He groaned aloud, stunned by the sound coming from his mouth, stunned by their bodies together. He caught her breasts, molded his fingers around her firm softness, an anchor.
Laura's slim body bent back. Her wet hair streamed down her back. She presented a vision as lovely as he'd always imagined, and he thrust into her again, watched her sway erotically with the collision. He wanted to take her apart like he had at the edge of the pool. He wanted to prove he still had control, that this overwhelming sex was totally normal, natural.
But his body betrayed him.
He couldn't pace himself, couldn't focus on anything but the feel of her heat contracting around him, clenching, working him like she'd worked him with her sweet mouth.
He could do no more than slide his hands down her waist, around her hips and hang on. They found apace that made her gasp on each upstroke, and she bent toward him, bracing her hands on his shoulders, riding him with a look of pure pleasure. Her moist heat spasmed around him and her body tightened on a crescendo, such an awesome sight that she stole away his control again, pushed him so far beyond his normal discipline that he barely recognized what was happening.
"Damn, Laura. Damn."
The words registered on some level, but Dale couldn't comprehend that the broken plea had burst from his lips. Not when his body exploded in sensation, a rushing climax that wrested reason so far from his grasp that all he could do was go for the ride. He drove into her again and again, unable to think beyond the need to keep pushing inside her, though his strength depleted and the effort became monumental.
And still he couldn't stop.
Laura collapsed, draping him in warm skin and muscle, and Dale could only inhale her scent, savor her pounding heartbeats and be grateful that she'd been similarly affected. He held her close and kissed her mouth to reassure her, and himself, that this chemistry made sense for how long they'd denied it.
"Ohmigosh," she breathed the word out on lingering syllables. "You designed this ledge to have sex on, didn't you?"
Some numbed part of his brain remembered the three-day argument they'd had about continuing the ledge beside the waterfall rather than beneath the waterfall where she'd wanted it, but he couldn't seem to reply.
He was totally wasted. Totally.
But she wasn't moving on from this line of questioning. "You told me you wanted this seat here so couples could sit together and enjoy the spray from the falls. Were you really thinking about making a place to have sex?"
He shook his head, too far gone for anything but honesty.
She searched his face with those baby blues. "Why didn't you tell me? I'd have given in a lot sooner. I'm all for anything that promotes togetherness."
"I didn't want you to know I was thinking about sex. I was still raw from when you blew me off."
"I didn't think it would faze you."
"Yeah, well, I'm not used to being turned down." And he wasn't used to feeling bugged that she'd thought it wouldn't faze him, either.
"I'm sorry." She pressed an openmouthed kiss to his eat. "It wasn't that I didn't want you. I was just looking for something different in a relationship."
Yeah, he'd gotten that part loud and clear. She hadn't wanted a bad boy.
But if he really was the love 'em and leave 'em type would this one beautiful woman have the power to make him lose control?
Chapter Seven
With a feeling of unusual serenity, a sense that everything in his world was perfectly right, Dale sat back on the bed with Laura sandwiched between his legs. They were naked and he could catch glimpses of all her fair skin whenever he dragged the brush through her hair.
Such a small task, yet one that brought him pleasure. He took pride in his work for ADF, had enjoyed a full sex life, but performing this small task, earning each pleasured sigh from Laura, contented him on a soul-deep level that humbled him.
He dragged the brush through her hair again and the heavy strands trailed along her shoulders, down her back, over his thighs. Each stroke separated the cool silk strands, sent them pouring through his fingers and over his erection, easing him to life with wispy caresses. Each brushstroke a unique assault on his senses.
"You've got guests coming in tomorrow and a full day of events scheduled," he said when she yawned. "We should probably get some sleep. It's late."
Laura tilted her head so she could stare into his face. "We can't go to sleep yet. You've only come three times."
"Orgasms with you are the concentrated kind." He liked that she was thinking about his pleasure. "Another one tonight and I won't be able to walk tomorrow."
She sank back against him, her warm body fitted neatly against his. He rested his chin on the top of her head, tucked himself around her like a spoon, so he could sandwich his erection against her bottom.
Only touching Laura seemed to calm the unsettling urgency that had hounded him since they'd met, and he'd be happy to sit here and hold her forever. Something about that should bother him, but he felt too content to figure out what.
"Y'know, Dale, I like the idea of you lounging around this suite waiting for me to pop in for a climax whenever I can get away from work."
"Sounds like you want a sex slave."
She smiled playfully. "I do. It would give me a lot to look forward to."
"Me, too." Dale meant it. Just the thought of hanging out in this island suite, waiting for the lock to click and the door to open made him press a kiss to Laura's head and smile.
He'd like nothing better than to spend the rest of his life as lovely Laura's sex slave.
Dale jolted awake to the image of his face plastered with a mindless grin. His heart thudded. His throat constricted. His breath burned as if his chest would explode.
I'll do anything to please Laura.
He blinked to break from the aftereffects of the too realistic dream and stared into the starlit bedroom. Only a silvery shimmer from the skylights over the lagoon penetrated the wall of glass, and the waterfall splashed, the bubbling muted by the closed doors.
Inhaling deeply, he wiped his brow and found himself bathed in sweat. He glanced down at Laura, who'd rolled away sometime during the night Only her feet still tangled around his, a point of contact though the rest of her had got-ten away. Her chest rose and fell deeply, and he knew he wasn't disturbing her dreams the way she'd disturbed his.
Had one night of sex cured her obsession?
The question unsettled him more, and he wasn't sure why. He'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted tonight—sex so hot his ears were still steaming. So why had he awakened with his throat clamped tight like he was suffocating?
The thought that Laura had done something to him flickered through his brain. She spread out before him, a fantasy vision in the starlit darkness, her hair gleaming like silver.
He'd been dreaming of that hair.
And then it hit him. She had done something to him tonight She'd made him lose control. Not once, but twice, and only after he'd gotten her into this bed and between these sheets had he been able to put aside his own needs in favor of hers. He didn't know how many times he'd pleasured her.
But she would. She was keeping count.
He'd never cared about impressing a woman, or living up to his reputation. Of course he'd never realized he'd had this kind of press. Sure, women talked…when he'd needed a date for this grand opening a call to an ex-lover had served up Monique.
But Dale didn't remember ever caring about what any woman thought about his performance in bed. He'd always been casual about dating. He knew how to satisfy a woman and on the rare occasion a date didn't work out…well, that was life.
Things couldn't always go his way, and he'd be a fool to expect them to. Like with Monique today—it hadn't worked out so he did his best to make a graceful exit. It happened.
Gazing down at the exquisite woman beside him, Dale wasn't sorry, either. Unhappy he'd inconvenienced Monique, yes, but not sorry to be spending the next three weeks with Laura.
The need to curl back around her hit him hard and to his amazement, he didn't want to kiss her awake. Rather, he wanted the warm, solid feel of her to chase away this unsettled feeling that still lingered from a fading dream. He wanted comfort in her arms and instinctively knew he'd find it.
What the hell was wrong with him?
"Still open in here, Clyde?" Dale asked from the doorway of the bar. "It's got to be past the end of your shift."
Despite the low lighting, the bartender's smile looked like a spotlight Or maybe it was simply because a smile seemed welcoming right now.
That's why Dale had slipped out of bed at three o'clock in the morning and left Laura sleeping peacefully. He'd gotten to know Clyde during his stint at Falling Inn Bed and knew the retired businessman had become head bartender because "idleness was a shortcut to an early grave and he'd played enough golf during his working years to last a lifetime."
He knew Clyde would offer some simple male companionship that would help soothe his racing thoughts, help him make sense of what was going on in his head.
"You can sit here till the sun comes up, Dale," Clyde said "You've earned the privilege around here."
"As long as I'm not keeping you from going home."
"Don't worry about me. Since my Alice passed, I keep my own time and don't worry anyone with my comings and goings."
"I owe you, then."
"Clyde likes taking care of the powers-that-be around here. As the house architect, you qualify."
Dale recognized the voice and glanced down the bar to find Tyler of the multipiercings proving he was another of the sleepless crowd.
"You all right, man?" he asked, frowning. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"No ghosts. No sleep, either," Dale admitted.
"Then you've come to the right place."
"Sit down and have a beer, Dale," Clyde said.
He slid onto a bar stool and waited patiently while Clyde washed his hands. This gentleman bartender might be among the fellow sleepless and a welcome beacon for lost ships in the night, but at well over seventy, he was moving against the tide.
"Here you go." Clyde finally placed a frothy glass in front of him, and it only took one sip to realize that alcohol wasn't going to dull the edge of his mood.
What had Laura done to him?
He looked into the bottom of his glass for an answer, but Clyde had neglected to pour one along with the beer. He turned to Tyler and asked, "So what's happening? Is Clyde giving you a story?"
Tyler shook his head. "I already got his story when I came to judge the first most romantic getaway contest. He's been catching me up on all the news."
"And Tyler here has been telling me about the stories he's been covering lately," Clyde added. "He had to choose between visiting us or covering an Alaskan nudist colony. Last place in the world you'd expect to find one of those, eh, Dale?"
Dale gave a noncommittal shrug. "At least you won't freeze off any body parts at Falling Inn Bed. Unless someone's added a refrigerator suite I'm not aware of."
"So what about you?" Tyler asked. "Late-night building inspection?"
"That would be better than staring at the bedroom ceiling, waxing philosophic about love."
"I say again—you've come to the right place."
"No doubt," Clyde agreed. "And Dale knows it as he built a chunk of this place himself."
Dale had known, but Falling Inn Bed hadn't been the first time he'd worked on a project focused on sex. The Risqué Theatre in Savannah had fit that bill, too, and he hadn't ended up tied up in knots while he obsessed over a woman, dreamed about one.
Had it been all the conversations about sex with Laura that had worn him down?
"This place is contagious," he said "You want to get in and out fast, otherwise you might catch it, too."
Tyler looked curious. "Catch what?"
"Romance on the brain. I've been here so long I caught it."
Clyde laughed, but Tyler grabbed his beer and moved to a bar stool within spitting distance. "Romance on the brain. That's a good way to phrase it. Mind if I steal it for my documentary?"
He shook his head.
"Romance on the brain. That's what I like about this place," Clyde said. "I'm reminded of my Alice."
Here was another perspective on romance Dale didn't have a bead on. Nothing in his own long and illustrious dating history had ever given him a frame of reference for Clyde's loss. His nomad career precluded being in any one place long enough to conduct long-term relationships even if he'd wanted to, which he hadn't. Ever. While Clyde working as a bartender to get away from memories of his late wife made sense, holing up at this inn to be reminded of her didn't.
"Doesn't being at home remind you of Alice?" he asked.
"Sure it does, but home reminds me that she's not there anymore. While this place…" He swept a hand around in a gesture that encompassed the grand old hotel. "This place makes me remember the special things we shared. We celebrate love here at Falling Inn Bed."
Okay, Dale got this part.
"That's poetic, Tyler, maybe you should phrase it that way in your documentary," he suggested.
"That's the plan."
Clyde brought a tray of glassware to their side of the bar so he could polish glasses while he talked. "Tyler's an old hand at letting folks know that what we do around here is special."
"I am indeed, and I hope you don't mind me saying that you're in for a ride if you've already had your fill of romance, Dale. The events haven't even started yet and as the bedding consultant's escort, you'll have a backstage pass."
Dale swung a tired glance his way. "Yeah."
"Not to mention the accolades. You'll be hailed as an architectural genius. I've seen my share of properties up close and agree what you've done here is extraordinary."
"Thanks." Dale eyed Tyler curiously. "So what sort of stuff goes into an industry documentary about a romance resort?"
His conversations with Laura replayed in his head, and he had no trouble imagining a service film about the pros and cons of placing theme-decorated condom dispensers in guest suites. He wondered how many documentaries wound up with a mature audiences' rating.
"The usual," Tyler said. "Service objective. Staff and guest perspectives. An in-depth look at how this inn manages to pull off sex and stay upscale about it."
"How Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast celebrates love." Clyde shot them a white-toothed grin.
Tyler nodded. "That's basically it. Your prepackaged holidays and singles resorts are a dime a dozen. This place isn't about pickups, it's about romance. There's nothing comparable anywhere, which is why this inn keeps winning the Most Romantic Getaway award. They come at sex from the romance angle, and romance is a tough sell. My focus will be on how they've grown a niche into a market I'll explain the secret of their success."
"I thought the secret of their success was Laura. How are you planning to feature her?" He wouldn't mind insight into the woman who was confusing the hell out of him right now.
"Laura Granger, bedding consultant extraordinary" Clyde raised a glass in salute. "That girl's a pioneer."
Dale recalled the striptease she'd done for him beside Lovers' Lagoon tonight Laura was something, all right The first woman who'd ever managed to turn his brain inside out.
Tyler clapped him on the back and said, "If you're worried about how you'll factor in, Dale, don't be. Got you covered. As the house architect, you don't really require much explanation. All I'm interested in is your read on what it was like to create a place geared toward romance. I want to hear about all those conversations about sex that Jackson mentioned tonight."
"There were a lot of them," he said dryly.
Clyde hooted with laughter, but Tyler smiled "FYI, the G.M. made sure she has final approval over the finished product."
"You know Ms. J. will keep him on the up and up," Clyde assured him, and Dale agreed.
Mary Johnson, known among her staff as Ms. J., ran a tight ship—another
woman who, like Annabelle, hadn't struck him as the type to be affiliated with a romance resort under normal circumstances. But nothing around this place was normal.
"What makes someone so obsessed with romance?" He tossed out the question, just desperate enough to want anyone's spin.
"You talking about Ms. J.?" Clyde asked.
Tyler didn't give Dale a chance to answer. He gazed knowingly over the rim of his glass. "I'm betting he's talking about our Laura."
Dale shrugged, didn't think that was much of a stretch. Not after watching Monique's scene in the lobby earlier.
Setting his glass on the bar, Tyler faced him with a knowing expression that for some reason bugged Dale. "Laura Granger is obsessed with romance. You've got special events coordinators and wedding consultants all over this industry. You've only got one bedding consultant. She always struck me as Cinderella meets Sex and the City."
Dale nodded. "A romantic idealist."
"Yeah, that sums her up to a T."
"How is any one man supposed to blast through all that idealistic crap? Why would one even want to?"
"Now there's the real question," Clyde said. "My Alice gave me a run for my money way back when. Thought I was crazy to chase after her, but I tell you, gents. You go with your gut on this. Love slaps you upside the head when you least expect it. Some folks analyze it Some folks run in the other direction. Me, I had enough sense to know to stay put" He smiled fondly. "I did what it took to catch my woman, and I'm grateful for each and every day we had together."
Maybe it was the lateness of the night, or the dim quiet of the empty bar. Dale didn't know, but the obvious truth in Clyde's statement filtered through the air like a tangible thing. Tyler drank his beer in silence, while Dale stared at the reminiscent smile on the old man's face, witnessing an appreciation in his withered expression that was nothing short of humbling.
Love slaps you upside the head when you least expect it. No, it couldn't be…could it?
Laura could barely force open her eyes when the wake-up call arrived via an annoying blare from the phone. Lunging for the receiver, she managed to knock it from the cradle and made even more of a racket to replace it And just as she fell back onto the pillow, a morning-gruff grunt sent the where, what, when and with whom crashing through her semiconsciousness.
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