Chapter 2
As he stuck paper umbrellas in the Bartolino sisters’ drinks, he heard Allison coming along the veranda. He wasn’t the only one who heard her. That purposeful stride, punctuated by her heels, was announcing her imminent arrival to everyone in the Paradise Bar and Grill. Six heads were already turned toward the doors when she pushed through them a few moments later. Half a step into the room, she froze. Staring straight at him, she appeared to be seeing him for the first time. Her expression changed to a nervous grin before returning to that determined look, making Reilly wonder what would happen next.
Ignoring the curious smiles she was receiving, Allison marched across the room and up to the bar where Reilly stood. Her see-through shirt billowed behind her light-blue, low-cut, body-hugging jumpsuit.
"What’ll you have?" he asked Allison while handing two drinks to Chico and pointing him toward two middle-aged women.
"Those mushroomlike things removed from your shower. The little ruffly beige ones growing in the corner," she whispered. "And my own towel, if you don’t mind. I had to use a corner of yours."
"Hmmm? Which corner?" he asked, pouring a good measure of gin into a glass. He looked up to see her cheeks turning a bright pink.
Her gaze quickly darted to the bottle in his hand. "I—I thought you said you didn’t serve your hard stuff until after sundown."
"I fibbed a little."
Patting the back of her smooth French twist, she turned away from him only to find the rest of the people staring at her. "G-good evening," she stammered.
Ducking under the bar, Reilly came up next to her. He draped an arm around her shoulder, sweeping his other toward the rest of the people. "Allison Richards, meet your fellow guests. The Bartolino sisters from Nebraska. Pamela and Marilyn. Down here for a few weeks collecting butterflies. Reverend Phillips. He’s writing an ecumenical cookbook and, in his spare time, saving souls in the village. He’s also our cook. The last one left for a better-paying position. And Mr. Garfield. He returned this afternoon from one of his, uh, excursions."
As the group gave Allison a collective nod, Reilly gave her a jerking hug, a deliberate parody of the one he had almost given her in her room. Her hand flew up to his waist to steady herself against the sudden movement. Now he knew what her frantic touch felt like, a piece of heaven exploding on his skin.
He paused, pretending Allison needed the moment to recapture her composure. "Of course you remember Chico from this afternoon."
Chico folded his arms across his chest. "You didn’t tip me, lady."
"I’ll take care of that before I leave."
"Don’t forget."
"I won’t."
The Bartolino sisters giggled.
"Hello, everyone," Allison said in her best toastmistress voice. Moving out from under Reilly’s arm, she distanced herself from his casual posturing. "I’m here looking for my brother-in-law, Tony Church. He probably stayed at the Paradise Hotel sometime during the last three months. Reilly thinks Tony might not want to be found, and he’s not being very helpful. I’d appreciate any information any of you have on this matter."
"Family matter," Reilly said, drawing attention away from Allison. "And I suggest we all stay out of it."
"My sister’s going to have their first child, and I think—"
"I think," interrupted Reilly, "that Tony Church will go home when he’s ready."
Glaring at Reilly, Allison pulled a photograph from her pocket and handed it to one of the sisters. "Do any of you remember him?" she asked, wishing she had a better photo than this one she’d taken at Susan and Tony’s last barbecue. Since Susan didn’t know she was looking for Tony, Allison hadn’t wanted to stir up suspicion by asking for a better one.
Marilyn spoke first. "Sorry, Allison. We haven’t seen him. We just arrived two weeks ago."
"What about you, Reverend Phillips?" Pamela asked, passing the photograph to the white-haired man wearing the clerical collar, wife beater tee-shirt, Bermuda shorts, and glasses. "You’ve been here for several months."
Chico stood on his tiptoes to get a look, then shrugged dramatically.
The Reverend stared at the photo for a long time before answering. Allison held her breath when he raised his index finger. "Short fellow, red hair and beard?" he asked, beaming her a smile.
"No. Tall fellow, blond hair and mustache." Taking back the photo, she studied it closely. "Of course he could have a beard now."
Shaking his head, Reverend Phillips sniffed the air and muttered something about poached fish before disappearing into the kitchen with Chico. She walked over to where Mr. Garfield sat. "Would you take a look at this photo?"
"Awright, pretty momma." The man with the long sideburns and turned-up collar glanced at the photo, then stared at Allison. A nerve twitched in his upper lip. "Haven’t seen him lately, but I haven’t been around much lately."
The man remembered Tony. Allison glanced at Reilly long enough to register her small victory. Now she was getting somewhere, even if Reilly refused to acknowledge the fact.
How much polishing did that battered old bar need?
Mr. Garfield leaned in close. "I’m lookin’ for someone myself."
"You’re searching for someone too?"
"That’s right, pretty momma. That’s my job. That’s what I’m here for." With a flick of his head a jelly-roll lock of hair settled lower on his forehead. "Once I’ve closed the file on my current case, maybe I could help you."
Allison’s sudden optimism was turning to suspicion as she continued watching Reilly. Busily checking his supply of paper umbrellas, he refused to meet her stare. "Mr. Garfield," she said, not taking her eyes off Reilly, "what exactly is your current case?"
"I’m lookin’ for the King, pretty momma."
Reilly gave nothing away except a quick lift of his eyebrows. That was enough. He was going to pay for this. Slowly. Horribly. And with a lot of yelling. She closed her eyes. "The King, as in Elvis, Mr. Garfield?"
"The one and only, pretty momma."
"No, thank you." She made the short walk back to the bar.
"He’s harmless," Reilly whispered.
"I’m not."
"Oops."
"You know where my brother-in-law is, don’t you?"
"I know he’s not here," he said, opening a lime-green umbrella and dropping it into a glass with two plastic straws. "Gin and tonic. Your first one’s on the house." Sliding it toward her, his voice dropped to an intimate level as he looked her in the eye. "Nurse it."
A double-dog dare, if she’d ever heard one. Picking up the drink, she slid her tongue under the straws, closing her lips around them with puckering precision. After a moment she lowered the glass, fluttered her lashes, and smiled. "Like that?"
"Just like that," he said, resting his chin in the cup of his hand. He sighed. "Want to try it again?"
"Want to tell me where Tony is?"
Frowning, Reilly stood up, reached for a towel, and began wiping down the bar.
"I mean it, Reilly," she said with barely controlled anger as she placed her palms flat on the bar. "I’m not leaving San Rafael until I’ve found Tony. My sister deserves a second chance with her husband." She leaned in closer. "Their baby deserves a father."
Her last remark hit too close to home. Balling the towel between his fists, he turned away to jam it on the ledge behind him. When he could force his jaw to unclench, he infused his voice with as much light-hearted charm as he could muster. "Come on, Al. Do you honestly think I’d clutter my mind with information on someone who came through here months ago?"
"Clutter your mind? What else is taking up so much space? Certainly not your dedication to the efficient running of this hotel. And that reminds me, the air-conditioning is off in my room."
"What air-conditioning?"
"Oh, brother," she said, picking up her drink and taking another sip. "I hate even to mention this, but you never gave me a key."
A bell tinkled in the background.
<
br /> "Dinner’s being served on the west veranda," Reilly announced to everyone. Pointing across the room to where the others were already heading, he fell in step behind Allison. "We don’t bother with keys, Al. People keep losing them or forget to turn them in when they check out. Most of the guests are a modest lot with nothing much to steal anyway. You, on the other hand, stand out like one of Marilyn and Pamela’s butterflies."
"I do not." Stopping dead in her tracks, she stretched out her arms, looking at them and her body. "What did you mean by that?"
The screen door banged behind the sisters before Reilly moved closer and began his answer. "Your clothes," he said as she lowered her hands to her hips. "They look expensive." Easing forward, he made certain his thighs were pressing against her backside. "All of them."
Picturing her panties and bras strewn over the walkway earlier, Allison sucked in her cheeks and stared straight ahead. His body heat penetrated her legs and rear, causing a generous rush of blood to every erogenous place she possessed. Damn gin. Two sips and her eyelids were closing. Yes, it had to be the gin, because she’d already reasoned that Reilly wasn’t her type.
Leaning down, Reilly breathed against her ear, then whispered words that warmed her in more ways than one. "What exactly did you have in mind when you were packing for this trip, Al?"
His touch was a light caress, but she started peeling his fingers away from her arms as if it were a bone-crunching grasp. Hurrying through the door, she pulled out a chair at the end of the long table. "Not that it’s any of your business, but as soon as I locate Tony and inform him of his responsibilities, I have plans to fly on to Costa Rica. There’s a lovely resort there with all sorts of amenities. And who said you could call me Al?"
"Loosen up," he said while seating the sisters. "We’re all friends here. Right, ladies?"
"Right, Reilly," the sisters replied in unison, following it up with a double dose of laughter.
"Allison? Pamela and I were just saying how that shirt and the chopsticks in your hair make you resemble the anartia amalthea linnaeus," Marilyn said.
"You’re the first one we’ve spotted," Pamela added before the giggling began again.
Allison thanked them for their compliment while Reilly, mugging innocently in her direction, took a chair at the opposite end of the table. She resisted the urge to mug back. There were, after all, certain behaviors adults did not engage in—even if they were dying to. Besides, she had other things to think about.
During dinner Allison reviewed the status of her search. Thus far the Paradise Hotel had been a resounding disappointment. She had hoped to find Tony there or at least find out where he’d gone. Staying on for a few days was never part of her plan, but Reilly Anderson knew more than he was telling. She glanced at him over a basket of bread, then quickly looked around the table to see if anyone had noticed. Under no circumstances would she stay around him a second longer than necessary. Like the dark jungle, she thought, his sensuality both attracted and frightened her. The compelling imagery only served to confuse her as her gaze drifted back to him.
"A little more pressure," Reilly was saying as he instructed Chico how to manage a knife and fork properly. "That’s better. We’ll have you eating down at the palacio with el presidente if you keep this up."
"I want to show mi padre first, Reilly," Chico said.
She found herself smiling at the scene until Reilly looked up and winked at her. Annoyance replaced the pleasure of watching him help the boy, and she returned her attention to her plate, stabbing into the mashed yucca with her fork.
Concentrating on revising her plans wasn’t easy with the sisters discussing their butterfly collection in Latin and Reverend Phillips explaining, at leisure, how to bone river fish. All of that would have been crazy enough fare for anyone, but one soft smile from Reilly and images from her childhood started creeping in. Laying her fork aside, she watched the engaging pair at the other end of the table. Distant images swirled closer.
Her parents taking turns reading aloud from a storybook… sitting beside her at the movies… watching television… and she was holding her breath and her sister’s hand… because the world was a wondrous place… shaking with laughter and love and… what?!
What was that sound?
Something rustled above her head. Reilly shushed the table. Everyone grew silent, focusing rapt attention on his towering figure. Allison shivered with anticipation as Reilly brought his finger to his pursed lips. She held her breath. Whatever was out there beyond the clearing, whatever terror might be near, she knew one thing. One extraordinary but primal truth. Reilly would save her. Looking over the platters of fish and vegetables and plantains, she gave herself up to the hypnotic wonder of her revelation.
Reilly waited until the time was right before he began the chirping sounds. Each time he stopped, the answering rustle above him increased. Smacking his lips several times, he called out softly, "Puddin’ Head, Puddin’ Head, come to daddy."
The capuchin monkey dropped out of the rush ceiling and onto Reilly’s shoulder. Small, furred arms wrapped around his neck as the others at the table scolded Puddin’ Head for his long absence. Apparently he had dropped in to dinner several times before.
Allison pressed her fingers to her mouth as a gasp broke from her throat. Tarzan. The images were all about Tarzan. Her beloved hero from childhood sat before her with a monkey on his shoulder, a boy at his side, and all that glorious jungle behind his perfectly gorgeous face and body. She could have sat there for hours staring longingly at him as every childhood fantasy came flooding back to her. How she’d treasured those stories, every word of them and every reaction she had for them. She hadn’t thought about the books or movies or television shows in years.
"Cheetah?" she whispered, delighted beyond reason.
The little head lifted toward her, its tiny shining eyes blinking with curiosity.
"Puddin’ Head," corrected Reilly, picking up a piece of fruit and rising from his chair.
The monkey hid behind Reilly’s head, leaving a furry tail twitching against the muscles of his shoulder and two tiny paws pressed against his smoothly shaved jaw. As he reached Allison, Reilly continued making the strange, soothing sounds. He handed her a fig, then lowered himself beside the chair of his enchanted guest. Her eyes were widening in blissful expectation. She held the fig close to her chest.
"Don’t let go of it," Reilly said. He began transferring the monkey onto her arm. The moment the monkey saw the fruit, he leaped onto the front of her clothes and grabbed for it. Allison froze, her fingers banding around the fig. The monkey’s mad scramble ended with the fig pushed deeply into her cleavage and Puddin’ Head frantically shoving his tiny paws in after it. With the monkey screaming in her face, Allison grabbed her chair and stopped breathing.
"It’s okay," Reilly told her. "Just stay calm."
Making a lip-smacking sound, he caught the monkey’s attention, then slipped two fingers into Allison’s cleavage. Her eyes widened at the surprise invasion.
"Don’t move," he said during his lip-smacking lullaby.
Stroking the firm, satiny cleft, he twisted his fingers, easing them closer to the fig. That would have been outrageous enough, but when he wiggled them between her breasts, she felt a corresponding vibration of pleasure quivering between her thighs. A tiny moan escaped her throat.
"Sorry, tight fit," Reilly murmured, keeping up the rhythmic pattern.
She groaned again as currents of terror and pleasure shot through her body.
"You’re doing fine, Al." Smacking his lips at the monkey, he shoved his fingers deeper. "I think I’ve got it," he said as his fingers slipped over one stiffened nipple. His gaze left the monkey’s and locked with hers. "Sorry." And then, "Here it comes."
The fruit popped out, the monkey reached and caught it, then ran screaming across the table. The rest of the group left the table to follow the monkey along the veranda.
With her elbows locked to her body and her ha
nds clenching the chair, Allison dropped her head back in the only show of relief she could manage. Her breathless state continued as Reilly ran his fingers across the top of her breasts. With the terror removed, his gentle touch brought her close to the edge of rapture.
"Let’s have a little look." He began easing down the top of her jumpsuit.
Let’s have a little look? Was he crazy? Reilly had taken her to the edges of sanity, then dropped her back to earth with a thud. She came to her senses, slapping his hand away and standing up in one smooth movement.
"Don’t you dare," she whispered fiercely, pushing past him.
"If you have a scratch, you should have it tended to immediately." He followed her to the group on the front veranda. When she pushed around them, he stopped. "Neglecting nicks and scratches in this climate can be dangerous."
"We know that. Go after her, Reilly," Chico said, pushing the man twice his size toward her. "She’ll leave, and I won’t get no money."
Reilly was on his way again, urged now by the rest of the group. The veranda wrapped around the hotel, and with Allison headed the long way to her room, he had time for one short detour. Grabbing mosquito netting and a first-aid kit from the storage room, he finally slowed his steps as he neared her door. Just another day at the Paradise Hotel, Reilly told himself, only this time one of his guests was going to murder him. He wasn’t surprised; he just wondered how she was going to do it.
Before he had a chance to knock, she opened the door as if she’d been expecting him.
"Did Puddin’ Head hurt you?" he asked, stepping inside and away from her dagger-shooting eyes. She slammed the door. He was in for it, not doubt about it.
"No, Puddin’ Head did not hurt me."
"Good," he said, stepping barefoot onto her bed. After that monkey business at the table he planned to be in and out of her room as quickly as he could. Unfolding the mosquito netting, he was reaching to fasten it to the wire form above the bed when she whacked him on the hip.
"Puddin’ Head scared the hell out of me!"
In a caressing voice he said, "Al, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. You should relax. Let down your hair, or put it up in a ponytail like mine."
"Don’t you dare lecture me after that dog-and-pony show. What are you running here? A petting zoo?" She beat softly on his hip, pulling her punches but letting him know she was angry. "How did you ever manage to get this job? Who hired you anyway?"
"Hired me? Hey, lady, I own the place," he said, draping the net over a grid of wires hung midway between her bed and the ceiling. He wasn’t into kinky sex, but if she continued jarring that area of his body, he might have to consider a forbidden pleasure or two. "Watch out."
She stopped whacking his hip and pointed up to him. "You own the Paradise Hotel? Pray tell, what inspired you to get into hotel mismanagement?"
Stepping off the bed, his bare feet touched the floorboards soundlessly, inches from her. His shrug was as big as his smile when he announced, "I won it in a poker game."
Her mouth dropped open.
He had won it in a poker game, in the boardroom of Taylor Pharmaceuticals less than ten months ago. Playing against three other unmarried executives, Reilly had won the dubious privilege with aces and queens. As the duly selected undercover man in the field, he would "own" the Paradise Hotel until the bromeliad specimens were safely back at the company’s laboratory. Then some other lucky person would take his place. But that information, he reminded himself, was not for Allison Richards’s edification. Nor was the fact that her brother-in-law, Tony Church, had been the botanist hired to gather the specimens.
Closing her mouth, she began nodding her head. "A poker game. That explains a lot."
There she goes again, he thought angrily. Taking aim at his ego with her disapproving, condescending, chin-jutting smile! "Just what does that mean?" he asked evenly.
"It means I’m beginning to understand why you’re so anxious to keep silent about Tony."
"And why is that?" he asked, taking a step in her direction. He’d startled her with his movement, and when she stepped back, the lacquered chopsticks in her hair and that iridescent film of a shirt made her look more like a butterfly in flight than a vice president of mortgage loans on a manhunt.
"Because you’re evasive, irritating, and irresponsible about everything else around here," she said, flattening her back against the opposite wall.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I know exactly what I’m talking about." Sticking out a finger, she tapped him in the center of his chest. "You."
There’s a good reason, he wanted to shout as he stared down into those big blue eyes of hers. I’m saving your brother-in-law’s butt and mine by behaving this way. But he couldn’t tell her about the dangerous timber company that would stop at nothing to own this rain forest, and that frustrated him further. "Shut up."
"I will not. You are evasive, irresponsible, and irritating. And impolite too."
"Will you shut up?!" he shouted, slamming a flattened hand against the wall behind her.
"Make me."
He accepted the challenge with gusto. Lowering his head, he sealed his lips to hers with a suctioning kiss. The effect was instant and shattering, pulling up a yearning from an untapped depth inside her. Her only struggle was to get closer. Quicker. He was all heat and hands and mouth, filling in the empty spaces of her life in one great surge of masculinity. She grabbed for his shirt sleeves, but instead felt the muscles of his bare arms as they wrapped around her, pulling her close to mold to his will. Her tongue dueled with his. The kiss went on, searching for its place in eternity until someone banged on the door.
Reilly dragged his mouth from hers. "Go away. Can’t you hear us arguing?" he managed before he let her pull him back into the kiss.
"Reilly? Reilly, Puddin’ Head came back," Chico said in a loud whisper.
As the child ran back down the veranda, Allison stiffened in Reilly’s embrace. He lifted his head, his expression drowsy with desire.
"I’m—I’m appalled at this," she said, not sounding at all convinced.
His eyes hinted at a coming smile as he stroked her jaw with his thumb. "You don’t feel appalled," he said, starting back down for another kiss.
Pushing away from him, she wiped his moisture from her lips with a surprisingly shaky hand. "Okay, I’ll admit, I was having a dysfunctional moment."
"What a crock," he said, turning his back to the wall to watch her move around the room. "You were functioning just fine, Al."
Reilly, in his indefatigable style, was right. Everything about her was functioning at optimum level. Except her brain. "Not true," she lied. "I let you take advantage of me."
"Really? Was that before or after you pinched my butt?"
"Before." With her voice ringing in her ears, she knew exactly how she sounded. As if she knew Reilly on an intimate level, and that wasn’t true and never would be. Crossing the room, she opened the door. "Just get out."
Shaking his head, he sighed heavily. "You are a piece of work, lady."
She swallowed and started again. "About my brother-in-law. Are you going to tell me where he is?"
"I’ll tell you this." He leaned in close to her, trying like hell to ignore the ache in his groin. "I think I was the one having a dysfunctional moment."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" she said, tapping her nails on the open door while she avoided his eyes.
"It means, I don’t enjoy having you in my pockets."
"Well, you won’t have me in your pockets much longer." Meeting his stare, she followed his eyes as he straightened up. "Coming to this hellhole and laying eyes on you has been a complete waste of my time."
"And mine," he added.
Ignoring his interruption, she continued. "I’m taking the next flight out of here to San Remo."
"I can’t wait!" he said, jerking the door from her grasp and slamming it hard after him.
Pulling it open, sh
e stuck her head out. "Neither can I!"
Taste of Love: A Romance Sampler Page 18
