by Holley Trent
Her fingers swirled over his skin, matching the rhythm of the waves rolling in and out over the ocean floor, tuned in to his slow inhale and exhale as her nails stroked his back over and over again.
When he leaned forward and gave a thoroughly indulgent male sound, she pulled down the waistband of his shorts and touched her lips just above the crease of his bum.
As she flicked him with the tip of her tongue, an erotic jolt sizzled through her.
Again, her body’s reaction to Jonathan was inexplicably strong. Too strong.
She backed off.
“Nice,” he said. “I’ll take a back scratch from you anytime. I like this game more with each roll.”
Me, too got stuck on her lips. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her. “Your turn.”
He rolled a two. “Ah, the ankle. Don’t think I’ve spent much time in that area before, would you prefer the inner or outer?” He clasped her right ankle and pulled it into his lap.
“Doesn’t matter to me. You choose.” Why did his hands have to be so very warm?
His gaze narrowed to find the tiny buckle on the strap that wrapped around her ankle. Thank goodness she’d taken the time for a leg wax before the holiday. As he slipped the strap free, his fingers brushed against her skin.
“What’s this?”
Oh shoot. She’d forgotten about her tattoo. It was so new.
He turned her ankle into the firelight before she could retract.
“It’s just a little tattoo.”
“What is it? It’s hard to tell in the dark.”
Anxiety tightened her solar plexus. “It’s a toy chest.” Well, sort of. “It doesn’t mean anything, just something I did on a whim.”
“Cute. And sexy.” He dropped her sandal to the ground and rested her ankle on his thigh.
With remarkable delicacy for a hotrod, he ran the tips of his fingers in little whirls over the inside of her ankle, and then he pressed his thumbs in a massaging circle over her foot. Her solar plexus relaxed. Oh, that felt good, so good she forgot to hurry him up.
“By the look on your face, I’d say the inner ankle may be an erogenous zone.” He lifted her foot to his lips to glide over her skin in light nibbles.
“Oh,” she said faintly.
Those magic lips lifted in a smile against her ankle. “Sensitive indeed.”
Had she ever been so in tune with sensation? She really did deserve to enjoy every moment of this game, although she’d be foolish to admit it and give him an advantage. “You’ll have to do better than that. I hardly felt a thing.” It was a wonder she didn’t twitch with that lie. She pulled her leg in and slipped her shoe back on.
“Right, I could tell you didn’t feel a thing by that little sound you made. I loved the feminine throatiness of it.”
“Oh that — no, it wasn’t what you think. I had a kink in my neck that finally released.” She still couldn’t help smiling as she rolled the die and landed on one of the squares with R printed in the center.
“Uh huh.” Jonathan’s dubious gaze held her for a long moment before he reached for the rules. Even his gaze felt good.
“I’ll find out what the R means.” He turned the page over and read for a moment. “Here it is. Ah, there are Rhapsody cards to this game. We missed them.” He poked around in the box, removed a small pile of cards from a clear case, placed them on the board, and handed her the top one.
She read the card. “Truth or Dare. I feel like I’m in the eighth grade. It says here, we both play, ladies first.” She looked over the top of the card at him. “I’m not sure I like this. You choose the dare. If I don’t want to do it, then I must tell the truth.”
Jonathan leaned back against the black pillow with the pink hearts. “Sounds good to me. Okay, Isabelle, let’s see how daring you are. How about a strip tease? Now, before you decide, I want to point out that while you may think this self-serving, don’t forget you can use this dare to your advantage. You make it as sexy as you’ve got, and you’ll have one very aroused opponent.”
A strip tease? Most women would feel playful, sexy, desired after a suggestion like that. No wonder she was in relationship rescue. She bit her lip as the humiliation caused by her one and only strip tease tried to surface in her mind. She quickly clamped a lid on that memory. “I’ll tell the truth.”
Jonathan’s smile flattened out. “Too bad, but maybe we can fit one in later.” The smile came back, slowly spreading with a wicked taint. “Let me think for a second.”
The empty space the silence created pulled at her. “We do want to get back to the resort tonight.”
“We do? You don’t want a permanent beach vacation? A lot of people would kill to retire ocean-side.”
She gave him a look and his smile changed again, now like a sunrise, hot and breath-taking.
“Yeah, I’m kidding. I want out of here, too. Okay, here goes. I think that tattoo on your ankle means something. I’d like to know what inspired it.”
The tiny treasure chest she’d had inked just above her right ankle was only a month old, and she’d told no one what it meant other than one of the women in her relationship recovery program. She didn’t intend to tell any man its true significance, at least not until she found a man she wanted for her eternity. Since she couldn’t avoid the discussion, she give him a pat answer.
“It’s not a toy chest. It’s a treasure chest. It just means we should preserve the treasures of our past.”
“As in architecture, literature, art, that kind of thing?”
“Yes, exactly. For instance, consider the historic significance of an old church or a town hall or even a house. They are reminders that community has always been important. When we have busy lives, we don’t get to know our neighbors, so we don’t have the same sense of security as people did in the past.” That certainly sounded reasonable. Pleased with her answer, she decided to carry on. “Also in these old places we find plaques or documents, treasures so to speak, that remind us of real life heroes and — ”
Heat scorched her fingertips. Isabelle dropped the Rhapsody card. “Ouch!” The card had nearly singed her hand.
A low chuckle sounded from Jonathon’s throat. “It’s not nice to tell fibs. Try again, Isabelle.” Jonathan had read the words now emblazoned on the card.
“Seriously?” Goose flesh rose on the back of her neck. “The game knows if we’re telling the truth?”
Jonathan touched the card gingerly with the tip of his finger. “That was a lie?”
“Just a little.”
“Too bad. It was the most interesting reason I’d ever heard for a tattoo. Want to try again?”
“I hate this game.”
Jonathan laughed. “Truth hurts, huh. It can’t be that bad. Come on, you can tell me, Isabelle. Your secrets won’t leave this beach.”
Chapter Four
Did she really have no choice? Tell the truth or spend who knows how long stranded on a desert isle? She supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal compared to being hijacked — a little embarrassing, but she’d never see Jonathan again. She slid her knee forward and ran her finger over the tattoo. She’d been very pleased with the artist. The drawing was about the size of a quarter, a tiny treasure chest with its lid open, spilling coins and jewels. The amber and crimson tones seemed to sparkle in the sun, when there was sun.
“The treasure chest is a reminder that I deserve to be, well … treasured. We all deserve to be cherished, treated with respect.” There she said it. It hadn’t been nearly as revealing as she’d feared.
“You tattooed yourself to remember that. Who treated you badly, Isabelle?”
Oh, she’d not expected him to draw that conclusion so quickly. She was reminded how easily their conversation had flowed the night they’d had dinner, that when she spoke, Jonathan’
s gaze never wavered from her eyes. He gave her his full attention. Such a rare and wonderful quality in a person. “I’ve had a few bad relationships, and I’ve been trying to determine why. Why I was attracted to men who had sides to them I didn’t see. Men who behaved perfectly at the beginning of our relationship, but then went downhill. Why didn’t I see these flaws right from the start?”
“Because deep down you did not cherish yourself?”
He was full of surprises. “You’re astute, Jonathan. Yes, that’s the conclusion I’ve drawn with the help of a relationship course I’ve been taking.”
“I know it’s none of my business what these guys did, but I’m sorry you got hurt. You’re a good woman and deserve to be treated well.”
“When I broke up with the last man I dated, he put a video of me on the internet. I didn’t even realize he’d taken it. I was devastated, humiliated.”
“Asshole. Tell me his name, and we’ll see if we can repay the humiliation.”
“That’s very gallant of you, Jonathan. I went to the police. They charged him.”
“Isabelle, do you like your body?”
“That’s another question. You only get one truth.” No, she realized. She was making strides, but she may never be an Aphrodite.
“I’ll tell you what I think your most beautiful physical attribute is.”
Oh, here we go. She’d never met a man who didn’t tell her what great boobs she had.
“Your shoulders. It’s a good thing you have them covered up at the moment because you have the smoothest skin, and that curve from your neck over your shoulder to your collarbone — perfection.” He looked down at the Rhapsody card that had nearly burned her. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m attracted to a beautiful woman just like every other shallow-minded man, but you know what I respect about you, Isabelle? I respect your quest for self-awareness, and I love your sexy tattoo. Great answer by the way. I’m glad I asked. Your turn.”
She wanted to kiss him. Jonathan was fun to be with. Sexy as hell and insightful, too. She never would have guessed. But she already knew Jonathan’s other side, the side she’d seen flirting with nearly every woman at the resort over the holiday. Jonathan was fun for the short-term. Nice guy, but not good for the heart.
She’d love to learn a few truths about him. What dare should she ask? Something he wouldn’t want to do, so she could get him to answer a truth.
An idea came to her, prompted by a story he’d told her. “For your dare, I want you to sing the song ‘Feelings’ to me with as much feeling as you can possibly impart.”
He laughed. “You’re bad, Isabelle.”
“It was one of the cutest stories I’d heard in a long time.”
“Great, cute is not what I’m trying to achieve here.”
The night they’d had dinner, he’d admitted his most embarrassing moment had been in grade six when his teacher had the asinine idea he should sing “Feelings” to a girl at the spring concert.
“But I’m tone deaf. It’s really painful. I don’t sing.”
“No problem. Truth then?”
He cleared his throat. “Feelings … ”
A laugh escaped her lips, but she cut it off when he started in on the second line. He was right. He couldn’t sing, and she now pictured in full color how a sixth grade class would have reacted to this performance. He’d obviously recovered from his childhood angst because he didn’t hold back.
Oh man. She resisted the urge to cover her ears.
He paused. “You sure you want more?”
“It’s our only chance of breaking that force field you bumped into earlier.”
“You are bad. Just for that I’m going to keep singing.” And he did.
As he got to the chorus, he stood up on one knee and pretended to have a mic in one hand. Corny, but it was easy to return his smile. Not so easy to keep the giggles under control. She had to grit her teeth against the rough spots when the thought came to her that his cacophony would serve to scare off any potential predators.
He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. All her awareness zeroed in on his touch as if his lips had suddenly become the focal point of the universe. He lost the words but kept up the tune by humming against the back of her hand, along her finger, over her palm to her wrist. The wrist again. What the heck kind of chemistry was in Jonathan’s lips?
She was feeling it all right. Feelings toppled through her, as he slid the sleeve of her sweater into a bunch, then followed with his lips over her bare skin to her inner elbow where she realized immediately, she’d never been touched before.
How many choruses had he hummed through? Erogenous zone indeed. She remembered the comment he’d made about her shoulders and laid her hand on his. The effect on her was instant excitement, like the first time she’d rappelled through a waterfall, but why would touching Jonathan elicit such a strong reaction? Running her hand down his upper arm, she felt his muscles contract. More heat blazed through her.
She knew what it was. The strength she felt in Jonathan’s hard, masculine body appealed to her inner feminine self, gave her the sense of protection she needed to lessen her vulnerability and apprehension. That was it. There was nothing sexier than feeling thoroughly feminine and protected considering the situation they faced. Her feelings were completely normal.
He hummed his last note and lifted his lips. “All I needed was a little inspiration. Maybe I should sing more often.”
She sighed and pressed her eyes shut for a second to both soak in his touch and then wring it out. “Or maybe keep it to the shower until you’ve perfected that tone of yours. But if serenades don’t work for you, you could certainly win a woman over with your tender touch.” A part of Isabelle, a big part, wanted to get to the end of the game, but she was having a hard time denying the part that wondered what sex with Jonathan would be like. No attachments, no caring about his “other” side, just hot, animal sex.
He picked up the die and interrupted her fantasy before it got going. “As much as I’d like to serenade you till sunrise, we need to keep playing.”
This was no time for daydreams, no time for analyzing. “You’re right. Let’s play.”
The die tumbled to the board. He moved his game piece four spaces. “Nice. One of my favorites, the belly button. I imagine you’ve got one sexy navel. Okay, let’s go. I’d like you to lie back against that red pillow behind you, please.”
Don’t waste time. Keep to the program. When she shifted position, she felt the dampness in her panties. Maybe she shouldn’t have given up her opportunity to do that strip tease — destroy her demons and titillate the competition. She was definitely turned on. Was he?
The pillow behind her head was spun into the softest weave she’d ever felt. Hard to resist sinking into pure luxury. She reached her arms behind her head and flattened her hands against the fabric trying to identify the fiber: Satin? Silk? Bamboo, perhaps. She’d read bamboo could be spun remarkably soft. Whatever it was, it did nothing to quell her skin’s sensitivity nor the sudden desire to rub the pillow against other places of her body. Wanton woman never felt so good.
Jonathan stretched out beside her, propped up by one arm. He laid his hand flat on her blouse over her navel. “I saw you reading by the pool wearing a different bikini every day. You must have some interesting tan lines.”
He’d noticed. Why did she care? “We women do try to minimize our tan lines.”
He could have pushed up her blouse a little to expose her belly, but he didn’t. Instead, he undid the bottom button, then another. The effect of having him undress her was jumper cables to her libido.
She wanted to ask him more questions to get her mind to a different place, but then he would be distracted too, and she didn’t want that.
He opened another button and trailed the back of his fingers
over her tummy. Would he open them all? An hour ago she couldn’t have imagined a circumstance where she’d let Jonathan under her clothes. Now she hoped his heart raced faster than hers.
“I hope you have an inny because I plan to use my tongue.”
Oh, she thought weakly.
He flipped back the sides of her blouse to expose her tummy. A purely male satisfied sound rumbled from his throat. “Sweetheart, we have a problem.”
Do we ever.
“Your belly button has gotten stuck under your skirt.”
She peered down to see the top of her navel peeking out. He could easily pull back the waistband enough to give her a kiss, and she would have suggested that under normal circumstances.
Her skirt zipped up the side. Facing him. “If you can’t reach, then you’ll have to unzip me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He unzipped her, slowly. She’d never experienced anticipation before this moment, not like this.
A hungry moan sounded in his throat as her skirt loosened enough for him to slide it down her belly. “I feel like it’s Christmas morning. Isabelle, I don’t see any tan lines. Those bikinis you’ve been wearing are pretty tiny.”
“If it’s Christmas morning, you’re on Santa’s bad boy list.” Every sexual muscle clenched when he leaned down and grazed her belly with his stubbled chin. A belly kiss would not nearly satisfy the cravings building between her thighs.
“Oh!”
He’d dipped his tongue into her navel and tickled her there. Then he began to kiss his way down her belly. She felt her breasts rise and fall, plumped full of desire. His hand slid over her knee and up higher to grip her thigh. He tugged her legs open, spreading her as he nibbled her belly. Cool air slipped under her skirt and over her heated mound. The tips of his fingers traced light circles on her thigh, moving closer, closer …
Yes, just stroke me there, a dozen times or so and I’ll —
She’d have a rhapsody or two. Control yourself. She pulled her legs closed, removed his hand from her thigh, and forced the words out. “Nice kiss, but your turn is over.”