Tropical Getaway

  “What did you find out?”

  “Jacques said he left him, shot in the leg—”

  She gasped. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “Ava.” He fought back a smile, despite her blazing eyes. Next she would demand they fire up the plane and leave this minute. “We haven’t exactly had time to talk about it. Jacques said that he left Marco on a street in Grenada just before the storm hit. You’ll see the place. Four hundred people died—and I assume he did too.”

  In a flash, she was in front of him, gripping his forearm. “But what if he didn’t, Dane. What if he didn’t?”

  Until they knew Marco was dead, they would both fan the flame of hope.

  He held her gaze, warmed by its sheer intensity. “If he didn’t die, baby, we’ll find him.” He reached across the few inches that separated them to touch her lovely face. He couldn’t help it. He let his fingers graze her cheek and lift her chin toward his mouth. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. I promise.”

  He closed the remaining space. Slipping his hand behind her head, he raked the damp tendrils at the nape of her neck as he kissed her softly and slowly. A tiny taste. A quick touch of tongues. He wanted to devour her, but kept the kiss as chaste as he could manage.

  Her lips quivered under his, her breath tickled his mouth and chin.

  She pulled away, and he could see the moon reflected in her midnight black eyes, the fringe of her lashes nearly touching her arched eyebrows. Unfamiliar words caught in his throat. So he said nothing but pulled her into his chest and let their pounding heartbeats fill the silence.

  Finally, she spoke. “I thought I was going to die today,” she whispered as she nestled her head into his neck.

  He didn’t want her dwelling on what might have happened. He didn’t want to remember how the possibility of losing her nearly drove him insane. He pressed gently into her, knowing she had to feel the effect she was having on him.

  “That’s funny,” he whispered huskily. “I think I’m going to die right now.”

  He heard the tiny breath she sucked in just as she leaned back enough to meet his gaze.

  “Your reputation, as you have pointed out, is daunting.”

  He shook his head in denial. “It’s all propaganda to sell cruises, really.”

  She narrowed her eyes in doubt.

  “But I understand,” he admitted. His relationships were high profile and short-lived. A woman like Ava Santori would want something lasting…something he could never offer. Good sex, good fun, yes. But he knew from experience that nothing lasted forever.

  He ran his hands over her shoulders, then followed the line of the robe down to her cleavage. He slipped his hands under the material to caress her body. Heat shot through him at the touch of her satin smooth skin. Their gazes stayed locked as his hands moved over the curves of her shoulders, under the edge of her collarbone, and down to the rounded rise of her breasts. One touch of her nipples, one delicious skimming of their hard and eager surface, and it would all be over. She would be his.

  He swallowed hard, hearing the thump in his chest, the rush of the blood through his veins.

  Seduction. That was what it was, plain and simple. And he didn’t want her on those terms. Not Ava.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Baby, the last thing I want to do is take advantage of…of what you’ve been through.”

  She exhaled, her warm breath caressing his face. Her head fell back slightly as she looked at him, exposing a throat so enticing that he burned just imagining the taste of its delicate skin.

  “And we still have a lot to talk about…first,” he added feebly. It would be too easy now, he warned himself. She was weakened by the day and probably looking at him like some kind of hero. And that wasn’t what he wanted. He closed the V of her robe.

  “Are you sending me to my room, Mr. Erikson?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  He kissed her forehead, a ragged breath escaping his lips. “Against every instinct that makes me a man, princess, I am doing just that.”

  “Why?” Her smoky gaze held both desire and uncertainty.

  “To prove everyone wrong.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to goad her into a challenge over something she might regret letter.

  A shadow crossed her features. Disappointment or relief? She took a step backward, her jaw quivering for a second.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, honey.” She turned toward the house, her shoulders squared and tight. As she left the veranda, she tossed him a parting shot. “Thanks…for everything.”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake. Could she possibly think he didn’t want her? He watched the white robe disappear from view and had never felt more alone in his whole life.

  She didn’t slam the door—that would be too dramatic—but she twisted the lock in defiance. Damn him. Damn her for falling right into it every time he kissed her. He hadn’t even wanted to make her one of his conquests. He wanted to talk.

  Fighting back tears, she threw off the robe and grabbed the first item of dry clothing she could find in the top of her bag, a T-shirt that barely covered her backside. She flung back the bedspread and fell on top of the sheets. The pillow blessedly muffled the sob she couldn’t keep in any longer.

  What had just happened out there? What was she feeling for him? Lust, certainly. Gratitude, sure. Who could resist a man who saved your life? But there was something more, something powerful and irresistible pulling at her. Could she have done the most idiotic of all impetuous things, and fallen in love with Dane Erikson?

  She finally found the strength to climb under the top sheet. She ached. The trip down the ship’s stairs had battered her body. The last few moments with Dane had battered her heart. And the very most feminine core of her throbbed with desire.

  She’d almost died today, and she didn’t want to die with any more regrets. That she’d never had the courage to leave the Santori nest. That she’d never tracked down Marco to reconcile. And now this. That she never experienced complete and utter abandon with the man she loved.

  “Marone!” She flipped over and bunched the pillow underneath her. She didn’t love him. She battled the thought with sound reasoning. She was just grateful to the gorgeous, godlike creature who’d saved her from the monster.

  No. The truth tugged at her heart. It might be temporary, it might be wrong and it might be foolish. But it was real. She flung back the sheet and stood in the dark. Nothing else mattered. She tiptoed to the door and quietly untwisted the lock.

  Her bare feet made no sound on the tile floor. She stopped at the open doorway of the master suite. The spacious room was bathed in moonlight from the open windows along one wall. She could see him in profile at the end of his bed, his elbows propped on his knees, holding his head in his hands. She could almost feel the waves of frustration and confusion rolling off him. It was a shame to interrupt this poor man’s misery, she thought, biting back a sneaky smile.

  “The thing is,” she said softly, “I don’t want to talk.”

  At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head. He just stared at her, all tousled blond hair and questioning blue eyes.

  As she approached him, she watched his gaze travel down her T-shirt, linger on her bare legs, and wander back up at his usual maddeningly deliberate pace. His chest heaved as he appeared to work for each breath.

  “I don’t want to talk,” she repeated as she knelt on the bed next to him and tucked her bruised shins under her.

  “I heard you the first time,” he said softly, still staring at her.

  He reached toward her bare legs and ran his thumb over her thigh. Lightly. Reverently. She leaned forward to bring her mouth close to his. Without a word, she let her tongue touch his lips slowly, savoring the sensation. She heard his whispered groan over the pounding of her own heart and the tropical breeze that sang though the screens.

  He intensified the kiss, taking her tongue with his teeth and covering her mouth with the hard pressure of his own. His soapy, s
alty scent drifted over her like a kiss of its own.

  When he broke their contact, his hand stayed on her leg, his fingers burning the skin. “You better be damn sure you know what you’re doing, princess, because you’ve got less than two seconds to change your mind.”

  “Then what?” she asked, her lips curling into a seductive smile.

  He narrowed his blue wolf eyes. “Then I’m going to eat you alive.”

  She moaned softly in anticipation. “Mangia, mi amore.”

  His teeth flashed in a wicked grin just before he untucked her legs to lay her back. He brought his mouth down on hers in a long, lazy exchange. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, feeling him grow aroused, the soft denim of his worn jeans rubbing her bare skin as the T-shirt moved up around her waist. He lowered his kiss to her neck and breasts, his mouth finding the outline of her pointed nipple, the cotton teasingly separating her skin from his tongue and teeth.

  The heat of his hand seared her back and he murmured her name as he pushed her shirt higher. Fire danced between her legs, and she pressed her hips against him and began to move. He caressed the exposed flesh of her stomach, then under her breasts, stroking the soft skin around her nipples, and finally circling each with his thumb until the bud simply had to be tasted. When his mouth closed over the point, an electrical charge shot through her and she bit her lip against the sounds she wanted to make. Against the words she wanted to say.

  “You’re an angel, Ava,” he whispered, his tongue flicking her, teasing her, biting her, licking the dusky circle until she thought she would scream.

  She explored his own beautiful chest, then yanked up his shirt. She wanted skin against skin. She ached to feel that solid chest against hers, to be tickled by his golden hair, to be dampened by his flesh. He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, the erotic striptease dramatized by the moonlight.

  His stomach muscles tightened with each breath. Kneeling over her, he locked her hips between his knees with a low growl of desire, his gaze smoky with lust.

  Her T-shirt was bunched above her chest, and he slipped the material over her head, leaving her completely naked for him to devour with his eyes and hands. He played with the long curls that spread on her pillow and then his gaze traveled over every inch, his hands gently skimming the curve of her breasts, the indentation of her tummy, down to the dark mound between her legs.

  “Sweet Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he said in a raspy, unfamiliar voice as his fingers lingered over her navel and traced her rib cage. “I don’t know where to start, baby.”

  She breathed in short pants with each searing contact, each erotic word. That was his gift, she realized. That was his magic. His genuine appreciation for the very things Ava wished she could love about herself. His appraisal was so honest that real and imagined flaws evaporated, leaving her feeling utterly feminine and lovely.

  He leaned forward, his arms on either side of her as he kissed her mouth again, making her sit up to press her breasts against him. “I hoped you’d come to me,” he said between kisses. “I wished on my lucky star.”

  She smiled and held his face in her hands. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “How unlike you.” He laughed softly, the sound warming the room even more.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he sat over her again and opened the snap of his jeans, then slowly slid the zipper down. Her gaze dropped to his narrow hips, the sexy act of his undressing dampening her, exciting her. She propped herself up on one elbow and put her free hand in the waistband of his boxers, tugging slightly, her palm grazing the bulge inside.

  “Could I help?” she offered, her tone husky with emotion.

  With a moan, he rolled off her and she removed the last cotton barrier between them. She wanted to grab him and attack his beauty, to own it and taste it, but instead, she slowly moved her hands down his perfect body. Over his defined muscles, around his sinewy lower back, and then to the part of him that she longed to touch. When she did, he groaned. She reveled in the power of making him hard and weak and demanding all at the same time. She wrapped her hands around him, sharing her own arousal with throaty sounds that made him pulse even more.

  With probing fingers, he found the swollen flesh between her legs, and she arched in shock and delight.

  “I have to be inside you, Ava. I need to be inside you.” He licked her ear and neck as he spoke the words.

  Instinctively she spread her legs a little, still stroking him and inhaling the mixture of his scent and the sexy sweat that they produced together.

  “Wait,” he whispered, pulling away. She sighed in disappointment as he rolled from her embrace. She heard the drawer of the nightstand and a shuffle among its contents.

  “You can look tomorrow, princess. It’s pretty well stocked.” She heard the foil tear. “I don’t use them as often as you have yourself believing.”

  She stared hard at him, shaken by the depths of her feelings for him. “No, honey. I only have myself believing that I’m making love to the most amazing man I ever met.”

  He pulled back, a dark and wondrous look in his eyes. “Do you mean that?”

  She stroked his cheek. “Do you think I came in here just because you risked your life to save mine?” I’m in love with you, Dane Erikson.

  She helped him, their hands shaking as together they prepared him for her. With demanding, anxious kisses, he rolled her on her back and climbed on top, his erection edging into its natural place between her legs.

  “So we’re even,” he whispered into her open mouth, the tip of him easing into her folds. “Because you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed the dimple on her cheek. “Infuriating.” He lightly licked the valley between her breasts. “Sexy.” He sucked a nipple. “Delicious.” He nipped the other one with his teeth. “And you can cook.”

  Her soft laughter was lost in a gasp of pleasure as he entered her. She breathed his name as he filled her and they began to rock in a natural, slow cadence of ecstasy. She lost track of time and space and could only experience the complete joy of taking him inside her and gripping him with her legs and arms and hands. She was vaguely aware of the musky scent of sex, the music of his voice, and the salty flavor of his wet skin. As their rhythm reached a frantic intensity, she couldn’t think beyond Dane. Dane in her arms. Dane in her body. Dane in her heart. She arched with each powerful thrust, burning and aching with no line between pain and pleasure.

  She might have said she loved him. She might have cried. The searing heat of his body wound her so tight that she thought she’d snap. And then she did. With waves of delight that throbbed around him as she spun and pulsed and shuddered with no control. His fingers dug into her back and his teeth pressed against her flesh. He choked out her name with a sob, like a prayer, like a confession, and for the second time in one day, they clung to each other, gasping for air.

  Dane floated in and out of awareness, dimly conscious of the deep sense of satisfaction that comes with sleeping soundly after many restless nights. His inner clock told him the first hint of rising sun would soon color the edges of his room. A soft puff of air tickled his bare shoulder, a gentle pressure fell across his chest.

  Ava. Sweet, wild, wonderful Ava. Her gentle breath, her loving arm. She lay next to him in the still of predawn, spent from their night of exploration and discovery.

  Oh, God. He had no idea it could feel like this.

  He imagined a rogue wave, the kind that can’t be negotiated, the kind that sailors see only once in a lifetime; the kind that breaks the back of the ship because the bow simply cannot navigate and rise over the powerful curl. Although few people lived to describe the experience, he’d heard stories of huge gray monsters with no curling crest, just walls of water that freakishly arise in otherwise unremarkable seas. They swallowed ships whole, crumpling steel and snapping beams built to last a hundred years.

  Ava.

  Why didn’t this rogue wave scare him? Why did he feel the need to ride i
t, to free-fall over its steep and dangerous peak, and find whatever heaven or hell might exist on the other side? Why, when he knew damn well that the violent mix of kinetic energy and displacement of matter would end his life…as he knew it?

  The pace of her breathing changed and one of her glorious thighs shifted between his legs, immediately arousing him. He wanted her again. Now. He needed her tasty body wrapped around him, her luscious mouth pressed anywhere, absolutely anywhere, on his body. He saw no end to that desire. As he grew harder, her leg instinctively wound around him and she moaned.

  He moved his hand, trapped in the tangles of her hair, and turned her slightly to enjoy the moment when she awakened and remembered what they’d shared.

  Would those expressive eyes flash in horror, or delight?

  Her blue-black lashes fluttered as her moan turned to a smile and she opened her eyes. For a long moment, their gazes locked, silent and lost in each other. This was no impending death from a rogue wave, he thought as he saw his own reflection in the early morning light. This was about as far from death as he’d ever felt.

  “Hello, Ava Rose.”

  She pressed her lips on his shoulder in silent greeting. Then she lifted one eyebrow ever so slightly and asked, “When are we leaving for Grenada?”

  The laugh escaped him. He turned on his side to line up their bodies and let her feel the full force of his desire.

  “When the sun is above the horizon, you little witch.” He pressed into her. “When you can’t walk, think or, please dear God, talk. Okay?”

  She nodded, pressing her hips against him in response. Wordlessly, they started the dance, each step becoming more and more familiar but no less thrilling. She moved on top of him to straddle his body and let her hair fall over his face and chest and they found their perfect synchronization again, broken only by affectionate whispers and her throaty laugh of sheer delight.

  By the time she collapsed on top of him, sweaty and satisfied, blades of sunshine pierced the shutters. Her hair tangled in his neck, their legs remained intertwined. Dane floated on the surface of contentment.