by Jo Leigh
He grinned and slipped the booklet inside of the shirt. “What’s your dad’s name?” He balanced the shirt on his lap and pulled the cap off the pen.
“Ralph.”
Rance grinned, wrote a few sentences and signed his name. “Here you go.”
“Thanks so much.” She took the T-shirt, pulled out the magazine and replaced it on the coffee table. Her gaze drank in the sentiment he’d written. “He’s going to totally love this.”
“Glad I could help.” Rance pushed to his feet and Erica followed. “I really need to run. I’m meeting someone.”
“Sure. Listen, if you get bored while you’re here, my friends and I meet at sunup every morning down at the marina for a little water sports jam to get the day started right. You’re welcome to join us. We wakeboard, ski, windsurf. Just pick your poison.”
“Thanks.” He handed her back the Sharpie. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And remember, if you need anything while you’re here, just let me know.”
Rance’s gaze caught Deanie as she exited the boutique and headed for the elevator.
The workshops from the Camp E.D.E.N. course curriculum played through his head and stirred several interesting visuals.
If he was going to seduce Deanie past the point of no return so that she would willingly, desperately offer herself up to him the way she had that night down by the creek, he was going to need some help. He needed every seductive tool he could find.
“Actually, there are a couple of things…”
YOU CAN DO THIS.
The affirmation played in Deanie’s head as she stepped out of her hotel room and walked the few steps to the elevator.
Women did it all the time.
Tall, leggy, do-me women, a small voice whispered as the elevator doors slid open.
All types of women, the more courageous side of her chimed in. She eased her way between several people, glanced to make sure the lobby button was lit, and leaned against the far wall as the doors closed. Her stomach hollowed as the elevator dropped and she swallowed.
Why, even Pastor Cushing’s wife did it on Sunday mornings, and Sister Maybelle was about as tall and leggy as a rhino. As for the do-me part…
Deanie shook away the thought.
She was not going there.
The bottom line—women of all ages, from all walks of life, owned high heels and managed to wear them without eating pavement.
Which meant Deanie could do the same.
“Feet don’t fail me now,” she murmured several seconds later as she reached the ground floor. She stepped off the elevator, carefully rounded the corner and started across the marble-tiled floor.
She wore her new swimsuit and a matching cover up that wrapped around her like a sarong. She carried her new oversized straw bag stuffed full of essentials—sunscreen, her wallet, her hotel key card, sunscreen, her baseball cap, her cell phone—turned off, of course, to avoid Clay—sunscreen, a water bottle, a sports drink and sunscreen.
While Deanie had lived half her life outdoors, she’d learned early on to always be careful. Her dad had watched his own father die with skin cancer and so he’d been a fanatic about his kids protecting themselves while out and about.
And then there was Miss Janie from Senior Women’s Rotary Club. Deanie had been giving Miss Janie’s old Pontiac oil changes for the past five years since her husband had passed away, and so she knew all about Miss Janie’s cousin’s sister’s husband who’d died of skin cancer just this last year.
Deanie thought of the old woman and she couldn’t help herself. She sat down in a nearby chair and rummaged for her cell phone. She had one message from Clay, no doubt denying he’d sent Rance after her, and two from Miss Margie.
She saved Clay’s for later and listened as the message beeped. The old woman’s voice came over the line.
“Deanie? Honey, if you’re there pick up the phone.”
Miss Margie had yet to grasp the concept of a cell phone message and always assumed she was talking to a traditional answering machine.
“Honey, I know you’re making a change and all, but I really wish that change involved my oil. Why, that good-fer-nothing Harwin couldn’t change oil if his life depended on it. Do you know he tried to put that cheap stuff in my engine? I told him you always put the quarter weight and charge me for the cheap stuff, but he refused to do it. Said it was dishonest and I told him that it was dishonest to be picking quarters out of the collection plate at church. He swore it wasn’t him, but Genevive MacIntosh saw him with her good eye just last Sunday.” Genevive had lost one eye to glaucoma and could only see with her left. “Lordy, I don’t know what we’re going to do around here without you. I’ll have to dip into the nest egg that Norman left me just to keep the car running smoothly ’cause now it’s making this knocking sound something awful. I thought it was my hearing aid at first on account of it’s been acting funny since I got that microwave oven. I knew that fancy thing would mess up everything. It’s as bad as one of them tanning beds. Why, Jenny Lou’s daughter just happened to be wearing one of those TENS unit stimulators on account of her back got messed up from working in her garden when she went to pick up her daughter at that new tanning salon Fake-n-Bake over on Main Street. Anyhow, she didn’t even go past the front door and the darned TENS unit went crazy. Starting ringing and vibrating. Her doctor said it could have been the ultraviolet rays, which I know it was. What do you know, but I read in my microwave manual that it gives off those same rays so I figure it zapped my hearing aid. Anyhow, I got the thing replaced and I still heard the knocking. Harwin says it’s the transmission, but I think he’s full of baloney—” Beeppp.
The message cut off and went to the next.
“Deanie, honey? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. I think we got cut off…”
Deanie listened to the rest of the message and tried to ignore the guilt that churned inside of her, along with a strange sense of longing. As much as Deanie wanted to leave the past behind, there were some parts she wished she could take with her.
A breeze blew through the open lobby and teased the edges of her cover-up. Her skin prickled and she became acutely aware of how little she wore and how out of place she suddenly felt.
Not for long, she reminded herself, as she stashed her cell phone and pushed to her feet. She would get the hang of all this girlie stuff if it was the last thing she did. She had no reason to feel self-conscious. Women wore skimpy clothes all the time. Even more, all the important parts were covered.
Sort of.
Her footsteps faltered and she stiffened.
Don’t be a wimp. You can do this.
She drew a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders and tried to remember everything her Grandma Jilly had taught her during the few summers together that Deanie had been old enough to remember. Their last one, in particular, when she’d been five.
Grandma Jilly had still been grief-stricken at the loss of her only child and all the more determined to maintain a female influence in her young granddaughter’s life. That summer they’d paraded around with books on their heads, played dress-up, drank tea, baked cookies and laughed.
They’d had so much fun that Deanie had actually forgotten how much she hated the frilly dresses and hair bows the other little girls wore to kindergarten.
Deanie, on the other hand, dressed in the Little Husky jeans and T-shirts her dad ordered out of the Sears catalog. She’d even stopped hating the fact that Grandma Jilly called her Nadine.
Until she’d gone back home.
She’d walked into her house wearing a pink dress trimmed in ribbon rosebuds she and Grandma Jilly had spent hours making, white patent leather Mary Jane’s and pink lace socks, and her brothers had laughed.
Correction, they’d snorted and bellowed and teased her mercilessly. Needless to say, she’d punched Cory—the oldest and the loudest—in the arm, threatened Clay and Colby and glared at the rest before stomping to her room. She’d changed into her bo
ots, jeans and her favorite John Deere T-shirt, hidden the girlie get-up in the back of her closet, and that had been the end of Nadine.
Until now.
She pulled back her shoulders, held her head up and her body straight, and said a silent prayer to Grandma Jilly to please, please smile down on her.
Obviously, the old woman was feeling gracious. While the walk through the lobby and out to the pool seemed endless, she finally made it with a few minutes to spare.
Escapades attracted a predominantly adult clientele made up of mostly couples. Thanks to tomorrow’s holiday, there didn’t seem to be a single in sight. Pairs gathered at the swim-up bar, others clustered under the massive umbrellas situated here and there. More soaked up the sun side-by-side in various lounge chairs crowded near the shallow end of the pool where a couples’ event—a tropical version of the classic Newlywed Game being sponsored by a local radio station—was about to take place.
A large table nearby overflowed with fresh fruit and a double-heart ice sculpture to keep everything cool. An upbeat reggae love song poured from the speakers. Beyond the green hedges and brilliant orange hibiscus, the sun shimmered over a turquoise ocean. Palm trees dotted the white-sand beach and swayed with the faint island breeze. The smell of suntan oil and fresh fruit and relationship nirvana teased her nostrils.
Deanie ignored the urge to turn and head back up to her room. So what if she didn’t have a significant other? She never would have one if she didn’t keep her feet rooted to the spot and her mind on the business at hand—Rance and sex.
Sex and Rance.
Her fingers trembled as she held a hand above her eyes to ease the glare.
No familiar beat-up cowboy hat. No hot, tanned body wearing an old T-shirt and board shorts. No killer smile or sparkling eyes.
“Landsakes, child, you’re going to kill yourself in those shoes,” said a familiar voice.
Deanie turned to see Mavoreen Rosenbaum sitting in a nearby lounge chair. She wore an old-fashioned black, cover-everything-up swimsuit that made her white skin look even whiter. A large straw hat rested atop her head and a huge dab of white sunscreen sat on her prominent nose. A pair of white pool shoes completed the outfit.
Deanie walked over to the woman. Or, at least she tried. But the concrete was ridged and so she wobbled more than she walked. Mavoreen reached up and gave her a steadying hand just as she reached the lounge chair.
“Careful now, or you’ll break a leg. A damn shame what women suffer in the name of fashion.”
“I’m not used to them. They’re new. And so am I. I don’t usually dress like this. I mean, I do. Now.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I’m starting a new job and I thought I’d get a new look to go with it.”
“Good for you.” Mavoreen reached up and patted Deanie’s arm before her gaze drank in the silk cover-up that concealed Deanie’s skimpy swimsuit. “Did you get that at the gift shop? Why, I might just pop in there and see if they’ve got that in my size. Mitchell would love it. Of course, he won’t be seeing it until tomorrow on account of he had a really pressing business meeting he had to tend to.”
Deanie couldn’t help but remember Savannah’s comment. “There is no billionaire. It’s a story she makes up so she doesn’t look like a lonely old woman.”
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t tolerate his tardiness,” Mavoreen continued, “but he’s just so in-tune with the real me. Do you know that he sent me a singing telegram to tell me he wouldn’t make it until tomorrow. A Frank Sinatra look-alike.” When Deanie didn’t seem to make the connection between thoughtful and Frank, Mavoreen added, “The first song we danced to was a Frank Sinatra song. Now there’s a man who pays attention to the details and knows there’s more to me than just a great body.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a waiter said as he stopped next to Deanie. He smiled at Mavoreen. “We’ve just had a shift change and Peter, your previous waiter, is off duty. My name is Raoul and it would be my pleasure to serve you.”
“Of course it would be, sonny.” She gave Deanie a “What can I do? They just won’t leave me alone” look and shrugged. “Margarita?” she asked Deanie, holding up her own half-emtpy glass.
“Nothing for me,” Deanie said. “I really have to go. I’m meeting someone.”
“Well, have fun then.” Mavoreen waved before turning to the waiter and ordering a refill.
Deanie glanced around again for Rance before resuming her trek around the pool.
Her gaze lit on a vacant lounge chair on the far side of the pool, the deep end, that had been practically abandoned thanks to the radio station who now had the crowd jam-packed in the shallow area.
Picking her way past half-naked bodies and a maze of chairs, she finally reached the remote blue and white striped canvas chaise. It was a tri-fold chair recently vacated by a sun worshipper who’d been stretched out prone.
Deanie spent a few seconds looking for some sort of switch that would let her bend the back into an upright position. While she knew she and Rance would get prone eventually, she was through being the pushy, anxious sort she’d been as a teenager.
He owed her, and so she wasn’t going to make his penance any easier by being in the right position, even if it was the wrong time and place.
She couldn’t find the lever to bend the chair back into position. Finally, she gave up and sank onto the middle section. She slipped off the strappy sandals and stretched her legs out in front of her. She’d just reached for her sunscreen when she heard the deep, familiar rumble of Rance’s voice.
6
“YOU LOOK REALLY HOT.” Rance’s deep voice echoed in Deanie’s ears and sent a burst of heat through her. Her breath caught for a long moment before she remembered to breathe.
She squinted up at the large shadow that he made outlined by the bright sunlight. “There were no umbrellas on this end of the pool and there wasn’t a place to sit over there.” She pointed to the far side where a crowd clustered near the shallow end of the gigantic pool. A makeshift tent had been set up. Inside, three separate tables hosted three different couples. A local radio disc jockey was playing host. “I had no choice but to sit here and cook.”
He grinned. “I mean hot as in good looking.”
“Oh.” Duh.
“Did you pick that dress out after I left?”
“It’s not a dress. It’s a swimsuit cover-up.” She made a big show of smoothing the skirt material over her thighs, all the while trying to calm her suddenly racing heart.
“You’re at the pool. You don’t need a cover-up.”
“Not now, but I just got here. On the way, I needed a cover-up.”
Yeah, right.
There were near-naked bodies all over the hotel. Deanie just wasn’t in a hurry to be one of them.
“Besides,” she added, “I thought this would be a good chance to break it in.”
“Don’t you do that with shoes instead of clothes?”
“Some material can be itchier than others,” she retorted, wishing the material in question didn’t feel so silky and smooth and rousing against her palms. “It’s better to know early on, that way you can take it back before the return period expires or wash it with a fabric softener.”
His eyes glittered like whiskey pools and she plunged right in and sank to the bottom for a long, heart-pounding moment.
“So is it?” he finally asked, his deep voice jerking her back to the surface.
“Is it what?”
“Itchy?”
“Not really.”
“Then you can take it off.” He hooked a leg over the chair and straddled the chaise behind her before she could draw her next breath. His thighs framed hers and his chest cushioned her back. His hands settled on her shoulders for a long, breathless moment before tracing her upper arms.
“You feel hot, too.”
“The sun.”
“Maybe.” His lips touched the shell of her ear. “And maybe not.” His hands stopped at her
elbows before sliding back up over her shoulders. Strong fingers lifted the hair away from her neck. She felt the cool rush of fresh air followed by the hot press of his lips.
“What are you doing?”
“Following the Camp E.D.E.N. curriculum and the first workshop—Shedding Your Inhibitions.”
“Shouldn’t we find someplace a little more private? With less people?”
“We could, but that would defeat the whole purpose of the workshop. Shedding your inhibitions is all about tuning everything else out and tuning in to yourself. If you can focus enough to do that here, now, with all of these people, then you’ll ace this topic and be that much closer to your goal.”
To you and me and sex.
The words played through her head before she could stop them and remember that her ultimate goal was to get in touch with her inner sexuality and unleash the vixen within.
Sex with Rance was just a means to an end—a new Deanie—not the end itself.
A hip-swaying calypso tune livened up the group at the far end of the pool. A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Waiters darted here and there near the commotion. A world away, it seemed, from where they sat. At the same time, they were still in plain view should anyone happen to turn.
“I still don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” he cut in. His lips nuzzled her ear. “Just take this off.” He tugged at the knot she’d made just over one shoulder. “And let’s get on with the lesson.”
RANCE EXPECTED one of two things when he touched Deanie. That she would 1) forget her stubbornness, morph into her old self and jump his bones or 2) harden her resolve and keep up her cold, aloof front.
Either way, both were her reactions.
Rance didn’t anticipate the fierceness of his own need and the near uncontrollable urge to pull her around, push her down and press himself into her hot, tight body. His breath caught as her heat seeped into his fingertips and zigzagged straight to his crotch. His cock twitched and his balls ached and his hands actually started to tingle.
