by Day Leclaire
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “This isn’t going to work, you know.”
She stared at him, startled. “What isn’t?”
“Your plan.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position—”
“I’m in a perfect position,” he interrupted coldly. “I know that island. I know the people on the island. And I know the resort. I can give you a lot of the information you need. But some of it—the financial status and operating costs—aren’t the sort of details I have at my fingertips.”
“I only pay for facts, Mr. Richmond. If you’re unable to provide them, I’ll find someone who will.”
A slow smile crept across his mouth. “And who would that someone be?”
He knew she couldn’t respond, not specifically, anyway. “I’ll be on Jermain Island for two weeks. I’m sure I’ll make contacts there that will prove helpful. And I doubt it will cost five hundred dollars.”
“The islanders won’t tell you anything,” he stated flatly.
“Why not?” She zipped her briefcase closed and set it beside her chair, aware she wouldn’t be getting answers just yet. JT appeared to have the uncanny ability to brew trouble where none previously existed. “Do you plan to ask them not to help me?”
“I won’t need to ask. The islanders are very private, very reserved. And they don’t like strangers snooping around asking a lot of questions.”
She leaned back and crossed her legs, trying to decide where he was going with this. “So what you’re saying is there’s no point in my visiting the island, and I should hand over my money based on your word alone.”
“Not quite. Visiting the island might be a good idea. But you won’t get anywhere on your own.”
Understanding dawned. “I see,” she said. “You want to come, too. Is that it?”
“Very good, Ms. Daniels.” He folded his arms across his chest. “The only way you’ll get what you’re after is if people trust you. And the only way they’ll trust you is if they think you’re one of them.”
“I see,” she said again. And then an idea occurred to her and she almost laughed out loud. It was perfect. Not only would it address his concerns, but it would provide the perfect cover. “Well, if the only way to gain the islanders’ trust is to become one of them, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“How?” he questioned with a sardonic edge. “By claiming you’re somebody’s long-lost relative?”
She shook her head, smiling coolly across at him. “Not exactly. I’ll claim I’m somebody’s soon-to-be relative. Yours, to be precise. I’ll pose as your fiancee.”
CHAPTER TWO
JT STARED at Taylor in disbelief. “You must be kidding.” She didn’t flinch, didn’t crack a smile, just waited for him to realize… “You aren’t kidding.”
“I never kid about business.”
“You expect me to—”
“I expect you to introduce me to the islanders as your fiancee. Yes. And I’ll pay you to do it.”
Anger flared within his gaze, burning hot and fierce, and she experienced a momentary qualm. Perhaps she’d pushed him a little too far, crunched her high heels across that masculine pride of his with a little too much enthusiasm. He started toward her, and she stiffened in the chair, gripping the armrests.
“You’ll pay me, huh?” He leaned down, his hands fastening around her wrists. “Well, that may not be good enough. I have my reputation to consider, you know. I’m not sure anyone would believe I’d be engaged to a woman like you. Stand up and let’s see.” He didn’t give her time to respond, but tightened his hold and yanked her to her feet.
She didn’t bother trying to fight free. He was too strong and her legs were still too unsteady. “Look,” she said. “Forget it. It was a lousy idea.”
“Too late. You’ve just bought yourself a fiance. Let’s see how well he fits.” He released her wrists and fixed her with a disparaging gaze. “The height is a problem, even with those damned heels.”
She stiffened defensively. This was not what she had in mind when she’d made her suggestion. “My height is just fine,” she found herself protesting.
“And the clothes will have to go.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“No one would believe our relationship with you dressed like that,” he informed her brutally.
She planted her hands on her hips. A silk Chanel suit hardly rated such a condescending tone. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed,” she announced. “Now if you don’t mind—”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you’re dressed if I were the suit-and-tie type,” he retorted. “But I’m not. I like my women…” A slow suggestive grin crept across his face. “Well, let’s just say I prefer them a little less buttoned up.”
“Too bad. You take me as I am.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation? I’m afraid I’ll have to pass—at least until I see how you strip down.” Before she realized what he intended, he’d tugged off her suit jacket and tossed it onto the hammock. “Better. But you still look far too uptown for this plan to work.”
“That’s enough, JT. The game is over.” She started after her jacket, but he caught her elbow and pulled her close. Too close.
“It’s far from over, Princess,” he practically snarled. “In fact, I’ve just gotten started.”
She could feel his whipcord strength through the fine silk of her blouse, feel the heat of his skin and the lean ripple of muscle along the length of her arm. “Take your hands off me,” she ordered.
“What’s the matter, boss lady? Isn’t this what you had in mind when you offered to buy me?” he questioned. “If you expect to go to the island as a crazy-in-love, justengaged couple, you’d better loosen up. Otherwise, give up.”
She didn’t dare look at him, but held herself stiff and aloof, praying he’d let go and allow her the distance she so desperately needed. “I’d like my jacket, if you don’t mind.”
“What for? There’s a heat wave this week. Or haven’t you noticed?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ve noticed.”
“You’d never know it from the way you’re dressed. It’s a wonder you haven’t passed out from heat prostration. Perhaps this will help.” With a speed that took her by surprise, he caught one end of the silk scarf encircling her throat and gave a sharp tug.
“Stop it! Leave that alone,” she ordered, grabbing at his hands.
She’d made a mistake. A serious mistake. In fact, touching him was the worst possible mistake she could have made. This was no ordinary man she held, but a throwback—part caveman, part warrior and all hellraiser. He was bad to his bones and probably proud of it. But she didn’t dare back down now. He’d sense her weakness and with a hunter’s instincts he’d react. No, she’d stand her ground, even if it killed her—which seemed more and more probable with each passing second.
Pulling free of her hold, he finished sliding the scarf from around her neck and tossed it in the direction of her jacket. It ribboned through the air toward the hammock, landing a good two feet shy of its target and puddling on the rough wooden floorboards.
She stared at the crumpled splash of silk in disbelief. “You had no right to do that!”
He ignored her. “Something’s still wrong,” he muttered, shaking his head in disapproval. “You’re too formal. They’ll never buy an engagement. Maybe if we open up the blouse a little—”
“No!” She jumped back, but he proved too quick. He’d plucked free the top few buttons of her blouse before she could stop him. “Cut that out!”
“Much better. Okay. Let’s lose the hairstyle and—”
“That is quite enough!” She managed to evade his hands before he removed all the pins. Not that it helped. The weight of her hair wouldn’t be held by the few pins he’d missed, and soft golden curls cascaded down around her shoulders.
Never in her life had she lost her temper while conduct
ing business. But she lost it now. Thoroughly. “Are you totally insane?” she stormed. She swept the tumble of hair back from her face and glared at him. “You have no business touching me.”
“As your fiand, I have every right.”
“You aren’t my fiance,” she shot back. “You’re my employee. And you aren’t even that, because you’re fired. Now give me my clothes. No! Never mind. Go…go stand over there,” she ordered, waving her hand toward the far side of the hammock. The farther away, the better. The farther away, the safer. “Just throw my things to me.”
He laughed in genuine amusement, which only served to inflame her anger more. “Calm down, Ms. Daniels. You started this with your… proposition. I’m just finishing it. And I’ve saved the most intriguing part for last.”
Before she knew what he intended, he’d whipped the sunglasses from her nose and tossed them toward the hammock. They bounced off her suit jacket and clattered to the wooden floorboards beside her scarf. Twin suns burned like white-hot flames within the polished lenses, and in that instant, everything changed. She didn’t know how, couldn’t say why. It just had. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his—and was lost.
He had the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen, the irises an intense shade of blue and glittering with keen intelligence. Laugh lines radiated from the corners like white starbursts against the bronzed canvas of his skin, suggesting he had a good sense of humor. His squared jaw, on the other hand, shadowed by a faint stubble, warned of a stubborn nature. Even so, it took every ounce of willpower not to explore the abrasive surface.
Where was her reserve? she wondered in despair. Where was the control she’d worked all these years to attain? Shot to hell with one simple look.
The amusement died from his face and the outside world seemed to retreat, blanketing them in sudden silence. Only their breathing could be heard, quick and strained, as though they both found it a struggle to obtain sufficient oxygen from the heavy sultry air. She watched his hands close into fists, suggesting he fought the same fierce inner battle she did, and his chest lifted and fell with a swiftness that belied the remote calmness of his expression. She swallowed nervously.
Instinct warned her not to move.
“Damn, Princess,” he said, releasing his breath in a long drawn-out sigh. “You sure do strip down pretty.”
It was the last straw. She clamped her teeth together and stood stiff and straight before him. “Are you quite finished?”
He inclined his head, a mocking sort of humor leaping into his eyes and tempering that other expression— the expression that made her so uneasy, and so acutely aware of her femininity.
“Yes. I’m finished,” he said.
“Fine. Then move out of my way so I can get the hell out of here. And if you touch me again, I swear I’ll report you to the police.”
He tilted his head to one side, his gaze far too perceptive. “Touching bothers you, doesn’t it? Why is that, I wonder?”
His insight caught her off guard, and she answered more harshly than she might have otherwise. “Because I don’t like it. I’m here to get information and that’s all.” She tried to edge around him. “I’m warning you—move aside. I want to leave.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, curiosity burning in his expression. “You have quite a hang-up there, Ms. Daniels. You know what the real problem is?”
“I don’t have a problem.”
She might not have spoken for all the impact it made. “You’re afraid,” he said.
“Of you?” She injected as much scorn into the question as she could. “Hardly.”
“No, not of me,” he corrected her with surprising gentleness. “You’re afraid of yourself.”
The breath stopped in her throat and she looked away. She despised the softness with which he spoke, the hint of pity she suspected it intimated. Hot color scalded her cheeks. How dare he? She didn’t feel anything toward him, certainly nothing to engender fear. Gathering all her willpower, she tilted her head and stared at him, her gaze filled with cold disdain. She knew the power of that look, knew it would take an unusual man to remain unaffected.
And he didn’t remain unaffected.
He inhaled sharply, then reached out and swept a stray curl from her brow. “Those eyes…” he murmured, studying her face with an intensity she couldn’t mistake.
So, he’d finally made the connection. She stilled, bracing herself for the inevitable comparisons. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Go ahead and say it.”
Instead of reacting with discomfort and glancing away, he fixed those vivid blue eyes on her, his stare bold, calm…appreciative. She shook her head in disbelief. No. That wasn’t possible. He couldn’t admire what he saw. He just couldn’t. There had to be some other explanation.
“What am I supposed to say?” he asked. “What are you waiting for?”
She wrapped her arms about her waist, suspecting he’d find the gesture both defensive and revealing. But she couldn’t help it. “You’re supposed to tell me how much I resemble my father.”
“Resemble Boss?” He cupped her chin and tilted it so the afternoon sunlight streamed across her features. “Black hair, black eyes, black heart,” he said, repeating the familiar litany. “Is that what you mean?”
Her jaw clenched. “It makes an interesting change, hearing it spoken to my face instead of behind my back.”
“But you’re not Boss, are you?” His voice dropped, growing whiskey-smooth and laced with a delicious tenderness. “In your case it’s blond hair, black eyes and… Which is it? A heart as gold as your hair or as black as your eyes?”
She swallowed convulsively. “Which do you think?”
“I think…” He smiled and it magnified his rugged beauty. “I think it will be interesting finding out which it is.”
“You aren’t going to find out anything,” she insisted, a revealing catch in her voice. “Once I walk down those steps, I’m never going to see you again.”
“You’ll see me again. You’ll see me because I can give you what you want.” Somehow he’d managed to pull her closer, so her body bumped with tantalizing lightness against his. “You need me. Admit it.”
“No…”
His hand strayed to her hip, cupping the womanly curve, caressing her through the thin silk. “Sure you do. There’s only one more detail we need to check out to make sure it’ll work.”
She shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t help herself. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What detail is that?”
“If you’re going to pose as my fiancee, I need to make certain we’re compatible. Our relationship has to be believable. Otherwise we might as well forget it.”
There wasn’t much question in what he meant. She could feel the tension building in him, see the purposeful set of his jaw and the fiery darkening of his eyes. If she was smart, she’d walk away—while she still could.
But she didn’t. She’d never backed away from a challenge in her life, and she didn’t intend to start now. Nor would she stand quietly acquiescent like some slave girl submitting to her master’s demands.
“Yes,” she agreed with crisp authority. “Better we find out now whether or not we’re suited, rather than blow our cover at the island.”
And with that, she advanced, stopping scant inches in front of him.
He planted a hand at the base of her spine and urged her closer, the pressure light and easy, as though he feared she might bolt if he moved too fast. She didn’t protest, didn’t struggle. Instead, she went to him willingly. Slipping her fingers deep into the crisp hair matting his chest, she took that final step separating them, sliding into the natural pocket of masculine hips and thighs.
He held her with gentle assurance, and that alone nearly proved to be her undoing. She’d experienced very little gentleness in her life, and JT Richmond was the last man she’d have expected to offer it. He also made her keenly aware of her femininity—of the undenia
ble fact that he was a man and she his counterpart. Had it been so long? Had she really forgotten what it felt like to be a woman, to be desired by a man and feel that slow relentless ache creep into every pore of her body?
It was a frightening thought, one that had her shaking her head in rejection.
This wasn’t what she’d intended. She’d planned to kiss him, prove she could remain unaffected by his touch. Now she realized that wasn’t going to happen. Agreeing to this embrace had been a mistake, a mistake she should correct as quickly as possible. But though she didn’t doubt she’d pay a bitter price for it in the end, at that moment she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it.
“Easy,” he murmured soothingly, as though sensing her agitation. “Nice and easy, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” she managed to say, shivering as his hands drifted upward, molding her to his lean length.
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “All things considered, calling you Princess seems a hell of a lot more appropriate than calling you Ms. Daniels.” Forking his hands into her hair, he cupped her head, slanting it to a more accessible angle. “A hell of a lot more appropriate.”
“JT…” she pleaded. But whether it was for her freedom or for him to finish what he’d started, she wasn’t certain. Not that he suffered any such confusion.
“It’s coming,” he told her roughly. “It’s coming right now.” His thumbs feathered across her cheekbones in a tender caress. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
She tried to hold herself aloof. She honestly tried. But some rebellious part of her refused to allow it. It was as though her heart chose that moment to rebel against her head, as though years of rigid control had finally become too much.
And in that brief instant of weakness, her world dissolved.
He deepened the kiss and she leaned into him, winding her arms about his neck. This was wrong. This was so very wrong. If she didn’t stop now, soon she wouldn’t be able to. She found his embrace intoxicating, irresistible. Desire spread like quicksilver, invading every thought, every impulse, every nerve, until she thought she’d die from the urgency of it, from the longing for fulfillment. Piece by fragile piece, her self-control drifted away, leaving her open and vulnerable to the man who held her. And still she didn’t fight.