T is for Temptation

by Jianne Carlo

  “Tricia would boast about that. Well, she went because she wanted to. I went because it was the only way she’d agree to let me go to equestrian college in Vermont.”

  He loved the endearing way she crinkled her nose, and he relaxed, content to listen to the sound of Tee’s melodious voice, with that clipped little British edge, and enjoy her company.

  “I don’t suppose you know this, and I’m certain it’ll bore you to Hades, but hibiscus flowers close at night. The only way to make them stay open is to pick them early in the morning while they’re in full bloom. Then you put them into a sealed bag in the fridge until after dusk. The crystal containers Tricia wants have a bulb at the tip for water. Just before her guests arrive, she’ll set the flowers into the chilled hibiscus holders and scatter them on her formal dining table. Most foreigners don’t know this technique, and it’s my mother’s best kept secret for impressive entertaining. She likes to hear her audience ooh and aah.”

  Their worlds stood more than hemispheres, even polar poles, apart, and her resigned explanation emphasized the yawning gap between them. Jake, the product of an upstate New York orphanage run by retired Catholic priests, and Tee, the daughter of aristocratic British parents whose lineage traced to William the Conqueror.

  “I see,” he said, unimpressed. “I’ve heard some of the men at the Union Club talk about down the islands. What does the term mean? Trinidad is, after all, an island. Does it refer to the sister isle, Tobago?”

  They passed the impressive national sports stadium; it put any regular US sports arena to shame. Trinidad, referred to as the Hong Kong of the Caribbean, invested its surplus oil revenues in structures designed to impress the rest of the world, and its national team had made it to the World Cup soccer finals, a feat both envied and celebrated by the rest of the islands making up the archipelago.

  The inside of the vehicle cooled, and Jake stabbed a button to set the current temperature. Inside a cool seventy degrees, the outside digital readout glowed ninety-two.

  “Not at all. Trinidad was once part of South America, actually part of Venezuela. Most experts think a plate shift caused it to break off from the continent. When that happened several small islands formed between the two countries, and that’s what we call Down the Islands,” she said, her fingers forming quotation marks around the phrase. “Um, some families have homes on the islands. Vacation homes.”

  A rosy hue warmed her skin, and she averted her eyes. Jake interpreted her silence to mean members of the old-moneyed upper class of Trinidad and Tobago owned these vacation homes. No plebes in this neighborhood.

  “It’s actually wonderful. I spent most of my childhood either on a boat or a horse. Being down the islands is like having your own tropical paradise. Dad and I used to go down every Saturday and fish, either trolling for deepwater big catch or banking for smaller snapper. Fishing is so relaxing.”

  Total shock had his foot tapping on the brake, and the car jerked in response. The last activity he ever imagined Tee enjoying and participating in was fishing. It didn’t go with his image of her, a vulnerable feminine puzzle, always dressed to perfection, managing to captivate and charm in a delicate way.

  “You fish?”

  “Yep,” she said, and genuine pleasure at his shock glistened from those wonderful eyes with their golden shimmer.

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he strained to contain the delight the sheer sight of her impishness wrought.

  “I much prefer deep water, though. I like a good fight.”

  He couldn’t prevent the words. “I know you’re an expert equestrian, but fishing?”

  “I can clean, gut, and scale a fish faster than anyone I know.”

  His eyes flew to her, and the picture her words painted surprised a chortle out of him.

  “Shocked you there, didn’t I?”

  A little devil lit her face, and she scrunched her nose.

  “Unlike the image my family likes to present of me, I’ve been riding since I was six and began taking care of my own horses by myself”—she emphasized the last two words—“since I was ten. I de-tick manes, ears, and parts of a stallion most people would rather not mention. I learned how to shoe a horse before I was a teenager. I am not a simpering female, even if I did go to damned finishing school.”

  She folded her arms under those luscious breasts and glowered at him.

  He held up a hand. “Hey, have I said a word?”

  “Oh, please. You should have seen the look on your face. Fishing and de-ticking were the last activities you ever thought me capable of.”

  “Tee, I like you exactly the way you are, de-ticking and all,” he said, smiling like an adolescent teenager thrilled to have his biggest crush opening up to him.

  Her reaction set his heart into a wild staccato and his prick into a happy stretching. She blushed, ducked her chin, and peeped up at him, those saucer big browns entrancing and wide with shy innocence.

  “Oh.” Color skittered across her skin, and she twiddled her thumbs, one circling the other.

  Silence fell.

  He shot her quick surreptitious cuts, wondering what troubled her, as the miles flew past and the road hugged a ragged coastline. The quiet lengthened, broken only by the hum of the radio playing steel band music and the odd calypso.

  A pensive shadow accentuated the bleak, taut line of her mouth, as if self-disgust haunted her thoughts. The urge to hold and comfort threatened to overwhelm his good intentions, and he sought refuge in banal conversation.

  “I’ve never been to this part of the island.”

  She jerked her gaze away from the lush, forested landscape on the passenger side.

  “This used to be an American military base. Over there is the old headquarters, and opposite it is a helicopter pad. During the Second World War, Trinidad became an important refueling location for submarines. Since the island’s never been hit by a hurricane, it was also a safe harbor for warships.”

  “I didn’t know that. I always think of Trinidad as British.”

  “It is, or was, British for a long time. Columbus discovered it and claimed it for Spain, of course, in 1498. He saw the three mountain ranges from the sea and called it La Trinitaria, for the Trinity.”

  “You’re very proud of the island, aren’t you?”

  “Yes and no. There’s an underside to Trinidad society you haven’t seen, and it’s not pretty.”

  She pointed to the right.

  “Turn here, Jake. This is it.” She added, “Am I wrong, or weren’t you supposed to come in on Wednesday?”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I had a few cancellations and decided to come earlier. Is my timing inconvenient?”

  “Of course not. I don’t have your hectic schedule.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” he asked, surprised by the intent, self-directed scorn in her voice.

  “Nothing.” She gestured to the left. “Pull in over there. I haven’t been here in ages.”

  “Why not?”

  Her lips flattened, and she shrugged.

  He clued in.

  “Is this where Tony kept his racing boat?”

  She snorted. “It was usually in the water. He kept it at the family home on the island.”

  Turning the vehicle into a wooden stall with a galvanized roof, Jake kept his foot on the accelerator until the SUV’s front bumper paralleled a metal railing. He switched off the engine. Tee had the car door open before he could turn his head, and she hopped out and stuck her head through the narrow opening.

  “The club house is down that path,” she said, pointing at a crazy-angled, geometric structure fronted by a long, curved pier. “Why don’t you change into shorts and sneakers if you have any?” Her eyes angled at his feet. “Oh, you’re wearing Timberlands. Those will do fine. I’ll get the boat into the water.”

  She marched in the direction indicated, and Jake nabbed his carry-on from the backseat. Used to being in charge, the one issuing instructions, he
r commands set his teeth on edge. He caught up with her in quick order, although she seemed oblivious to the squeaking of the carry-on’s wheels.

  Greeting wizened men in trunks and T-shirts as she walked, Tee ignored his presence. Jake kept a tich behind her along a path leading to a wall of tinted sliding glass doors forming the entrance to the black-and-white-marble-tiled clubhouse.

  The eleven o’clock sun lit the surroundings a dazzling white. He squinted as she sprinted to the left, away from him, and he followed her lithe, graceful limbs as she hopped down from the jetty onto a rocky beach, picking her way to an enormous trailer.

  This new efficient edge of Tee disturbed and fractured his long-deliberated plans, but it also rocketed his desire skyward. Seduction seemed so much easier if he could protect her and build a fortress for the two of them. Yet the fierce determination evident in her every line, her taut posture, when she flung those gutting and cleaning words sent a shiver of pride through him. Amazon warrior incarnate indeed.

  The interior of the clubhouse matched the futuristic exterior; sleek, clean lines with a magnificent mirrored bar to the right of a stainless-steel reception area devoid of a single hint of warmth. A swift survey revealed not a person in sight, and, on the left, Jake spotted a sign for the men’s lockers.

  While changing, he realigned his strategies with this new Tee opportunity. A quick mental rundown didn’t result in any definite ideas, but, with the briefest hesitation, Jake decided to go for it, get inside her as often as she’d let him, starting today.

  After stowing the carry-on in a locker and pocketing the key, he strode to the still-empty lobby and rocked on his heels. Thrown into a sudden chaotic eruption of fierce lust by the thought of Tee in a bikini, graphic fantasies blurred his vision.

  Low-rise?

  Halter top?

  Thong?

  He closed his eyes and prayed.

  Images burned his pupils: little triangles covering pert nipples, wide expanses of bare flesh, those long legs curving into slim hips, her saucy rump so meant for a man’s palms, his palms. A thin coat of moisture coated them, and they itched with intent.

  “You’re ready.”

  Her words and a waft of rosy perfume broke his train of thought. Lids flickering up, he concentrated on taming the rampant erection scraping against his denim shorts.

  “Good. Nice bathing suit. Do all Americans sport red, white, and blue clothing?”

  Caught off guard, Jake checked his attire, having pulled on the first pair of shorts he’d found. Sure enough, it was something left over from a Fourth of July sale. An internal groan shuddered through him, and his cheeks warmed in embarrassment until he caught her checking out his rear, those amazing amber eyes sliding a notch to the side. When her face flamed, all awkwardness dissipated.

  A staggering macho arrogance drove his movements. Jake leaned in, cupped the back of Tee’s head with his palm, swirled his fingers in her silken hair, dipped his mouth, and tasted her honey.

  Home, he’d found home.

  Tasting Tee consumed every rational thought, focused all his devouring urges, and he drowned in her sugar, an addict’s fix, a junkie’s craving.

  “Well, well. Tallulah Inglefield.”

  The loud, derisive bark penetrated Jake’s foggy brain, and he lifted his head with great reluctance.

  “Not quite the ice princess you like to pretend. Wait till the others hear about this!”

  A surgically enhanced buxom female, clad in a thong-style bathing suit and a nipple-bearing top, silhouetted the club’s doorway. Jake gritted his teeth, recognizing the female as one Graziella Leandro, Tony’s sometime paramour.

  Timing proved everything in life.

  “Jake Mathews. Words fail me. Mister high-and-mighty moral know-it-all. I wish Tony was alive to see this.”

  The blonde sneered and waved red-taloned fingers in a disdainful, accusing gesture at their intimate embrace.

  When Tee tried to turn around, Jake tightened his arms and whispered for her ears only, “Don’t. Let me handle it. Okay?”

  He raked the bimbo from head to toe and said, “If you know what’s good for you, Graziella, you’ll keep your trap shut. One word, one word, about Tee, and you’ll have to deal with me. I can make things very uncomfortable for you.”

  The threat made Tee stiffen, and he felt her shudder, and knew he’d have a helluva a time explaining his remark. But, he didn’t allow her a fraction of movement, kept her plastered to him, and relished every second of the intimate contact.

  The bimbo snorted, did an about-face, and vanished.

  Tee shoved her palms against his chest.

  “How do you know her?”

  “I’ll explain later. Is the boat in the water?” He took a step back. “Are we ready?”

  “Yes,” she replied and shot him a speculative look. “This way.”

  Dead quiet commanded their every interaction until they’d been travelling in the luxurious fishing cruiser for twenty minutes. Every second clocking by drew out the explosive sexual strain hovering between them, sluicing away the splendor of the navy Caribbean Sea, Trinidad’s rugged coastline, and the remarkable scenery flying past. Tee commanded the boat with the lazy expertise of long years spent at the helm.

  For the millionth time, he wondered if she’d collaborated with Tony, if the two of them set out to swindle him. He didn’t trust his judgment as far as Tee went, his craving for her too potent, too raw, too primitive.

  And there was the blasted secretive aspect of her character and the guilt that decorated her face on so many occasions. Then again, maybe his suspicious nature had gone into overdrive because of this desperate need to possess her, this never-before-felt protectiveness.

  Perhaps the whole thing came back to the contrasts in her makeup, the endearing vulnerability as opposed to her strong, long-limbed, athletic body, her domain over two-ton stallions versus her subjugation to her mother’s every whim. Jesus. He tugged on an earlobe. Tee did things to him no other woman ever had, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. No one controlled him.

  The wide expanse of ocean narrowed as they approached a steep-mountained island decorated with hordes of picturesque bays and vacation homes, which beggared the mind when contemplating the main mansions of the owners.

  He cut to Tee standing behind the wheel, hands manipulating the throttle, and he succumbed to the mindless fantasy of her commanding his throttle, her delicate tongue licking his engine. A shudder wrung through him.

  Reality intruded as the roar of the boat’s twin props gentled to a hum and the vessel seemed to halt, although it still moved at a clip. The sight before him took his breath away.

  A tranquil, horseshoe-shaped bay centered the landscape in front of the cruiser, which lapped and danced over waves created by their earlier speed. Verdant steep inclines drew to a peak as azure sky and emerald mountain collided in an astonishing sparkle where flowering trees shot shimmering gold.

  “This is Balmoral Bay,” Tee said, staring straight ahead at a house situated in the precise middle of the bay, a charming Indian-red and white structure with a huge wraparound porch and a long, extensive pier jutting out from the rightmost end.

  “This is our Down the Islands home,” she said, and the defensive bleakness in her voice had him off-kilter for long moments. “I used to love this place, until he took it over.”

  “Jesus, Tee. Don’t do this. Look at me.”

  Frustration laced his growled entreaty, and it came out as a command.

  When she didn’t even twist his way, disappointment morphed into desperation, and he hugged her from behind, edging around to see her face.

  “What are you angry at? The comment I made to Graziella? The fact I kissed you? What? I can’t read your mind, and it’s damned frustrating to sift through the clues. Look,” he said and drew back, cupping her face with one hand. “I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you at that British Embassy cocktail thing. If you didn’t know it before, you must have
realized it last week when we kissed.”

  He searched her features and tried to discern the emotions flickering as her eyes widened, pupils dilating and darkening in shocked delight. Her tongue gravitated to the left corner of that sexy mouth, and fear and something else cast those big browns away from him. She wet her lips, and the small movement left him bereft, yawning with need.

  “The dolphins are coming in.”

  Her soft words soothed an inferno raging inside of him, and she shifted in his arms, her expression a peculiar mix of hope and despair.

  “Over there, Jake. See the splashing. Every day, a school of dolphins swim into this bay. As a teenager, I’d swim out an hour before they were due and paddle water, waiting. It’s the most marvelous, magical feeling in the world when they accept you and trust you not to harm them. Instead of avoiding you, they swim to you. Dolphins are so curious. Alain, one of our friends, he made us stay still until they started bumping us with their noses, inviting a response. To this day, it takes only about three days of swimming out, and we’re back to the same childhood pattern. Trust.”

  Her anguished café latte eyes met his, and she whispered, “I don’t think I could ever trust another human being again, not after Tony.”

  Cupcake Comfort

  Tee couldn’t believe she’d uttered the words.

  Humiliation and a frantic urge to disappear spurred opposing impulses, and retreat seemed in order. She shrugged out of Jake’s unsettling embrace and tugged at the boat’s wooden steering wheel.

  “Docking can be tricky this time of day,” she said and concentrated on repeating time-honed safety precautions. “If you look to the right of the bay at the farthest point, you should be able to see a flutter of white-capped waves.”

  She busied herself adjusting the engine’s tempo to prevent a stall and waited for his response.

  “I see it.”

  Bald, calm words and they only served to pour boiling water on already scalded emotions. Her feminine self-confidence had always plonked up and down like a seesaw from the time she hit adolescence, and, around Jake, it teetered from dangling up in the air to hitting the ground hard enough to shatter.