by Tracy March
“Really?”
He nodded, his eyes glinting expectantly. “You said not to get you started on what you would do for white chocolate crème brûlée.” His sexy mouth quirked up at one corner, one dimple nearly making an appearance.
She bunched her lips. “Hmm. I did, didn’t I?”
“I figured if it were just you and me, some crème brûlée, and a decadent sanctuary, maybe I could find out.”
Now that sounded more like her fantasy, and she wasn’t sure they even needed the crème brûlée. She cocked her head and looked at him demurely. “So what are we waiting for?”
…
Lane’s crimson sanctuary was as beautiful as Paige’s, but in a fiery sort of way that encouraged abandon. Certainly the bottle of champagne chilling on a nearby table would encourage it even further, as well as the two artfully presented servings of crème brûlée displayed on a carved-wood tray. She watched as he uncorked the champagne, captivated again by his long, nimble fingers.
Paige’s insides were all quivery. She still couldn’t believe she’d asked Lane to have a fling with her—out loud. She’d done some crazy things in her life, but that had to top the list. But here they were, flinging away.
She shifted her attention to the fiber optic light colors lazily cycling through and illuminating the water in the infinity pool, which had quite an effect in the dim light. What could’ve been a really cheesy feature somewhere else was done with class at Caldera, and only added to the sensual atmosphere.
Sensual atmosphere…
How long had it been since she’d shared a night like this with a guy? Since before her mom had died, for sure. And never with a man like Lane.
He poured the champagne and handed her a glass. “Here’s to our time in the tropics.”
Paige reminded herself to stay in the moment, to take things one second at a time, and not to read anything into whatever happened here. She’d offered him a fling, and that’s what they’d agreed to. But the island vibe was more intoxicating than any champagne, and what may have seemed like reality here would revert to fantasy when they got back to Maple Creek. She’d seen the same thing happen on The Bachelor about fifty-six times.
“Cheers.” Paige tipped her glass to his, the hum of struck crystal resonating after she pulled it away and took a bubbly sip.
He gestured toward the desserts. “About that crème brûlée…”
“Looks decadent,” she said. “Almost as good as what I make. I’d really like to have a bite.”
Lane picked up the tray and led her over to the patio where two thick-cushioned chaises and a table faced the incredible view of the star-peppered Caribbean sky. He put the tray on the table, quickly dipped a spoon into the crème brûlée, and took a bite.
“Mmm,” he moaned, tipping back his head and closing his eyes.
Holy hotness.
Paige swallowed hard. “My turn,” she said, reaching for the other spoon.
He leaned in close and gently grabbed her wrist. “Oh no you don’t.” She could smell the creamy sweetness on his breath. Without hesitation, she kissed him, tasting delicate white chocolate and zesty lime on his tongue. If this was how dessert was going to go down on the island, she decided to eat it first at every meal.
Paige forced herself to pull away, then licked her lips, his gaze locked on her mouth. “Now can I have a bite?” She could eat the entire dessert whenever she wanted, but it was way more fun to play this game with him.
“You can have a bite for every piece of clothing you take off.”
Oh my…
“What about you?”
“Same rules apply to me. Fair enough?” He looked so damn sexy she considered tossing all her clothes in the pool and getting it over with. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to put them back on until they’d had a good, long time to dry.
“You’ve already had a bite,” she said, and sat on one of the chaise longues where she could reach the dessert.
He grinned, both dimples showing up this time, and kicked off one of his sandals.
“Shoes count?” Paige started doing some calculating. She had on exactly two shoes, and three pieces of clothing if she counted her teensy pink-lace thong that matched her bra. At this point, he had on one shoe, a shirt, shorts, and underwear, if he wasn’t going commando. For some reason, the idea struck her as super-hot, and a wave of warmth rushed through her. Commando or not, if they went bite-for-bite he’d lose his clothes first.
“Yep.” He pulled the other chaise close to hers, dipped his spoon in the crème brûlée, and offered it to her. Seven lords-a-leaping danced in her heart. He was going to feed her? She took the spoonful in her mouth and he pulled it out ever so slowly as the zing of lime and raspberry burst in her mouth, followed by smooth white chocolate.
Paige moaned, turning Lane’s playful gaze to sultry. She lounged back in the chaise, took a deep breath of the tropical night air, and gladly kicked off one of her sandals. “Small price to pay for a spoonful of heaven like that.”
He took another bite and off came his other shoe. Now things would start getting more interesting. She knew what to expect, to a point, and so did he. He’d seen her in—and nearly out of—her bikini, and she’d checked him out in his swim trunks. But Paige had a feeling that both of them were taking this game down to the skin. The cocktail of nerves, excitement, and champagne gave her a buzz like no other.
The next bite was easy for her, costing just her second sandal. Lane’s required him to lose his polo shirt, reminding her that his abs were so ripped she could count them. Whatever she had done to deserve this, she hoped she’d do it again. Over and over and over.
“I think I’ve had enough,” she teased, knowing she’d pay for her next bite with her dress.
His abs rippled as he leaned toward her and smoothed his fingers along the low neckline of her sundress. She shuddered from the tingly sensation that sprinkled through her.
“Chicken,” he whispered, pinching the skirt of her dress between his fingers.
“Never for dessert. I’m a pastry chef, after all.” Paige took another slow, tangy-sweet bite of the crème brûlée, thinking her recipe was better by just a smidge. She stood and clenched his hand, urging him to join her. He got up and she led him to the edge of the patio that overlooked the sheer-rock side of the mountain. The narrow cable fence was so low-profile, it was as if nothing stood between her and Lane and the drop-off. Beneath the moonlight and stars, she faced him and smoothed her fingers down his sandpapery, shadowed cheek. She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him gently.
But there was more than desire in her kiss. She drew back and gazed into his eyes, falling for him more every second. It’s just a fling, she reminded herself. But her heart had opened to him. “Undress me,” she whispered.
Lane drew in a sharp breath. He leveled a smoldering gaze on her, traced his fingertips across her shoulders and down her back. Mesmerized by the way his taut muscles flexed as he moved, she shivered beneath his feathery touch, all of her senses alert and eager. Deftly, he unzipped her dress. Slipping his strong hands beneath its delicate straps, he gently pushed them off her shoulders and the dress fell around her ankles.
Paige stepped out of the dress and stood before him, her lacy pink bra and thong practically glowing in the moonlight. He swept his spellbound gaze up and down her body, and gently placed his hands on her bare waist.
“You look…delicious,” he said, and hungrily kissed a trail up her neck to her lips. “You’re officially my new favorite dessert.”
Her heart leaped. Who knew a few spoonfuls of crème brûlée could lead to this?
She circled her fingers down from his expertly sculpted pecs, across his abs, and tucked them behind the button of his shorts. Gazing at him seductively, she asked, “Don’t you want another bite?” This one would cost him his shorts, and then they’d really be in business.
“I’m good.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” She tugged at the waistband
of his shorts. “So these are coming off voluntarily?”
He nodded. “You’re gonna take ’em off of me.” He leaned in and kissed her, gently nipping her bottom lip with his teeth. “Then I’m gonna make you glad you did.”
Paige’s blood went hot. “I plan to hold you to that.” Her fingers trembled as she slowly unbuttoned his shorts. “But if you’ve got tighty-whities on under these, that might be a deal-breaker.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lane woke to the stunning view of Paige curled up sleeping next to him, a silky halo of blond hair on her pillow, her hands balled up in the sheet and tucked beneath her chin. Hazy sunlight seeped through the mosquito nets that wafted ever so slightly in the tropical breeze. Beyond, the Caribbean Sea sparkled like a blue topaz, cut to perfectly reflect the light, the majestic Pitons rising in the distance. He took a deep breath of the pure sea air, tinged with a top note of tropical flowers, then blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. This place was so far from Austin. And this girl was…on fire.
He’d lived thirty-one years, dated a fair amount, and been engaged to Stephanie, but being with Paige last night was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. As a doctor, he figured he was pretty squared away on all the sensations the human body could experience. He wasn’t. And Paige had proven that to him, every way from sexy and playful, to serious and downright sinful. He was tempted to nudge her awake and press replay, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. From the look of things, he was having a fling with Sleeping Beauty.
He rolled over carefully, pulled the mosquito netting aside, and got out of the huge canopied bed, leaving her nestled in the middle. Buck naked, he walked over to the patio where his shorts and black boxer briefs were strewn across a chaise, Paige’s dress and lingerie nearby. He grinned, remembering what Paige had said about tighty-whities being a deal-breaker, and everything that happened after that. Could they just pretend there wasn’t a wedding and stay in their sanctuaries for the next two days? No doubt he could think of plenty to keep them busy. He wondered if she’d wake up feeling the same way about him.
Lane decided to order breakfast so it would be on its way or there when she woke up. He dialed room service, keeping his voice low as he ordered omelets and toast, fruit and orange juice. At the last second, he tacked on a bottle of champagne.
Figuring he had a while before breakfast arrived, he decided to take a swim in the glistening pool. Lane quietly waded in until he reached the deeper water where he swam, enveloped by the water, swimming naked for the first time ever. He emerged on the side of the pool that flanked the sea, propped his arms on the edge, shook the water from his hair, and gazed out at the view. Images of him and Paige together last night played through his mind. He tipped his head back, the sun on his face, his blood heating up despite the cool water.
A wisp of a sound from behind caught his attention. He turned to see Paige standing poolside, the sheet wrapped around her like a toga. Her knowing smile hinted that she could see what was stirring beneath the water.
“Is that an optical illusion,” she said, “or are you just happy to see me?”
Lane grinned, so damn thankful this wasn’t going to be one of those miserably awkward morning-afters. “Up for a swim?”
“Not nearly as much as you are,” she teased, and began to slowly unwrap herself from the sheet. The girl had seduction down to a science, and Lane planned to work toward a PhD—in three days.
Someone knocked sharply on the door.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
“Expecting company?” Paige quickly wrapped the sheet back around her.
“Breakfast,” he said. “I was going to serve it to you in bed.”
“Aw.”
He glanced down at himself, then back up at her. No way could he answer the door in his condition. “Think you could get that?”
…
Breakfast sounded awesome to Paige, but it would’ve been even better after a sexy swim with Lane. If it wasn’t something that was better eaten hot, she’d set it aside, jump in the pool, and they’d eat later. Much later.
Feeling giddy from their time together last night, she didn’t have a care about answering the door dressed in a sheet. Gerard had to figure something like that was going to happen, considering he’d been with her and Lane down at the beach last night, and he’d left them alone later with champagne and crème brûlée. Regardless, he’d probably seen much worse than their PG-13 make-out session.
Paige hurried toward the door, the hardwood floor cool beneath her bare feet. “This is one of my favorite combinations, you know,” she called to Lane. “Scrambled eggs and”—she turned the door handle and pulled—“skinny-dipping.” She wished she could swallow her words as she stared into the faces of the wide-eyed, middle-aged couple standing there, neither of them carrying breakfast.
Paige’s stomach leaped into her throat. “Oh!” she said, clutching the sheet around her.
“We must have the wrong room,” the well-preserved brunette woman said. The tall, handsome man she was with looked at Paige questioningly. “We were looking for Dr. Anderson.”
His parents?
Paige’s heart lurched, and every beat afterward pumped heat into her face. Her first idea was to tell them they did have the wrong room. She’d switch with Lane and they’d never know. Right? Her second plan was to get a running start and take a flying leap out of the sanctuary, down the side of the mountain.
She blinked several times. “Um—”
“Let’s eat out on the patio,” Lane called from behind her.
Paige clenched her teeth. “You’re in the right place.” Stepping aside, she avoided their gazes and gestured for them to come in. What choice did she have? She’d been busted. She could only hope Lane had gotten out of the pool and put on his shorts.
Paige followed the couple into the sanctuary. Beyond, Lane still stood naked in the pool, leaning against the edge, looking as surprised as Paige had felt when she opened the door. The couple stopped near the pool, the man looking sterner than he had before, the woman more shocked.
“Mom, Dad,” Lane said, “this is Paige.” He looked at Paige apologetically. “Paige, these are my parents, Don and Karen.”
Paige shifted nervously from foot to foot, clutching the sheet to her chest. She dipped her chin, not sure exactly what to do—shake their hands…curtsy? “Nice to meet you,” she said, as if everyone was dressed.
Don simply stared at her, his fiery eyes the same captivating shade of green as Lane’s.
Karen glanced over at the patio and apparently caught sight of Lane’s shorts and briefs on the chaise, her eyebrows jumping halfway up her forehead before she lowered them quickly into a grimace. “Obviously we’ve interrupted something.”
Lane looked at her cautiously, seemingly measuring what he was about to say. “Why don’t you guys check out the view from the patio while I get out of the pool?” he asked.
Don led Karen to the patio while Paige lagged behind, tossing Lane a rolled-up towel from the stack of three on a nearby table.
Oh my God, she mouthed to him. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head.
Don and Karen waited on the patio, looking stylish and sophisticated against the picturesque background. Paige could have believed they were posing for a spread in Travel + Leisure magazine—except for the scowls on their faces. She had wanted so badly to impress them, and she’d certainly accomplished that.
She stepped over to the patio while Lane got out of the pool. Karen and Don faced her, their intent gazes simultaneously resting on something behind Paige at about knee level. Paige turned to see her sundress and bright-pink-lace bra tossed across the chaise, her thong dangling by a thin strip of elastic from the armrest. Her stomach pitched. Champagne bubbled in the back of her throat, and she thought she might hurl. And why not? A puddle of puke would be like icing on the cake of this train-wreck scene.
Paige practically leaped over to the chaise and scoop
ed up her clothes. She yanked her thong from the armrest, but the elastic caught on the curved end. The thong snapped from her fingers and went flying, landing limply in the pool beyond her reach.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Lane said in a low tone as he joined her, facing Don’s and Karen’s glares.
Paige officially wanted to die. But short of that, she was dying to leave…now. Nothing could save her at this point. “I, um…” She looked in the general direction of Don and Karen. “Nice to meet you, but I need to run.” She glanced at Lane and shrugged. “I’ll get your sheet back to you,” she said, and broke a walk-of-shame speed record getting out the door.
Chapter Fifteen
“So that was Paige,” Lane said matter-of-factly to his parents. Of course they’d show up this morning—practically the only time in his adult life he’d done something spontaneous and exciting that they wouldn’t approve of, and here they were.
“Well,” his mom said. “She’s…”
“Not Stephanie,” Lane said, knowing exactly what his mom was getting ready to say, and bracing himself for the lecture that was coming. His mom was a law professor, so she had plenty of experience lecturing. He could’ve earned a JD degree three times over for the time he’d put in listening to her.
His mom lowered her eyebrows, a crease between them that she wouldn’t like if she saw it in the mirror. “How is being…distracted by a girl like her going to help you get back on track?”
His dad shook his head sternly.
Lane’s temper simmered and spit like one of the volcano pits he and Paige had seen on their way to Caldera. “What do you mean a girl like her?” He knew what she meant; he just wanted to hear her say it.
“Tattoos and thongs—” She gestured to the pool where Paige’s thong floated on top like a tropical flower. “And Lord knows what else. Who in the world is she, and what is she doing here?”
“She’s Liza’s maid of honor,” Lane said flatly, then enjoyed watching his mom’s eyes bug out—another look she wouldn’t be keen on if she could see it herself. “She owns the bakery next to Uncle Pete’s practice.”