by Fawn Lowery
Cara's Man
Tarot: The Four of Swords
By
Fawn Lowery
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cara's Man
Copyright ã 2006 Fawn Lowery
ISBN: 1-55410-742-3
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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The Four of Swords represents the challenge to be quiet! Sometimes resting and doing nothing is the ultimate challenge. Activity can be a habit that is very difficult to break. There is always so much to do, and modern society beguiles us with its attractions and distractions. If you are recovering from an illness, allow yourself quiet time to heal. The Four of Swords also represents taking the time to think things over without hurry. It is important to step back and gain perspective, to gather your strength and center your energy.
To all the great editors and artists at eXtasy Books…
Cara's Man
Cara Phillips raised one hand and raked her fingers through her short blond hair. She was growing weary of lying in the sun, doing nothing. And she was bored stiff with the notion of doing nothing for another full week.
It wasn’t her nature to loll around. She was a doer, a person compelled to be on the move, making things happen. She let out a long sigh and reached for the bottle of suntan lotion sitting on the little table near her lounge chair. Absently, she smoothed the white cream along her right thigh.
At twenty-four she had already ended the one relationship she thought might lead to marriage. It was an amiable split though, with Ron simply packing up and moving along. There weren’t any long goodbyes — a quick “Good Luck” thrown haphazardly over his left shoulder as he walked out the door, and it was over.
“We can’t have a relationship with you traipsing half way around the world to please one of your neurotic clients, Cara,” Ron yelled while he gathered his things strewn about the bedroom.
“My clients aren’t neurotic,” Cara had replied in defense. “You simply don’t understand what is involved with being an interior designer.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he bit out. “And I’m tired of trying to understand.”
True. Their relationship had its ups and downs. And she did travel a lot. She shrugged one bare shoulder. If a person wanted to get ahead —
“Excuse me, Miss.”
Cara jerked her head around, spying one of the waiters who tended the bar at the pool. He held a tray with a frothy pink drink setting on it.
“The gentleman at the bar sent you a drink.”
Cara glanced toward the bar and saw a man partially hidden in the shade from the colorful canopy perched on a stool at its end. He nodded his head at her and waved one hand.
“Tell the gentleman I don’t take drinks from men I don’t know,” Cara said and resumed applying the suntan lotion to her legs.
The waiter left without reply and Cara made it a point to keep her eyes averted from the bar. By now the young man had delivered her message and the friendly gentleman was probably scowling his discord. Well, it simply didn’t matter. She had come to St. Thomas to rest, to gather her thoughts, actually, to look at her life as she never had before, and she didn’t need any distractions — especially of the male persuasion. She grimaced when the alarm on her watch alerted her it was medication time. She had finally gotten a physical exam — after nearly collapsing from exhaustion three weeks earlier, only to be given a regimen of pills to get her back on her feet.
“You must take at least a month off and rest, Miss Phillips.”
Cara slid her gaze across Dr. Johnson’s desk and up the front of his white doctor’s coat, to his thick jowled face and the pair of beady dark eyes staring at her over the pair of wire rimmed spectacles. He resembled a character from a Dr. Suess story — real, only to the imagination. But his voice was forceful.
“Unless you slow down, you’re working yourself into illness. Heart attacks are brought on by less hours than you work.”
So, in order to extract herself from his office, and his fatherly advice, she had agreed to slow down, fly off to a restful place, and relax. But it was easier to say, than do.
Cara popped a pink pill and a green pill into her mouth and sipped a drink of water to swallow them, and then she took the paperback book from her tote bag and perused the front cover. She hadn’t read a book since college — since she’d gotten her degree in Interior Design. She adjusted the brim of her straw hat so the sun didn’t shine on the pages of the book, and began to read.
It was quiet around the pool, only Cara and two other couples. No children since the Beachcombers Resort catered exclusively to adults. Palm trees lined the crest of the large sand dune separating the pool area from the white sand beach leading to the Caribbean Sea. A soft breeze fanned the frilly leaves making them sway gently. The sky was a cloudless stretch of blue as far as the eye could see. And behind Cara, a tall fifteen-story hotel stabbed at the sky. She had reserved the penthouse apartment for the month but she found it almost impossible to stay cooped up in it. She craved activity — and the limelight.
She found it hard to concentrate on the printed page. It was too quiet and too still. She let out a long sigh and raised her gaze to scan along the ocean’s edge. It lapped hungrily at the sands, drew back, then returned momentarily to lap across the sands again.
“Excuse me.”
The voice sounded at precisely the moment the shadow fell across Cara’s upper body, blocking her view of the ocean and throwing her face into darkness. She jerked her head upward, spying a most impressive bare chest, a washboard abdomen, and a pair of shoulders as broad as Texas. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Aren’t you Cara Phillips?”
His voice was mellow, a tone that seemed to soothe and excite at the same time. His features were chiseled, as though hewn from cast bronze; the shadow he stood in accentuated his straight nose and firm chin. Blue eyes — the color of the ocean — gazed down at Cara while the light breeze gently blew his dark auburn hair across his forehead.
“Yes,” Cara replied. Who would have guessed she’d pick a place to regain her health and run into someone who knew her? “And you are?” He didn’t look familiar — but then, perhaps she was just too mentally exhausted to remember him.
He smiled slightly and extended his right hand to her. “Gabe Collins.”
His name spun round in Cara’s mind. Gabe Collins — the world-renowned architect who designed half of the skyscrapers in New York! Of all the times to finally meet her idol — it had to be when she wasn’t up to par mentally or physically.
She felt his stare, perhaps looking for signs of recognition of his name. But he was staring at her breasts—wasn’t he? She felt her senses jolt with the thought of his attention being lustful. An erotic feeling suddenly zinged along her nerve e
ndings. His gaze was traveling over the top of her red bikini, pausing to inspect a nipple that pressed too tightly against the thin fabric. She tipped her chin in the air, pushing the wide brimmed straw hat that slightly askew on her hair, to the back of her head. She flashed a tiny grin at him, making the small dimple in her left cheek wink.
“It’s nice to meet you.” She put aside her paperback book and swung her feet over the side of the lounge chair, all too aware of his gaze traveling along her legs. She slid her hand into his and regretted doing so a second later. Her palm meshed perfectly with his, a sign that other parts of him would probably fit quite nicely with hers as well.
“Are you here working?” he asked, releasing her hand and pulling up a chair to sit in.
“No. Vacation.” She felt suddenly self-conscious in the great man’s presence. She couldn’t tell him she was there to learn to relax — or under doctor’s orders. The admission would somehow undermine her reputation as a professional.
Cara’s pulse was racing. His eyes were doing funny things to her senses, as his gaze seemed to be inspecting every inch of her body. Her mouth suddenly felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. She swallowed to try and alleviate the feeling. She should at least try and make conversation with him — since she’d wanted to meet him forever.
“Are you here building another skyscraper?” she asked, her voice almost a nervous squeak. Quickly she reached for the glass of water setting on the table.
“I’m here to rest.” He gave her a wide smile. “And to start a new project.”
His words somersaulted through her mind. “A new project?” she repeated, smiling at him. She sat up a bit straighter and looked directly into his face. What she wouldn’t give to be able to work with Gabe Collins.
“I’m drawing up plans for a new hotel and resort on the other side of the island,” he said. He leaned back in the metal chair and crossed his legs.
Cara’s gaze drank him in—sweeping along his tall length as he relaxed in the chair. Suddenly heat sweep through her insides as she realized her gaze had paused on his crotch. Why had she looked at his crotch? For Pete’s sake! The man would think she was nuts if she didn’t control herself.
“Could I interest you in a drink?” He waved one hand at a nearby waiter.
“Nothing alcoholic,” Cara stammered. She pulled in a deep breath and resumed her prone position on the chaise lounge, stretching out her bare legs and adjusting her straw hat.
“Have you plans for dinner?” he asked. He ordered lemonade for them both and pulled his chair closer to Cara’s chaise lounge.
Instantly, Cara felt intrigued by his overt move toward her. It seemed he was within grasping distance of her breasts. She felt her nipples begin to tighten at the thought of him reaching out his hand and fondling her. She shifted her position in the lounge, her senses on fire with carnal want. It had been months since she had contact with a man — sexual or otherwise.
“About dinner,” he reminded, handing her a cold frosty glass of lemonade. “If you’ve no plans—“
Cara accepted the drink and turned her eyes on him, smiling. “I’d love to join you for dinner,” she said, trying not to sound too thrilled that he asked. Not only was she having a conversation with the great man — perhaps the greatest architect of the times — but also he was inviting her to dinner!
“Since you’re here on vacation, have you taken advantage of the hotel spa?” he asked. “Ramon is a marvelous masseuse. In fact, I have a massage scheduled in an hour.” He gave her an expectant look. “I could arrange for a second masseuse and you could join me.”
His invitation held all the sensual connotations that sent Cara’s thoughts turning to those of a sexual nature. The place between her legs suddenly tingled.
“It’s a date,” she replied, flashing him a coy look through her long dark eyelashes.
* * * *
The spa was a luxurious offering of hot tubs, private rooms for long massages, and cleansing herbal wraps applied for relaxation and weight loss. The area was spacious, antiseptic, and air-conditioned. Several attendants strolled about the corridors clad in neat white uniforms. Soft music filtered into the space. All in all, the atmosphere was one of peace and calm.
Cara was all too aware of Gabe Collins’ presence as she clutched the large soft towel wrapped around her body and followed him down the wide expansive hallway. A private room at the end of the building contained two massage tables draped in white sheets. An assortment of aromatic candles were lit, and setting on a window ledge. The blinds were drawn, throwing the small room into near darkness except for the glowing candles. A fragrance of jasmine permeated the air.
“Which table would you like?” Gabe paused just inside the room.
He stood beside her, a towel draped around his hips. It rode low, giving Cara a peek at his flat abdomen and the wispy trail of black body hair that led down to his private parts. She forced her eyes away, hoping he hadn’t caught her giving his lower extremities another inspection.
Cara crossed the room and chose the table on the left. Her cheeks were flaming from embarrassment. Why couldn’t she keep her eyes off his cock? She hurried to stretch out on the table on her stomach and turn her head toward the wall, away from Gabe. But her ears were listening to sounds he made as he lay down on the table. Had he removed his towel? She wondered. Did men usually remove their towels when they got massages?
Her thoughts were put on hold when the two masseuses came into the room. Gabe talked with them and Cara was content to say no more than to point out the fact that her back felt stiff.
At first she tensed when the masseuse put his hands on her flesh, but once his expert fingers began to work on her sore muscles, she relaxed and savored the warm rhythmic kneading. In fact, she couldn’t say for sure, but she thought she dozed off — but only for a short time, or so she thought until she turned her head and saw that the table where Gabe was supposed to be lying, was empty.
Abruptly, she raised her upper body onto her elbows, and scanned the room for him. Massaging fingers were gently working their way down her spine and onto the rise of her buttocks, making spiraling tingles flood her body. It felt so good she didn’t want it to stop and instead of saying anything about Gabe’s absence, she merely laid her head back down and closed her eyes. He was a grown man. He was capable of taking care of himself.
She felt languid, serene. Relaxed, as she had never felt before. Maybe she could just stay there on the table and have a week-long massage. The thought made her chuckle. The expert fingers rubbed and kneaded, trailed along her spine and flared out across her hips, only to work upward to her shoulders and her neck, then repeat the process over and over. She felt as limp as a noodle sprawled on the table, the soothing aroma of jasmine filling her senses and the total quietness of the dimly lit room giving her a feeling of calmness.
She almost dozed off again — almost. Her eyes widened as something different touched her back. At first she couldn’t believe it — then she became super-sensitive to the light touches. Feather-light kisses were being placed all along her spine — then lower —
Cara jerked around suddenly, spying the person working on her sore muscles — the man with the audacity to kiss her back.
Gabe smiled down at her.
She stared up at him.
He gave her a wink with one blue eye and gently pushed her upper body back down on the table.
“I slipped Ramon a twenty and he took a hike,” he said, resuming his tending of her back.
Cara couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not trying to take advantage of me, are you Gabe Collins?”
“I’ve been helping you relax,” he replied.
“Hmmm,” she answered, contemplating her next move. She felt almost too relaxed to get off the table and leave. But then, did she really want to? Hadn’t she been lusting after Gabe Collins since he interrupted her solitude out by the pool? “And here I thought you had something else in mind.”
He chuckled
out loud, then leaned his head down and nuzzled her nape. “So you do interior design and read minds,” he stated. He nipped her left earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been wanting you since I watched you walk across the patio to the pool, Cara,” he admitted.
She pulled in an audible breath. “I really can read minds,” she said, a giggle in her tone.
Gabe pressed his upper body against her back as he worked his mouth across her cheek to her lips. Cara felt the sudden pressure of warm firm muscles as he leaned across her body. She kissed him back, opening her mouth when he poked his tongue against her lips. Her senses skyrocketed out of control when she felt him pull away the towel riding low on her buttocks.
He let a low moan slip from his throat when Cara made no attempt to stop his sexual advances. He kissed her mouth and ran his hands along her back, across her hips, the length of her legs, and then he pulled her upward, pushing her legs over the edge of the massage table.
Cara pressed her breasts into the solid wall of his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. He spread her knees and stepped between them, pulling her buttocks to the edge of the table. He was hard and needing release.
Cara drew in an excited gulp of air. Pulling her mouth from Gabe’s, her eyes flickered open. She was moments away from having sex with Gabe Collins — her idol — and her body was on fire to let it happen.
“Condom,” she murmured, trying to focus her eyes on his face. He was gorgeous, she admitted, and his kisses were quickly driving her wild. “We can’t do this without a condom, Gabe.” His name rolled off her tongue like she’d known him forever — or at least longer than three hours.
He brought his hands trailing up her arms to travel across her collarbone to gently clasp her face between his palms. He tipped her face upward and kissed her again.
