In her daydream he looked at her with ravenous eyes as he stood naked over her in the tub. His manhood pushing against her wet flesh, taking her, claiming her.
Stop it! What are you doing?
She shook her head, dispelling the fantasy. The bathroom was steamy hot, but inside she was hotter. She wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted anyone. The sizzling sexual desire shook her to her core. Just what on earth had she gotten herself into?
* * *
WHILE MACY TOOK a bath, Armando paced the patio. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds and the darkness was so deep he felt as if he’d been absorbed by it. His throbbing, achy body melted into the humid night. He thought of Macy, naked in his bathtub, and he groaned out loud.
The truth was, she’d gotten to him, slipped under his radar. That realization scared him.
And it took every ounce of strength he possessed not to march into that bathroom, scoop her out of his tub and make love to her all night long.
Armando fisted his hands. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t act on impulse. But his erection was so hard he could barely draw in air. Dammit, he wanted her.
She’d done this to him. Made him desire her in a way he’d never desired another. Torture. Wanting her was pure torture.
He tried to think of Jennifer to remember how lust had gotten him into trouble before. But this felt like so much more than just lust. This felt like…destiny.
Idiotic, that thought. He didn’t even know her.
And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He imagined her touch. The vision caused every nerve ending in his body to jolt with electrical awareness as he imagined the feel of her soft lips, the sweet taste of her tongue. He visualized her long, silken curls tickling his bare skin. He saw her full, pink mouth tip up in a beguiling grin.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Stop thinking about her.
Resolutely, he shoved all thoughts of her from his head and collapsed into the hammock. The wind had picked up, rocking the rope swing. He could hear the rushing waterfall, taste the black, mysterious night. He inhaled it—the night—smelling thickly of overripe fruit and impending rain.
The jungle hideaway had given him solace when he needed it. Escape. It brought him back to his family’s roots, reminded him of his departed mother. It felt familiar and real. More real than his condo back in Houston. More real than the career he’d ruined. But he’d come here to get his life back on track, to figure out his next move. Instead, fate had delivered him an unexpected complication—a sexy brunette who’d shown up out of nowhere to mess up his best-laid plans.
And that’s when the heavens opened up and the monsoon began.
* * *
THE SOUND OF THUNDER pulled Macy from a light sleep. She opened her eyes in the darkness, blinked, momentarily disoriented.
Where was she?
Lightning flashed, bathing the little stone cabin in the rain forest with one vivid stab of hot, white illumination. In that moment she saw him standing in the doorway—tall, imposing, soaked to the skin, his wet hair plastered against his face.
The thrill of fear shot its way through her blood, infecting her with blinding, driving, primal need. Her fingers curled around the crisp white sheet as blackness descended as quickly as the light had come.
More rumbling shook the cabin.
Nervously she drew her knees to her chest. She was in an isolated mountain getaway with a total stranger. Yes, she knew a bit about him from her research. By all accounts, he’d been an honorable, upstanding, intelligent man. But Macy knew from firsthand experience you could love someone and never really know what was in their hearts.
“Armando,” she whispered.
“Don’t be frightened, querida.”
Querida.
A Spanish word for sweetheart. Her stomach jumped. “What’s happening?”
“The rains have hit.”
“And you got soaked out of the hammock.”
“Yes.”
The air was thick with the sound of their breathing. Every muscle in her body tensed. Lightning flashed again. Armando had moved from the doorway to the middle of the room.
“There’s nowhere else for you to sleep,” she murmured.
“I’ll get blankets from the cupboard,” he said, “build a pallet on the floor.”
“The floor is made of stone.”
“It will do.”
“I’ve slept on stone,” she said, recalling a story she’d covered in a wartorn country in the Middle East and the night she’d spent in a bombed-out government building. “It’s not comfortable.”
“A woman like you?” He sounded skeptical. “You should only sleep on the plushest of mattresses.”
“Right back at you.” She threw aside the sheet. “Get in.”
“You’re inviting me to share your bed?”
“Hey, it’s your bed. Turnabout is fair play. But don’t get any funny ideas. This is all about comfort and warmth. No hanky-panky.”
“I can promise I won’t touch,” he said. “But I can’t promise I won’t think about touching.”
Macy inhaled audibly. “Honesty is an honorable quality.”
She felt his big body sink onto the mattress and felt her own body immediately heat up. Her muscles tensed. Her mouth grew dry. She lay on her back staring up at the ceiling, completely aware of the man beside her—his scent, his warm dampness, the sound of his ragged breathing.
What had she gotten herself into? Armando might be able to keep his hands to himself, but the question was, could she?
CHAPTER FIVE
UNABLE TO SLEEP, Armando arose at dawn, even though the torrential rains drowned out the sun. Lying that close to Macy all night, aching to touch her but knowing it was not a smart thing to do had been pure torture.
But once he was up, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. He sat in a camp chair for a while watching her sleep, trying to sort out the feelings rushing through him.
Looking at her, he was walloped by an impact that possessed all the power and sizzle of a lightning strike. All common sense, all rational thought leaked from Armando’s brain and puddled at his feet.
Macy lay curled on her side, her fan of hair dark against the white pillow case. Everything about her intrigued him. She was a paradox, at once feminine and beautiful, but at the same time tomboyish and adventuresome. She was the embodiment of the girl next door but with an unexpectedly elegant twist.
Armando shook his head. What the hell was happening to him? He’d never felt like this. But this feeling…it seemed so right. Yet at the same time, he was afraid to trust his own judgment.
He’d been in Costa Rica for three months trying to put his life back together, and just when he thought he was ready to face the world again, along came Macy, pulling the rug out from under him.
This is crazy. You don’t even know her.
He’d told himself that very thing a hundred times during his sleepless night, but no matter how he tried, he could not shake the bizarre sensation that they shared an unbreakable bond. It was foolish, but there it was.
He prowled the cabin, pacing to the back window to stare glumly out at the driving rain. He needed to get out of here, away from her so he could think without sexual desire gumming up his brain. But a steady stream of high-intensity water sluiced from the sky. Neither one of them was going anywhere today.
“Armando.”
He turned to see Macy standing halfway between him and the bed wearing nothing but a white, oversize University of Oklahoma T-shirt and a pair of gray flannel shorts that showed off a mile of long, lean, tanned legs. Her hair was mussed, her cheek sheet-creased and that smile.
Her smile smacked him like a sucker punch to the gut.
“Good morning,” she greeted him with a yawn and stretched her arms over her head.
He couldn’t help noticing how her shirt rode up with the gesture revealing just the slightest flash of bare skin on her belly. “Good morning.”
&nb
sp; “I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?” She padded across the stone floor in her sock feet headed for the refrigerator. She looked completely at ease and he admired her self-confidence.
He was headed down a treacherous path and he knew it, but what was he going to do? They were trapped here. Together. Alone.
She cocked her head and studied him. “Is everything all right? Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah,” he lied.
“Me, too.” She turned back to the refrigerator. “You’ve got eggs and cheese. How about an omelet?”
“Sounds good.”
“How long do you think it’s going to rain?” she asked, cradling the carton of eggs in the crook of one elbow, balancing a stick of butter on top of it and grabbing a hunk of cheddar with her other hand. She used her hip to bump the refrigerator door closed. “Got an omelet pan?”
“We’re not that sophisticated in the jungle. Why don’t you let me do that?” he offered. “I make a mean omelet, if I do say so myself, and you’re my guest.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned. “I’m not much of a cook and I never really got the wrist action down for omelets. I usually just end up with scrambled eggs.”
He took a skillet from beneath the cabinet, set it on the stove and fired up the burner.
“Here,” she said, “I’ll crack the eggs. Breaking things I’m good at.”
“Oh, yeah?” Armando sliced two pats of butter into the skillet. “What have you broken?”
“My marriage, for one thing.”
“You’re divorced?”
“Happily. For two years now.”
“What happened?” he asked, acutely aware of her standing at his elbow, cracking eggs and sliding them into a bowl while he moved the pan, guiding the butter around the side of the skillet as it melted. “Or is that too nosy?”
“My ex decided he preferred blondes.”
“He cheated on you.”
“Uh-huh.” She seemed very okay with it, breaking the last egg and tossing the shells into the trash can. He admired her laid-back attitude. He wished he could be as philosophical about life.
“So how is it your fault that the marriage broke up?” he asked.
“I didn’t believe in hair dye.” She laughed at her own joke. “No, seriously, it was my fault because I couldn’t see what was right under my own nose. Doug was always a charmer, but feckless. I thought he’d change. He didn’t.” She shrugged.
“Do you miss being married?”
“Not to Doug,” she said enthusiastically, and leaned her back against the counter. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a husband who’s a real partner, not just a glorified roommate, and a family of my own. How about you? Ever been married?”
He shook his head, whisked the eggs with a fork.
“Why not?” she asked. “Handsome man like you.”
“Too ambitious, I suppose. Never had the time for a long-term relationship.”
Macy looked around the room. “This is the pinnacle of your ambition?”
He snorted. “It’s a long story. Could you slice some of that cheese for me?”
“Sure.” She picked up the knife and started slicing, dropping the thin strips of cheddar into the eggs.
He was hyperaware of her. How well they worked together, cooking side by side. “My mother was ill for a long time,” he said, not knowing why he was telling her this. “I was an only child and between her and my work, I guess I just didn’t make time for relationships. She died six months ago,” he said.
“Oh, Armando, I’m so sorry. I—”
“It’s okay. It still hurts and I miss her a lot, but she’s out of pain and that’s the important thing.”
Macy touched his shoulder and gave him a squeeze of sympathy so sincere he had to swallow hard to hold back his emotions. She said nothing else, but her hand slipped to his waist and she held it there, standing beside him while he flipped the omelet in the pan.
“How about you?” he asked. “Are your parents living?”
“Yes, I’m blessed,” she said. “Both my parents are healthy and still working. Mom’s a high-school algebra teacher, Dad works for the post office. They’ve been married thirty-nine years and are still madly in love. They hold hands like teenagers. Mom says Dad is her greatest passion and Dad says she is his one grand love. They’re adorable.”
“It sounds nice.”
“What about your dad?” Macy asked. “Is he still around?”
“He took off when I was five. I don’t really have much contact with him.”
“That’s such a shame.”
“Any brothers or sisters?” he asked, shifting the topic of conversation away from himself again.
“Two sisters, three brothers.”
“Wow, big family.”
Macy nodded. “Both my parents were only children and they wanted lots of kids.”
“What’s your birth placement?”
“Third oldest.”
“You must have gotten lost in the shuffle.”
Macy started to say that her place in a large brood had a lot to do with her adventuresome nature and her passionate drive for success as an investigative journalist. She’d always felt a need to prove herself, to compete with her older siblings for attention. But then she remembered that Armando was a subject, that she was investigating him and that she’d lied to him about who she really was.
How could she have forgotten about that? How had she lost sight of her goal?
She slid a surreptitious glance his way. He finished the first omelet, flipped it onto a plate and started in on the second one.
When he finished, they took their plates to the table. Outside, water tumbled over the eaves of the cabin, obscuring the view from the window. All Macy could see was a heavy blur of green beyond the rain. They were wrapped in a verdant cocoon, warm and safe from the raging summer storm.
But that meant there was nothing to look at except the handsome man sitting across from her. She noticed the way his ebony hair curled around his ear, how the muscles in his forearms moved, how thick and sturdy his wrists were. Her gaze slid over the expanse of his broad shoulders underneath his orange University of Texas T-shirt. Sooners and Longhorns. Natural rivals.
A sense of foreboding came over Macy. She liked Armando too much, and she was getting too emotionally invested in him. Highly unprofessional.
That’s when she realized that no matter how she played this thing, it wasn’t going to end well between them.
* * *
AFTER BREAKFAST Armando filled the sink with water to wash dishes, while Macy picked up a cup towel, preparing to dry. He squeezed too much soap into the running water and tiny soap bubbles immediately rose into the air.
Macy giggled as a cloud of froth floated around her head.
“Hang on, you’ve got bubbles in your hair,” Armando said, and reached up to gently brush his fingers through her bangs.
Their gazes met and Macy couldn’t look away from his soulful brown eyes. Immediately her muscles tightened and her mouth went dry. She put out the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips.
He seemed as mesmerized as she, his hand still at her forehead, his attention trained on her.
She ducked her head. “My hair’s a mess. Tropical rain forests and wavy hair do not go together. Normally, I iron my hair straight but…” She knew she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“I love curly hair.”
“Got a Shirley Temple complex, do you?” she teased. Humor was her default defense mechanism when she was feeling totally out of her element.
“I have a Macy Mason complex.”
She gulped. Hearing him call her by her exhusband’s last name had her stomach balling up tight. “Um, Armando…,” she began, but got no further.
He slid his fingers up her neck, cupped the back of her head in his palm and pulled her closer. He was going to kiss her and she wasn’t going to do a thing to stop him.
&
nbsp; His lips closed over her mouth.
Macy moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. They were chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, the firm thrust of his erection leaving no doubt in her mind about how much he wanted her.
Armando pulled his mouth from her lips and kissed her chin. She tossed her head back, letting him explore, relishing the feel of his tongue gliding down the length of her throat. His hands were just as busy, one traveling down to cup her buttocks, the other slipping underneath the hem of her T-shirt, his knuckles grazing her bare belly.
She could have stopped him. She should have stopped him. But she didn’t want to. Aching need swamped her body with delicious heat. When his hand reached her breasts, she breathed in a heartfelt sigh of desire.
Macy touched him, stroking him through his jeans. He exhaled a groan. The rough, masculine sound escalated her hunger. Her nipples beaded up hard against her bra.
But what was her excuse? She was a willing partner.
Both his hands were cupping her breasts now, his thumbs kneading her tender nipples through the material of her bra, shooting sparks of sensation through her nerve endings.
This was too much, too soon. She was responding so eagerly simply because she hadn’t been with a man since her divorce. This was unprofessional behavior. Never mind that she was deceiving him.
Macy put a hand to his chest and stepped back.
He lifted his head, met her eyes. “I…I’m…,” he stammered. “That was out of line. I shouldn’t have…you don’t deserve to be pawed like that. I have no excuse except you’re just so damned irresistible.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice husky, even though it was anything but okay. Her hands were trembling, but she tried her best to hide it from him.
“No, no, it’s my fault. I crossed the line. I should have more self-control.”
“It’s the rain,” she said. “And the forced proximity.”
“And the chemistry.”
“There is that.” She smiled.
“Pretty amazing chemistry.”
Sand, Sun...Seduction! Page 20
