“Yes, we have all night, but we only have one first time.” He stretched out above her, his body just skimming hers, supporting his weight on his arms. Nuzzling her ear, he gave a pleased murmur when she found his lips for a languid kiss. She teased his mouth with her tongue, circling it around his, tasting herself on him, sucking his lower lip.
Dara sensed his control slipping. Trailing her fingertips along his spine, she clutched his ass, pressing him against her.
“Now,” she whispered. “I want you inside me as much as you want to be there.”
“Dara.” He ground out her name with a note of complaint. “I’m not ready.”
“But I am.”
“No.” His voice trembled with a small laugh. “Condom. Bedside table.”
She reached for the foil packet and handed it to him. “I’ll do it next time.”
“Good idea. I’m ready to explode.” He sat back on his heels and rolled on the condom.
Before he could cover her body with his, she scrambled out of the way. “I want to be on top.”
“Whatever you say.” His voice deepened.
Dara straddled him, poised over his rigid cock. She sank down, inch by inch, savoring the sensation as it filled and stretched her. Jack held her hips in a death grip.
“Don’t move,” he said, his voice tight. “Not yet.”
She watched him, saw him fighting to restrain himself from thrusting into her and coming too quickly. She lost track of how long they remained still, eyes locked, bodies tense. His lids fluttered and he gave a shuddering sigh, then his grip on her eased and his body relaxed into the mattress.
“You feel so good.”
“It gets even better,” she said, slowly beginning to grind her hips.
Jack moved his hands to her breasts, gently pinching the tips until they were tight rosy knots. Settling into a sensual rhythm, they rocked together, content—for the moment—to enjoy the feel of being joined together. Dara grew wetter and it became effortless to slide along his length. She tilted her pelvis and felt her clit hit hard cock, blurting out a surprised, “Oh!”
“Right there. Keep riding me like that.” Jack guided her back and forth, rising up to go deeper within her, encouraging her with words and moans.
A second climax hit Dara as Jack’s hips thrust upwards and he gave a muffled shout. Collapsing against his heaving chest, she wondered how long before he would be ready for another round.
They had all night…but only this night.
CHAPTER 6
“Does it rain like this all the time?” Jack leaned a forearm against the door jamb, seemingly entranced by the water coming down so hard it looked like a solid gray wall.
“It depends on the season. This is unusual. Usually we get an afternoon shower that clears out pretty quickly.” Dara came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing a cheek to his back.
“Don’t you ever go stir crazy?” He gently pried her hands away and paced out to the verandah.
She followed him. A sense of foreboding made her frown, but she quickly erased the worry from her face. “How can I go stir crazy when I have a sexy guy to keep me busy?”
He must have heard something in her voice because he turned away from the storm and pulled her into his arms. “Aren’t you tired of me yet? It’s been a whole week,” he teased, kissing the tip of her nose.
The uneasy feeling abated but didn’t disappear entirely. The last day or so Jack had begun acting…different. She felt him pulling away although his lovemaking was just as ardent as it had been the first night. If anything, the sex kept getting better and better. Every time was the best, but how long could that go on?
Until he left, she supposed.
Tears stung her eyes.. She wiggled out of his embrace and hurried to the kitchen.
“Are you hungry? I can make a salad with some of that leftover fish we grilled last night.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Usually they prepared meals together. Not today. Jack remained on the verandah, and she hid in the kitchen.
Pull it together, she thought. You had six more nights than you counted on. Be glad you had that. You knew he wouldn’t be staying forever.
She did know that. In fact, she’d counted on it. Jack was supposed to be a one-night stand like the others. But instead of sending him on his way, she’d invited him to stay. He moved his stuff from the Blue Moon Beach House to her bungalow. He settled in to island life like he was meant for it. While she was at work or volunteering at the school, he kept himself busy. He went out diving or hiking, or had lunch in town with Robert Landerly or Bas Luna. He helped Samuel Tanno put a new roof on Cedella’s house and went fishing with Pinky, bringing home a snapper he’d caught himself.
The days they’d spent together were crazy fun. They rented a small sailboat one day and had a picnic on a bump of land rising out of the sea about ten miles from Pequeña Esquina. Another day they rode bicycles around the island, and she introduced him to Jugg Henderson, a retired four-star general who now raised goats and was a good friend of Quint. Every other evening, Jack came with her to the Soggy Dollar, sometimes pitching in, sometimes just hanging out until her shift was over. Twice, he’d broken up potential fights. Quint, impressed with Jack’s subtle but undeniable air of authority, joked about offering him a job as a bouncer.
They laughed. They played. They talked. But both were careful to avoid any kind of personal conversation, a surprisingly easy feat, thanks to their compatibility. Even Quint had commented on how attuned to each other they were. Each day her curiosity about Jack increased, but she bit her tongue to keep from asking questions she had no right to ask. Sometimes she wished he would ask her a question or share something personal about himself. Anything to make it okay for her to step out of her self-imposed isolation.
But he didn’t ask. She didn’t know if Jack was respecting her boundaries or enforcing his own. Although they shared an unusual degree of consonance, the unasked, unanswered questions were starting to wash away the happiness she’d awoken to the morning after their first night together like high tide slowly washing away a sand castle left on the beach by children.
By the end of each day, Dara felt as if she and Jack were standing on separate edges of an ever-widening gap. But then night came, thrusting them together again in a magical place where they didn’t need words. Where Dara forgot why it mattered that she knew nothing about Jack and that he seemed not to need to know anything about her.
She put the half-assembled salad back into the refrigerator, hungry for something more than food. Any day now Jack would leave and Dara had to be okay with that. She would miss him. In their few short days together, he’d come to mean something to her. She might not be able to tell him in so many words, but there was one language they spoke fluently.
* * *
JACK FELT the atmosphere in the bungalow shift, as if the barometric pressure had dropped or the eerily calm eye of a hurricane had settled over the structure. His skin prickled, signaling Dara’s touch a second before her hands cupped his ass, the bold caress an erotic gesture of domination. A few more seconds and his cock went rock hard.
He fought the impulse to turn and respond to her touch, his body instantly primed and ready. Things were spinning out of control and every day he failed to tell Dara the real reason for his visit to Pequeña Esquina, the worse it was going to be when he finally did come clean. The sex—the amazing, incredible, mind-blowing sex—was just another excuse to avoid revealing the truth. Just as he’d used helping Samuel replace Cedella’s roof and fishing with Pinky as excuses.
He never should have slept with Dara. At least not until after he’d told her who he was and why he’d come to her island. Except that Jack knew once she discovered he was there on behalf of Tony Esposito, the chances of her even speaking to him again, let alone making love with him, were a million in one. Maybe not even that good.
“Babe.”
Dara ignored the objection in his
voice and pressed close against him, trapping him between her body and the railing of the verandah. Reaching beneath the loose waistband of his shorts, she curled her fingers around his cock and pumped slowly, her palm slick with some kind of oil. The silky strokes from the base to the head drew a sharp hiss from him, and he pushed back so she had more space to fist the rigid length.
His hips jerked, drawing a husky murmur of approval. She tightened her grip, pausing at the crown to rub her thumb across an especially sensitive area, spreading the moisture leaking from the tip over the smooth flesh.
Only Dara could give him a hand job that brought him to the edge in under a minute. Closing his eyes and admitting defeat, Jack allowed her to tease him, squeezing and stroking until his balls tightened and ejaculate boiled in his testicles, spewing into her palm, flooding the crotch of his shorts.
“That’s quite a mess in your pants,” she said, swiping the sticky fluid across his stomach. She sauntered away from him, each step a tempting sway of her hips as she made her way down the stairs and into the heavy rain.
“Come on. You won’t melt.” She crooked a finger at him, the rain plastering her hair and clothing to her body.
He loved this side of her. Playful, spirited, daring. It was such a contrast to the guarded woman who minimized her risks hiding behind secrets and keeping everyone at a distance. Seeing the change in her was part of his reluctance to reveal the truth about himself. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Instead of hiding away on a tiny Caribbean island, Dara should have been seeing her hard work pay off with a successful career, good friends and maybe even a family. She should be living every day in the spotlight instead of keeping to the shadows to avoid the fallout of Esposito’s underhanded dealings.
He didn’t know how many more days and nights, or even hours and minutes, he had with Dara. This was his first assignment for a high-profile agency and he should have checked in days ago to report he’d made contact, conveyed the offer and persuaded the subject to return to D.C. He needed the career change after what had happened with him and his partner six months ago when a routine traffic stop turned into a shootout with three teenagers.
Dara stripped off her wet clothing, leaving the tank top and running shorts in a heap on the dark, wet sand. Naked, looking like some kind of jungle nymph with rivulets of rain trailing down her skin, she ran across the beach and crashed into the surf. Dropping his shorts to the wooden floor of the verandah, Jack hopped over the railing, landing on the ground a few feet below. He followed Dara through the torrential downpour into the ocean, capturing her in his arms. They stumbled, falling to the sand together. The tiny grains clung to their skin and hair, as waves rolled over their legs.
Blinking water out of his eyes, Jack gazed down at the woman beneath him. She raised a hand and pushed his hair back, her touch lingering on his jaw. The mood shifted from playful teasing to urgent need in the blink of an eye. Jack felt as if he’d become a part of the storm—elemental sexual desire battered him from the inside out, adrenaline surged. His mouth claimed Dara’s in a rough, raw kiss he knew would leave her lips red and swollen. He tasted her salty sweetness, savored her unique flavor, tried to consume and inhale as much of her as he could. She clawed and clutched at him, her frenzied movements mirroring his own desperation. He dragged his stubble-covered chin down the side of her neck and between her breasts. The friction of his whiskers abrading her skin caused her to wriggle under him until he clamped down on a nipple, trapping it between the edges of his teeth while he laved the tip.
After a week together, Jack knew some of Dara’s secrets, including where and how she most liked to be touched. Sucking on her nipples made her squirm; biting them made her melt.
Pinching a bit of sand between his fingers, he rubbed the gritty substance over the peak of her other breast as he continued nipping, then soothing the firm bud in his mouth. She arched upwards, twining her arms around his neck to hold him in place.
Jack wedged a knee between hers, spreading them wide enough to slip his cock between her slick folds, wishing he could plunge into her depths. Without a condom, it was the best he could do for now. As aroused as he was, rubbing the sensitive underside of his cock along her feminine channel would be enough.
The heat of their bodies was an inferno compared to the lukewarm ocean and cool sand. Jack curved an arm under Dara, holding fast as their hips rocked together, each seeking the perfect combination of pace and pressure to trigger their release. Taking Dara at the edge of the ocean as the storm raged on generated a primal excitement he’d never experienced before, and Jack ground against her relentlessly, feverishly close to coming.
Dara stiffened then began to move faster with longer, more drawn out rolls of her pelvis. It was another of her secrets he’d discovered. An indicator her orgasm was rising fast. He latched onto her breast again, sucking the tip hard against his front teeth. That little bit of extra stimulation triggered Dara’s orgasm.
“Oh, God. Please don’t stop,” she cried out, the words muffled against his shoulder.
Her nails dug into his back, urging him on to his own climax. His shout was lost in the wind and rain as tremors wracked his body. Laying in the surf as they caught their breath, Jack made a decision.
He’d tell Dara everything. Tonight. When she finished her shift at the Soggy Dollar.
CHAPTER 7
Sex on the Beach.
Every time a college sorority girl ordered the cranberry juice, vodka, OJ and peach schnapps cocktail, Dara knew she’d think of Jack. Despite the melancholy that accompanied thoughts of his eventual departure, she smiled at the sight of him sprawled across her bed. Dude was curled into a scruffy dirt-colored ball at his side.
“You aren’t supposed to be in this house, let alone in my bed,” she chided softly.
The dog looked up at her with adoring eyes and thumped his tail a couple of times. She reached down and scratched behind his ears, admitting he was a sweetheart. She’d come home from a shift at the Soggy Dollar to find Jack had lured the mutt into her kitchen and was teaching Dude how to shake, bribing him with tidbits from a leftover meat pie.
“Look how smart he is.” Jack sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled Dude into his lap. “He already knows how to sit. Tomorrow we’re going to work on fetching a stick.”
It was nice having someone to come home to. When Jack left, at least she’d still have Dude.
Dara pressed her fingers to her lips then pressed her fingers to Jack’s cheek. She was due at the Soggy Dollar, but there was no reason to wake him up. She decided to let him sleep, knowing he’d make his way to the bar later on.
“Be good,” she whispered to Dude.
Pulling the French doors closed, she headed toward town. The sky was still overcast, but the rain had moved out to sea. The breeze remained steady, which kept the humidity at bay. Storms like the one that had just passed through left the island with a fresh-scrubbed feeling that reminded her of springtime in Virginia. Bad weather rarely kept the islanders indoors, but tourists didn’t come to Pequeña Esquina for wind and rain. She hoped the evening remained clear or it would be a slow night.
Quint was already there when she arrived.
“You’re late, young lady.”
“I’m on island time,” she retorted, stashing her satchel under the counter.
“Where’s Jack?”
“Getting his beauty sleep.” She stacked lemons, limes and oranges in a bowl and began cutting the fruit into wedges. “He’ll be by later.”
“We’ve got incoming,” Quint said. “Francy thought this afternoon’s flight would have to be cancelled, but they just confirmed the weather has improved sufficiently. I’ll be glad to see those Aussies go.”
Dara laughed. “They were a rowdy bunch, weren’t they?”
A rugby team from Sydney had arrived three days ago and depleted the bar’s entire stock of beer. Quint had called in a special order, but delivery had already been delayed a day because of the stor
m. He got grouchy when his inventory ran short.
The sun eventually broke through the clouds, heating up the afternoon and drawing out the tourists. Eager to enjoy the sultry tropical air, they clamored for drinks and music, keeping Quint and Dara busier than usual. Just before sunset, the low drone of a prop plane announced the delayed arrival of Quint’s overdue beer delivery and daily tourists drop-odd/pick-up.
“G’day, mates.” Quint waved at the rugby players as they boarded the beat-up Volkswagen van that shuttled tourists to and from the landing strip. Under his breath, he muttered, “Damn lot of fish. Drank me dry.”
“Why don’t you take a break?” Dara suggested. “Go smoke a stogie or something.”
He cast a dubious glance around the bar. “It’s still pretty crazy.”
“I can handle it,” she said. “If I get backed up, I’ll holler for you.”
Grumbling, he reached under the counter for his special stash of Glenfiddich and poured a splash into a coffee mug. Patting the breast pocket of his garish Hawaiian shirt to check for his cigar, he wandered off and sat down with Jugg Henderson at a corner table on the deck.
Dara worked her way through the line of people ordering drinks, sweat dampening her hairline as she mixed cocktails, made change and kept up a lively conversation. She had a break in customers and turned to the sink to wash the glasses and dishes piling up.
“Hello, Dara.”
The soapy glass she held slipped from her fingers, shattering when it hit the floor. A shudder ran through her when she recognized the deep male voice. A smooth, persuasive voice. The voice of the man who’d lied to her, and his constituents and the American public, time and time again.
Shock paralyzed her thought process, except for a handful of random questions that ricocheted inside her head like stray bullets.
How had he found her?
Why was he here?
Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads Page 123