by Day Leclaire
She glanced down at her toes poking out from beneath the hem of the gown. “I think I’ll need more than just this dress. I’m guessing Ambrosia has a policy against dining in bare feet. Unless you want me to wear my boots?”
“Check the box. You’ll find shoes and underwear.”
Her brows tugged together. “Underwear?”
“Dig around. There are a couple of beads strung together with dental floss that you’re supposed to wear under the dress. I’m not surprised you missed it.”
She’d been so focused on the gown, she hadn’t noticed the shoes, let alone the underwear. She stirred uneasily. “Listen…Just so we’re clear. There aren’t any strings attached to your gift, right?”
“Only the ones that hold the beads in place.” He checked his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a brief appointment I can’t avoid. Why don’t I meet you at Ambrosia at nine?”
“I’ll be there.”
But even as the words escaped, a part of her warned that she was a fool, allowing herself to be seduced by Joc and his fantasy world. Come tomorrow she’d be back to reality and that transition would come fast and hard…and no doubt as painful as a fall from a bucking stallion.
At precisely nine o’clock, Joc had the intense pleasure of watching Rosalyn stride through Ambrosia toward him. He wasn’t the only one watching. Of course, the gown she wore might have played a part in the attention she received. It provided a dramatic contrast to her wine-red hair, pale complexion and spectacular physique. But it was more than the dress. It was the strength of her personality that held everyone’s attention—the life force that caused the very air to shimmer around her.
His smile deepened. She truly was glorious. In four-inch heels she appeared downright statuesque. The subdued lighting flashed off the beading of her gown like a series of warning beacons as she cut through the collection of tables blocking her path with a lazy, long-legged grace. Conversation halted briefly at her approach before swelling with her passage. Not that she noticed. Nor did she notice the maître d’ scurrying in her wake, outraged that she’d invaded his domain without permission, escort, or so much as a by-your-leave.
Joc stood at her approach, their gazes locking. Eyes as stunning a blue as a deepening sunset regarded him warily. “You look beautiful,” he offered.
“Thanks.” Her mouth curved to one side as she gave his suit the once-over. “So do you.”
Her frankness filled him with a fierce satisfaction. Whatever mysterious quirk of nature had sparked the attraction between them, it was definitely mutual. As hard as she might resist that attraction, what would happen between them had been determined long ago. She could fight the inevitable—no doubt would fight—but ultimately, there’d be no turning from it.
He waited while the maître d’ held her chair before taking the seat across from her. She finally became aware of the beleaguered man’s presence and flashed him a generous smile that earned her instant forgiveness. Joc concealed his amusement at how sublimely oblivious she was to the undercurrents swirling around her.
Perhaps it was her intense focus on the path she forged through life that kept her from noticing such subtleties. Or perhaps the people who crossed her path sensed what he had when he’d first met her—that she was someone special. Whatever the root cause, the outcome remained the same. Rosalyn left an indelible mark wherever she went, attracting people with effortless ease.
The sommelier arrived just then to discuss the extensive wine list, followed by the waiter, who took several minutes to describe the various dishes and house specials. The instant they’d placed their order, she glanced at him and Joc suddenly realized that she was down-to-the-bones nervous, the emotion implicit in every aspect of her appearance from the flash of flame-red hair and black beads, to the ripple of tension across shoulders and arms that her gown so beautifully revealed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t bother dissembling. “I’m just not sure why I’m here.”
“You can leave at any time. I told you there weren’t any strings involved in our night together and I meant it.”
She gave him a direct look. “I can change my mind and you wouldn’t be upset?”
Blunt and to the point. He liked that about her. “Disappointed, but not upset.” He reached for her hand, pausing just short of touching her in order to make his point. His fingers were splayed so close above hers, that she could feel the warmth, feel the current of attraction that flowed between them. It forged a connection, one she couldn’t ignore. “But you won’t change your mind.”
He caught the slight tremble of her fingers before she steadied them. She was strong-willed, he’d give her that. And tenacious. But no matter how hard she fought to put rationality before emotion, her body betrayed her. All it took was that almost-touch and the heat flared between them. Carefully she slid her hand out from beneath his and rubbed her palm across her thigh, as though attempting to erase her response to him. He doubted she was even aware of her actions. In fact, he knew she wasn’t.
As she struggled to regain her equilibrium, a demi-sec Vouvray arrived at their table, along with their appetizer. The platter contained a selection of bite-size delicacies. Ice-cold prawns vied with spiced calamari. Delicate slivers of sautéed scallops were artfully arranged on galettes au fromage. And clam-shaped pastry puffs were guarded by stalks of marinated asparagus.
He transferred the most succulent of the selections to her plate while she sampled the wine. Plucking a prawn from her plate, Rosalyn dipped it in the chef’s specialty cocktail sauce and took a bite. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. His teeth clamped together at the expression on her face. He wanted her to look at him like that, to lie in his bed with moonlight gilding her nudity and look at him in just that way as he slid inside her. He made a decision there and then. He didn’t care what it took. He didn’t care what he had to promise. He wanted this woman. And before the night ended, he’d have her.
“Good?” To his relief, she didn’t seem to hear the primitive male aggression ripping apart that single word. But she was no one’s fool. If he didn’t get himself under control—and fast—she’d figure it out. And chances were excellent, she’d flee. If she were smart, she would.
“This is outstanding.” She looked at him then, her eyes heavy-lidded and drunk on sensory pleasure. “The best I’ve ever had were some tiger prawns in New Orleans, but I think there’s a new winner in town.”
She helped herself to some of the calamari. “So, did you take care of your business?”
He shook his head. “I won’t be able to do that until tomorrow morning. My appointment this evening was with my lawyer. Preliminary work before I meet with the other owners of Deseos.”
“Huh. It didn’t occur to me that you might have partners. I just assumed you were the sole owner of the island.” She offered a swift, self-deprecating smile. “Silly, huh?”
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, by the end of tomorrow I will be the sole owner.”
That stopped her. She returned the scallops she’d been about to sample to her plate. “That sounds ominous.”
He shrugged. “The partnership didn’t work out. I should have known, based on our past history.”
Her eyes narrowed as she worked her way through his deliberately oblique comment, dissecting it bit by bit. “By any chance are we talking about Mick and your other school friends?”
She was quick, he’d give her that. “The very same.”
“Why would you—” She broke off. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not, but I’ll answer, anyway.” He couldn’t keep the hard quality from infiltrating his voice. “Mick and the others came to me, all of them together like the band of brothers we’d once been. They claimed they’d fallen on hard times. Made bad choices in their lives. They said they’d finally come around, just as I had all those years ago, and were ready to change. All they needed was a helping hand. Of cour
se, that wasn’t what they were after.”
“What were they after?” she asked softly.
“Deseos, of course.” He bit off the end of a bread-stick and crushed it between his back teeth. “And the opportunity to screw me over because I’d left them behind all those years ago. Left them behind and made my fortune without them.”
Noting her shock, he abandoned the subject and moved the conversation to more neutral topics. He wanted the night to revolve around romance, not dissention. To entice her, not scare her off. The rest of the evening passed with surprising ease, the discussion flowing from one topic to the next. He found Rosalyn an intriguing companion, sharp, witty and one of the most confident women he’d ever met. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone so comfortable in her own skin, so aware of who she was and where she came from.
After they’d finished their dinner, Joc suggested a walk on the pier, an offer Rosalyn accepted with alacrity. They wandered through the hotel garden and he mated his stride to hers, not quite touching, but close enough to catch her unique fragrance and feel the warmth of her body.
They reached the pier and she struggled to deal with the uneven planking in the ridiculous shoes he’d bought for her. She only stumbled once, but it was enough to elicit a hiss of annoyance from him. He cut in front of her. The instant she checked up, he crouched at her feet.
“Hang on a sec. You’re going to break an ankle in those things and I’ll be to blame. Let me get them off you.”
Encircling her ankle, he lifted her foot across his thigh. His fingers were warm and careful, caressing the sensitive skin around her ankle with a feather-light touch. Rosalyn held herself rigidly erect, feeling like the world’s most awkward stork. Teetering, she doubled over and clamped onto his shoulders. He shot out a hand to steady her, cupping her hip. His fingers splayed across the curve of her backside, his thumb following the line of the single elastic thread—dental floss, he’d called it—that held her thong in place. He lingered, stroking for a brief, delicious instant.
The sizzle from that stolen caress burned through the thin material of her gown, igniting a shock wave that caused every bead on her dress to glitter in distress. He lifted his head, his face only inches from hers. She could hear the rasp of his breath, fast and rough. Feel his desire. Practically taste the urgency that flowed between them. It was wrong, wrong in every possible way. Even knowing that, her hold on him gentled, eased from grip to embrace. She wanted to fall into him. Consume him. Battle toward the sweetest of surrenders. His name escaped of its own volition, hovering in the air between them.
He responded by reaching out and stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. “Soon,” he murmured.
The promise broke whatever spell she’d been under and she eased back, suddenly self-conscious. “There’s no rush.”
“So I’ve been telling myself. Based on our reaction to each other, I’m not convinced that’s true.” He finished removing her shoe before following suit with the second, his touch more impersonal, as though that moment of desperate awareness had never happened. Standing, he hooked the heels over the lip of his pocket. “Ready?” he asked.
She snatched a quick, steadying breath and nodded. “I can walk, if that’s what you mean.” Barely.
Get a grip! she ordered herself as she headed toward the end of the pier. What was wrong with her that the instant he came too close she lost every intelligent thought she possessed? Did she want him to kiss her? Did she hope to use that kiss as an excuse? An excuse to what? Fall mindlessly into his arms? To have a one-night stand with him and be done with it? She couldn’t say for certain, which only served to alarm her all the more. She was losing control, something she couldn’t afford to do.
Once she left fantasyland she had a ranch to consider—and a man with the drive to win at all costs intent on wrestling it away from her. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in a sexual haze while he busied himself working out a plan for circumventing her and achieving his goal.
She had to remember it was her duty to protect her land at all costs. It was part of her heritage, part of the Oakley legacy that had been passed from generation to generation for nearly a hundred and eighty years. Maybe if she focused on that, on her need to protect her ranch by uncovering Joc’s weaknesses, she’d find a way to get through the rest of the evening.
Small groups pocketed the lighted boardwalk, some fishing, some wrapped in an embrace, others just gazing out at the ocean. She walked in silence until they could go no farther. No one else had ventured quite this far, and she paused beneath the circle of light cast from a wrought-iron lamp.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She didn’t bother prevaricating. “I’m just wondering why I agreed to come here with you.” She swept a hand downward to indicate her gown. “What am I doing here, dressed like this, intent on having a one-night stand with you?”
“Have you changed your mind?”
She glanced at him. “Have you?”
“Not even a little.”
“I want you,” she admitted with devastating honesty. “But I’m not sure how smart it is to give in to that want when it might put my ranch in jeopardy.”
“You don’t trust me.”
She shook her head. “No more than you trust me. Or your old friends. Or the Hollisters.” She fixed him with an unflinching stare. “So, why am I here, Joc? What do you really want? Is this your way of romancing the ranch out from under me?”
“Damn it, Red.” Ripe frustration underscored his words. “You know what I want, and right now it has nothing to do with your ranch. I want you in my bed. I want to make love to you until neither of us can think straight.”
An image of them together flashed through her mind. It came easily. Too easily. The sounds, the scents, the feel of him over and around and inside of her. The breeze tugged at her hair, kicking free a silken strand. It danced around her face, highlighting her agitation. “And afterward?”
He fought to clamp down on his emotions, and she marveled at his struggle. It was an impressive one. “Afterward, we’re back where we started,” he admitted through gritted teeth. He approached, halting a scant foot away. Without her heels, he towered over her. For the first time in more years than she could recall, she felt small and vulnerable and unsure of herself. “Does that even matter? If we both agree that whatever happens tonight has nothing to do with our business association—”
She cut him off without hesitation. “We don’t have a business association.”
“I repeat. Then where’s the problem? You want me. I want you. Your ranch has nothing to do with what’s happening between us. All we have to do is return to the cabaña. Agree, and we can both have what we want most.”
Stepping outside of the circle of lamplight, she tried to separate desire from practicality. Not that she succeeded. Right now she didn’t care about the consequences, despite knowing that though this felt right, it was guaranteed to go wrong. “I don’t know, Joc. I need to think.”
He followed her into the shadows, allowing the darkness to swallow them both. He dropped his hands onto her shoulders. “You chose to come with me. There’s only one reason you’d have done that.”
Her gaze never left his face. He was right. There was only one reason. More than anything, she wanted this one night in his bed. He must have read her answer in her eyes. He cupped her shoulders and drew her against him. Then he lowered his head and took her mouth with his.
A desperate need raced through her, just as it had when he’d kissed her by the old homestead. The feeling bit just as urgently now as then. Heady desire stole every thought from her head, and drove her to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer yet. Her lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his and his tongue swept inward to duel with hers. He tasted of wine and passion, deliciously warm and moist, gifting her with an intense pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
His hands slid from her shoulders downward, tracing her b
ack where her gown bared her. She shuddered beneath the teasing caress. Unable to help herself, she pressed closer, feeling the unyielding ridge of his arousal. She needed to touch him, to forge a more intimate contact. She found him with her hands, cupping him through the trousers of his suit. He groaned, the sound rough and primal, and she made her decision.
“Please take me back to the cabaña,” she whispered against his mouth.
Without a word, he took her hand in his and retraced their steps. The walk to the owner’s suite seemed endless. She didn’t dare pause to admire the scenery. She simply focused on putting one bare foot in front of the other and moving forward with all due diligence and speed until they found themselves standing in the foyer of Joc’s cabaña.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. He stared down at her for an endless moment with a gaze that reflected moon-drenched nights filled with unforgettable passion. Reality faded beneath that look, tempting her to indulge in pure physical pleasure.
But she couldn’t, not entirely. She was too pragmatic for fantasy and had faced too many painful endings to believe that a single night of desire could lead anywhere but to another painful ending. Even knowing all that, she still couldn’t resist the inevitable, though she’d do her best to make that ending a little less painful.
She moistened her lips. “If we…if we—”
“Make love.”
“It’s not making love. It’s sex,” she insisted, before plowing onward. “If we have sex, I need you to understand that it has nothing to do with the ranch or our negotiations.”
“I know.”
“I don’t use sex as a tool. I never have and I never will.”
He dropped her shoes and tipped her face up to his. “Listen to what I’m saying, Red.” His hands sank deep into her hair. “I know you don’t. That you wouldn’t.”
“I just needed to make that clear.” She snatched a quick breath and forced herself to admit the truth, more for her own benefit than for his. “I want you. Physically. And then I want to walk away and never see you again.”