Meg’s heart did happy somersaults. “You mean to Florida? Really?”
“Sort of. I meant to this very beach. This exact spot. Just squat here and become a beach bum.”
“Oh.” Disappointed, Meg stretched her legs out in front of her. “You wouldn’t be the first one who did. You think Linda would like being a beach bum, too? Or bum-ette, I suppose.”
“No, I don’t think she would. She loves the mountains.”
“Yeah, it’d be kind of hard to snow ski without them. Hey, maybe you could build her some sand mountains here on the beach and a castle atop them. I bet she’d like that.”
“Enough about Linda.” Joe gave her one of his slow, sexy grins as his expression warmed. “How about you, Meg? Would you like some guy to build you a sand castle on the beach and put you in it?”
His intense gaze, with eyes as blue as a mountain lake, robbed Meg’s bones of strength. She swallowed hard and strove for nonchalance. “Depends on the guy. And the castle.”
“Really?” In one fluid motion, Joe sat up and swung his legs over the side of the wooden chair. Leaning toward her, he held a hand out, obviously wanting her to take it.
Meg eyed his hand and then him. “What are you doing?”
“I have a sudden urge to build a sand castle. Do you want to go with me and see what we can make together?”
Meg’s breath caught in her throat. His offer sounded, though she really knew better, like an off-beat proposal. She could barely meet his gaze as she slipped her hand into his strong capable one. “Yes…I do.”
THAT EVENING, freshly showered and dressed casually—as befitted the ogling of the wedding of two strangers to him—in lightweight denims and a clean salmon-colored knit shirt, Joe stood in front of the mirror mounted on the back of the closed bathroom door and combed his hair. As he did, he tried very hard not to picture Meg on the other side of this very door, maybe still naked from her shower.
“Get a grip,” he muttered in warning to himself. “Think about Linda, man. Don’t mess this up.”
But it was already messed up even more than when he’d headed to Florida to think about the two of them. Everything had changed in the past twenty-four hours, and it was all Meg’s fault, Joe concluded benignly as he tucked his comb back into his pocket.
So, what was this thing that was brewing with her? Clearly, something was. She felt it, too—otherwise he wouldn’t have a fond memory of her lifting the covers last night to check him out. Sure, she’d captured his attention on all levels—he already felt as if he’d known her for years, and she was warm and intelligent and funny, everything you’d want a person to be—but, wow, the sexual chemistry between them was incredible.
Massaging his forehead with his fingertips, Joe slowly exhaled. Meg made him feel like he was seventeen again—one big walking hormone. Oh, baby. If she had any idea of his runaway erotic thoughts of her, she’d spend her day slapping his face over and over. And he would deserve it. But the hard truth was, he couldn’t act on that desire. Well, he could. So could she. All they had to do was admit what they felt, jump in bed and go for it. Just do it.
Joe exhaled slowly to get himself under control. Another few seconds of thoughts like that and he’d be using a chair to batter down the door between them. Wouldn’t she be surprised? And wouldn’t he be arrested.
Okay, maybe not. What if he just came on to her? What would she do? Accept? He pretty much thought so. But would it be worth it? Hell, yes, sexually it would.
But what about afterward? Could they—in the most serious sense of the cliché—respect themselves or each other the next morning? Wouldn’t he be shot through with guilt for cheating on Linda? And wouldn’t Meg think, If you can cheat on her so easily, then will you eventually cheat on me, too? Talk about a solid basis for building distrust—and Meg already had a boatload of that for Carl because of his cheating. But what about Meg herself? No one had to tell Joe that she wouldn’t relish being the “other woman” to Linda, or any other woman. Ever. So, to be with Meg, he’d have to first make a clean break with Linda.
He knew what he wanted—needed—to say to Linda. He just hated like hell to do it over the phone. What he had to say was best and honorably said face-to-face. That was how he’d want her to handle it if the situation were reversed. So, until he went home and saw her, she and he were still a couple, at least in her heart. That meant he’d better not talk to her before then—even to apologize for this morning—because everything he said would be a dodge or a lie.
A frown of distaste claimed Joe’s features as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. “Joe, my man,” he said, “the woman on the other side of this door has turned your life upside down in one big hurry.”
“Did you say something, Joe?” Meg called out.
Caught, he laughed. “Yeah, I said I wonder what you look like naked.”
“Ha. Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Wasn’t that what I just said?”
“Maybe, but don’t even think about coming in here.” From her side of the door, she fiddled with the lock, obviously testing it.
Chuckling, Joe growled like a big, bad wolf and rattled the doorknob, which made Meg shriek. He knocked gently on the door. “Hey, you…just kidding.” Like hell he was. For two cents, he’d forget his damned cowboy-gentleman code of honor and— “If you don’t hurry, Meg, we’re going to miss out on the wedding. And I will have wasted all this time making these water balloons out here.”
“Water balloons? You did not.”
“Did, too.”
“Did not.” A pause. “But wouldn’t that be funny?”
“Unless you were in the wedding party. Or with hotel security.”
“True. I won’t be much longer. I had to wash my hair twice to get all that sand out. Give me five minutes to finish up, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said to her, and then added quietly to himself, “It’s like we’re married.”
He started to move away from the door, but the notion of marriage stopped him cold. Not because it freaked him out and made him want to run, like it had with Linda. But because it didn’t. Huh. Me and Meg. Or Meg and I. The two of us…playing house. Or castle, I guess. A grin tugged at Joe’s lips as he leaned a shoulder against the bathroom doorjamb. His thoughts, like a videotape inserted into a VCR, did a quick rewind back to their afternoon antics on the beach. Though they’d had more fun than two five-year-olds, the result of all their efforts—a sand castle—had not measured up.
Apparently it was true that time and tide wait for no man. Or woman. Frantically, they’d tried to hold back the water and save their masterpiece. But in the end, Mother Nature had won out, using her ocean’s relentless waves to batter their creation into more of a melting lump of goo than a fairy-tale vision of happily-ever-after.
Thinking of fairy-tale endings carried Joe across the room to the big picture window that gave them the much-coveted water view. And it was gorgeous: the foamy turquoise ocean, the eggshell-colored sand, the tanned couples strolling leisurely along the beach, the shell seekers bent over their finds, and the lowering sun smiling benignly over it all. A man could be happy here…with Meg.
Joe chuckled fatalistically. “I am in trouble.”
Until yesterday, until Meg, he’d just about concluded that Linda was the one for him—as any sane man would, if a woman like her even looked twice at him. But then along came this cute, funny, little, dark-haired third-grade teacher from Florida who just knocked his damned socks off with one look. Just blew him right out of the saddle—something Linda, despite her stunning looks, personality and wealth, had never been able to do.
Joe sobered with the realization that he was going to have to hurt Linda. Damn, that didn’t feel good. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. If only she were not so damned nice, what he had to tell her would be easier. But she was—smart and nice. She gave to charity and volunteered her time with the less fortunate. The woman was a paragon of—
“Joe?”
He pivoted to see Meg standing just inside the bedroom. His breath caught in his suddenly dry throat. “Wow.” What had happened to his funny little dark-haired schoolteacher? In her place was a beautiful woman of peaches-and-cream skin, shining auburn hair that fell past her shoulders, and wide, brown eyes. He grinned at her. “You sure do clean up nice, ma’am.”
“Thanks, cowboy. So do you. You like my dress, then?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re wearing a dress?”
She put her hands to her waist. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Absolutely. But, sure, I like your dress. It’s nice.” To Joe, it was a rust-colored, sleeveless thing that came to her knees. That was the extent of his women’s-fashion knowledge. “What I like more is what you do for your dress.”
Very primly but looking pleased, she smoothed her hands down the front of her outfit. “Thank you. I forgive you.”
Joe grinned. “Whew. Dodged that bullet. Still, I’ve got to hand it to my uncle—he sure knows how to pack a woman’s bag for her, even on the fly.”
“I’ll give him that. But I would still like to know how he got into my apartment.”
“Me, too.” Joe marveled at how he could manage to talk sensibly while the very sight of her filled his vision and overwhelmed his senses. “Uncle Maury really had no right to invade your privacy. But my guess—after his showing up in our hotel room this morning—is that he gave your landlord twenty bucks.”
“Ha. Not Mrs. Warden. That’s her real name, too, and she looks just like one. He didn’t get past her, trust me. It’s more likely Maury has a set of lock picks.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” Joe patted himself down, checking for the room key and his wallet. “So, you ready to go? Although, I really shouldn’t take you because you’ll outshine the bride.”
Meg raised her chin in the teasing gesture Joe was coming to recognize. “Still, I bet the bride has a big diamond ring to show off, Mr. Smith.”
“I’m sure she does, Mrs. Smith.” Joe walked over to her and took her arm to escort her out of the room—before his baser instincts could win out and have him tearing off her clothes and throwing her on the bed, hopefully to her delight. “But, then again, I suspect the bride puts out.”
With that, Joe opened the door that led into the hallway—and Meg said, “Well, I can put out, too, if there’s a ring and a long, white dress in it for me. I didn’t know that was all it takes.”
Joe froze with his hand on the doorknob. In the next instant, he pulled her back inside the room and allowed the door to close behind them. He gathered her in his arms and held her gaze with his. “Meg Kendall, though I have no right to, and though I’ve been giving myself all sorts of speeches while you were getting ready about doing the right thing, I am now going to kiss you so hard you’ll bruise.”
“Really? Where exactly?” She wrapped her warm, bare arms around his neck and grinned up into his face.
Joe exhaled roughly. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you know how hard it is—”
“I think I do.” She pushed herself seductively against him. “That is, unless you have a gun stuffed down your pants—a rather large-caliber gun, too, I might add.” She raised her eyebrows appreciatively. “You go, boy.”
By now, the ability to speak had left Joe. All he could do was stare at her.
Meg laughed teasingly. “Joe, are you all right? Do I need to pinch you?”
The sound of her voice brought him back to earth. “No. And thanks for saying that about my…gun’s caliber. But what I meant was, being in hotel rooms with you, and feeling for you what I do, and not being able to act on it…well, do you know how hard that is?”
Looking smug and sexy, she said, “No. Tell me.”
Joe ran his hands down her rib cage to her waist and rested them there. “I’d rather show you.”
“Then…show me.”
“Seriously? Right now? What about the wedding?” Dumb question. Showed how much blood was not going to his brain.
Meg chuckled. “Forget the wedding. Let’s play honeymoon.”
Joe’s breath caught. “Are you sure, Meg, really? I mean, with everything going on—”
“Joe, this is my invitation. Are you telling me no?” She’d pulled back in his arms to look into his eyes. “Well?”
He gave up trying to reason. “Not only ‘No, I’m not,’ but ‘Hell no, I’m not.’”
With that, he lowered his head to capture her mouth. A spark of honest-to-God electricity shocked his lips when they met hers. He fought to hold back, fearing he really would bruise her, so powerful was his lust for her. And that was exactly what it was—lust, a primal drive beyond mere desire, a pure need like he’d never known existed.
All he heard were her sweet moans. All he could feel was her body molded to his, her heart beating in time with his, her breasts hard against his chest, his hardness throbbing against her belly, his hand cupping her chin, molding her mouth to his, her hands clutching at his shirt. All Joe could think was—
He broke their kiss and pulled back. His mouth was wet with her kiss, his body screamed for oneness with hers, and he was breathing as if he’d just won a marathon. “Meg, I don’t have any condoms. None.”
Meg was breathing like she’d come in second in that same marathon. “Well, get some. Do it now, Joe. Call Room Service.”
“Room Service?” His breathing eased a bit, but still he held onto her arms. “I don’t think condoms are something they serve on a tray, if you get my drift. How about Housekeeping?”
“Not even. Do you see them sending some sweet little maid around to a guy who’s just put in a request to have condoms sent to his room? Besides, do you really want to tell some woman on the phone what kind and how many?”
“You’re right. Thirty minutes after that phone call I’d be down at the police station having my mug shot taken. Okay, you wait here. I’ll go down to the gift shop—”
“I’m going, too.”
“Aw, jeez, not this again.” Joe let go of her and put his hands to his waist. “Seriously? You want to go help me buy condoms? You want to be standing there while I pick up a box and take it to the register?”
“Hardly. I’ll be in another aisle, pretending to look at…souvenirs or candy bars or something.”
Joe’s ardor began wilting. “Candy bars. Why can’t you just wait here, Meg? It makes more sense—”
“What if the Mafia shows up while you’re gone?”
“Up here or downstairs?”
“Either way. And don’t act like they’re not after us and like Maury is crazy or this is a game. I think we both know better.”
“No we don’t. I haven’t accepted that at all. But if they are on our trail, how would we recognize them? The first hit men we saw turned out to be partying Goths. And the second batch ended up being my great-uncle, with his black socks and sandals, and probably a couple of his cronies we never saw.”
“Maybe. But Maury told us to stay together. So, while you’re shopping, I can keep a watch out for big, muscled, dangerous-looking guys dressed in black and who have guns and broken noses.”
“Do you hear yourself? This isn’t The Godfather, Meg. They won’t be that obvious.”
“How do you know?”
Well, she had him there. “You’re right. I don’t. Come on, then.” He took her hand and pulled her out of the room with him, intent on finding the gift shop, and a big box of condoms with their names on it.
8
WHILE KEEPING a surreptitious eye on Joe, Meg had pored over the selection of magazines. Considered every candy bar. Read every refrigerator magnet. Checked out the romance novels. She’d even tried on three or four pairs of sunglasses. And now, with nothing else left to do in the tiny shop, she intended to rummage through a shelf of folded cotton sweaters, all bearing the hotel’s name and logo. To do this, she made polite “excuse me” noises and stepped around two women with bored-l
ooking teenage daughters in tow.
Once in front of the garments, Meg found the stack that was her size and made a selection. Holding the sweater up to her, she turned around and looked down at herself, ostensibly to check the effect. She then pretended to be looking for her husband to get his opinion.
Joe stood about two aisles away. Visible only from the chest up, he wore a frown of concentration on his face worthy of a scientist trying to split an atom.
Meg sighed, thinking it was a good thing Joe was really hot and a great kisser, because he could be exasperating. What the heck was he doing? How much concentration did he need to buy a box of condoms? Surely he’d done this before—and in less than the ten minutes it had already taken him to study the display. Meg was left to wonder how big a selection the hotel carried. And why.
Just then, Joe looked up and around. Clearly he was looking for her, so Meg subtly cleared her throat. Joe caught sight of her and held up—held up!—two different boxes, one in each hand, for her to see. Some patrons of the small gift shop noticed, too, and looked from Joe to her and back…and grinned. Others looked appalled and left. Instant mortification burned Meg’s cheeks. Aghast, she frowned and shook her head, mouthing, What the hell are you doing?
In answer, Joe held one box out toward her and mouthed something like Ribbed thins for your pleasure. He pulled it back and held out the other box, mouthing Lubricated for your comfort. He shrugged to indicate his indecision.
Meg could have died right there on the spot. The man was insane, just like his great-uncle. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump about a foot. But it was only a thin, ancient, white-haired lady in a flowered, hot-pink muumuu who smiled and said, “Tell him to get both, honey.”
Meg felt ill. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, tell him to get both kinds.”
“I don’t—”
“Of course you do. Listen, if that good-looking young man waving those condoms around over there wanted my body, I’d tell him to get both boxes.”
Blind Date Page 10
