“This another one of your fruity cocktails?” he asked.
“Yeah. Drowning in You.” At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “Got the idea watching a romantic DVD one night. The heroine had just left the hero, and she was staring out to sea, wondering how the love they’d shared once had died such a painful death. Two strangers living the façade but not living, if you know what I mean.”
He stared at her, scanning her face. “Don’t think I caught that movie. Doesn’t seem like one I’d ever watch. No guns, cannons, or explosions.”
He poured himself a glass and tipped his head back to drink. She glanced at him and then focused on the bowl in front of her. Too many emotions today already. If this carried on, her head would explode.
“It’s good.” He poured himself another. “Almost as good as a cold beer.”
“Think you can help?”’ She pointed at tubes of filled pasta on a nearby tray.
“Do what?”
“Stuff cannelloni with this.” She reached into the nearby bowl and sucked the sauce off her finger. “Needs more salt.” Her blood turned to hot liquid taffy at the look on his face.
The smile hovering on her lips disappeared a second later when he reached into the bowl, dragged his finger around the rim, then sucked it.
“Needs more basil,” he said, his voice dark and gravelly.
“Does it?” She cleared her throat, fighting to keep her tone cheerful. She made her way to the fridge, welcoming the chilly air as it skipped across her sizzling skin.
“Here’s the pesto.” She added a dollop to the bowl and gave it a vigorous stir.
The sharp scent of fresh basil, parmesan cheese and toasted pine nuts filled the air.
“How do we get it in here?” Rory asked, looking at the tray of already-filled cannelloni. He picked up a tube of pasta, turned it over, and frowned.
“With this.” She held up a piping bag and a cannelloni shell, positioned the nozzle, and squeezed the rich filling into the pasta, a job she’d done a thousand times before. She pulled up her big girl pants and ignored the trembling in her fingers.
He nodded, picked up the bag and a pasta tube, and squirted. The filling landed with a plop on the bench.
“What the—?” He looked down at the mutinous dollop.
Before she could think it through, she took the piping bag from him and put her back to his chest.
“Place your hands under mine.” She picked up a pasta tube. His hands dropped gently onto hers.
“Stop it,” she hissed when he drew circles on the insides of her wrists with his thumbs.
He chuckled. “Didn’t know I got to you.”
“You don’t.”
She picked up another cannelloni tube with trembling fingers, ignoring the heat rolling off his body.
She straightened and forced herself to remember the pissed off guy this morning who’d morphed into hot and sexy and totally unpredictable Rory. “Can we please do something without you making it all sexy?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll try. But squeezing things out of tubes is quite the metaphor.”
She rolled her eyes.
With every ounce of concentration she had, she managed to fill the golden tube.
“Got it?” Her breath tumbled in her chest.
“Yep.”
Moving out of his arms, she stood next to him. She picked up a rubbery tube with violently shaking fingers and pushed the nozzle into the tube. She squeezed the bag just as he turned, jolting her arm.
A large splat of mixture landed on his t-shirt and slowly slid toward the floor like green blood.
She clapped her hand across her mouth to stop the laughter.
His eyes widened. “Did you do that on purpose?”
She shook her head, unable to answer.
He picked up a tube of filled pasta and lifted a dark brow.
“No!” She picked up a tube off the row of neatly stacked pasta, and threw it at him.
The bomb connected directly with Rory’s forehead. The filling dribbled down his cheeks, and his eyes widened then narrowed.
His hand inched toward a tray of tubes, and her heart galloped as he picked up a cannelloni.
“Noooo.” She inched toward the door.
She gasped as the pasta bomb smacked the side of her head, the cold mixture dripping from her ear.
A battle cry ripped from her throat. She jumped toward the tray and started hurling pasta bombs at Rory.
She squealed as she took one full in the mouth. Choking on the cannelloni, she aimed one back and screamed with laughter as it connected right between Rory’s eyes.
Unable to hold herself up, she slid to the floor, her ribs aching, the tray empty.
Rory slid down beside her. He was covered in green, cheesy mixture, but his eyes shone with easy mirth. He ran his fingers through his hair, and it stood straight up like the Green Giant.
“Check us out,” she whispered, as his fingers laced around hers. She gazed down at his fingers, her heart tender and confused. “Are we done here?” she asked, holding her breath.
He held her gaze for the longest time before he replied, “Yeah,” in a long breath.
She stood. “I’m going to go to the beach to wash this stuff off. I’ll clean this up in a minute.” She chased tears from her eyes. “I had planned on going to the honeymoon pools in an hour.”
He nodded, something hanging in his unfathomable eyes.
When she arrived at the water’s edge, she was thankful she’d worn a bikini under her shorts and t-shirt. She shed her clothes when she hit the sand, then threw them toward a clump of palm trees swaying to an unseen song. She dove into the cool water, letting the waves settle her thoughts.
I’m doing this. I’m letting Rory get to me. And I can’t. I just can’t. Photoshop love, Zo. That’s all. Photoshop love.
…
An hour later a gulp of air lodged deep in Rory’s chest. Zoe had changed from her bikini into a black halter-neck one-piece for their trip to the honeymoon pools. The high cut of the suit showed off her long, trim legs. She clicked an orange lifejacket into place around her torso before passing him a similar vest.
He exhaled the scorching breath and counted to five, gathered his self-control, and adjusted his shorts.
He rubbed his hand across his face.
“Come on, give me a hand.” She laughed, picked up the basket, and walked to where a two-seater kayak lay on the beach. He ripped his eyes away from the sway of her hips and the tumble of hair bouncing on her shoulders. God, she was one smoking hot woman.
She put her hand on the kayak. Her muscles bunched under tanned skin.
“I’ve got it. Let me do my caveman thing.”
He inhaled Coppertone sunscreen, and all the bolts holding him together loosened.
She handed him a paddle and squashed a large straw hat onto her head.
The sun punched out rays that reflected in a shimmering sparkle on the turquoise water. He pushed aviator glasses from the top of his head onto his face.
“Come on.” She indicated for him to get in and jumped in the seat in front of him.
“You’re driving?”
She swiveled in her seat. “My island, babe. I drive.”
Soon they were flying across the glassy surface. He enjoyed feeling his shoulders strain as he pulled the paddle through the water. He’d upped the stroke count twice, and without a word, she’d matched his stroke.
Her shoulder blades moved in perfect symmetry, and he watched in fascination as the muscles shimmered under the matte, black fabric. Clouds of fish darted alongside them.
“This is freakin’ awesome. It’s like you can just reach out and touch the fish,” Rory said a short time later, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. There was at least twenty feet of ocean between their kayak and the ocean floor but it looked as if he could step out and walk.
She turned, and her dazzling smile slipped under his skin and threaded around his heart.
/> A short time later, she pointed the kayak toward a stretch of sand sandwiched between dark volcanic rocks. The craft glided in with ease, and they pulled it up on the shore.
She handed him a pair of rubber slip-on shoes and walked ahead of him on the sharp and slippery rocks, a bag slung over her shoulder. Spellbound, he watched the feminine sway of her hips. He would follow that butt anywhere. She took the camera that was now encased in a waterproof acrylic box and attached it to her wrist.
“Look.”
She stopped suddenly, and he was so caught up watching her that he almost ran into her back.
He looked down.
A table of rock had split, creating a large sheltered pool at least twenty feet across. Bright blue fish with yellow stripes down their backs waltzed with fish the color of fresh-picked spearmint. Tiny scarlet creatures darted through the rainbow coral as clown fish chased them. Coral trout patrolled lazily, pausing to inspect the cobalt blue starfish that clung to the rocks.
“When the tide comes in, where we’re standing is completely underwater,” she said, wiping her mouth after finishing a bottle of water. She put the empty container back into the bag, passed a chilled bottle to him, and started taking photos. “When it goes out, they get trapped, so every day it’s a new kaleidoscope. But that isn’t the best part. Follow me.”
She donned snorkeling gear that she tugged from her bag and slipped into the pool. He followed her, the water liquid silver against his skin.
A large tuna gave him a ‘don’t mess with me’ look as he snorkeled around the ocean of light, trying to chase a bright clown fish that darted past him. Taking a deep breath, Rory swam to the bottom. Who knew starfish came in highlighter colors? Crimson, mint green, even orange. He’d never seen so many colors in one place.
Zoe swam past him. After checking out another starfish, he joined her where she floated on her back. He inhaled salt-tinged air, sunscreen, and the heavy, earthy scent of the jungle.
Her hair fanned around her head. He rubbed the silky strands between his fingers. She flipped, and he stared into her amazing blue eyes, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
He unhooked the camera from her wrist and snapped some pictures of her, the camera trained on her lips. His mouth followed.
His lips skimmed hers. Warmth pooled around his internal organs. He pulled her closer, feeling her breasts push hard against him. His hand went to the back of her suit, and she quivered under his touch. God, he wanted her. He pulled back when she startled, as if she’d read his thoughts. Her eyes widened in surprise then darkened to a deep, sapphire blue. Her face flushed, and he read a hint of indecision mixed with want in her eyes. He scanned her face. There hadn’t been indecision this morning, even if she had been half-asleep.
“I’ve got something to show you.” Her voice, husky and low, hardened the air in his chest. She took the camera from him and attached it to her wrist.
“I hope it’s what I think it is.” He cleared his throat, scraping out the words.
She raised her eyebrows and put on her facemask. “Take a deep breath and follow me.”
He stuffed oxygen into his lungs and dove after her. The water felt like mercury against his skin.
She swam to an opening in the rock halfway down the side of the pool. Three feet wide and ten feet long, the lava chute was long enough to swim through. She turned, gave him a thumbs up, and disappeared through the tunnel.
His heart skipped as she was swallowed by darkness, and he raced after her, kicking faster. Feeling the air starting to burn in his lungs, he broke the surface. They were in a second pool, larger than the first, teeming with underwater life.
“Isn’t it cool? The three pools are joined by these underwater lava chutes. It’s a forever changing kaleidoscope.”
He’d never seen anything like it. He could spend days—no, months—exploring the place. As if reading his mind, she said, “Such a different life to takeovers and buy outs and pivoty tables, isn’t it?” She cocked her head to one side.
“Two different worlds.”
“Exactly. But I bet if you did a poll of, I don’t know, say ninety-nine percent of the world’s population, I think I know where they’d choose to live.”
“Look, Zo. It’s a nice place to visit. Great people. Hell, I could even probably stick it out for a couple weeks if I had to. I’d even build the Taj Mahal of sandcastles so I wouldn’t bore myself to death, but it doesn’t challenge me like L.A. does. I like the cut and thrust of my world. The deal I’ve got going down now. That’s the kind of thing that drives me. This?” He waved his hand. “This is fantasy land.”
“It isn’t this place or L.A. you need.” She propelled herself through the water until she was inches from his face. “You need a woman who can challenge you.”
He closed his eyes. No he didn’t need any such thing, but there was no way he was going near her words with a hundred foot pole and a pair of industrial-grade gloves.
After a staring competition that lasted well beyond the one second he’d allotted it, she said, “We’re not done yet. There’s one more pool. There’s a rope that runs along the inside of the tubes if you get worried you can’t make it.”
“Good idea.” He tried to see over the edge of the pool and not stare at her chest, which was pushing a nice serving of cleavage over her suit.
She rolled her eyes, took a breath, and disappeared under the water.
He followed, passing through a cloud of tiny silver and black fish that parted around him, and, arriving in a tiny pool, he surfaced.
She sat on a submerged ledge just big enough for two, her shoulders just out of the water.
“The honeymoon pool.” She kicked her legs in front of her. “It even comes with its own love seat.”
He hauled himself onto the ledge next to her.
“When I bring people here, this is where I usually slip away politely, if you know what I mean.” She snapped off some quick shots of the jungle and the pool. Leaning back, she snapped a photo of them, their cheeks touching.
“Give me a Photoshop love smile,” she teased.
He closed his eyes for a second then opened them. He’d planned on giving her his corporate smile, but one look into her happy face and he couldn’t help the carefree smile that tipped his lips.
Damn it.
He cleared his throat. “Hard to believe it’s hurricane season.” He glanced up at the picture-perfect blue sky, then at the palm trees gracefully swaying in the barely-there breeze. He’d been about six when his parents had locked him in the trailer before setting out for a night on the town with their best friend Mr. Tequila. A thunderstorm had beaten the crap out of the walls. Storms still sent a bucket of cold-water fear over him.
She shivered in the water next to him. She knew that fear.
“Believe me, the category three storm last year scared the life out of me. Delilah.”
He forced himself to concentrate on her words. “Delilah?”
“Yeah, friggin’ Delilah. Who makes up the names of hurricanes? Every time I hear that name I want to break into song.” She shook her head and stared out at the horizon, a faraway look in her eyes. “I hope Smithy and everyone on Niuafo’ou are okay.”
He followed her gaze and heard in the distance the pounding waves against the coral reef that protected the island from the Pacific.
“I’m glad we got the honeymooners off when we did. They’ll be halfway to Vava’u by now. I hope they get some whale watching time.”
Rory nodded, breathing in the calm and tranquility and forcing out the darkness of thunderstorms and cyclones. His muscles hung loose from his bones.
“I have such great plans for this place.” She turned toward him, her face alive, and her eyes sparkling.
God, she was gorgeous. The electricity flowed from her to him. His thigh nudged hers. At the gentlest touch of skin, their bodies moved toward each other.
“I’ve got a forty-nine year lease on the island.” Her eyes widened. “Lordy, I ex
pect I’ll be dipping my sorry face into a vat of industrial-strength moisturizer every day.”
I want to see her when she’s seventy-six. Look at her through rheumy eyes and see her get more beautiful every day.
Fuck me. Where the hell had that come from?
“What sort of plans?” A montage of thoughts flew through his mind. Zoe warm and soft in his arms this morning, her fingers entwined with his. He hadn’t slept better in more than a year.
Wham!
It was as if a shockwave had started somewhere north of Jupiter, gathering speed until it pin-balled off planets and slammed into his ribcage, shocking the oxygen from his body. He scraped his hand across his forehead, chasing away the confusion wallowing in his head.
He struggled like a condemned man to hang onto her words.
“I’d like to expand this resort to eight bungalows, employ more of the locals, train them in hospitality, and have them run the resort. It’ll really benefit their community. The guests who’ve stayed here have loved being immersed in another culture.” She hugged her knees to her chin, creating a ripple of waves toward him.
“I’d really like to start tours of the villages and have a community feast once a week, where the guests get to eat the local food and watch displays of traditional dancing. See that island?” She pointed to a cone shaped island that shimmered in the distance. “That’s Tafahi. Very few people live there. Just small clusters, here and there, living traditionally, but they’d benefit from tourism money. They make a little selling handcrafted items. I’d love to employ them to take guests on treks to the summit. The view from the top takes your breath away.”
He dragged his hand through his hair.
She made circles with her ankles in the water. “What I’d ultimately like to do is expand the idea. Look at leasing other islands, here and around the Pacific—Vanuatu, Fiji—and not just have them all be honeymoon retreats, but places where families can come and reconnect with each other. Still keep the resorts small so as not to lose the personal touch that I think makes this place work.”
“Sounds like you have plans. Good plans for the future.” He was impressed. Seriously impressed. She’d always been good at marketing but the scope and the expansion of the resort to other islands had his heart swelling with pride at what she could accomplish.
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