Tango in Paradise

by Donna Kauffman

  “No. There was no point, Jack,” she added when he started to speak. “The subject was closed and he forbid me to speak of it again. But I couldn’t let it go. Not and live with myself.”

  “You filed charges? Alone?”

  The proud defiance in her shoulders was ruined by the hard cynicism in her eyes. “Oh yeah. I sure did.”

  “Don’t tell me any more.”

  Stunned by his fervent plea, it took a second before her entire posture changed. She started to bolt but Jack reached for her, grabbing her arm with just enough force to make sure she didn’t escape. “Don’t. Don’t you dare think I don’t want to hear because I’m ashamed.” He moved her chin with his other hand, all but dragging her gaze up to meet his. She was furious. Good. So was he.

  “I’ve seen things, heard things, that would sicken you beyond all imagination. I don’t scare off easily, April.” Gentling his grip when a trace of fear crept into her eyes, he pulled her against him and held her as tightly as he thought she’d let him, knowing he’d never be close enough until he was buried inside of her again.

  He nudged her forehead with his nose, feeling exalted that she was holding him every bit as tightly, and whispered, “Sweetheart, I’m a journalist.”

  She stiffened convulsively. He wasn’t surprised, so he waited for her to relax, knowing this part of it had to be dealt with now. Letting out a sigh of relief when her shoulders curved toward him again, he went on. “And because of that, I, better than most, have a pretty accurate idea of what happened to you. They made you out to be the worst kind of slut and dragged your reputation, and your family’s along with it, through the slime. And I don’t guess dear old dad was much help.” His tone was fall of contempt and disgust. When she’d needed him most, the man in her life had deserted her.

  “No. His reputation in the business community was very precious to him and since he’d written me off, he moved quickly to preserve what he had left.”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So I guess the bastard got off and you came down here to spend time with your grandfather.” He set her back a few inches, his hands on her shoulders, needing her to look at him when he spoke. “Do you have any idea how much I respect you? Not only what you did then, but for what you’ve accomplished here?”

  She didn’t answer, but her eyes filled with tears.

  “Damn him to hell! Damn them both to hell!” Jack’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. “If it means anything to you, I want you to know that your response to me, the way you make me feel—”

  “Don’t.”

  Jack stopped, stunned—and more than a bit hurt.

  “Don’t what? Don’t tell you that I—”

  “No! There’s more, Jack.”

  “Unless you want to relive it, I’m not about to make you go through the whole damn trial. I already feel like hell for making you go through as much as you have.”

  She just shook her head slowly, a look of remorse and pain crossing her face. “That’s not it. I, you … you should know who … It was Alan Markham.”

  “Who was Ala—Holy hell! Senator Alan Markham was the man who molested you?” Jack got up off the couch, shock and head-pounding fury splitting his attention equally.

  “Yes. Only he wasn’t a senator then; he had only announced his intentions.” She rose from the couch and stood before the window. “My father was a major backer of his campaign.”

  Jack swung around as all the pieces fell together in a sickening lurch. “Then the campaign to impugn you must have been a humdinger if it was politically backed. Wait a minute, your father didn’t help him finance the smear—”

  April turned around. “No. But I’m not too sure it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. I imagine there might have been a sticky conflict of interest.” It was crystal clear to Jack that April felt he had wanted to.

  “Why don’t I remember the case?”

  “Ten years is a long time. Maybe you were out of the country on assignment.”

  “Maybe.” Something niggled at the back of Jack’s mind. “Wait a minute. I might have been out of the country, but Franklin wasn’t. But the name Morgan doesn’t—”

  “How about de la Torre?”

  Jack’s head whipped up as the name clicked. “But you—”

  “Are April Marie de la Torre. My mother’s maiden name is Morgan. When I moved here it just seemed easier. Besides, I didn’t want Gramps to be hurt if the press tracked me down.”

  “He wouldn’t have cared.”

  Her unfocused gaze sharpened immediately. “How do you know that?”

  Jack felt like he’d been sucker-punched. She still didn’t completely trust him. “Because the few times you’ve talked about him your face got all dreamy and innocent.” He arched his eyebrow in an imitation of hers. “Yeah, it does, April. That part of you didn’t die completely, and I suspect your grandfather had something to do with that.”

  Her expression faltered, and he took two steps toward her before forcing himself to stop. “Come here.” He didn’t hold his arms out; some remnant of self-protection or a need to test her feelings kept him from doing it. He didn’t bother to examine the reasons. He just knew in his gut that she had to come to him.

  “What if I do?”

  He felt a burning behind his eyes at her last ditch-effort to save herself in case she’d misread him. Her grandfather hadn’t taken care of all her insecurities, and in that moment Jack knew he’d gladly take on the job of finishing where the old man had left off.

  “Honestly?” His slightly teasing grin earned him a tiny quirk of her lips. “Honey, if you walk into my arms, I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure I earn that same dreamy look from you every time I walk into a room.”

  “Cocky son of a bitch,” she responded on a choked sob, then launched herself across the room and into his arms.

  Jack caught her high on his chest, her mouth on his, her feet inches off the floor. He took from her as long as he felt he could, then began giving back, pouring into his deep kisses all of the pent-up emotions her admission had stirred in him. Abruptly, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  “Coffee table or bed?”

  It took April a few moments to understand the cryptic question. Her skin flushed deeply, but in desire, not embarrassment. “Bed.”

  She looked up as she said it, in time to see Jack’s light eyes become swallowed in black, his pupils expanding as rapidly as his desire.

  He swung her legs up onto one arm, keeping her chest crushed to his with the other, and strode to the doors leading to the bedroom. Once inside, he carried her to the foot of the queen-sized bed, then let her slid from his grip.

  “Do you know how hard it was for me to leave you at your door last night?”

  For the first time in what seemed like hours, April smiled. She felt wonderful, free. “Probably half as hard as it was for me to let you.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to face that decision again.”

  Jack’s lazy grin made her knees tremble, and all thoughts of her revelation and everything she had yet to deal with fled her mind.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his concerned words or perceptive insights, but right now all she wanted was to fall back onto the soft bed and pull his big, hard body down on top of hers. She wanted his lazy smiles, she wanted his wicked lips, she wanted his creative hands, and she wanted it all to herself, for as long as he’d let her have them.

  At that moment she felt truly blessed, because if she wasn’t mistaken, she was about to get just that.

  “Why, Ms. Morgan, I do believe that was an invitation to be naughty.” He crowded against her, backing her calves against the low bed frame as his hips pushed against her stomach. “I think this is a good time for a little show-and-tell.”

  Warming to his teasing mood, so different from their first urgent coupling, she looked up at him through her slightly lowered lashes. “Exactly how does that work, Mr. Tango?”

  He raised his fingers to the ne
ckline of her white blouse. Running just the tip of his finger inside the edge of the scoop neckline, he kept his eyes focused on hers. “I show you what I want, and you tell me how much you like it.”

  His voice was dark, almost hoarse, and she could have sworn his finger trembled slightly against her skin. But he just continued his lazy assault, moving on to the tender skin under her jawline, as if he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer. A shiver raced lightly down her spine as she realized that, while it wasn’t forever, they did have all night.

  “I … I think—” She sucked in her breath as his fingertip made a slow ascent along her jaw to the shell of her ear. She watched, mesmerized by his eyes, as he leaned closer, until his lips—which were hot, like his fingertips—grazed the barest part of her earlobe.

  “Don’t think, mi tesoro. Feel. Just feel.” His whispered words blew intimately against her.

  “I already am.” She had barely gotten the words out when he gently bit her earlobe. A moan escaped her lips. He pulled the soft pad of skin into his mouth and the muscles between her legs clenched. Closer. She needed him closer. Thinking only to assuage the almost painful tightness his successive nips had created, she lifted her knee and wrapped her leg around his upper thigh.

  “Sweet heaven, corazón,” he whispered against her throat. He stilled for a moment, then yanked her other leg up around his hip and held her there. “You learn quick.”

  “Some things are instinctive. Show me some more, Jack.” She instantly realized her request was like waving a red flag in front of a charged-up bull. The analogy pleased her and she smiled up at him. His responding grin was several degrees past wicked and she shuddered, unconsciously tightening her thighs around him.

  A growling sound came from the back of his throat as he peeled her legs from his hips and let her drop to the bed. She fell softly to her back and he stood between her legs at the edge of the bed. “Show-and-tell is going to be over real quick if you aren’t careful.”

  She said nothing, too caught up in watching his face as he looked down at her, his powers of perception peeling her outer layers away in a manner that left her far more naked than if he’d undressed her. She felt a frisson of something like fear race over her skin. What had happened between them last night had been hot and wild, but this time there would be no surrendering to the moment. She knew he meant to test her trust in him, knew he’d push her to the edge to do so.

  He began to undress. It wasn’t done slowly or in any sort of provocative manner. Nonetheless, she had to grip the bedcover in her fists to keep from reaching out for him. His gaze still on her, she knew he expected her to lay still.

  He tossed his shirt to the floor, then unceremoniously let his shorts drop to his ankles. April couldn’t have contained her gasp if her life had depended on it.

  “I’m showing you how much I want you,” he said, his voice rough. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “Very powerful.” And it was the truth. Last night had been so dark, she had only felt him, big and strong inside of her. But now. Her position on the bed should have made her feel incredibly vulnerable to him, his dominance visually undeniable. Yet there was no egotism, no threat, implied or otherwise, in his stance. Instead he’d simply bared his need for her in the most honest and direct way he could, knowing how important it was to her to reestablish her trust in her own sexuality after what had happened so long ago.

  Jack kneeled on the bed between her legs, no longer trusting his legs to hold him upright. Her answer was more than he’d hoped for, proving she was a lot closer to being whole than he’d credited her with. “Show me how much you need me.”

  He watched her slowly release the blanket wadded in her fists. Her fingers trembled, but he refrained from helping her as she fumbled with her shirt, finally yanking it free of her waistband and pulling it over her head.

  Now it was his turn to gasp. Instead of a bra, she had on a filmy white camisole, her need made obvious by the way her nipples pushed at the lace that trimmed the front. She reached for the thin straps.

  “Leave it on. I can see.” Without asking, he reached down and pulled at the cuffs of her pants. She quickly undid the snap and zipper and lifted her hips. His heart pounded at the invitation her hips extended and he struggled to hold on to his control. He dropped her pants on the floor and looked back at her. Her gaze was riveted between his legs, and he knew she had not failed to notice his response.

  Her bikinis were white and dipped down below her navel in front. He knew what she looked like, had felt her entire body inside and out the night before. Yet he didn’t know her at all. Otherwise the sight of that navel wouldn’t have caused him to swallow convulsively with the need to taste it. He lifted her ankle to his shoulder, determined to take the slow route, but vowing to slake that need.

  April grabbed fistfuls of blanket, pulling at them in order to remain on her back. Her hips didn’t want to obey, however, and when Jack lifted her other ankle to his shoulder, she shook with the effort it took to keep from bucking up.

  “Reach up.”

  She immediately lifted her arms to him. He shook his head, his hands still gently holding her ankles.

  “Reach back behind you and grab the bedposts.”

  Her eyes widened, but she did what he asked.

  “Pull yourself back till your head hits the pillows.”

  She wasn’t sure if what she felt was relief or disappointment. Too wired at this point to care, she pulled. He knee-walked up the bed with her, coming even farther up between her legs than before. But when she let go, he shook his head again.

  “Hold on.”

  He’d given her the gift of the power of her own sexuality, yet she paused, trying to force her brain to make sense of the wild sensations his command sent shivering through her. The instant his teeth came into contact with the arch of her foot, she gripped the wooden posts so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  Jack slowly worked his way around her ankle, dropping tiny kisses along the sensitive center line of her shin, nipping the soft flesh of her inner calf. By the time he’d reached her knee her leg was shaking so hard he made himself abandon it for the other one. When both of her legs were draped over his shoulders, twitching, he allowed himself the luxury of discovering the rest of her.

  As soon as he tasted her, he felt her hands clutch the back of his head. His felt his eyes burn as he took the gift she’d given him, opening herself to him in this most vulnerable way. Smiling against her inner thigh, he pushed her bikinis aside and proceeded to make damn sure he returned the gift.

  He didn’t stop until her entire body bucked against him in release. Tracing small kisses up to her navel, he smiled to himself as he realized he couldn’t have picked a more wonderful route to the very spot that had tempted him moments ago. He gently let her legs slide down his arms and moved up over her.

  He’d wanted her eyes dreamy. They were that and more as she gazed up at him. Wonder, satisfaction, and something deeper … “Tell me.”

  She lifted her hands to his face, traced her fingers over his eyebrows, cheekbones, and lips. “I want you, Jack Tango. Let me show you.” She reached up and kissed the center of his chest, rubbing her cheek against the darker blond hair that bisected his stomach. She wriggled her hips and he quickly helped her shimmy out of her panties. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled his head to hers. “Tell me what it feels like to be inside of me,” she whispered in his ear.

  Whatever control he had, over himself or over her, vanished. Leaning his weight on his forearms, he pushed up against her, knowing intimately just how ready she was for him, desperately seeking the words that could describe the feeling he had as he pushed into her. “Lift your legs higher; hold on to me.”

  She did. “Tell me, Jack.”

  A long groan left him as he sheathed himself inside of her. “Hot. Sweet. Tight.” Each word punctuated a thrust. “Like paradise. And mine. All mine. Sweet God, April, make me yours.” And then there were no mor
e words.

  He gave, she took. She gave, he took.

  When he climaxed, he pulled her over the edge with him.

  April knew she was alone even before she opened her eyes the next morning. Logically, she knew it was because Jack had told her he had lined up some shots that had to be taken at sunrise. Emotionally she knew she’d sensed his departure even in her sleep. That was why she had his pillow clutched against her chest and belly. It was a lousy substitute.

  She rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow up over her eyes to shade the sun that poured in through the window behind her head. She’d wanted to go with him, to watch him work. But he’d said he’d be back before she woke up and then he’d started kissing her again and by the time they were done she had a sneaking suspicion he could come back at noon and she’d still be dozing. Where did he get the strength?

  For all of two seconds she was tempted to roll back over and doze off, with scenes of last night to keep her in warm company. But the meeting was in less than three hours, according to the travel clock by the bed, so on a huge groan she forced herself to sit up. Call room service, take a hot shower, drown herself in hot tea, then work on her speech, she decided, years of scheduling her days making the thought process automatic.

  Titillating visions of working in some time with Jack died when she stood and the muscles in her inner thighs protested loudly at being asked to support her weight. Glad Jack wasn’t there to watch her very untitillating waddle, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom, her scheduled priorities shifting order.

  Fifteen minutes later, her hair wrapped in a white hotel towel, she pulled on one of Jack’s T-shirts and dialed down for some tea. If she was lucky, it would get here before they checked out tomorrow. Thankfully, she recalled Jack saying he’d bring back breakfast, so she didn’t bother pushing her luck by asking for something as complex as food.

  She wandered out to the small living room and settled on the couch, her muscles not protesting quite as loudly after her wonderfully steamy shower. She emptied her head of all that had transpired the night before and tried to work on her speech. Only fifteen minutes had passed before she allowed herself to admit that the stupid grin on her face had nothing to do with the plight of the local Indians, and she dropped the legal pad back on the coffee table.