bedroom, lying on a soft bed. Instead of standing in the rain, on a hard lava bed, in the middle of earth and sky.
At the first feel of his tongue parting her lips, Tally's body went to fever pitch, and her heart beat triple time. So much for good intentions.
He used one large hand to expertly position her head at just the right angle for the most powerful impact. Tally almost sobbed with anticipation. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth, and she engaged it in a war for supremacy. She needed him to match her own hunger. Instead, he was taking his own sweet time, and in the process, torturing her.
Slow—oh, so slow. Nothing she did seemed to rush him. Her tongue challenged his to combat. She felt his laughter as a deep vibration against her chest. She clamped her arms more tightly around his neck. Using both hands, she positioned his head where she wanted him. But Michael realigned their bodies to his own liking.
Tally almost shot out of her already too tight skin. God. The man knew how to kiss. It was almost as though they'd each started on a different radio frequency and slowly, slowly, agonizingly slowly, he was bringing her current into alignment with his own.
He was good. No, he was a great kisser.
The scent of his skin, musky, intoxicating, filled her senses. The feel of his rough, unshaved cheeks against the soft skin of her face made her blood flow through her veins like liquid fire.
Her bones felt as fluid as melted butter, her muscles tense with longing. She was wet where the rain hadn't touched. Her heart accelerated, and she couldn't tell up from down. She wanted his hands on her breasts, but when she made a move to withdraw her own arms from about his neck, he pressed her closer, not allowing her to move.
He captured her face between his broad palms and kissed her deeply. Thoroughly. He nibbled her lower lip, took a small stinging nip, then laved the spot with tender sweeps of his tongue. Tally rubbed her aching breasts against his naked chest, feeling his crisp hair through her wet tank top. Her nipples ached. She couldn't wait another second for him to touch her. She managed to free her arms from about his neck and, with spread fingers, slid her hands down his chest.
His flat nipples were as hard as her own, and she groaned into his mouth. The small disks peaked when she stroked his chest as she wanted him to stroke hers. The brush of the back of her own hands on her nipples inflamed her further.
Tally couldn't stand it. She was almost jumping out of her skin.
Michael lifted his head, and like a metal shaving to a magnet, Tally found herself trying to direct his lips back to hers. He took her shoulders in a gentle grip, his hands warm on her bare skin. "I can respect your 'no,' honey. But you have to give me a break here for a while."
"I wanted—would've—"
"Your body and your brain need to be in accord if we ever sleep together again," he said softly, cupping her cheek and brushing her flushed skin with his thumb. Tally almost melted. "Just say the word. I'm ready."
Tally's eyes dipped to the enormous tent his erection made in his thin cotton shorts. She looked up at him. "You're an amazing man, Michael Wright."
He bent to pick up the hamper, and on the upswing pressed a quick hard kiss to her slightly parted lips. "Say the word soon, honey. I'm not that good."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I think this is one of the best days of my life."
"Getting a kiss in the rain?"
"That, too." Her eyes shone, brilliant blue; her dark lashes spiky. Her lips were blush rose from his kisses, her cheeks flushed. "You know that Christmas Eve feeling? When you're anticipating what will be under the tree? The feeling you get even though you pretty much know what will be there—but there's a chance, vague… maybe, but a chance nevertheless that something… magical will be there in the morning waiting for you. That's how I feel right now." She laughed up at him and pushed his damp hair off his forehead.
"That my life is suddenly… oh, I don't know… ripe with possibility. Rich with anticipation." She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Michael wanted to reach for her. Instead, he stuck his fists into the pockets of his shorts. "Did you change your mind about sex?"
Those brilliant blue eyes opened. "I wish it were in me to have a fling without guilt, but I'm not that sophisticated enough. My father'll show up, and you'll be long gone. No, as much as it pains me to have to repeat myself, as much as I'm tempted, the answer is still no." She looked at him under her spiky lashes. "But you can kiss me as often as you like. Unless that's too hard on you," she grinned, "as it were."
"Honey, I'm a man, not a boy. If you want hands off, and only kissing for the duration, that's fine with me. I enjoy kissing you. Now, let's head off and find this waterfall while I rein in my libido."
With a wide smile, Tally took his hand. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."
"Don't bank on it," Michael said, dead serious. But he liked the feel of her small hand in his, and let her hold hands with him like kids as they hiked up the trail.
It was clear Tally suffered from good girl conflict. She wanted sex, she just felt she shouldn't want it. Getting her back in his bed, getting her under him again, wouldn't take much. A gentle nudge, a few more passionate kisses, and she'd fall like a ripe, juicy peach right into hi
s hands. Right where he wanted her.
The waterfall was dangerously romantic. A glittering silver ribbon of water dropped thirty feet into a small pond surrounded by lush vegetation. The air smelled fresh, and green.
The ground was spongy from the rain, and Tally was blissfully, gloriously happy to be alive. "What do you think?" She cast a sideways glance in his direction.
"Wanna get nekkid and play water games?" He reached for her.
"Oh, no, you don't." She laughed, walking backwards to avoid the gleam in his eye and his outstretched arms.
"I warned you about waterfalls being dangerously romantic."
"I don't think romance is what you have in mind."
"How do you know if you won't stand still?"
Tally continued laughing as she took another step back. Not very fast. She wanted him to catch her. Oh, hell, she was already in big trouble with this man. She stopped, and his arms slid around her. Michael jerked her up hard against his chest and crushed her mouth under his.
He tasted her smile and felt like a shit.
Behind her, the sylvan splendor of the waterfall rushed into an idyllic little pond. The shallow water glittered in the sunlight, promising untold delights.
Michael felt a rush of fury.
Blisteringly, furiously, angry that one more step closer to that water and he'd be sweating like a turkey before Thanksgiving.
And suddenly incensed that Tally found so much damned pleasure in simple things. The water. The air. The anticipation of connecting with her father…
Being with him.
The demolition expert who was about to blast her tidy, happy little world all to hell.
When his job here was done, the light in those pretty eyes would be extinguished. The sweet curve of her lips would be gone. That sheer joy would disappear from her step.
Despite last night, there was that bounce and a sparkle. She was happy to be alive. Happy to be here on her father's island. With him.
He didn't want sweet. He didn't want to taste truth and honesty when he kissed her. He wanted to obliterate the hope he saw every time he looked at her.
Shit. She didn't even have the weapons to resist him. Instead of shoving him away, Tally stood on her tiptoes and took all that he dished out. With—fuck it—joy!
Goddamn her.
He swept his tongue into her mouth with a vengeance, reveling in the taste and texture of her. He tunneled his fingers through her bouncy, happy curls and held her skull between his palms, slanting his mouth on hers for a better angle.
One of the men he'd offed in his long and illustrious career had been killed quite expediently by crushing his skull. It hadn't fazed Michael one bit. It had been war. Eat or be eaten. Was this any different? His fingers flexed on her fragile head. So easy. No fuss, no muss.
Why take on an added complication when he didn't need her?
She moaned. Good, Michael thought with grim satisfaction. Be scared. It's gonna get worse. She moaned again, and he realized incredulously that it wasn't because she wanted to be released. She was trying to get her arms up around his neck.
Didn't the woman have any goddamn survival skills?
And damn it, he liked kissing her. Liked feeling the quick flash of passion rising in her to meet him, fire for fire.
He could take her here.
Pull up the little pink tank top and cup her small breasts, taste her nipples.
He could push her down onto the sun-heated grass. Drag off her shorts, and screw her hard and fast. And Tally, daughter of his worst nightmare, wouldn't protest. She'd smile as she came.
He grabbed her wrist, and dragged her hand down his bare chest. Her fingers flattened, stroking, kneading like a cat on his already sensitized skin. Michael ruthlessly tightened his grip on the fragile bones of her wrist and continued the downward drag until her fingers passed his waistband and covered his hard-on.
She made a faint sound low in her throat, then her palm curved to cup his painfully hard erection. Michael shuddered.
Jesus, no. Be insulted. Pull away. Slap my face. Run, for Christ sake.
She fondled him; her inexperience showed, but didn't matter. In another second he'd go off like a teenage boy with his first girl. No, damn you. No. He pulled his mouth from hers and ground his teeth, on fire for her.
His placed a rough hand on her breast, felt the hard point of her nipple in his palm as she arched against him. Impossible to resist, he caught her mouth under his. His tongue dueled with hers, and she whimpered again. Not in distress; rather, it was a poignant sound of longing. Tally's fingers tightened around him, and he almost came.
He let her go abruptly. Almost shoving her in his haste to distance himself from the heat, the taste, the… hope of her.
Soft mouth red and damp from the force of his, she looked up at him, this daughter of a sadistic butcher, blue eyes filled with expectation, and goddamn it, trust. And Michael was glad he was accomplished at shielding his emotions.
"That was good," she said softly, raising her hand to touch his cheek. She smiled faintly and dropped her hand when he simply stared at her. "But not quite the kind of good I asked you to be."
"Yeah, sorry about that." He stepped away from her and wiped the back of his hand across his throbbing mouth. "I told you. I haven't had sex in a year. I was overcome by lust for your ravishing beauty." He said it with enough forceful irony, and watched the pretty pink drain from her cheeks, and the smile die in her eyes.
Without flinching she met his gaze. "Bull. If I believed you, I'd feel sorry for you. However, I don't think you allow anything to break that amazing control you seem so proud of. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you know why. What do you want from me, Michael?"
He let his gaze slide down her slender body, then raised his eye to hers. "Who says I want anything from you?"
"Other than sex."
"Other than sex," he agreed smoothly. "And since I can't have that, but you don't seem averse to kissing, what's the problem?"
"I don't know. But I'm sure there is one." A muscle throbbed at the base of her jaw.
"You're imagining things." He reached out and let his finger drift across her lower lip, still tasting her on his tongue. "We've seen the waterfall. Let's head back."
Chapter Nine
« ^ »
"I'm sorry," Tally told Auntie. "We didn't get to eat any of your lovely picnic." She set the hamper on the center table in Auntie's small kitchen, then leaned against the tiled counter and watched the older woman slicing fruit for a salad.
"Ua pola anei oe?"
"Aita," Tally answered absently. She wasn't hungry. Her chest ached. He'd hurt her on purpose. Just a casually delivered verbal slap which had, unexpectedly, stung.
Maybe Michael was one of those men who couldn't stand intimacy, and so he had pushed her away. If so, it didn't make sense. The most they could ever have was a fling, and she wasn't willing to go that route. He'd be gone in a few days, and she'd be busy with her father.
She scowled. If he'd been trying to get her to change her mind, it hadn't been in his best interest to tick her off and push her away.
So why had he?
"You be speaking Tahitian pretty good."
Tally smiled. "Ever since Trevor came here… I wanted to be ready."
"Is a long time," Auntie said. "More than ten year."
Tally shrugged. She didn't want to remind herself of how long ago she'd started preparing for this trip by learning Polynesian. Before Tahiti, her father had lived in France. She'd scrabbled to learn French fluently. There'd been Spanish, then Greek. She'd thrown up her hands at Chinese. She was prepared to visit him in any corner of the world.
Desperate to show him how well she could blend into his life if he so chose. Tally had wanted to be ready to come when he called.
And how exactly, she asked herself not for the first time, was she any different from her mother?
Perhaps she should've taken Bev up on some of those therapy sessions.
"Hey, you, baby girl. Come on back." Auntie shot her a glance. "Eaha te fifi? You be fighting with that hottie?"
Tally picked up a slice of melon and bit into the sweet green pulp. "We don't know each other well enough for that."
"You know plenty well, baby girl. I be telling you, he be troubled."
Tally shrugged and snatched up a small red berry, popping it into her mouth. "He'll be gone as soon as his boat's fixed."
Auntie glanced up. "You go with."
"Not in this lifetime," Tally said with a small laugh. "I have big plans, and they don't include a guy with no visible means of support. Nor one who carries his house around with him like a turtle." Nor one who enjoys hurting me for no apparent reason. She damn sure didn't need therapy for that decision.
Although she suspected whoever had attacked her was long gone. Hopefully. Maybe.
The yacht had exploded.
Yeah, but that didn't have anything to do with the guy in the next room… did it?
Damn it. She didn't know. All this stuff going on was far too pat to be coincidental. Yet, the idea of anyone wanting to kill her was equally far-fetched.
Until she could unravel what was going on, she preferred to think of it as one big coincidence. A cosmic joke. On her.
Auntie handed Tally a sharp paring knife. "Here. You cut. Like so." She showed her the size she wanted the segments of pineapple. "Home be where the heart is."
Tally stole the first chunk. The crisp fruit was sweet and tangy. Juice ran down her chin, and she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "Hmmm. I heard that one, along with, 'It's just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man.' "
"You looking for tané with big moni?"
"Money isn't the issue." Tally kept her head down and sliced pineapple. "I'm looking for a man who stays in one place. No traveling. All done. Do you have anything else you'd like me to—"
"I take now. Good job." Auntie scooped the luscious combination of fruits into a huge pottery bowl. "Ava go with tané faaipoiro where he go." She waddled over to the ancient GE refrigerator in the corner. Two swift kicks with her bare foot at the base of the fridge popped the door open. She placed the bowl inside and closed the door with a swing of her generous hip. "What difference water or dirt?"