One Hot Escape (Hot Brits Book 4)

by Anna Durand

  Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I notice he's still eying me with a strange expression. "Are you okay? If you want a cupcake, you can have this one."

  I offer it to him.

  "No, thank you," he says. Then he clears his throat and focuses on his plate, pushing a slice of cantaloupe around on it. "You seemed to be enjoying your cupcake."

  "Absolutely. This is a vacation, after all. I'm allowed to indulge in whatever I want."

  "You said you weren't hungry."

  "I wasn't—until I saw dessert." I half rise from my chair to peer across the dining room toward the buffet tables. One of them is full of cupcakes in various flavors. "They didn't have goodies out earlier. Maybe I'll go try another kind of cupcake. Want one?"

  "No. I might have some rice cakes, though."

  "Rice cakes?" The second I say that I realize my tone of voice was kind of rude. Sure, I can't believe a man wants to eat rice cakes. It's a thing women force themselves to eat so they can stay slim. But my surprise at his statement is no excuse. I drop back down into my chair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so obnoxious. Your dietary habits are none of my business."

  "But you disapprove."

  "For all I know, you have food allergies."

  "I don't." He carefully cuts off a small piece of cantaloupe and eats it. "But I own a business, which means I have a responsibility to stay healthy and sober."

  "Uh-huh. I don't remember champagne being on the food pyramid."

  He glances up at me, keeping his head down, and the corner of his mouth slants upward. "It should be."

  "You're okay with indulgence when you're trying to get in my pants, but it's taboo the rest of the time."

  "I got inside your bikini, not your pants. Though I would love to see you in lace knickers."

  "You'd have to get past my pants first."

  He lifts his head, those beautiful eyes studying me while his brows crinkle. "How many pairs of knickers do you wear under your trousers?"

  "What?" I've spent enough time around the Dixon brothers to know some British terms, like knickers aka panties, but I'm getting the feeling Richard and I are talking about different things right now. "What do you think pants are?"

  "Your knickers. What else?"

  "Guess you haven't slept with an American before, huh? To us, pants are…" I lift my leg to the side, showing him my jeans, and I point at them. "Pants. The things that cover my legs so I don't get arrested for public indecency. These are jeans, but also pants. As in…pants."

  "Oh," he says, drawing out the syllable like he's suddenly grasped my meaning. He smiles and chuckles. "In my country, pants are underwear."

  "You Brits sure are strange."

  "But don't Americans talk about underpants?"

  "Sure, but we don't call them just 'pants.' That would be weird."

  "Instead, you lot call your undergarments 'underpants' and also call your trousers 'pants.' No, that's not confusing at all."

  He's grinning now, and I love that expression. He looks even sexier when he grins, and so full of joy that it lights him up. It lights me up too. We're not even naked, yet it's the second-best time I've had in way too long. The first-best would be last night, of course.

  I get up and sidle around the table to his side, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "You really should try indulging yourself. You rocked at that last night. Sinking your teeth into a soft, succulent cupcake feels almost as good as sex."

  He turns his head, our faces now an inch apart. "I'll have one of every flavor of cupcake. Then I'll need to take you back to my suite and fuck you for at least an hour."

  "Working off those calories with you will be lots more fun than exercising in the gym."

  "I agree." He flicks his tongue out to taste my lips. "That does taste delicious, but it's not as succulent as you."

  Heat flashes through me, from my face down to my toes, and especially between my thighs. My voice sounds huskier when I tell him the naked truth. "I want to crawl under the table, unzip your pants, and take you in my mouth so I can indulge in the feel and flavor of your cock."

  "We're in a room full of people."

  "I know. And I still want to make you come in my mouth."

  "Go on and do it."

  I want to do it. Damn, do I want to. Never have I gone down on a man anywhere except in the bedroom. But for this man, I really would crawl under the table and take him in my mouth.

  But I can't. That annoying good-girl voice in my head says it's wrong. I've been here for less than twenty-four hours, but maybe in a few more days, I'll overcome my inhibitions and do what I suggested.

  I straighten. "I'll get those cupcakes."

  "Choose whichever ones appeal to you. I'll try some too."

  "Good."

  I start to walk away, but he captures my wrist in his hand to stop me.

  "Could we get those cupcakes in a takeaway box?" he asks. "I'd like to show you a place I found nearby."

  "A secret place, I hope. That would be hot."

  "Not sure if anyone else knows about it." He skims his thumb over the sensitive skin on my palm. "I'd much rather try those cupcakes when we're completely alone."

  I love the sound of that. The good girl in me, who I call Dr. Solberg, is about to faint. But Maddie, the me who's sick of behaving, is clamoring to get out.

  Maddie wins.

  "Sure," I say. "I'd love that."

  "Brilliant." He stands, and his body is so close to mine that I can smell his aftershave and feel his clothes brushing against my skin. "I need to get something from my room. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes, and wear walking shoes."

  He leans in like he's about to smack one on me, then seems to realize where we are—in the dining room with tons of people around—so he kisses my cheek instead.

  I watch him leave the dining room, and I wonder.

  Who is Richard Hunter?

  Chapter Six

  Richard

  Maddie and I reconvene in the lobby and head outside, aiming for the dirt trail labeled "nature preserve" with a large green arrow pointing down the path. I'm carrying a satchel over my shoulder with the takeaway box full of cupcakes inside it, along with water bottles, paper napkins, and a blanket. I move my hand toward hers, wanting to clasp it, but pull it away. Maybe she won't want me holding her hand. Or will she be offended if I don't? It's hard to know these days. I've been soundly slapped a couple of times when I tried to take a woman's hand. But others get testy if I don't do it.

  Sometimes I wish I lived in medieval times. Sure, men sometimes acted like arseholes and forced women to marry them, but at least they never needed to worry about sexual misconduct charges.

  Maddie notices it when I stop short of holding her hand—and she clasps mine.

  We walk down the trail hand in hand, discussing the scenery and the amenities at the resort. We stay away from personal topics and work-related subjects, though I'm not sure why. Maybe because I told her I don't know if we're dating, and she's not sure if that means I don't want to talk about my life, personal or professional. I don't want to talk about that, but I'll have to eventually. I feel a strong need to know everything about her, and satisfying my curiosity will mean I also have to explain parts of my life that aren't terribly pleasant to discuss.

  This leaves me with one option. I don't ask her any questions. At least, none more intrusive than when I say, "How do you like the resort so far?"

  "It's beautiful." She smiles and shrugs. "But I've only been here since yesterday afternoon, so I can't offer a definitive assessment."

  Her smile is so lovely that I want to kiss her, but she starts talking about the flowers and the trees, and I don't get the chance to taste her lips again. Not yet.

  As we wander farther down the dirt path, the forest gradually thickens around us, and the branches form a canopy above our heads with the sunlight trickling through the gaps. It dapples Maddie's face with shadow and light, lending her a
mysterious air and making her eyes seem darker, though no less beautiful. When I guide her off the prepared trail, traveling down a narrow and grassy but well-worn path, she raises her brows.

  "Where are we going?" she asks. Pointing behind us toward the dirt trail, she adds, "It looks like the nature preserve is that way."

  "The official trail is back there, but we are inside the preserve now. I'm taking you to a secret place I found a few days ago."

  "Are you taking me to your clandestine sex cave so you can do wicked things to me?"

  "I've already done that several times over, without the cave."

  Yes, I want to ravish her again. And again. And again. But mostly, I want to show her the spot I found, one that's not on any map of the resort or the preserve. I want to share it with her because being with Maddie makes me feel completely relaxed for the first time in years.

  We emerge from the shelter of the trees and walk into a small clearing where the sun shines down on us from a clear blue sky, the color so intense that it reminds me of Maddie's eyes. Not a single cloud mars the sky. In front of us, a gentle waterfall spills over a cliff into a small pool, stirring up foam. A grassy ledge surrounds the pool and ducks behind the cascade, while the mist rising from it creates a ghost of a rainbow.

  "This is it," I tell Maddie, setting down my satchel.

  "It's amazing," she says, releasing my hand to turn in a circle, her head tipped back. "Thank you for bringing me here, Richard."

  "Can I convince you to call me Rick? I've already said you can."

  "Okay, I will. Rick." She licks her lips, then runs her tongue along the bottoms of her top teeth. "I like the way that slides over my tongue. It's always been one of my favorite names because it's so damn sexy. Rick. Mm, I could say that all day and all night. Rick."

  She turns the solitary syllable into a throaty, erotic tease.

  All I can do is stare at her. I've never met a doctor who behaves the way she does.

  "Gotta say that again," she announces. "Ri—"

  I silence her with two fingers on her lips. "Don't say my name like that again unless you want me to do things to you that will disturb the local wildlife."

  She laughs, though my fingers muffle it, and mumbles something.

  I remove my fingers. "Sorry, I couldn't understand that."

  "What I said was that it would be worth triggering a stampede of wildlife if you're making me scream for the right reasons." She presses her body against me, her mouth a hair's breadth from my lips. "Being around you turns me into a nymphomaniac."

  "Whatever the male version of a nymphomaniac is, you're turning me into that."

  The clothes she's wearing ensure that I desperately want to shag her. She changed while I was getting what I needed from my room, and now she's wearing a flower-pattern bikini top with shorts that barely cover her arse and a sky blue blouse that hangs open. Her walking shoes are sky blue to match her shirt. In that outfit, she looks so entirely fuckable that I can't think about anything except all the ways I plan to make her scream my name just like she suggested.

  But not out here. She deserves a soft mattress under her, not dirt and weeds that will get stuck in places no one wants them.

  Though I stop myself from undressing her, I can't prevent my lips from finding hers or my tongue from thrusting inside her mouth. She tastes faintly of caramel cupcakes, but when I plunge deeper, all I taste is her—a flavor I can't describe because no words in any language will suffice. She slides her tongue around mine and moans, the sound rife with intense pleasure and hunger.

  I could kiss her all day.

  She writhes against me, her body rubbing on my cock. "Let's go for a dip in the waterfall."

  "That sounds wonderful, but I didn't bring my swimsuit."

  "You can swim in your underwear." She tugs the waistband of my trousers and peeks inside them. Head down, she glances up at me. "You seem to have forgotten your pants, Rick."

  I think she enjoys calling me Rick strictly because she knows how randy I get when she speaks my name in that seductive tone. "I avoid wearing pants as much as possible. They're bloody annoying. By the way, I love that you're using the British word."

  "Just showing a little respect for your culture. Though I think other words are sexier—like briefs or boxers."

  "Maybe I prefer thongs."

  She skates her hands up my chest, shaking her head. "Men who wear polo shirts don't buy underwear that's made for gigolos."

  "But women who are epidemiologists do wear string bikinis."

  "Guess you think being a medical researcher means I should be an uptight geek who wears duct-taped eyeglasses."

  "I've never met a medical researcher before, so you're the only example I have." I palm her arse with both hands. "Please forgive me. What can I do to make up for that egregious insult?"

  "Feed me cupcakes."

  Well, at least we both use the same word for those.

  I spread the blanket out on the ground beside the satchel and bring out the food and water bottles. "Sit down, please."

  She does that, but then stretches out on the blanket on her back.

  "That's not sitting, Maddie. Or do Americans have a different word for that?"

  "Don't you want to shag me on the blanket?"

  "I'd love to, but I was hoping we could do something less exciting right now."

  "Like what?"

  Her body, in that bikini and spread out on that blanket, looks so tantalizing. I want her, but after the many times I enjoyed her body last night, I shouldn't touch her. What if she's sore? She hasn't acted like she is, but it might take a while before the soreness sets in.

  Scratching my jaw, I force myself to focus on her face. "I'd like us to talk. Get to know each other. Is that all right?"

  "I thought you had to go home."

  "Well, I told you I changed my mind about that." I kneel on the blanket beside her. "I had planned to stay here for two weeks, but after one week I was sick of it. Until I saw you on the beach. That blue bikini changed my mind."

  "I'm glad you're here. Taking a solo vacation sounded like fun until I got here. Sitting on the beach drinking a mai tai by myself kind of sucks. Having a friend to talk to is nice."

  "Are we friends? So far, all we've really done is shag."

  "We're becoming friends." She sits up. "I'm still confused. You said you were leaving, so how did you keep your suite?"

  "I had checked out, but halfway to the airport, I told the taxi driver to bring me back here. The suite was still available since I'd booked it for two weeks."

  "Glad you came back." She stretches her lithe body and sighs. "I could get addicted to shagging you. And I think I'll keep using that word. It's cute."

  "Do you think the word fuck is cute too?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Fuck is hot, not cute. But the word shag is just adorable."

  "When my mate Chance told me that American women think 'shag' is cute, I assumed he was misinformed. I think the only American women he ever dated were his ex-wife and his current wife."

  "Nope, it's true. Just ask my sister."

  "I'll take your word for it." I drag my satchel closer and bring out the box of cupcakes. "Now, let's have a snack."

  She grins and rubs her hands together.

  Maddie might think the word shag is adorable, but not even the cupcakes I'm holding could be sweeter or more enticing than the woman before me. I could get addicted too—to her body, her smile, the barmy things she says, and especially her uninhibited ways.

  To hell with work. I'm officially on holiday.

  Chapter Seven

  Maddie

  Richard and I enjoy the cupcakes for a while without talking, though we do feed each other. He holds one to my mouth, but when I open up to take a bite, he shoves the entire thing in there. Frosting gets smeared all over my mouth and on my cheeks too. I get my revenge by stuffing a cupcake into his mouth and purposely smearing it all ov
er him. Then I lick the frosting and crumbs off his skin, taking my sweet time doing that because I love how turned on it gets him.

  We both had said we wanted to get to know each other, but we're having too much fun with food to do much talking. We laugh a lot. And we do take a dip in the pool under the waterfall. I wore a bikini, so I'm pretty much ready to go. All I need to do is ditch my shorts and shirt, then jump in. Richard is still deciding whether to keep his khakis on while I practice my butterfly stroke. I've never been good at that, and I haven't gone swimming in a long time, so I give up and just paddle around.

  Finally, Richard strips naked and joins me.

  We do nothing more titillating than splashing each other, but we still have a blast.

  By the time we walk back to the resort, it's lunchtime.

  Rick and I change into swimsuits and get our meals to go, then find a secluded section of the beach where we can relax under an umbrella of palm trees while we eat and talk.

  "Since you've seen my driving license," he says, "you know how old I am. I don't normally ask women their ages, but it seems only fair that I get to know yours."

  "I agree. It's fair." I pop a grape into my mouth and chew it slowly before answering. "I'm thirty-two."

  His lips tighten into a teasing smile. "That old? You seem much younger."

  "Well, I am younger—than you. Eight years younger, to be precise." I pick up another grape and roll it between my thumb and forefinger. "I like precision. It's a side effect of my job."

  Why am I saying the most boring thing imaginable? My need for precision and my obsession with gathering data won't make him hot for me. And ever since I met Richard Hunter, I've developed a new obsession—shagging him.

  Oh yeah, that's my new favorite word.

  "You mentioned you're an epidemiologist," he says. "I don't quite know what that is."

  Nobody does. Even once I explain, most people still have that baffled look on their faces.