by Alison Kent
She so loved the heightened sense of calm before the storm. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms … not for warmth but because the electrical charge in the air tickled her skin. She wasn't sure she'd make it back to the villa before the storm broke, but halfway between here and there, on one of the island's two landscaped beaches, was an open-air pagoda sitting in a cluster of coconut palms.
She wasn't sure where the rest of the group would find shelter from the approaching midday cloudburst. Lauren and Anton had gone to the mainland with Menga Duarte this morning on the caretaker's trip for additional supplies. The couple had plans to tour several Mayan ruins and wouldn't have any trouble finding cover from the rain.
Sydney wasn't sure if they were working to reconcile or if they'd only called a temporary truce. She supposed the reason for their togetherness wasn't half as important as the fact that they were together and, at least on some level, facing rather than avoiding the conflict keeping them apart. More than any couple she knew, those two belonged together, and she had her fingers crossed that her "butting in" would not go awry.
Doug, Jess, Kinsey and Poe had all gone snorkeling at the north end of the island. Apparently Doug was no longer waterlogged, because he couldn't wait to get wet. And scorched. He was definitely working on a major tan and the deep bronze of his skin was doing a fine job setting off the sheen of his sun-bleached hair. He wore the surfer look well. And Kinsey had not failed to take notice.
Jess and Poe were noticing each other, too. But after talking with Poe yesterday, Sydney wasn't sure all the noticing in the world would get either of them anywhere. Poe had seemed to quietly retreat, leaving Jess hanging in his own confusion with not much to say. What he did say was that he was having the time of his life, a time made even better without the added complication of having a woman along. Sydney doubted anyone believed him.
Sydney didn't think Ray had accompanied the fun-loving group, though he had left the villa this morning around the same time. He hadn't had much of anything to say over breakfast. He hadn't really stayed for breakfast, as a matter of fact. For some reason yesterday's playful romp in the lagoon seemed to have changed things between them. But she couldn't put a finger on what. Or why.
He'd poured himself a cup of Auralie's coffee, grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and then he'd walked down the length of the private pier, wearing a pair of bright orange board shorts and a sleeveless black T-shirt. Sydney had stood in the villa's front doorway and sipped her own coffee, wondering what he had on his mind.
She hadn't been able to gauge his mood, and that bothered her, distracted her, reminded her again how important it was that she keep their relationship confined to this island and, quite frankly, to sex. Nolan had taught her to put business before anything, if she expected to succeed, and never to make choices based on her heart, instead of her head.
She'd spent her life following her father's advice. Or at least she'd tried. For the most part, she'd succeeded. gIRL-gEAR spoke to her dedication and commitment and sound business plan. It was only last year that she'd stepped foot outside of her strictly drawn boundaries and gone to Nolan for personal reasons, emotional reasons. A mistake she should've known better than to make. One that had left her reeling, left her raw at his betrayal, left her sick at having let down a friend.
A fat drop of rain fell with a splat on her bare shoulder. A second followed, then a third, and the pagoda was still a hundred yards away. She wouldn't mind a thorough soaking, but she broke into a run, anyway, because running for shelter from the island's summer storms had always been a game she and her mother had played.
She hadn't thought of those happier times in far too long and was laughing when she reached the covered shelter and set about lowering the protective screens. She was on the back side of the three-walled enclosure when her laughter stilled, when her memories moved several years forward, when the rain and the isolation took on an ambiance of intimacy. Because jogging toward the pagoda from the other direction was Ray.
He ducked inside just as she let go of the last cord and the third screen rolled to the ground. They were both dripping wet and slightly out of breath. Sydney wasn't going to question serendipity. She was too glad to see him to analyze the way the Fates had come together. And she sure wasn't going to analyze why she was so glad.
"Hi," she said, shaking the water from her bare arms, wishing for a towel or even the dry hem of a shirt. But neither her bright yellow bikini top or her green-and-yellow drawstring shorts offered a solution. She settled for wiping the water away with her palms. "I thought maybe you'd ended up going snorkeling with the others."
Ray shook his head, then shook it again and sent water droplets flying. He scrubbed his hands back over his head. "I walked back to the pelican nesting area and ended up circling most of the island. This is some place Nolan's got here. His own wildlife refuge and everything."
"I don't think anything has ever made me realize how lucky I was growing up as this island has." Sydney drew in a deep breath and faced the open side of the pagoda, the side facing the sea. "Did you know I actually had my sixteenth birthday party here?"
"I heard the rumors. Heard that that party caused you more than a little grief that year."
Funny, but she'd actually forgotten about the stir caused by the flack the six girls had received for the unexcused absence. An absence due to mechanical problems forcing the cancellation of their return flight to Houston.
Sydney had sat through more than one lecture about district policies applying to all students, no matter their economic advantage—or their family's endowment to the school. But it was Izzy Leighton who'd suffered the most.
The missed day disqualified her from an interscholastic competition she'd been almost guaranteed to win. A competition with a scholarship she'd been counting on to cover the bulk of her tuition to Rice University. None of Nolan's appeals or those of Izzy's parents had changed the school board's mind.
Sydney had sworn for years she'd make it up to her friend. And last year she'd tried, ending up with nothing for her efforts but an estrangement from the father who'd sworn he'd never let her down. Eyes closed, Sydney took a deep breath. Then she forced a smile and turned back to Ray.
"You know what? I don't want to talk about the past. I want to talk about now. I want to enjoy this vacation and have fun and forget about work and about all the problems I'll have to deal with once we get home."
"Including the problems with your father?" he asked, his hands at his hips, both brows arched.
He said it as though it was his business to know, to find out what had gone on to cause the rift. But she couldn't give him the details, because he wouldn't understand. No one who hadn't lived in her shoes would ever understand. The explanation was tied up with the fact that she was the daughter of multimillionaires Nolan and Vegas Ford.
She gave a small sad shake of her head, blew out a short snort of breath. And then walked several steps away.
"You're shutting me out, Sydney. Don't shut me out." Ray walked up close behind her. "Anyone who has been around you this last year knows you barely speak to Nolan. But no one can figure out why. And, yeah. Everyone is curious. Because whatever is going on is obviously one-sided."
"Yes, it's one-sided," Sydney said, grinding her teeth and feeling the first stirrings of the stress headache she was learning to live with. "I feel Nolan betrayed me. He disagrees. And I'd like to leave it at that, if you don't mind."
And quite frankly, she didn't care if he did mind. She moved farther away from Ray, staring out into the rain and watching the drops hammer the sand. This wasn't his business. This was between her and her father. And, unfortunately, her mother.
And just when Sydney's life had finally hit an incredibly satisfying and successful stride, too. gIRLgEAR was experiencing amazing success, growing and expanding beyond anything she or her partners had ever imagined. Her personal life was on hold, which was fine and all part of her grand master plan.
So why
did things with her father have to go south the way they had? Nolan had always been her rock—
"Hey." Ray settled his hands on her shoulders. "Sydney, honey, listen to me. Whatever you have going on with Nolan is your business. You're right. But I've gotten to know your father recently. He made a huge donation to one of the firefighter funds after the attacks last year, and we've talked a lot. About the things I've seen. And about Patrick.
"We've become close, and I care about him as a friend. He hates this estrangement. He says he understands how you feel. And, no," Ray said, cutting off her objection, "he hasn't divulged any details. He respects your privacy and your feelings. But he's not a happy man right now."
"Well, I'm not exactly a happy woman. What Nolan did can't be undone. It's something I'm going to have to live with." And no one had any idea how much she hurt.
She'd always been able to turn to her father for anything. Anything. And losing that touchstone, that bedrock defining who she was and where she came from… Sydney shivered. For the first time in her entire life she was free-falling. No parachute. No safety net. Only the life lessons she'd learned at her father's feet. And she didn't know if she'd learned enough to make it on her own.
Ray began to massage her shoulders, kneading muscles and tendons that were often tight with everyday stress. Not so today. Today relaxation came easily, once she ground her train of thought to a halt and turned her focus outward, to the here and the now. Then there was only Ray's skin on her skin, his strong hands testing and measuring her flesh and her response until her stress became something only Ray could take away.
Rain pelted the pagoda, drumming overhead in a primal rhythm, slapping against the sand and farther out onto a Caribbean whipped into frothy waves by the winds. Sydney wanted to be angry at Ray for dredging up her problems with her father. But she couldn't find even a hint of anger to draw on. Not because doing so would interfere with her plans, but because what she felt standing there beneath Ray's hands left her speechless and unable to feel anything beyond the physical bliss of his touch.
He moved closer, bringing his body a hairbreadth from pressing solidly to hers. She could feel the heat from his thighs warm her skin through the thin cotton of her shorts. Her back, bare but for the narrow tie of her bikini top, leeched the heat from his torso.
His hands continued to rub, to stroke, to raise the temperature of her skin and blood. The way he so easily aroused her was part of the reason he kept her unnerved. And the whole of the reason she was here.
Yet when faced with the full effect Ray had on her body, Sydney could only close her eyes. She was unable to resist. Or to think. How could she get him out of her system when she couldn't form a coherent thought the minute he had her in his hands?
"I want to make you happy, Sydney." Ray's warm breath brushed the skin at her nape. "Will you let me make you happy?"
Oh, God. How was she supposed to answer when she'd forgotten where she'd left her voice? Not to mention her wit, her common sense, her logic and rationale. All she knew was her desire. And so she closed her eyes and said, "Yes."
An aroused groan deep in Ray's throat vibrated through the palms of his hands as he skated them down Sydney's bare arms, slicking away the sheen of moisture still coating her skin. His touch warmed her, excited her, raised gooseflesh and the hairs on her nape. Her breasts tightened. Her nipples beaded into taut pebbles. Her sex grew swollen and aching and damp.
All of this, this response, so intensely real, so immediate and sweet…and he'd done nothing yet but caress her from shoulder to wrist, wrist to shoulder, his big hands cupping her limbs gently before meeting at the back of her neck. He pressed his thumbs there and let his fingers wrap around to tease the skin of her throat.
She lifted her chin, inviting further exploration, and he ran the backs of his fingers along her jaw, traced the shells of both ears, blowing softly at her hairline as he threaded his hands into her hair. He massaged her scalp, her temples, the base of her skull, and Sydney was certain her temperature was approaching the point where she would melt into the sand around his feet. Nothing had ever, ever felt this good.
She moaned her approval, her appreciation, and then Ray laid his forearm across her collarbone and pulled her back into his chest. His arm was a welcome pressure. The damp fabric of his shirt was cool at first contact until heated by the beat of his heart and the rush of blood beneath the surface of his skin.
Even his breath offered a sweep of warmth that heightened her sense of touch. She felt like a live wire, sizzling and sparking in the rain. Sand popped up like divots and the sea water rippled, circle upon circle spreading over the foaming waves.
The moment took eroticism to heights Sydney had never known. And then Ray moved his free hand, skimming his palm over one breast, then the other, touching nothing but the barest surface of the bright yellow suit covering her skin, nothing but the suit and the tips of both nipples, one, two, his palm circling until she wanted to reach back and untie the strings of her top and give him her bare skin.
Ray seemed to know what she wanted—and seemed determined to refuse her unspoken request. He kept his forearm in place, bracing and holding her still. His lips moved to her neck, to the skin beneath her ear where he nibbled and nipped, where he kissed, where he blew a stream of heat over skin dampened by his teasing tongue.
Oh, God. She was about to come unglued. Nerve endings hummed along the surface of her limbs and the bare skin of her belly and her back, still pressed to Ray's solid strength. The screens she'd lowered on three sides of the pagoda kept most of the rain at bay, but from the fourth side, the open side, the side she faced, mist blew in and settled on her skin, kissing her face, wetting the surface of her clothing while the steam Ray was raising on her body moistened the material from the inside out.
She shivered and his lips sucked lightly at her shoulder and his free hand, oh, his hand… His finger finally slipped beneath her suit, where he took a nipple between forefinger and thumb and rolled and pinched and tugged until Sydney dropped her head back onto his chest and moaned.
"Good?" he asked, his voice a husky, throaty sound.
"You have no idea." How could he? How could he know what he was doing to her?
"I have a pretty good one. We've done this before, remember?"
"You have a hell of a memory, Ray Coffey. I'm beginning to think you know more about me than I know about myself." She had no idea how he knew, but his knowledge was unquestionable, his instinct right on. Moisture seeped into the fabric of her shorts and she squirmed.
"I don't know half as much as I want to. Not yet." He continued to hold her close to his body. He continued to work his hand beneath the triangle of material covering her breast.
A shudder ran the length of her body. She dug her feet into the sand, lowered her hands to her sides and reached back, wrapping her fingers into the loose fabric of Ray's shorts. She knew he wasn't going anywhere, but still she held on.
She had to hold on, especially now, because he'd moved his hand lower, down her belly where he splayed his fingers, his hand so large he reached from one side of her waist to the other, as if measuring, testing the texture of her skin. She pulled in a sharp breath as his hand slid lower, his fingers loosening the drawstring and slipping beneath her shorts.
And he didn't stop there, but sent his exploring hand lower into her barely there panties, which were embarrassingly damp between her legs. She wanted him to know what he did to her, the extent to which he aroused her, but the physical evidence seemed too private to share.
Ray thought differently and said so. "Do you know I can smell you? I can smell the rain and the sea, but I can also smell how wet you are."
Sydney couldn't find her voice to reply. All she could do was stand still and spread her legs wide to accommodate Ray's hand. He was using two fingers, only two fingers, on either side of her clit, squeezing the hard knot of nerves from either side, stroking up and down, right there beneath the band of her panties and no deeper.
She wanted him as far between her legs as he could reach. But all he did was play in her closely trimmed patch of hair and over the plump lips of her sex. He never parted her folds, he never slipped a finger into the crevice. He only fingered her with the lightest of butterfly touches, pressing on either side of the swollen bud until Sydney thought she would die from needing release.
She swallowed hard and moaned, digging her fingers through the fabric of Ray's trunks and into his thighs. "What are you doing to me?"
"I hope I'm making you feel good. I hope I'm making you happy." He strung a trail of open-mouth kisses along her shoulder to her neck, the arm pressed across her collarbone drifting lower, coming to rest on her rib cage just beneath her breasts.
Sydney couldn't stand it any longer. She worked a hand between their bodies and pulled on the strings holding her top in place. The scraps of bright yellow fell free, exposing her to the mist of warm rain and the warm air and the heat from Ray's arm. She was on her way to heaven. Ray moaned, the rumble rolling through his chest and into Sydney's back. She felt his response to the tips of her toes.
"God, you're beautiful." He pulled his hand from her panties and cupped the full weight of both breasts, hugging her back and close to his body. "I don't know if I can get enough of you. I want to do so many things…"
He let the sentence trail. Sydney, aroused beyond belief, picked it up. "Tell me. Tell me what you want to do. I want to hear you say it."
The sound he made was half chuckle, half roar of pain. He released her breasts and wrapped both his arms around her middle. He hugged her close, his cheek to her cheek. "You like to hear a man talk dirty?"
She shook her head. "Not a man. You. I want to hear it from you."
"God, Sydney. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
"Tell me," she whispered. "Show me."
He took one of her hands, guided their joined fingers between their bodies and closed her hold around his erection. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. No woman has ever made me ache like this. No woman has ever made me this hard."
