Tempting Escape

by Heather McVey

  He shrugged and popped the cork on another bottle of champagne. “It's weird. I haven't dated for like ten years, so this is kind of weird."

  "Ten years! You can't be that old, surely. You look pretty fit.” Who was she trying to kid? He was a hunk. Fit didn't even come close to the mark.

  He gave her a droll look. “Oh, I am, sweetheart, never doubt that."

  "All I meant was that—"

  "That I don't look like a geriatric?"

  Shelly flushed and sipped at her champagne. He always seemed to make her say the wrong thing.

  Guy buried his toes in the sand and met her gaze. “How old are you, Shelly?"

  "Uh-huh.” She shook her head as she sat down beside him. “You first."

  "I was born in sixty-nine."

  "That makes you, let's see ... thirty-six?"

  He nodded. “And what about you?"

  "Me? I was born in seventy-nine."

  "That makes you twenty-six.” She nodded, and he twirled the stem of his glass. Ten years age difference. He had never been one for younger women. He always found them too giggly and flighty, but this one definitely had gotten under his skin.

  As Shelly helped herself to some strawberries, he knelt and pushed a CD into the small portable radio. A moment later, Bryan Adams’ Everything I Do, I Do It For You, floated softly around them on the night air.

  Shelly lay back with a contented sigh. It was one of her most loved leads, combined with trying to ignore Guy's fantastically muscled thighs as he knelt, she was having a hard time not becoming aroused. Worse, she was having an even harder time trying not to become emotionally connected to him. The island was made after all, for falling in love. Why, the steamy night air without even the slightest breeze, just made her want to strip her clothes off and get dirty. Shelly wiped a hand along her damp brow and licked the sweat off her top lip. She wondered if Guy was sweating beneath his leathers. Suddenly, she wanted to go down on him and drink the salty pearl on the top of his dick.

  Damn! She had to get out of there and fast.

  "Hey, where are you going?” Guy asked, a heaped plate of food that was obviously meant for her, in one hand.

  "I have to wash my hands,” Shelly said, standing to her feet. Needing a breath of fresh sea air, even if it was hotter and thicker than steam, she headed towards the shoreline.

  Supporting himself on his elbows so that he still had a clear view of her, Guy sighed and leaned back. The woman was driving him nuts. He feared his balls were going to explode if he didn't get in her panties soon. He grinned at the pun, his smile glittering bright for a second in the candlelight. That was false, he had already been in her panties. It was her little love tunnel that eluded him. He'd had every one of his fingers deep in her sticky depths, but not his cock, the only organ he truly wanted to feel her pussy gripping. He rubbed his hand over his erection and took a couple deep breaths. He was as stiff as a rock. He watched her hips sway with her steps, his body instantly growing even hotter and harder. The moonlight glinted silver off the long, thick braid that fell down Shelly's back. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her with her hair down. A pity really, he found long hair a turn-on and he'd love to see Shelly's flowing freely down her back.

  A vision came to him—having her beneath him, the golden locks spread out around her body. He was sliding between her thighs, filling her pussy with his cock, while her desire-filled green eyes focused entirely on him.

  He shifted his position, but the heaviness in his groin remained. A man could lose his soul to a woman like that if he wasn't careful.

  The blood was pounding in Shelly's head. She shouldn't have come. But you didn't know that you would be completely alone with him, now did you? a small voice reminded her practically. She bent and scooped up a handful of seawater. She rubbed it along her neck and splashed some across her face. I still shouldn't have come. I must have been crazy, she thought. Most women would say that you were crazy if you hadn't agreed. He's a hunk. Shelly sighed. Her inner voice was such a smartass sometimes, but it was usually right-on. Guy was a hunk and that was the problem. He had a body designed for sex and she wanted to be the one to use it. In fact, if she got on him, she'd probably never get off again. A wicked smile curved her lips as she imagined the headline in the Sunday Mail. "Young, virile male ridden to death by nymphomaniac girlfriend!"

  Hair prickled at Shelly's nape, as though she was being watched, and a slight shiver skittered down her spine. Quickly, she pivoted and caught her breath at the sight of Guy, his eyes, shining blue orbs in the darkness.

  He'd been standing directly behind her, inches away.

  "Your hands must be clean by now, surely?” he said, taking another step towards her, so that they were standing so close she could make one small move and be in his arms.

  Shelly felt a chill run along her spine and held them out for him to inspect, ready to back away, where it was safer for her heart. But she couldn't. Physically, she was backed up against the sea. Emotionally, she couldn't move if her life depended on it.

  He leaned into her, staring into her eyes. Their gazes locked and Guy's went carefully blank. His breathing stilled.

  Shelly's brow furrowed. What did he see in her that seemed to stun him so?

  No matter. She broke eye contact, gathered the last reserve of her will, and took a step back. Lightening quick, his hand shot out and gripped her slender wrist. Shelly stared down at her birdlike wrist, almost lost beneath his two tanned fingers.

  "Can I hold you?” he asked huskily.

  Unable to look into his eyes, Shelly muttered, “I don't think that's a good idea."

  He tipped her chin, so that she was looking up at him. She lowered her screen of lashes. The look in his eyes was so hungry. It scared and aroused her, all at the same time.

  "Then may I have this dance?"

  "What?"

  He coaxed softly, “Go on, humor me."

  Shelly nodded, and he lifted her right hand delicately in his left. Electric heat seemed to shoot through her at his touch. When he placed his right palm at the small of her back, and smiled down at her, her knees almost gave way. Although she was small and he was tall, she fit perfectly into his arms, almost as if he had been made to hold her.

  The music seemed to flow through her, through them, until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. He was passionate, earthy and, she suspected, fiercely protective with those he brought into his heart. Quite possibly, he was everything she had ever wanted in a man.

  Knowing that only made hers beat faster.

  There was nothing in her but need so she went against him, then pressed the length of her body closer still. They rocked together a little, for the longest time, just being. When the second song came on, he shifted closer still, and so did she. His hands molded her body.

  She returned the favor. She couldn't help it; the feel of his big body against hers drew out every emotion she had, and then some more she hadn't even imagined. And yet the physical contact wasn't nearly enough. She wanted to tell him some of what she was feeling. Only those feelings were so jumbled up and confused, she didn't think she could put words together to justify them.

  Instead, she smiled up at him and murmured over the slow, sultry throb of the music. “You're not a bad dancer, Mr. Pearson."

  "You're no stumbling ninny goat yourself, sweetheart.” His blue eyes studied her approvingly, then he flashed her a sexy smile. “For a nosy, little, complaining blonde, that is. But I love you anyway".

  "Guy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don't joke so."

  Guy knew he'd struck another nerve. “More of those issues?"

  She laughed bitterly. “Yes. The night's so beautiful, let's just dance."

  "Okay.” He drew her protectively close, and danced with her, faster and faster beneath the full moon and the jet-black heavens. Until she was laughing from the sheer joy of it, being in his arms, being part of these precious moments in both their lives.

  Chapter 9<
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  The next day, the ten minute drive through Male's main town centre seemed like ten thousand to Shelly. It was an eternity of gut-twisting adrenaline and self-doubt. She tried to concentrate on the Caribbean scene that flashed by in brightly colored images through the taxi window—the multicolored houses in reds, yellows, and even pinks, the market stalls laden with all kinds of tropical fruits, some that she could name and some that she couldn't. The dark-skinned locals, the women walking around, their large hips swaying beneath multi-colored skirts, the occasional one carrying a pot or something heavy on their head. The old men, sitting in doorways, smoking pipes and watching the world go by; a stark contrast to the children laughing loudly, their skinny brown legs kicking footballs around. The tourists, mostly in white shorts and perspiring beneath the tropical sun looked like dull peahens among peacocks. They were moving slowly, or sitting, enjoying a cool drink in the shade.

  The cool enclosure of the international airport as she stepped through the electric glass doors was like a refreshing caress to Shelly's sweltering skin. It was well over ninetydegrees outside and the old yellow Mercedes, one of several hundred that served as taxis on the island, had no air conditioning. She pulled at the back of her blouse, soaked wet from sitting against the tanned leather, wiped at her brow and looked up at the arrival board. An accented English voice spoke over the intercom, announcing that an American Airlines plane was ready to depart for Los Angeles, even while the white writing on the arrival board flicked to orange to show that an Irish plane had been delayed. After a moment or two of searching, she found Ted's plane. He had arrived twenty minutes ago at Gate G. Getting her bearings, Shelly turned and headed in the general direction where she presumed G to be—past conveyer belts carrying luggage and excited passengers, ready to embark on their holiday, past some not-so-excited passengers, dismal at the prospect of going home. She blinked, feeling a little claustrophobic. In only a week, she realized, it was easy to become accustomed to the quiet pace of life at her resort.

  As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead. Ted was standing not twenty feet away; dressed in a pair of immaculate white trousers, shirt, and a white cowboy's hat on his head. He still carried his passport in one hand and a black rucksack was tossed casually over his other shoulder. She watched as he tipped his face back and laughed at a young man's joke. Shelly imagined that they were laughing at her, the little girlfriend he was confident would take him back. She felt sick and almost turned back.

  But then Ted was looking at her; grey eyes warm and lit with friendly humor. He looked good—really good, but then Ted had never lacked in the looks department. She watched him say goodbye to the young man and a pretty, plump, brown-haired girl in her late teens that was obviously his girlfriend, and walk towards her. Shelly gulped. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion; even the female voice on the intercom seemed to be speaking ridiculously slowly, like a tape in a tape recorder being played backwards.

  "Hi, I've missed you, honey,” Ted said easily with a grin.

  In that instant, Shelly didn't know if she wanted to kiss him or punch him in the nose. She bit down on her bottom lip. If she opened her mouth, she wasn't sure what would come out—most likely, nothing pleasant, and nothing productive.

  Just as the ten minute drive had seemed like more, the handful of seconds that passed as the introduction settled on the air between them seemed like hours, years, forever. Shelly could smell her fiancé's clean shampoo and spicy cologne, Boss, his favorite. Against her will, she found herself comparing it to the mysterious aroma of rich clove and sandalwood that lingered in the pores of Guy's skin.

  Ted pushed up the rim of his hat and studied her. She wasn't speaking. He reckoned he had about five minutes until she blew her top and made a scene. He supposed the girl had the right, catching him with her bridesmaid. That had to have hurt. His cock grew and hardened beneath his trousers. He felt the uncomfortable pull as it strained and caught on a pubic hair. Shelly looked good, gorgeous and he wondered if she would allow him to bed her when they got back to her room. Normally, after she had caught him being unfaithful, she made him sleep a night or two on the sofa. Ted hoped that wouldn't be the case now, he hadn't had sex with her for over a week. He'd had his fill of Gill, not to mention black-haired Angie, the barmaid from The Oakwood. His girlfriend of nine years was always a welcome change.

  "Is that all the luggage you've got with you?” she asked, her voice oddly distant.

  Ted nodded and Shelly turned towards the exit. “I've got the taxi waiting. It's on the meter, so we should go."

  Incredulous, his eyebrows flew upwards. “Don't you want to talk? Shout? Slap me, at least?"

  No, Shelly didn't want to talk. She didn't know where to begin, how she should even start or what she should say. Frankly, her lack of reaction at seeing Ted again had shocked her to the core.

  "Later.” Shelly rubbed a hand over her eyes as she let out a ragged breath. “We can talk later, once I've had time to get used to the idea of you being here."

  Ted gave her his most charming smile. “Aren't you pleased to see me, darling?"

  "No.” For a second, her green gaze bored into his. “I can't say that I am."

  Ted felt his lungs seize at her words. Was she serious?

  She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Come on, the taxi's waiting, and I'm not made of money."

  Ted slid in the taxi seat alongside her. He watched as she pulled out a bundle of green notes for the driver. It was roasting; the air after coming from a bracing October morning in England was searing. He was sure his insides must be cooking. He adjusted himself as comfy as he could against the seat, cursing it for being leather and that there wasn't any air-conditioning. He paid little attention to the tropical scene flashing by outside. He barely saw the palm trees or the exotic locals. His attention was focused entirely on Shelly. With his light grey eyes, the exact color of rainwater, he darted side glances at her from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. No emotions whatsoever showed on her small face, and that worried him more than anything. Usually, when he cheated on her, she was hurt and screamed. Now, she was oddly withdrawn. He had expected after the wedding thing, at least a slap in the face, one of her usual ultimatums that this better be the last time, or else—anything but this.

  For the first time in his life, Ted Anderson felt an uneasy chill creep up his spine.

  * * * *

  The roads had been much more congested on their return journey. Half an hour had almost come and gone before Shelly stepped into the welcomed air-conditioned room of her water bungalow. Strolling through the room, she laid her key on the mini-bar. She didn't wait to see if Ted followed, but she supposed he must have when a second later, she heard the door close softly behind her.

  It felt like her fate was sealed, her life written away with that soft foreboding click. She took a rejuvenating breath and turned to face her lover of nine years. He was staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the turquoise surf crashing against the white sandy beach. For a moment, she just studied his familiar wide shoulders, the smooth sandy hair.

  I loved him once, she thought, but do I now?

  In that moment, he turned to her, his grey eyes glowing like crystals in his pale handsome face and his red lips unbelievably bright. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, Shelly watched him brush it away in an all too familiar movement.

  Her heart clenched, so many wasted years. Could she waste so many years? Because that is what it would amount to if she left him, almost a decade of wasted years.

  Potently, her mother's words came back to her. Remember that ten years is a lot to fling away, dear.

  His gaze flicked her way. His eyes seemed to smile and Shelly wondered if she was imagining it. Unable to move, she watched as he strode purposefully forward and embraced her. She noted that his chest was firm and hard. He was definitely masculine and very manly. Manly or not, compared to Guy, despite being five eleven, Ted seemed suddenly small. The lips that brushed agai
nst hers were cool, and although pleasant, they evoked no heart-shuddering cry from her body.

  She shivered in his arms. Perhaps I've never been in love until now. The thought flickered across her conscience even while Ted pushed his tongue into her mouth and fondled one of her breasts through her blouse. His breathing was heavy and his erection was pressing up like a hard rod against her belly. Normally, that would have been enough to get her aroused, but now something ... something vital was missing.

  She refused to admit to herself that it was Guy, even pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She had changed, that was all. People grew up and matured, didn't they? It happened every day.

  When Ted began to lead her towards the bed, she literally panicked, although she must have slept with him a thousand times before. She couldn't do it. Not now, she needed to think.

  "Ted, I can't, not now.” She gave him a shuttered glare. “I need some time."

  He took a step back and ran his fingers through his sandy, ash-blonde hair. He was still breathing hard and he was as horny as hell, but he supposed it was understandable, so he nodded. What he wasn't prepared for was when she snatched up her key and headed for the door.

  Too late, he headed forward. “Where are you going?"

  Shelly turned back to him like an angel framed in the doorway, the sun behind her, her golden hair ablaze. “You should sleep before the jetlag kicks in. I'll be back soon, I've just got something to take care of."

  Ted curled up on her bed, feeling jetlagged, now that his chance of getting sex was gone.

  Shelly strode quickly along the beach. The sun was too warm against her head for comfort. It didn't matter; she had made up her mind. After nine years, she owed Ted another chance. Her brother and sister were happily married. She didn't want to be the black sheep of the family. Besides, Guy with his looks, was probably ten times the Casanova that Ted was anyway, so it would be stupid to go from one mistake to an even bigger one, wouldn't it? Better the devil you knew, than the devil you didn't.