She revealed the next card. “This represents factors influencing your present desires.”
“It’s The Pope,” Dara said, her voice almost a whisper. “Reversed like that it may indicate you’re in a rut and have closed your mind to new ideas or opinions, right, Cedella?”
“Yes,” the old woman, Cedella, said. “Now, let’s see what you’ve drawn for the Unexpected.”
Jack reached up and flipped the card. It was The Lovers.
Again, his eyes locked with Dara. Cedella cackled and rocked on her stool.
“Two more.” She held the fourth card in place with one brown index finger then flicked it over. “The Immediate Future.”
“That doesn’t look good.” Jack frowned. The card was labeled “The Hanged Man.”
“It’s not what you think.” Dara’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “This card means you must sacrifice something to achieve a goal. It can also mean you need to re-evaluate a situation, you’re hanging in limbo or waiting to see what you need to do.”
“That’s pretty general,” he said. “Most goals require sacrifice, don’t they?”
“Remember,” Cedella warned, “this is information you may not need today, but perhaps tomorrow.”
She tipped her head, directing Jack to reveal the final card, but a sudden gust of wind sent the card scudding across the wooden surface. Jack caught it and pulled it back in front of them. He flipped it over.
“Justice,” Dara announced.
“What does it mean?” he asked, a heavy nervousness settling in the pit of his stomach.
“I cannot say.” Cedella’s face gave away nothing. “I don’t know if the card was upright or reversed. This card represents balance, karma. What you put into the world is what you will receive. Reversed, it may signal legal problems or unfairness.”
Jack examined the cards again. The Sun meant everything was groovy. The Pope, reversed, indicated he was in a rut or closed-minded. The Lovers. Dara. The Hanged Man, signifying he needed to give up something to get something or rethink a situation. And Justice, a reminder that karma was a bitch.
CHAPTER 4
“I hope you aren’t upset by that tarot reading Cedella did.” Dara avoided Jack’s eyes by pretending to count how many lime wedges remained in the plastic container. When she did risk a glance, he wore a bemused expression.
“Why would I be upset?” he asked. “Tarot cards are for people who need something to believe in, something to cling to. The same sort who read their horoscopes and carry good luck charms.”
“You’re not superstitious, I take it.”
“No. One hundred percent grounded in reality.”
She wondered how he would explain that bolt of sizzling awareness that had zapped both of them. She saw him react as if he’d gotten a love tap from a taser at the exact moment she felt the carnal shock electrify her body. She had never experienced a phenomenon like that before, but she could still feel the aftereffects of it. Her senses seemed heightened, as if she was experiencing sound, touch, sight, scents and sensations on an intuitive level…but only when it came to Jack.
She knew when he was going to say something before the words came out of his mouth. She smelled his sweat, blending with the salty ocean air, beneath the layers of perfume, food and alcohol. The mahogany sheen of his hair, the velvet brown of his eyes, the copper gleam of his tanned skin made everyone else look like they’d been shaded in with watercolors.
He was coming home with her.
She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise over the Caribbean Sea at dawn.
The certainty, the knowing, edged out every objection, every fear, every doubt. Thoughts of Tony and the losses she’d suffered because of his betrayal fluttered around the edge of her mind like moths futilely striking a windowpane. She knew they were there, but they were inconsequential.
It was after midnight. The strands of lights still glowed, but the TV and music had been turned off. The shops in town were dark, as was the Blue Moon Beach House except for the soft glow of a lamp Francy left on for guests who stumbled in late. She, Quint and Jack were the only three still at the Soggy Dollar.
“Would you mind closing up, young lady?” Quint gave a huge fake yawn, causing his jaw to crack. “It’s past my bedtime.”
She knew Quint didn’t go to bed until after four a.m. and slept until noon. This was his way of respecting her privacy—pretending he was clueless to the sexual tension vibrating between her and Jack. Leaving first meant no awkward audience when she invited Jack back to her place.
“Sure. I just need to stack up the chairs and update the inventory list for March.”
Quint tucked the bag with the night’s receipts under one arm and slung the other around her shoulder for a quick hug. He spoke to Dara but stared at Jack. “You have any problems, you let me know.”
When Quint had disappeared down Main Street, Jack stood and began stacking the chairs. “Is he always that overprotective?”
No, he wasn’t, Dara realized. Why had he glared a warning at Jack? And when was the last time he’d hugged her?
Never.
She didn’t know what to make of Quint’s uncharacteristic behavior. Jack thought he was being protective, but Dara sensed something different. It seemed almost like her old grizzled friend was afraid of…losing her.
To Jack?
That was laughable. She wanted Jack. Heck, maybe she even needed Jack. But only to satisfy the insatiable craving she had to screw him.
She gave up on updating the inventory list after losing count, for the fifth or sixth time, of how many mangos they needed. March would have to tally the totals himself. She flicked off the lights, grabbed her satchel and locked the back door. Jack helped her with the shutters and then the moment arrived.
A full moon rode high in the sky, its silvery light making it easy to see Jack’s face. He reached for her hand…and twined their fingers together when she took it.
HE’D HUNG out at the Soggy Dollar on the pretense of getting closer to Dara for the job. So he could finish his assignment and move on.
It was time to admit the truth and stop bullshitting himself.
He stayed because he wanted her. And because she needed him. Needed him to make love to her selflessly and passionately. To heal the scars Esposito had inflicted.
Sleeping with Dara created a host of other problems, but he would deal with those tomorrow. Yeah, it was a breach of professionalism. Private investigators didn’t sleep with their targets, especially when they were being paid big bucks by an anonymous political benefactor. She likely wouldn’t be too happy to find out he’d already known who she was or why he’d come looking for her, but the deal he had to offer was too good for her to pass up. Besides, it wasn’t like he wanted to marry her.
It was just one night.
And he planned to make it the best night of Dara’s life.
THEY DIDN’T SPEAK during the walk back to her bungalow. They waded through the surf, each swell a silky caress. The cool water on her feet and ankles contrasted with the warm air sweeping over her skin, becoming a delicious form of tropical foreplay. By the time they crossed the beach and approached the wooden staircase, Dara burned with arousal.
She led the way up the stairs and through the French doors, leaving them open to catch the night breeze. She reached to turn on a lamp, then paused to look over her shoulder at Jack. Even in the shadowy interior of the bungalow, she could see the steady gleam of his eyes. She left the light off and walked into the bedroom.
She liked that they didn’t need words. That they seemed to share an understanding of what each wanted and expected. That Jack hadn’t tried to seduce her with vapid compliments or empty promises. It was easier without words because Dara didn’t have any to explain her instantaneous attraction or the electric moment between them at the bar.
Hanging the satchel on a hook inside her closet, she toed off her sneakers. Turning around, she found Jack leaning against the doorframe, watching
her. Her hands went to the button at the waist of her cargo shorts, but he shook his head. Two quick strides and then he was standing in front of her. He slid his fingers through her hair, cradling her head loosely. He bent and brushed his lips back and forth across hers; not quite a kiss, more of a caress. She closed her eyes, tasting a hint of salt and malty beer.
Jack began massaging her scalp, fingertips flexing and circling, gradually moving down to her shoulders. His touch was sensuous, but not erotic. As he methodically kneaded the tension and fatigue from her muscles, there seemed to be an element of tenderness, as if Jack intended to soothe and relax her before taking things to the next level. His thoughtfulness loosened something inside her, some emotion she’d buttoned down after Tony’s betrayal. Panic flared…then was gone.
His fingertips pressed up and down along her spine, nudging her closer until the tips of her breasts rubbed against his chest. She moaned, frustrated they were still clothed yet delighted by the tantalizing friction of fabric against her nipples.
Tugging the tank top from the waistband of her shorts, Jack curved his palms around her ribcage and up her back. His hands were wide and warm against her skin. Her lids fluttered open and they made—held—eye contact. The moment lengthened, became timeless. Inside her head, she heard the ping of another button go flying, freeing yet another emotion.
She didn’t keep track of the one-night stands she’d had on the island—there weren’t that many—but she knew she’d never looked into casual lovers’ eyes like this. They got naked, they fucked, and they went their separate ways. She still had her clothes on and she’d already gone further with Jack than with any other lover, including Tony.
Why wasn’t she screaming for him to go, slamming and locking the door behind him? She’d invited him into her bedroom, but he’d crossed another threshold, one she’d cordoned off five years ago. How far would he go? How far did she want him to go?
The tumultuous confusion caused by the questions careening through her consciousness spurred the physical need increasing with each breath. Dara slipped her hands beneath Jack’s cotton shirt, stroking the muscled planes of his back, urging him closer. His erection pressed into her belly and became the sole focus of her need.
Pulling back so she could unfasten his shorts, Dara whimpered when Jack blocked her. Instead he reached for the button and zipper on hers.
Let me.
She heard the command as if he’d spoken it aloud and nodded. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to slow the erotic need pulsing through her veins.
Leisurely, Jack undid her shorts, letting them drop to the floor. He shimmied the hem of her tank up a few inches, baring her navel.
Come on, come on, she thought, quivering with impatience.
Jack smiled and let the edge of her tank fall. He left her standing there and walked around the edge of the bed. Their eyes met across the yellow linen duvet, which he carefully folded back. He undid his shirt and let it hang open, his gaze fixed on her. She couldn’t resist peeking at his smooth chest, admiring the masculine curve of his pecs. She quashed the urge to leap across the bed and pull him down on top of her. Clearly he wanted to take the lead and she was willing to let him.
He shrugged out of his shirt and unbuttoned his shorts but kept them on. Somewhere between the front door and the bedroom he’d ditched his shoes. On bare feet, he returned to her side and finished undressing her. He stepped back to admire her, running a hand through his hair, leaving it in spiky disarray. He circled her, his gaze burning a fiery trail of awareness up and down her body.
She should feel exposed, vulnerable, as this stranger examined every inch of her bare flesh. Standing naked in front of Jack, granting tacit permission for him to do anything he wanted, was beyond intimate. Yet there was no fear, no reservation.
She gulped back an ecstatic sob.
It had been years since Dara was free of those emotions. The lightness in her spirit made her want to soar, and Jack was the man who’d given her wings.
CHAPTER 5
Dara made a choking sound that alarmed Jack until he caught sight of the smile tilting her lips. He didn’t miss the glimmer of the tear that coursed down her cheek, but he ignored it. She didn’t need to be reminded of the betrayal that made it painful for her to trust. It was enough that she did trust.
Him.
It was an honor he’d never forget, and, if he could, insure she never regretted.
He wanted Dara so bad his cock ached. Swollen and engorged, it was painful to move. Fluid leaked from the tip, creating a wet spot that was cool against his skin. The urge to drop his shorts, bend her over and slip into her heat was almost irresistible, especially since she’d bared herself to him so trustingly. He tried, and failed, to regulate his panting exhalations.
She was incredible.
Lean thighs. Curvy hips. Narrow waist. And breasts straight off a sculpture of Aphrodite.
Hell, yeah, she was sexy. But what made his pulse pound in his ears was the way she looked at him. Chin up, mouth tremulous, eyes wide, hiding nothing. He recalled how she had pulled back from him that morning, remembered the distance she kept between herself and others, including a helpless little dog. He’d bet a million dollars no one had been this close to Dara’s heart since Esposito crushed it.
A sliver of guilt wedged its way into his head. It wasn’t his intent to mislead her or turn tonight into something it wasn’t. Dara had been hurt too badly to fall for him after just one night, he assured himself. Tonight was about proving to Dara that she didn’t need to protect herself from the world. It was about showing her she could reach out and connect…without being betrayed.
Reminding himself of that allowed Jack to regain control. His cock still throbbed and his breath still came in ragged gasps, but he could wait. He would wait.
Until he’d knocked down every last brick in Dara’s walls.
* * *
JACK TOOK Dara’s hand and guided her back out to the living room. Halting in front of an old chair she’d had reupholstered in town, he waited for her to sit. He then hooked one of her knees over each arm of the chair and knelt before her.
The tension had been doubling every minute since they arrived at the bungalow. Dara didn’t think she could get any more turned on, but, dear God, she was so wrong. It felt like her guts had liquefied and were running out through her center. If she’d still been wearing panties, they’d be soaked.
Jack had her laid out like a feast, arranged in another position that bared everything to him. Instead of thrusting her knees together to hide herself, she scooted to the edge of the seat so her legs were splayed even wider. His breathing seemed to stop and then his chest expanded. He curved a hand under each thigh and dipped his head, pausing just long enough to share another look with her and then…
And then she forgot everything and everyone, unable to focus past the extraordinary pleasure Jack administered with his tongue. Hot. Wet. Slick. His mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, but the sensations swirled to center at her clit. In seconds her muscles trembled and she arched in the chair, desperate to climax except he wouldn’t let her. Every time her body clenched, just on the precipice of exploding, he stopped. When she relaxed, he started again.
She wanted to come so bad—so, so bad—but she allowed Jack to dictate the pace. Once she quit fighting for release, the onslaught became even more exquisite. She closed her eyes and concentrated, amazed to discover a new kind of orgasm building. Instead of tightening her body like a bow string about to snap, she went limp, each corkscrew of pleasure spreading through her body like liquid heat. Jack stoked the fire slowly, licking and sucking and nibbling her sensitive flesh. It flared first at her center, spiraling out in all directions like a shockwave. But instead of losing intensity at the core, the orgasm strengthened until it felt like every cell in her body was climaxing. It rippled through her again and again, as if she’d jumped from a cliff only to have time stop, freezing her in mid-freefall.
Dear God, it was
unending. The shriek building in her chest came out as a long, keening groan that finally culminated in a guttural cry. She collapsed against the chair as aftershocks shook her body.
Jack rose on his knees, wiping his chin with the back of one hand. “Good?”
Dara nodded, unable to speak.
“Ready for more?”
She nodded harder.
“Be right back.”
When Jack stood, she saw the thick ridge of his cock thrusting against his shorts. He winced, adjusted himself and grinned. It was an effort to smile back; every ounce of energy had gone into that amazing climax. It felt strange but oddly liberating not to care that she was still spread wide. There wasn’t any need to cover up or shield herself.
That felt almost as good as Jack’s mouth on her clit.
She listened to him moving around in the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed, the interior light illuminating a small wedge of darkness. He walked past, carrying two bottles of water, and disappeared into the bedroom.
She was trying to sit up in the chair when he came out.
“Let me help.” He scooped her up in his arms, making her cry out in surprise. She looped her arms around his neck, savoring their first real skin-to-skin contact.
He’d draped a large towel across her bed and laid her in the center of it. He unzipped his shorts and pushed them down his legs, bending to pick them up and lay them across the bench at the foot of the bed.
“You’re quite a neatnik,” she said.
“Not really.” On hands and knees, he crawled between her legs. “It’s a distraction technique. I desperately want to bury my cock in you, but I’m not ready to be done yet.”
“You don’t need to wait. We have all night.” Dara reached for him, but Jack moved out of her reach.
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