by Anna Durand
"You're on," I say, and I start swimming.
Every time I think I've got him pegged, Richard Hunter reveals another hidden facet to his personality. The sensual lover, the sweetheart who came back for me, the businessman who fears he'll lose his company, the caring man who worries about making me sore, and now the playful Brit who wants to swim with me.
We race to the boulder, and I get there first. Hoisting myself up onto the rock, I cheer Richard on while he catches up to me. We're both breathing hard, yet I feel exhilarated.
"You cheated," he says. "Took off before I could get started."
"We can do it again, and I'll let you win this time."
"My ego isn't that fragile." He plants his hands on the rock and levers himself out of the water, holding his body in that position. "You've earned a prize. I don't have a medal for you, so I'll improvise."
He covers my mouth with his own, sliding his tongue between my lips, teasing me with light flicks until I moan and my body slackens. He glides his tongue around mine and sucks on the tip. Then he pulls away, though he's still propped up with his powerful arms, his biceps bulging from the effort.
Flashing me a sexy smile, he dives back into the water.
And I dive in too, swimming in his wake all the way back to the shore. We sprawl on the sand, half in the water, and lie there while we catch our breath. The sky stretches out above us in every direction, a blanket of unblemished blue, and the waves lap against our bodies like a thousand butterfly kisses on our skin. So what if I'm jumbling up my metaphors? This moment feels so…perfect.
I've never believed in love at first sight. Still don't. But this guy makes me consider the answer to a question I never dreamed I'd ask myself. Could I fall for a guy in two weeks?
Guess I'm about to find out.
Chapter Ten
Richard
Madeleine Solberg is the most incredible woman on earth. Hyperbole has never been a weakness of mine, but she makes me want to spout overblown statements every five seconds. When I tossed her into the water, she screamed and grinned. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But I seem to say that a lot since I met Maddie. Everything she does is the most wonderful, everything she says is the most enchanting, and everything about her is the most alluring.
What's happening to me? I don't care. If anyone tries to explain it to me, I will seal their mouths with the strongest tape available. I don't want to hear how barmy this is, taking up with a woman I've just met and shagging her so many times that I've made her sore. I loved taking her body again and again, but no one would believe I'm capable of sleeping with a stranger, much less spending two weeks in the Caribbean without thinking about work. But that's what I want to do.
The solicitors need time to sort the lawsuit nonsense and find common ground for a settlement, which means my company will survive until I get home. After that, I don't know. What I do know is that I might have a nervous breakdown if I don't relax.
Something about Maddie inspires me to behave like a randy college boy. That's appropriate, though, isn't it? We're about to embark on a frivolous holiday, after all.
And it feels fucking fantastic.
For the rest of the day, we explore the nature preserve—and somehow, I restrain myself and do not ravage her body. I've stopped counting minutes and hours. I left my watch in my suite, and I don't look at the clock on my mobile. I kept it with me in case of emergency. Never know, a flock of parrots might assault us in a tropical version of that Hitchcock film. After a good while of strolling through the wilderness, we take a break to sit beside a stream while birds I've never seen before sing lovely songs all around us.
Before we left the resort, Maddie had exchanged her jeans and blouse for a bikini and skimpy shorts, and she tied her hair up in a ponytail. Before that, she'd swapped her ensemble from last night for the jeans. How many times will she switch her outfits today? Not that I mind. She does look beautiful in her shorts and bikini and as edible as ever. Still, I find myself admiring her face instead of her breasts and thinking about how much I love holding her in my arms rather than the things I'd love to do to her naked body. I don't know what it means, the fact I'm thinking up bad poetry about her eyes instead of seducing her. I don't care. For two weeks, I'm ordering myself to stop thinking.
That's right. No more thoughts. I'll be a brainless idiot, but at least I'll have a bloody good time.
After our leisurely exploration of the natural wonders this island has to offer, we wander back to the resort hand in hand. It feels comfortable, and somehow right. Maybe I feel this way because I'm far from home, on an island where no one knows me, with a woman who doesn't know me.
Except she does know me a little. I've told her things I haven't told anyone else.
In the lobby, Maddie pulls her hand free of mine. "See you in the morning."
"Morning? No, you can't go. We haven't even had dinner yet."
"I'm pooped, so maybe I'll just order room service."
"We can do that together." Am I desperate to keep her near me? Yes, and I'm not ashamed of that fact. I'll beg if necessary. "Please, Maddie, stay with me."
"For dinner, you mean."
"All night. I promise I won't seduce you, but I'd love to—" I stop mid-sentence as I realize what I intend to say next. I can't believe I'm about to suggest it, but I will suggest it. I want this more than I've wanted anything in a long time. "I'd love it if you stayed with me in my suite for the duration. For the whole two weeks. Just sleeping together, actually sleeping, is all I want for tonight."
She stares at me, not blinking, her lips parted.
Maybe I've stunned her so badly she can't comprehend what I've said. I can't quite comprehend it either. Just sleep with her? All night? She won't be sore for more than a few days, I imagine, but I absolutely would love to spend every night with her body cradled against mine while we sleep.
"It's too much, isn't it?" I ask, though I'm hoping she'll disagree with me.
Maddie bites her upper lip, still eying me with a strange expression.
Now I've ruined it. She's horrified, and she's about to tell me to sod off. Well, being American, she'll probably tell me to go to hell.
A smile stretches her lips little by little. "I would love to do that. Should I give up my room?"
"That's up to you. Dane and Rika are paying for it, after all. If you want to keep it strictly so they won't be offended, that's your decision."
"Rika doesn't need to know. She's my sister, not my keeper."
"You're doing it, then? Moving in with me?"
Her smile gets even bigger, so bright that her happiness warms me too. "Yes, I'm moving in with a guy I just met. I've lost my mind, but this feels too damn good to question it. I'll give up my room in case someone else needs it. The resort did overbook once. They might do it again."
We've both lost our minds, apparently, but I agree with Maddie. This feels too good to worry about it. I don't want to worry about anything for these two weeks. Why should I worry? I have an incredible woman who wants to share my suite and my bed, even if we don't have sex.
"I'll help you get your things," I say, "and bring them to my—our suite. Do you think I need to inform the resort that you'll be staying with me?"
"Probably. They'll charge more for a second occupant, I'm sure."
"Let's take care of that first."
"You go do that while I shove my stuff into suitcases." She kisses me and pats my chest. "I think you can live without me for ten minutes."
"What if I can't? I might expire right here in the lobby, starved to death by the lack of your presence."
"I think you'll pull through."
She kisses me again and jogs off to her room.
I watch her shapely arse until she turns down a hallway, out of sight.
Once I've informed the desk clerk about the new arrangement, and I've signed a slip of paper to acknowledge I'm willing to pay the extra fees, I sit d
own on one of the sofas in the large lobby to wait for Maddie. Any amount of money is worth it to have her with me. Of course, the only other time she's been in my suite, we were shagging on every piece of furniture for hours and hours. When she walks into that suite again, I might experience an overpowering urge to reenact last night.
But I won't do it. I'm not a bastard.
No, I will not ravish her tonight. Not even if she calls me Rick in that sultry purr.
I'm contemplating the strength of my willpower when my mobile rings. The second I answer, I wish I hadn't.
"Good day, Mr. Hunter," says a feminine voice I've heard too often lately, so often that I recognize her Austrian accent after hearing her speak four words. "This is Ilsa Weingartner, personal assistant to Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill."
Oh bloody hell. Why can't I at least get this albatross off my neck?
"Good day to you too, Ms. Weingartner," I say, attempting to sound pleasant when all I want to do is disconnect this call, chuck my mobile in the nearest rubbish bin, and find Maddie so I can kiss her senseless. "What can I do for you today?"
"Sir Dexter requests that you dine with him this evening at his home. Eight o'clock. I will text you the dress code."
"Dress code? Sorry, I already have plans. We'll need to reschedule for another time."
"You know how Sir Dexter feels about rejection." Ilsa doesn't sound like she's chastising me. She's simply stating a fact, and yes, I know exactly how Dexter responds to rejection. He suggests I get drunk, then he belts out bawdy sea shanties until my ears are ringing—and that's how he reacts over the phone. I don't care to find out how he handles rejection in person.
"May I ask what your plans are for this evening, Mr. Hunter?"
"Personal, not business."
"Bring your companion along. Sir Dexter won't mind, as long as only one extra person accompanies you."
How will Maddie feel about that? She might be excited about it, or she might get angry at me for agreeing to a business meeting. This is meant to be a work-free holiday, after all. "I need to discuss this with my, ah, friend. I'll ring you in half an hour with my answer."
Ilsa's voice drops to a whisper. "Please don't make me tell him that. Last time someone delayed accepting his invitation, he drank an entire bottle of cognac and danced nude on the veranda for an hour while reciting filthy limericks."
I do empathize with Ilsa. Her employer is a difficult man at best, though he's also very charming. And yes, Dexter has a filthy mind. No one who hasn't spoken to him would know that, certainly not from reading his books.
Maddie walks into the lobby. Noticing me, she smiles and waves.
"All right," I tell Ilsa while I wave at Maddie. "Let Dexter know we'll be there at eight."
"Thank you, Mr. Hunter. I appreciate your cooperation. The helicopter will pick you up at seven forty-five."
"Goodbye, Ilsa."
I hang up and walk toward Maddie while she walks toward me. We meet halfway, and I instinctively claim her hand. "Where are your bags?"
"A bellboy will bring them. I called the front desk to tell them I don't need the room anymore, but they'd already heard the news." She taps a finger on my chest. "From a British man with a sexy voice."
"I doubt the desk clerk described me that way. He can't be gay considering how much he enjoys staring at women's arses."
"Maybe I added the sexy-voice part." She leans sideways just enough to see my arse. "Well, if that desk clerk didn't ogle your tush, then he's one hundred percent straight. Anyone who likes men wouldn't be able to resist staring at your ass."
"Not sure if I should thank you for that compliment. I can't tell if it is a compliment."
"Of course it is." She pats my arse. "You, Richard, have got one fine behind. And I've seen all of it."
"I'm well-acquainted with your behind too, and it's perfection."
"You are so skilled at sucking up. It's impressive."
"Wait until you hear me talking to an author or a literary agent." I groan, because mentioning work reminds me of what I need to tell her. My shoulders sag. "I'm afraid our plans for the evening have been altered. I need to have dinner with a very difficult man so I can try to convince him to sign a contract with my company. His personal assistant just called to inform me that her employer commands me to dine with him at eight o'clock this evening."
Maddie's shoulders sag too. "Can't you say no? You're on vacation."
"This wasn't meant to be a holiday, not in the beginning. I came here to meet this particular author, but he's been…resistant to the idea." I lift her hand to kiss it. "You can come with me."
"To a business dinner? That doesn't sound like a lot of fun."
"Maybe you'll change your mind once I tell you who I'm meeting." I fold both my hands around hers. "Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill."
Her eyes widen. "The recluse nobody's seen in decades? He's like the Howard Hughes of the publishing world, isn't he? Kind of nutty, super wealthy, and impossible to get hold of."
"That's all true, though I don't think Dexter is quite as bad as Howard Hughes was."
"Dexter Armstrong-Hill hasn't written a book in how long? Must be twenty years at least."
I let go of her hand, stuffing both of mine in my trouser pockets. "It's been almost thirty years. Every publishing company on earth has tried to sweet-talk him into making a comeback. But he contacted me via his personal assistant. Signing him would be the biggest coup in the history of the publishing industry."
"Really? Well, we have to go."
"Even though I'm breaking my vow to avoid work for two weeks?"
"Plans can change. It's not the end of the world." She throws her arms around me and presses her lips to mine, holding them there for several seconds. "I'd love to go with you. It'll be like an adventure. I assume he lives on this island."
"No, he lives on a private island twenty-five kilometers west of this one. He'll send a helicopter to pick us up."
"Wow, that's even more of an adventure. I can't wait." She twists her mouth one way, then the other. "Do I need to dress up for this? I didn't bring any fancy clothes."
My mobile chimes, and I pull away from Maddie to get it out of my pocket and check the text Ilsa sent me. I wince.
"Dexter's dress code is…unusual," I say. "His personal assistant, Ilsa, texted me the details. We'll need to visit a particular shop to get ready for our adventure. Dexter won't let us inside his home if we aren't wearing the appropriate clothes from the appropriate shop."
"An unusual dress code. This just keeps getting better." She bounces on her toes, clapping her hands—but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. "A mystery dinner with a mysterious man. Let's go."
She is absolutely adorable. So of course, I want to shag her.
But I won't do it tonight. Besides, I suspect Dexter will wear us both out.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie
I skim my hands over my new dress, feeling oddly invigorated by the prospect of the mysterious dinner party Richard and I are about to attend. My clothes are, like Richard said, unusual. Still, I kind of like it. How often does a girl get the chance to wear a Victorian-style evening gown? I have a reticule too, which turns out to be a little drawstring purse.
First, we'd gone to a costume shop—yeah, a Caribbean island that caters to beach-loving tourists has a costume shop—so we could dress appropriately. Sir Dexter keeps this shop on retainer or something, so they'll always be ready to provide the costumes he demands his guests wear. He pays for it, so hey, I'll roll with the old-timey flow. We also visit a salon so I can get a period-appropriate makeover. Richard has to put on fake sideburns to make him look more like a Victorian gentleman, or maybe he's a rake. I don't know the difference.
One more time, I glance down to admire my dress. It's white satin with intricate black lace and a neckline that highlights my breasts without exposing too much. I have a pearl necklace too, and pearl earrings to match
. I feel like I've just stepped out of a movie. Or maybe I'm stepping into one. I do have a mysterious engagement at the home of a mysterious man.
In his Victorian suit, Richard looks hot enough to set the whole island on fire.
We're standing in the airport waiting for our helicopter to arrive. It feels kind of strange to be dressed like the olden days while gazing out at a Caribbean inlet where speedboats zoom by in the fading twilight and we're waiting for a chopper to pick us up. Any minute I expect to see either a pirate ship dock out there or a TV crew jump out of a closet to announce we're being filmed for a practical-joke show.
I think I'd prefer the pirates.
Neither of those things happens. The helicopter lands, and we climb aboard. I have some trouble with that since I'm wearing voluminous skirts that go down to my feet. Richard has to help me, but finally, we are on our way. The helicopter takes off.
Through the windows, I can see the lights on the boats below us and the stars in the sky above us. I hold my date's hand the whole way because I like doing that, but also because I've never flown in a helicopter before. It's a little scary to see all those lights whizzing by so far beneath us. Though I can't see the water, I know we're flying over open sea when the number of lights from sea vessels dwindles. The glow of the resort retreats from view too.
We don't try to talk to each other during the flight, though we have headsets with mics. I'm engrossed by the night sky. Every time I look at Richard, he's looking at me, smiling, like he's as engrossed by me as I am by the stars and the moon.
Once we're on the ground, we find a horse-drawn carriage waiting for us near the dock. Oil lanterns on poles illuminate the area, and I'm not kidding about our transportation. Two white horses pull a gold-trimmed white carriage that has an interior upholstered in velvet and oil lanterns attached to each of its four corners. The whole scene is like something out of a fairy tale.
Like a perfect Victorian gentleman, Richard offers me his hand to help me into the carriage. I don't think he's playing a part. He is as sweet and courteous as he seems. I can't remember the last time any guy offered me his hand or opened a door for me. Yep, Richard does that too. He held the costume shop door for me, and the salon door too. If he had a cape, I'm sure he would've laid that down on the ground so I wouldn't have to walk on the dirt.