What Janie Wants

by Rhenna Morgan

  She hurried forward and glanced back at the point of contact. “You said you normally visit your uncle in winter,” she said, more breathless than before. “Why the change?”

  Hell, if she had any idea how active his imagination was at the moment, she’d sprint straight out the sliding glass door and all the way to Isla Mujera. He ushered her outside and across the open patio. “Ah, so you’re not willing to share your secrets, but you want mine.”

  Janie’s eyes popped wide. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He motioned toward the circular thatched shelters near the beach, pocketed his hands in his board shorts, and trailed behind her. It was either that, or cup the back of her neck and see if her skin was as smooth as it looked. “I’ve got no problem sharing. I made a bad business call and I can’t figure out how to fix it. The whole thing’s got me off center, so I came here to regroup.”

  She stopped at the closest palapa and stared with the same slack-jawed wonder everyone else got with their first look at Gypsy Cove. Still aqua water and pristine, powder-white sand. The one peaceful taste of heaven on Playa del Carmen’s otherwise buffeted shores. And at this time of day, most guests were more interested in food than sun, so the cove was pretty deserted.

  Zade ambled closer, grateful for the time to openly appreciate the far more appealing view Janie created while she studied the beach. “This one’s yours. You want sun or shade?”

  Janie craned her neck toward the sun and shielded her eyes. “It’s probably a horrid idea with my skin, but I think I’d like to try to get some sun.”

  “Can’t have you go home without a tan.” Zade pulled one of the two cushioned loungers out of the shade and angled it so she’d get an even tan. He tugged the second one alongside it. “You mind if I hang with you for a bit? All the noise at the pool rakes at me after awhile. Plus, I figure having someone around to fight off the streakers might not be a bad plan. At least, until you decide you’re ready for commando.”

  She placed her bag and book on the small table, and grinned up at him. “That’s not happening. Not here. Not ever. I’m too old for that.”

  “We’ll see.” He stretched out and closed his eyes.

  Janie’s room key jingled and clanked against something plastic as she rummaged through her bag. “So, what’s the bad business decision?”

  He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck to ease the quick pressure spike at the base of his neck. Every time the topic came up, it reminded him of how gullible he’d been, and it rankled deep. Still, Janie was talking. And if she was talking, then they had a chance of moving on to other, more interesting topics. Or doing. Doing would be good. “I sold my business to some people who said they’d do one thing with it and ended up doing something else.”

  Janie settled on the lounger beside him. “You sold a business?”

  He pried open one eye and twisted his head for a better view of her.

  She popped the lid on a neon orange bottle of sport-strength suntan lotion and shook out a palmfull. “I can’t even get my son to think about work, let alone have a business to consider selling.”

  “How old’s your son?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “God, is he even out of college yet?”

  “No, but I’d like him to think about being self-supporting one of these days. He’s only got a year before graduation, and I’m not convinced he knows what he’s going to do after.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t.”

  “Sounds like you did.”

  Hell, yes, he did. With a camera, he could capture things other people missed. Making women the central focus of his lens was a perk. He closed his eyes. Alternative music drifted over from the pool, but it was quiet enough not to drown out the surf. The cove was always peaceful, but something about Janie’s presence made it more so. “I loved what I did.”

  “Why’d you sell it, then?”

  “Stupid.” The burn that billowed up every time he thought about what he’d done cranked into high gear, and he rubbed his chest above his heart. “They offered me a sweet deal on a buyout, and promised me they’d stick to the same plan and principle I’d started it on.”

  The steady swish as Janie rubbed lotion into her legs sounded next to him. A coconut scent carried right behind it. “You said you’re a photographer, right?”

  That made two details she’d remembered about him. Either she had an exceptional memory, or Ms. McAlister had given him a thought or two since yesterday. “Yep.”

  “So, how could they screw that up?”

  Well, this would be interesting. He sat up, planted his feet in the sand, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Because I had a specialty business. One that catered to women. One I busted my balls to make sure came across as tasteful and made them feel good about themselves.”

  “What kind of specialty?”

  He smiled, poised to catch her reaction as if he had his camera. “Boudoir shots.”

  Janie’s hand froze mid forearm and she snapped her head around so hard, a strand of auburn hair tumbled over one eye. “Boudoir?”

  “Nothing trashy,” he said. “All tasteful and meant to draw out a woman’s beauty. Usually with the help of their partner or husband.”

  She licked her lip and started back up with the lotion, moving up to her shoulders in slower, deeper strokes. Shifting to face front, she focused on her toes and acted like they were chatting up the weather. In a tone a notch lower, she said, “And they screwed it up how?”

  “You familiar with Glamour Shots?”

  Her sharp laugh rang out across the cove and ricocheted back to them. Her easy smile stretched ear-to-ear, all the awkwardness of seconds ago obliterated. “Oh, Lord. Please tell me they didn’t gaudy up something good?”

  “Double gaudy. Cheesy corsets, stilettos, and Photoshop. Everything that flies in the face of what I wanted to give them.”

  “Give who?”

  “Women.”

  Janie’s gaze locked with his and, for a second, he wondered if she was holding her breath. She rolled her lips inward the way women did when trying to smooth out their lipstick, twisted as though looking for something behind her, and flicked the bottle’s top closed.

  Her back. She couldn’t reach her back with the lotion. The cut of the swimsuit was low and her barely tanned skin was on display. Talk about divine intervention.

  He stood and tugged the bottle from her grip. “Scoot up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Scoot up.”

  Warily, she studied him.

  He straddled the lounger behind her and sat.

  “What are you doing?”

  He squeezed out enough lotion to make damned sure he’d have to rub for a while. “Helping you with your sunscreen.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not? Would you rather burn?”

  Janie twisted. “But it’s not appropri—”

  His hands connected on either side of her spine and her shoulders snapped back. “Easy,” he murmured, curling his thumbs and kneading the back of her neck. “Just relax.”

  Bit by bit, her muscles unclenched and her breathing grew choppy.

  God, what was it about this woman? Touching her felt like more than just physical contact. There was a foundation to it. A soul-deep connection and communication that made every other intimate moment he’d had with other women seem cheap in comparison.

  She let her head fall forward, and a few loose tendrils fell forward with it. A moan of satisfaction vibrated beneath his palm.

  Slow and easy, he worked the lotion into her smooth skin. Relaxed movements meant to sooth and entice. He nudged her shoulder straps a little wider apart, and dipped his fingertips under them. “When’s the last time someone touched you, Janie?”

  The pool noise faded to nothing, but the soft, peaceful pattern of wind, waves, and birds seemed to thicken and amplify.

  A tiny shiver shook her. “A long time.”

  God, he’d like to fix that. Knock those
damned swimsuit straps aside and cup her breasts. He’d bet anything she’d be twice as responsive sexually as she was when talking with him. “Humans weren’t meant to be without contact. Touch can cure things words can’t even get close to.”

  She peered at him over her shoulder. “Sometimes you say the most mature things.”

  One step past young man, at least. Probably best not to rush it, though. He liked the feel of her beneath his hands too much, all pliant and loose. No way was he screwing this up.

  “Why boudoir shots?” she asked.

  He dragged his fingers up the sides of her torso, not so far as to touch the sides of her breasts, but enough to hint. “Because women are beautiful. Perfect creatures. Because there’s nothing more powerful than when they gift someone with their intimacy. I wanted to capture it. To help every client find their own unique beauty and save it for them so they could see it later.”

  She twisted. “And they made it ugly.”

  He dropped his hands. “And they made it ugly.”

  He stood, set the lotion on the table, and stretched out on his chair.

  “Thank you.” Her voice barely registered against the water and the wind, but it was still enough to make his dick swell and take note. All raspy, low, and decadent. “That was nice.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “No. Yes. I mean…” She wiggled and gripped the armrest. “It’s inappropriate. I’m too old for you.”

  Damn. Back to that again. “No you’re not.”

  “You don’t even know how old we’re talking about.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I did. Age is a number. You’re a person. I find a lot about you attractive, and when a man finds a woman who appeals to him on many levels, he generally tries to find a way to get his hands on her.”

  “I don’t think you understand.” She splayed her arms wide. “I’m forty. As in, old enough to be your mother.”

  Zade closed his eyes and centered his head again. “My mom’s a pretty rockin’ chick. I’ve seen her turn heads from twenty to sixty, and the ones she takes home are the ones who click with her, not the ones who fall into an appropriate age group.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  Zade fisted his hand to keep from rubbing his chest. “Dead. Died when I was a teenager. Cancer. But she didn’t die with him. She mourned, pulled herself up, and taught me to live life.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  So sensitive. He liked that about her. How she seemed to tread carefully even around strangers. “Don’t be. I loved my dad and he loved us. It was just his time. We live while we’re here, then we move on.”

  Quiet stretched between them. Dahlia’s meditation chime sounded from the pier around the bend, and a seagull chirped overhead.

  “My son is twenty-one,” she said.

  “So you mentioned.”

  Zade paced his breaths and concentrated on the sun’s warmth along his skin.

  “You can’t be much older than him,” she said.

  So, that was it. He sat upright and faced her, a grin he knew he should hide, but couldn’t quite manage to stop, whipping into place. “You’re not gonna let this age thing go, are you?”

  Janie frowned at the horizon for a few heartbeats, then slid her gaze to him. So much desire there, but pain too. Conflict. “When I look at you I can’t help but think about my son.”

  “When I touched you, were you thinking about your son?”

  “No.” Breathless. A husky tone he wanted to hear behind all kinds of other phrases. Preferably, “Yes.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” he said. “I’m a man interested in a woman. Interested in getting to know you. Interested in finding all the best ways to touch you and make you sigh the way you did five minutes ago. And if I’m lucky, seeing the look on your face when you come.”

  Janie sputtered as if he’d tossed a bucket full of ice water square in her face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I’m forty ye—”

  “Besides age.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

  “It was your eyes that got me first,” he said. “Not the color, but the way you looked at me. The way you made contact and made me feel like I was the only man alive. You smiled, and all I could think about was seeing if your lips felt as good as they looked. And your hair. Christ, woman. It’s wild and natural and makes a man imagine what it would look like after a crazy night of sex.”

  Her gaze darted over his shoulder toward the pool and the shrill laughter of too many college kids with unlimited booze. “But don’t you want someone with a little less wear and tear? I can’t compete with girls your age.”

  Son of a bitch. She thought he was fucking shallow. A man who couldn’t see past vanity and strategically placed highlights. No different from those bastards who thought Photoshopping beautiful women was the answer to a solid bottom line. She may as well have punched him while she was at it. “Right.” If he were smart, he’d walk away. Focus on finding a way to fix his business and head home to execute it.

  She hugged her stomach, pulled her knees up tight, and curled her toes into the cushion. Something had hurt her. Shaken her confidence as much as his bad business move had shaken him.

  “You realize your statement says more about what you think of yourself than it says about me,” he said. “I see a woman without pretense. A woman who’s real and sexy from the inside out. But if you want to compare yourself to barely legal girls who’ve never juggled more than how to coordinate the outfits in their closet, or talk about who’s dating who, then that’s on you.”

  The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and she shoved it behind one ear. No clues at all to help him navigate beyond the tight line of her lips and the tension in her body. Either he’d struck a stronger nerve than intended, or she was two seconds away from shooting out of her chair and kicking his ass.

  Either way, he’d spoken his truth. He stood. “I’ll let you have some time alone. I’ve got things to take care of this afternoon, but I’d like to have dinner with you. No pressure. No agenda beyond what you’re comfortable with. Do you want to join me, or would you rather be alone and discredit everything about you that’s amazing?”

  Her gaze jumped to his. “That’s harsh.”

  “Also true.” He inched closer and cupped her face. Her sun-warmed skin kissed his thumb as he traced her cheekbone. “Whatever you’re here for, I’d like to help you find it.”

  Janie strolled through the softly lit lobby toward the dining room and let out a slow, calming breath. It was dinner, not a mortal sin. She wished her heart would figure that out and stop its maniacal thumping. Fighting the heat was bad enough. Adding a pulse on overdrive into the mix was too much.

  A young couple meandered from the dining room, their fingers twined easily, both of them with carefree smiles. Young and in love. Nothing on the horizon but laughter and building a family.

  She remembered those days. Gerald hadn’t been able to get enough of her then. When faced with a choice for time with his friends or time with her, he’d always chosen her. When had that changed? Five? Ten years ago? She palmed her stomach, settled her hand on the tiny pooch below her belly button, and sucked in her gut. Damn, she hated when she did that. Like anyone here would notice a middle-aged woman out on her own.

  Zade noticed. And he called you sexy.

  She relaxed, pushed back her shoulders, and fiddled with the straps of her sundress. The sales lady had sworn the built in bra was sufficient for her full figure, but it sure felt like she was running around topless.

  Inside the bustling dining room, wrought iron chandeliers hung from tall ceilings, the tips of the faux candles turned to full brightness. The walls were painted a pale flamingo color that should have been atrocious, but mixed with the turquoise and gold accents, turned the large space into a cozy party. Tables and chairs were lined up tight on one end and three buffets with everything from salad to
dessert filled the other.

  Zade stood behind two younger men seated at a round table, his hands anchored on their chair backs as he listened to their conversation. His blue button down with rolled up sleeves and khakis were a far cry from the rest of the men at the table, whose rumpled polos and long shorts were probably the only decent attire they’d packed.

  He looked up and stopped mid-sentence. His smile shifted from open, easy laughter, to somewhere between pride and sin. He clapped one of the men on the back, never breaking his stare, and left his friends behind.

  Catcalls and laughter rang out from table.

  Zade kept prowling, his lasered focus so intense she couldn’t decide whether to thank God she’d braved the invitation, or run like hell for her room. He crowded close and cupped the back of her neck. “You came.”

  The way he said it made her wonder if he’d somehow installed a camera in her room. She hadn’t surrendered to the need for release, still too hung up on relegating herself to Dirty Old Woman status, but every time she replayed the feel of his hands on her back, she’d come close.

  She couldn’t remember the last time Gerald had touched her that way. With so much feeling and intimacy it rattled every nerve ending.

  His heat filtered through her cotton sundress, and his light, citrusy cologne was one-hundred percent confident, unapologetic male. The kind that made her want to snuggle close and nestle her nose in the crook of his neck, the rest of the room be damned.

  “Hungry?”

  A fission of pleasure started at her breastbone and radiated outward. God, did everything that came out of his mouth have to spark dirty thoughts? “Definitely.”

  He smiled, showcasing model-perfect teeth and steered her to the back of the room and the arched double doors that led outside. “I took a chance and pulled in a favor from Arlo. He saved us one of the tables on the balcony. We can either order off the menu or do the buffet. Your choice.”

  The loud voices and steady clink of flatware on plates dampened the minute she stepped onto the tile veranda. Tables with midnight blue tablecloths were nestled at each end for optimum privacy, with fluttering candles inside hurricane holders in the centers. The sun set behind them and cast the horizon in deep indigo.