Sand, Sun...Seduction!

by Stephanie Bond

  Yes, and she’d intended to take advantage of that chemistry to get an interview from him. Suddenly she felt lower than a sea slug.

  “I don’t want to…we don’t even know each other,” she said.

  “I understand. You’re a woman of integrity.”

  “I like to take relationships slow. Since my divorce… I haven’t…I’m just not ready.”

  “I understand completely. Sex complicates things.”

  “Yes.”

  He raised his palms. “From now on, it’s strictly hands-off.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, but at the same time she felt utterly disappointed.

  What she hadn’t counted on was being unable to control this wildfire attraction that made her forget why she was there. When she looked into those compelling brown eyes, she forgot her own name.

  “I’m going to go put on some more clothes,” she said.

  “Good idea,” he croaked. “I’ll finish up these dishes.”

  * * *

  YOU’RE LOSING IT, Cutler.

  Armando scrubbed the dishes with far more vigor than was required. The bathroom door closed and he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Macy in there changing clothes. He imagined her naked body, and a shiver of desire passed through his body. He could still taste her on his tongue. He could still smell her scent in his nostrils. He could still feel the imprint of her firm, feminine body pressed against him.

  What a woman!

  Hell, he was in serious trouble.

  Gloomily he stared out at the torrential rain, watching the onslaught of water gouge rivulets into the bank of earth outside the cabin.

  Armando had dated a lot of women in his life. Beautiful women, intelligent women, accomplished women and, yet, none of them had ever stirred him in quite the same way Macy had. There was something different about her. She seemed to embody all the qualities he’d ever wanted in a mate—attractive, smart, witty, adventuresome.

  Honestly, he never acted this impulsively. Not even when he’d allowed Jennifer to seduce him. They’d already been seeing each other for a few weeks when she showed up at his office with espionage on her mind. But this thing with Macy was so powerful it caused him to act in a completely inappropriate manner, and he had no idea what to do about it. He couldn’t get away from her. The rain had seen to that.

  He couldn’t run, he couldn’t hide. So he’d have to face the attraction and fight his way through it. All he needed was a distraction, something to keep their minds off the strong sexual pull.

  Resolutely, he tugged the drain stopper from the sink to let the dishwater out, then he turned and went for the closet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “BACKGAMMON, CHESS, cards or Monopoly?”

  “Huh?” Macy emerged from the bathroom, dressed in blue jeans, a red sleeveless shirt and hiking boots. She was doing everything she could to combat the urge to tumble into bed with Armando. The more clothing she had to take off, the better.

  “Backgammon, chess, cards or Monopoly?” Armando stood in front of a closet filled with camping supplies and board games.

  “You want to play a game?” she asked.

  He gestured at the window. She turned to look at the rain. It was as if someone had turned on a water spigot. “No television. No leaving the cabin in this rain. Backgammon, chess, cards or Monopoly?”

  “Cards,” she said.

  “Cards, it is.” He plucked up a deck of cards from the shelf and closed the closet door. “What game?”

  “Poker.”

  “You’re not messing around.”

  “What did you take me for?” She grinned. “The kind of girl who plays Old Maid?”

  “You?” He shook his head. “Never.”

  “What will we play for?” She rubbed her palms together.

  They looked at each other and she saw in his eyes the same thing she was thinking. Let’s play strip poker. But that’s not what he said.

  What he said was, “Cookies.”

  “Cookies?”

  “Oreos.” He went to the kitchen cabinet, pulled out a package of cookies.

  “Oreos, it is,” she said with equal parts disappointment and relief that he hadn’t said clothing. What in hell was wrong with her? Did she want to wreck her life?

  They sat down at the table. Armando divided the cookies into two equal piles, while Macy shuffled the cards. “Five card stud,” she said. “Nothing wild.”

  “You deal those cards like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Six kids in the family. We played a lot of games. I won my share of allowance money off my siblings.”

  “Now she tells me,” Armando muttered.

  “Kiss your Oreos goodbye.”

  “Good at the bluff, are you?”

  “You have no idea.” Macy grinned and dealt the cards. “One cookie ante.”

  “How long have you been interested in bird-watching?” he asked as he glanced at his cards and then discarded four.

  She looked at her hand. Pair of twos. She doled out four new cards for Armando, took three for herself.

  “It’s a relatively new hobby,” she said, not wanting to tell him any more fibs than she had to in order to achieve her objective.

  “Why the fascination with the red-throated Costa Rican swallow?” he asked.

  An uneasy sensation prickled her skin. Macy shrugged. Was he getting suspicious of her? But how? She thought of her press badge in the knapsack and her stomach churned. Had Armando been snooping in her things?

  “It’s not a fascination,” she said. “I’ve just always wanted to visit Costa Rica and my bird-watching book said it was a great place to come if you wanted to locate several species of rare tropical birds.”

  “So you really don’t know much about the red-throated swallow?” he asked.

  “Not much,” she said, squinting at her poker hand. It consisted of the pair of twos, an ace, a five and a seven. “I raise you a cookie.”

  “I see your raise and I raise you two Oreos.”

  She peeked at him. His face was impassive, his cards held against his chest. Was he bluffing? She added two more cookies to the middle of the table. “Have you ever seen a red-throated swallow?”

  “I have. They’re indigenous to the San Pablo waterfall.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.” She added two more cookies to the middle of the table. “Call.”

  They lay their cards down faceup. Armando had nothing.

  “Bluffer,” she grinned, and pulled the pile of cookies to her side of the table.

  Armando picked up the cards, shuffled the deck for his turn to deal.

  “Do you think you could guide me to find the swallows?” she asked, trying to keep up her cover story. “You know, when the rain stops.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Do you know why the red-throated swallows are so rare?”

  She shook her head.

  “The red-throated swallows are monogamous. They mate for life,” he said. “But they’re plagued by the bigger, promiscuous black-chested swallows that steal the red-throated swallow’s nests and throw out their eggs before they can hatch.”

  “I don’t like the sound of those black-chested swallows.”

  “Unpleasant creatures,” he agreed.

  They played out the hand. Macy won again. She shuffled, dealt for the third hand.

  Armando stared at his cards and scowled.

  “How many cards do you want?” she asked.

  He tossed his cards on the table. “I fold.”

  “Don’t give up so easily,” she said.

  “These cards were worthless.”

  “You never know what you could make with a fresh start.”

  “If you start singing a song about ants and a rubber tree plant, I’m leaving, storm or no storm,” he teased.

  “I’m just saying, you never know what’s around the next corner. Maybe the next five cards are a royal flush.”

  “The odds of that happening are like a million to one.”
>
  “Still, there is that one. I know a lot of people give up too soon when if they’d just stuck things out, they’d have achieved their goals,” she said.

  “And my goal is…?”

  “Oreos.”

  “I had all the Oreos to begin with.”

  “And now you’ve lost eight of them. You want to lose more?”

  “Okay, deal me five new cards.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Macy asked, doling out the cards. “You gave up on something that was once important to you?”

  “I didn’t give up,” he said. “I screwed up. Royally.”

  “Oh?” she said, trying to sound indifferent. Was he on the verge of telling her what had happened? Was she within seconds of getting her interview? Macy put on her best poker face. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

  He waved a hand. “It’s a long one.”

  “Hey, it’s not like we’re going anywhere, but you know, if it’s too personal, hey…” She shrugged. “Just tell me it’s none of my business.”

  Please tell me, please tell me, please tell me.

  Macy tensed, waiting. She could almost taste the peaches grown in red Georgia soil that would come with that job at ANN.

  “I’ll raise you three cookies,” he said.

  She studied his face. “You’re bluffing again.”

  “Am I?”

  “What do you do for a living, Armando Cutler?”

  “Trying to ascertain if I’m as good at bluffing as you are?” he asked.

  Nervousness tripped down her spine. Had he looked into her knapsack? Did he know she was a journalist? Was he just toying with her? Macy bit her bottom lip. “Are you?”

  “I am…was…a chemical engineer.”

  “Hmm,” she said, trying to appear nonchalant. “Sounds mathematical.”

  “I work…worked for Hollister Chemicals. Ever heard of them?”

  Be cool, be cool, be cool.

  “I’ll meet your bet.” She dropped three cookies into the pile in the middle of the table. “I think I’ve heard of Hollister. Weren’t they the company touting a fuel additive that would allow vehicles to get a hundred miles to the gallon or something?”

  “Yes.”

  Perspiration dampened the back of her neck and she had to remind herself to keep breathing. “Did you work on that project?”

  “I did. In fact, I headed the project.”

  “So when does the additive hit the market?”

  “You’ll have to ask Bond and Martin about that.”

  She blinked, pretending to be confused. “Who are Bond and Martin?”

  “They’re the ones working on the fuel additive now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Like black-chested Costa Rican swallows, they stole the formula from Hollister.”

  “Ouch.” Macy sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. “How does something like that happen? I mean, aren’t there strict security measures in place to prevent corporate espionage?”

  “There are.”

  “So…I’m guessing this is something you really don’t want to talk about.” Please don’t stop talking.

  “I raise you three more cookies.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe…” His eyes darkened and she couldn’t help feeling that she was walking on eggshells. “You willing to take that risk?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Could be. You’ll never know if you fold.”

  “Hollister didn’t want to spend the money on security? Is that it?” she dared to ask. “I find this corporate espionage fascinating.”

  He paused for so long she thought she’d gone too far. “There were strict security measures.”

  “Then how did the black-chested swallow steal your eggs, so to speak?”

  Their gazes were locked. Neither one of them looked away.

  “Through seduction.” Armando’s voice was brittle.

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Let’s just say, I let my heart rule my head and it was my downfall.”

  “Ah,” she said, excitement pumping blood through her veins in a rapid rush of adrenaline. Now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty. This was what she’d come to Costa Rica to uncover. “Bond and Martin sent a femme fatale and you fell for her wiles.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he said. “It’s your turn.”

  Macy gulped and pushed her entire pile of Oreos into the middle of table. “I’m all in.”

  “You sure you want to do that?”

  “No gain without a little risk, right?”

  “Turn ’em over,” he said.

  She showed him her cards. “Ace high.”

  Armando laid down the five fresh cards she’d dealt after she’d talked him into not giving up. His grin was wicked. “I’m glad I took your advice and didn’t give up.”

  Macy looked down at the cards and her pulse leaped. One in a million indeed.

  He’d had a royal flush.

  * * *

  RAIN BUFFETED the cabin for the next two days and nights, and it felt as if the little stone bungalow was situated directly under the San Pablo Waterfalls.

  To pass the time and to keep from acting on their rapidly escalating attraction, Armando and Macy cooked and ate and played games. They popped popcorn and sipped hot chocolate. They made sugar cookies and decorated them with icing. Armando proved to be a very talented artist in the cookie-decorating department. She beat him at backgammon, he trounced her at chess. They both won two games apiece of Monopoly. And when they tired of eating and games, they talked.

  They talked for hours—about their childhoods, about movies and books and sports. They shared the stories of their lives. The big defining moments. There was the day when Armando was five and his father never came to pick him up at the arcade where he’d left him. For Macy there was the time she fractured her leg while in-line skating and came to understand that her childhood dream of becoming a prima ballerina was over. And the small, but important turning points—when they first realized there was no such thing as Santa, their first kisses, first day of high school.

  The more they talked, the stronger the bond between them grew, and then on the third day, as they lay on the bed, side by side in the darkness of early morning, completely aware of each other’s bodies, but doing their best not to touch each other, Armando began to talk about the details of what had ruined him at Hollister Chemicals. Macy held her breath as she learned how he’d let grief and lust lead him down the path to destruction after his mother’s death.

  As he talked, anger gripped her. Anger aimed at that corporate spy Jennifer Kemp. She had a strong urge to hunt the woman down and slap her silly for hurting Armando. The intensity of that urge took her by surprise. How could she have such contempt for a woman she didn’t even know?

  You’re no better than she is, taking advantage of Armando for your own gain, whispered her conscience.

  She pushed the thought aside, but the tightness knotting up her chest did not abate.

  “Macy,” he said.

  “Yes?” She could feel the heat from his big body radiating through the thin cotton sheet.

  “What possessed you to get a tattoo?”

  She chuckled. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “College. Girls’ night out got out of hand.”

  “Drinks were involved, I’m guessing.”

  “Tequila shots, to be exact.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Honestly, I don’t even remember getting the tattoo.”

  “Are you ever going to show it to me?”

  “You sure you really want to see it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp, his eyes widening with interest.

  “You’re going to be disappointed,” she said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s not located anywhere risqué.”

  “No
?”

  Feeling sheepish, she tossed back the covers and brought her left foot up to rest on her right knee.

  “It’s on your foot?”

  “The sole of my foot,” she said.

  He tilted his head. “It’s not artwork.”

  “No, it’s my favorite quote,” she said. “By Denis Diderot.”

  He leaned in closer. She could feel his warm breath on her toes. “‘Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things,” he read aloud.

  “Apparently I’m quite profound when blitzed out of my skull on tequila,” she said.

  Armando laughed and lifted his head. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Perfect?”

  “It fits you to a T.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. You’re just like that tattoo. Fun-loving, adventurous, passionate, soulful, literary. I can’t begin to tell you how much knowing you has helped me.”

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “I came to Costa Rica full of rage and remorse. I was humbled and shamed. I’d hit rock bottom. Even after three months here, I still couldn’t shake my anger over being betrayed by someone I trusted. I couldn’t see a way to pick up the pieces of my life.”

  “No?” she breathed.

  “Not until I met you.” Then Armando picked up her hand and squeezed it.

  One touch was all it took to unravel her completely. Every ounce of resolve she possessed flew out the window. Any thoughts of her career disappeared. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only.

  Armando.

  Apparently he was just as lost as she. With a groan of pure desire, he reached for her at the same time she rolled into his arms.

  Their lips met in an electrical charge of energy that rivaled the heated lightning flickering at the window. Macy had never in her life wanted a man more than she wanted Armando.

  The misgivings she’d been having disappeared in the onslaught of sensation. His mouth consumed hers and she gave as good as she got, kissing him with a fever so hot she felt as if she’d been seared from the inside out.

  Without another word, they undressed each other. His hands roved over her body—touching her breasts, her waist, her hips. Her tongue licked his bare skin and she reveled in the salty taste of him. Savagely he kissed her, and Macy’s body came alive, strumming with the heady rush of hormones. Her flesh tingled with anticipation, her muscles tensed, eager for more attention.