Tempted in the Tropics

by Tracy March

  This place really was surreal. Here he was, in the Pool of Love, hot for a girl with a tattoo.

  She lifted one eyebrow. “You mean I’m not going to get a doctor lecture about dirty needles and hepatitis?”

  “Sounds like you don’t need one,” he said. “But personally, I’d never risk getting inked.”

  She shook her head, her lips turned up at the corners. “No surprise there.”

  So much for convincing her he wasn’t uptight.

  “We all three got one,” she said. “My mom, my dad, and me.”

  “Your dad?”

  She nodded, yet didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her expression turned serious as she gazed at the tattoo. “Before my mom died—when we found out she wasn’t going to make it, we decided to do something to remind us of the love we shared.” Her voice hitched. She took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Since one of us was leaving.” She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Not that we needed a reminder…but still.” She stared out into the distance. A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. “My dad got a red heart.”

  Lane squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry you lost your mom,” he said, surprised she’d revealed a vulnerable side of herself that he never would’ve guessed was there.

  She smiled ruefully. “Changed my life, that’s for sure.”

  “You mentioned a little about that the night I came to Sweet Bee’s.”

  She looked surprised that he’d remembered.

  “You said you moved back to Maple Creek from a real life you had somewhere else to take care of your mom. What was your real life like?”

  She glanced up at him, seeming to appreciate him asking. “I lived in DC, in a little apartment in Dupont Circle.”

  “Nice.” He could imagine her fitting in the city with all of her energy and zest for life.

  “And I was a pastry chef at the Hay-Adams hotel.”

  “For real? That place is big-time swanky.”

  “For real. I loved my job, even though the hours killed me. But when my mom needed help and my dad couldn’t handle it all alone, I wanted to be in Maple Creek for both of them. I knew my time with my mom was limited—but I guess you could argue that’s the case with everyone, huh?”

  He’d never thought about it that way, but she was right. You never knew what life was going to bring or what it was going to take away. He nodded slowly.

  “There was no way I could stay in DC or manage to keep my job when my mom needed care. My dad is a barber—we didn’t have the money to bring in nurses during the day. So I moved home and took care of my mom until she went to hospice.” She blinked back tears, seeming determined not to let another one fall. “After that, she didn’t last long.”

  Her story tugged at Lane’s heart. “That had to be devastating for you and your dad.”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t bear to leave him alone, and I’m not sure he could’ve held up if I’d have gone. So I stayed and opened To Bees or Not to Bees.” She gave him a slow, small smile.

  Lane smiled, too, still amazed she’d let her guard down, if only for a few minutes. “But if your mom was still around, you’d be back in DC?”

  “Or someplace that has more to offer young people. Don’t get me wrong, I love Maple Creek and the people there. But they’re way beyond Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get, and sometimes you don’t even recognize the flavor.”

  He’d seen enough of his uncle’s patients to know exactly what she meant. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “But I grew up with those quirky people, and now I’m one of them—even though I never dreamed I’d be.” Seeming less emotional now, she splashed water up onto her neck and shoulders, and Lane stole glances at the sparkling rivulets that trickled over the swell of her breasts.

  “We’re like a huge, extended family,” she said. “But a lot of the family is old, and their health is failing. I’m trying to do what little I can to help keep them from suffering like my mom.”

  He’d heard her say that before and seen her back up her words. Clearly there was more to her than the sassy girl she passed herself off as. Not many people their age would unselfishly stick around in a lazy town like Maple Creek and try to make a go of it, much less focus their business on helping older people.

  Paige gave him a forced smile. “But that was before you rolled into town from wherever you came from and jacked everything up.”

  Lane tensed. He hadn’t guessed that talking about her tattoo would lead them down this path. Next thing he knew she’d be asking him exactly where wherever-you-came-from was. “I—”

  She shook her head quickly. “Don’t. You’ll be in Maple Creek for what…a few more weeks? After that you’ll be gone, and I’ll be scraping to keep the lights on because you were in no position to get involved.” She lifted her shoulders and dropped them, as if she thought it had been a casual decision for him.

  Lane’s stomach clenched. “I thought we had a truce.”

  She stood, leaving him staring straight-on at the tiny triangle that was the bottom of her bikini, her tight thighs, her smooth, flat stomach, and a belly button that was itself a work of art. He’d seen his fair share of belly buttons, so he had plenty to compare it to. Her strategy might not have been intentional, but this wasn’t a fair way to fight. He stood, too.

  “Doesn’t that mean I just settle for you getting your way?”

  He pressed his hand to his forehead, then dragged his fingers down his face. So much for an idyllic island vacation. “It’s not my practice, Paige. They’re not my forms and they’re not my laws.”

  “You could’ve helped me out—and your patients, too.”

  “Take my word for it, I really couldn’t.”

  “More like wouldn’t.” She turned, again treating him to that spectacular rear view he’d been angling for earlier, and waded to the waterfall, gingerly picking a path over the rocks on the bottom of the pool.

  Something inside begged him to come clean and tell her what had happened in Austin. Maybe then she’d understand why he was so insistent on everything being above scrutiny, because people were watching and his career was on the line. She’d been open with him, but it didn’t seem as if her recent past was as full of screw-up-your-life-beyond-recognition drama as his. He had no idea how she would react if he told her. People in Austin he’d thought of as friends had clearly doubted his innocence in the pain-pill-prescribing scandal. While his uncle’s offer for him to temporarily run the practice in Maple Creek had been a desperately needed vote of confidence and support, Paige might not see it that way.

  After getting her footing, Paige faced him. She tipped her head back beneath the cascading waterfall and ran her hands through her loose hair. His debate came to a screeching halt at the sight of her. The scene was like something from a glossy travel brochure where an irresistible yet unobtainable bikini-clad model seduced you into booking the most expensive vacation ever, hoping you’d possibly catch a glimpse of her while you were on your trip.

  Lane couldn’t fight his reaction to seeing Paige standing beneath the frothy flow. He took a deep breath and willed himself to stop reacting like a hormone-drunk teenager. She was definitely testing his self-control.

  He stood riveted as the rushing water unexpectedly loosened the back tie of Paige’s bikini top. With her arms still raised, the strings fell to her sides, yet the tie around the back of her neck stayed secure. She seemed unaware as, through a glaze of glistening water, he saw the perfect, supple curves of her breasts peek below the loose fabric. A battle raged inside him. He should look away or warn her. Surely she didn’t know what was happening and she’d no doubt be embarrassed. But the pure male parts of him begged him to keep quiet.

  “Paige,” he called, loudly enough for her to hear him above the cascade.

  A split second later she shrieked, cupped her hands over her breasts, and jumped from beneath the waterfall, nearly l
osing her balance on the rocky surface of the pool. Lane steadied her.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “Please tell me you didn’t see my boobs.”

  Lane tried not to laugh. “Did you just say boobs?”

  She popped open her eyes. “Boobs, breasts, mammary glands…whatever the hell you doctors call them. Please tell me mine weren’t out there.”

  “Turn around. I’ll tie you back up, even though that sounds a little kinky.”

  She turned. “Stop teasing me—and avoiding the question. Tell me what you saw.”

  He got to work on the tie. After it was secured and she’d fussed over straightening the triangles in front, she faced him.

  “A man never peeks and tells.” He smiled slyly.

  She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh crap. You did see them.” Her words were muffled, but he understood her just fine. She looked up at him, pleading with those big, golden-brown eyes.

  “I liked what I saw,” he said. “But it wasn’t anything too private.”

  She lowered her eyebrows.

  He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I promise.”

  Seeming somewhat satisfied, she lowered her hand from her mouth, but she kept biting her bottom lip. Thanks to her, he’d seen plenty of stimulating sights today, but that sexy lip-biting was what finally got him.

  “Do we have a truce or not?” he asked.

  She nodded. “You did save me from flashing my boobs to all of St. Lucia.”

  He was the only one around, but he wasn’t going to argue. “So we can kiss and make up?” The cliché was out of his mouth before he even thought about its implications. Now he was the one in an awkward position. His pulse raced as he waited for her reaction.

  She cocked her head and grinned slyly. “We can kiss…”

  He slowly drew her close to him, flattening his hand at the slick small of her back and pressing her to him, her curves straining against his muscled torso. She could probably feel his heart pounding, its rhythm even faster now that they were skin-to-skin. He swept his fingertips softly across her velvety hairline, down a soaking lock of her hair, and gently twisted the end around his fingers.

  He cupped her head in his hand and touched his lips to hers—featherlight until he couldn’t resist her any longer. Beneath the St. Lucian sun, with a wisp of a tropical breeze, he kissed her with all the pent-up desire that had built within him since he’d first laid eyes on her. She parted her satiny, supple lips and he deepened their kiss, each sweep of her tongue sending a new wave of pleasure pulsing through him.

  Having a fling with her while they were on the island was feeling like a better idea all the time. Tempting and temporary. Perfect.

  He lifted her off her feet again, just as he’d done in the Black Water Pool, and cradled her to his chest, his lips never leaving hers. She clutched the back of his neck and arched her body, kissing him as if she knew exactly how he wanted it and was eager to give it to him.

  Lane had never felt this much passion in a kiss—not even with Stephanie, ever. Somewhere in his foggy mind, he wondered what else he’d been missing. Clearly Paige had some kind of magic that he was eager for more of, but if she kept up what she was doing right now, he was going to explode or go blind. Maybe both.

  Someone with a deep voice cleared his throat loudly, and Lane reluctantly drew away from their kiss. He and Paige glanced up at a sight that ruined the mood in a heartbeat. At the edge of the pool stood a squatty, balding, middle-aged man whose large, hairy belly hung so far over his tiny Speedo that from a certain angle, it might look as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He had his arm around a large woman his age who was a head taller than him, and just as round with glaringly white skin. The pattern on her old-fashioned skirted one-piece bathing suit looked like a wallpaper design from the seventies. She fanned herself with a bright pink wide-brimmed hat.

  The man whistled and smiled lasciviously at his wife. “I mean to tell you,” he said with a heavy northern US accent, “when they told us this was the Pool of Love, they weren’t lyin’.”

  Paige stared at Lane, wide-eyed, and said under her breath, “Please tell me those aren’t your parents.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Paige was mesmerized by Caldera the moment she and Lane stepped into the grand, sweeping expanse of the open-air lobby. Its bold, organic architecture melded perfectly with the scenic beauty of the Caribbean. She stood with her mouth agape, captivated by the view of the Pitons—St. Lucia’s iconic twin mountain peaks—across the jewel-toned blue and green sea. Glancing at Lane, she was nearly too stunned to speak. He looked around appreciatively, but he’d managed to keep his jaw from dropping. He’d probably seen similarly stunning views before, but she certainly hadn’t. A few minutes ago, she never would’ve believed that anything could steal her thoughts away from kissing him in the Pool of Love, but this tropical mountainside resort—and its views—had managed to do just that. For an instant.

  Their kiss had been something straight out of a sexy fairy tale, and she’d lost herself in every sultry second of it. She was a little freaked out by just how much she’d been enjoying it before Speedo Man and his glow-in-the-dark wife had shown up and wrecked the mood. Awkwardness had settled between her and Lane, and they’d left pretty quickly after that. They’d avoided the subject with light conversation on the rest of the drive to Caldera, with Paige wondering what he thought about the kiss and what might happen now. She might’ve mustered the nerve to ask him, if she’d known how she felt herself. Could she handle a temporary romance? And did he even want one?

  “This is amazing,” Paige said, gesturing around Caldera. She’d seen pictures on the resort’s website, which were also incredible, but they couldn’t compare to experiencing it all in 3-D. No wonder Liza and Cole wanted to get married here. Paradise had absolutely nothing on this place.

  The bellman, a friendly native St. Lucian who’d introduced himself as Gerard, offered both of them a flute of chilled champagne and led them toward the massive reception desk made of knotty, rough-hewn wood.

  Paige raised her glass to Lane. “Here’s to island magic.”

  “You and your magic.” Lane clinked his glass to hers, and they drank.

  “You weren’t complaining about it in the Pool of Love.” She smirked and took another sip of the fizzy, fresh champagne. Maybe joking would make things a little less awkward.

  “Why would I complain?” He grinned mischievously, leaned in close, and said, “You were practically stripping for me.”

  Paige gasped. “You wish. That was totally unintentional, and you know it.”

  “So you say.” He shot her a sultry glance and licked a bead of champagne from his bottom lip. Paige’s heart quivered. Maybe he did want an island romance.

  “Welcome,” the woman behind the reception desk said with the same lilting island patois as Gerard and the attendant at the Black Water Pool. “I’m Marielle. Pleased to be at your service. Believe it or not, the views from your sanctuary will be just as lovely or even lovelier.”

  Paige shot Lane a curious glance, which he shared, then faced Marielle. “Sanctuary?” An image of vast open spaces with wild horses running free flashed in her mind.

  Marielle nodded. “That’s what we call our accommodations here at Caldera.”

  “Got it.” Paige hadn’t had time to devour Caldera’s website in detail or she would’ve known that. As it was, she’d just have to enjoy all the decadent surprises as they came her way.

  “Looking forward to the wedding?” Marielle asked.

  Paige grinned proudly. “I’m the maid of honor. Actually, the only bridesmaid.”

  As Marielle clicked the keys of her computer, Lane said quietly to Paige, “Who has to wear an Orioles orange dress.”

  “That’s nothing to tease about. Don’t tell Liza, but that’s a serious fashion faux pas. It could be a real train wreck if the press manages to crash the wedding. I might end up being the Fash-hole of the week on Fashion Police
. Joan Rivers would show me no mercy based on the color of that dress alone.”

  “You must be Paige,” Marielle said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Our sanctuaries are named for the colors of the iridescent tiles in the infinity pools and bathrooms of each unique space. You two will be in the cerulean sanctuary together,” Marielle said.

  Paige’s heart bounced into her throat. Lane raised his eyebrows, looking both shocked and curious. Paige quickly glanced away from him, at least forty-seven questions ricocheting in her mind. Do I want to share a “sanctuary” with him? Is he okay bunking down with me? What will his parents think? How many ways will I kill Liza for putting me in this super-awkward position?

  “Are you sure?” she asked Marielle, who glanced at her computer, nodded, and smiled.

  “It’s one of our most luxurious sanctuaries, but if you’re not keen on blue…”

  “She prefers orange,” Lane teased.

  Paige shot him a look.

  “We have the coral sanctuary,” Marielle said.

  Paige could’ve sworn Lane was trying not to laugh. Wasn’t this uncomfortable for him, too? “Cerulean is cool,” she said. “I meant are you sure that the two of us”—she gestured at Lane and back at herself— “are booked in the same sanctuary? Do you have a reservation for Dr. Lane Anderson?”

  Marielle clicked several keys on her computer, her expression remaining pleasant, if not a little baffled.

  Lane leaned in and whispered, “You had to go and ruin it for me.”

  Paige grinned, thinking maybe he had wanted to stay with her. “Aw, bummer. Is your favorite color blue? Because whatever slice of the rainbow you’re assigned to would suit me fine…we can switch.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Marielle primly pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “I assumed you two were together. We do have the crimson sanctuary reserved for Dr. Lane Anderson.”

  “No worries,” Lane said to Marielle. He leveled his gaze on Paige, gently grasped her hand, and grazed his fingers across her palm. A flurry of tingles fluttered down her spine. “But I am a little disappointed.”