by Shana Gray
“Please don’t call me that. My name is Jimi.” And she smiled at him, a seductive and enchanting curve on her lips that heated his blood. It was like the sun came out and shone down just on her, while everything else faded to black. He was mesmerized, again. Oh yeah, she spelled trouble with a capital T. Perhaps this would be a much more interesting weekend than he’d anticipated. He knew he was about to break all his hard-and-fast rules, which made him angry at himself just as much as it excited him. Something about this chick had his radar humming, and he was obligated to find out why.
“Pleased to meet you, Jimi.” He offered his hand. She took it. Dallas was surprised by the strength of her slender fingers and the sizzle of erotic heat that flashed up his arm. He curled his hand around hers and pulled her ever so slightly closer to him. She didn’t resist.
He looked down at her. She wasn’t short, likely around five-seven, but still much shorter than his six foot two. He liked taller women, and her height was just under his preference. Still, though, he figured they’d fit together perfectly, just like puzzle pieces.
She gazed up at him and goddamn if he didn’t lose his breath. Like Kilauea had erupted inside him. His blood pumped in his veins, hot, thick and achingly slow. He was lost in her eyes, which sparkled like stars twinkling against the indigo canvas of a Hawaiian night, a beautiful blue with tinges of amber and sand in their depths. Her curly hair a halo around her head. Dallas sucked in a breath as desire slipped down his spine and settled in his hips. In the short space of time since this woman had crashed into his life, it was like everything had changed. Something in his world had shifted. All he wanted to do was drag her into his arms, kiss her senseless and crush her to him. Dallas was rocked to the core, never before having had such a powerful reaction to a woman. All because of a smile, the touch of hands and a body he’d like to feed off for days.
3
JIMI STOOD IN front of this mountain of man, staring up at him as he glowered down at her with an intensity that made her shiver. Her mind went nuts with the possibilities of all the good bad things they could do together. Something about this man made her want to be bad. Naughty. While not a prude about sex by any stretch of the imagination, it just wasn’t often that her body made the decision before her brain did.
His calm silence couldn’t hide the passion she saw brewing in his eyes. She wondered if he would be just as intense and quiet if they fucked. Yes, that was how she’d look at it. Not making love, no way. Love was something she’d given up on a long time ago. Anyone she’d ever loved had left her. But that hadn’t stopped her from searching for it—God, how she’d searched—and in all the wrong places, too. To distance herself from the unorthodox way she was raised had been her driving force. She’d navigated through the concrete jungle of New York City’s fashion world and made it. At times, though, her past came back to haunt her, like it seemed to be doing here, today. So many little reminders. It was unsettling.
She didn’t feel guilty for seeking out men she could influence, manage to her liking. It meant she didn’t have to let her guard down. It was purely physical. No entanglements. No talks of the future. Just the present. She’d learned long ago that the only person she could trust and count on was herself.
Jimi eyed this bad boy in front of her. He clearly fell into the physical-satisfaction category, and for a moment she wondered if he would be putty in her hands. His gentlemanly nature wasn’t something she was accustomed to and would likely be his weakness.
“What kind of name is Jimi?” His deep and velvety voice captivated her. It held a hint of cowboy twang, which she liked.
“My parents were old hippies, commune types. They had a thing for Jimi Hendrix.”
“Is that so? Then I expect you had the most unusual upbringing.”
Jimi couldn’t believe she’d told him that, and without any thought at all. It just tumbled out of her mouth. Usually she gave a bullshit story that they named her Benjamina and never ever said her parents were hippies. That usually led to all kinds of questions that she refused to answer. But he zeroed right in on what she needed to hide the most. Her upbringing and fallout from it. Surprisingly, he didn’t inquire further or say anything more, and she hoped to quell any future questions.
“To say the least. Something that I try to forget.”
He nodded and glanced down at her feet. “I guess some things are hard to leave behind.”
She furrowed her brows and wondered what he was talking about, until she looked down at her bare toes. No way would she admit he was right. She’d buried her feelings deep where her childhood was concerned, but it seemed some things were hard to shake. “No. It’s something I have most definitely left behind. My suitcase didn’t arrive with me, so I’m at a loss for footwear other than my heels. Which appear to be completely inappropriate for this wedding trip.”
“Ah, you’re the one.”
Jimi furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
“The one with no bags. The one that thought this destination wedding was at a beach. I barely recognized you.”
Now he was making fun of her. She let go of his hand and was struck by the odd emptiness and feeling of distance that replaced the zing she’d felt from him just moments ago. The warmth of his fingers gone, a shiver ran through her even with the Hawaiian heat pressing down on them. She frowned, not liking how off balance he’d suddenly made her feel.
“It was my fault for not paying more attention. The norm for destination weddings is usually on the beach. At a resort. The last thing I’d expect here is a destination wedding on a ranch.” She waved her hand to indicate her surroundings and nearly smacked one of the horses on the nose. The horse snorted and tossed his head, startling Jimi. She jumped and let out a cry when her bare feet landed on sharp stones, making her stumble. She used the opportunity and in that moment decided to go with stepping up her game. So she let herself fall headlong into the cowboy. “Ow.”
She was confident he’d catch her. She expected no less from this gentlemanly cowboy.
“Hey there, whoa.”
She clutched at his arms, trying not to notice the strength under her fingers. At the same time, he wrapped his arms around her. Tight.
Regardless of whether she’d instigated this little event, she really had hurt her foot.
“Oh, my God, it feels like my foot shredded on glass.” Yet the pain in her feet paled with the powerful response she had to him as he gathered her close.
“Exactly why you shouldn’t be trotting around here without shoes on. Regardless if you’re a hipster or not.”
“I’m not a hipster! All right...enough. My feet are crying.” The cowboy swung her into his arms. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“Taking you to fix your foot.”
Jimi halfheartedly struggled in his arms, but the way she fit against his wide chest was far too comfortable. And wasn’t it just where she wanted to be? Her foot was stinging, but the warmth of his body almost had her forgetting about it. “You know I’m quite capable of getting to my tent.”
“I’m sure you are. But I don’t need you leaving the scent of blood everywhere. Besides, the cuts will get full of dirt.”
He took a path behind the rows of tents. She was glad he kept out of sight of other guests, because she already felt stupid enough with her dumb comments earlier. Jimi decided to just enjoy being carried. It wasn’t every day a girl was in strong, muscular arms. She looped her hand behind his neck. His hair tickled her knuckles and she looked up, seeing under the wide brim of his cowboy hat for the first time. She swallowed when he looked down at her. All thought and words vanished under the heat of his gaze. And when he smiled—oh, God, when he smiled—she liquefied inside. What had she been thinking? No way would he ever be putty in her hands. Jimi feared it was she who would be putty in his hands.
He shouldered his way through a
tent flap and Jimi glanced around. “This isn’t my tent.”
“I know.” He set her down on a cot that looked surprisingly cozy and was very comfortable.
“Why am I here? I wanted to go to my tent.” She was grappling with her rioting emotions, and being carried by him had thrown her totally off balance.
He pulled a chair in front of her, then turned around to a chest-high cabinet. “Does your tent have the first-aid kit?”
“Oh. I could have washed my foot off well enough,” she argued rather unconvincingly.
“I’m sure you could’ve. But somehow you leapt into my arms, so I figured you wanted me to take care of things.”
“I did not leap into your arms!”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Why did she feel defensive? Right from the minute she’d laid eyes on him hours ago up until now he’d had her completely off-kilter.
“Lift your foot,” he instructed.
She did and watched in fascination as he cradled her heel in his big, tanned hands. He was so gentle as he tended her.
“Is it bad?” If it was, part of her hoped she might have to head back down for stitches. The other part wasn’t so sure. He took off his hat and set it beside her on the bed, so close to her fingers that she touched the brim. A thrill ran through her. It was almost like touching a part of him. Almost.
He raised her foot a little higher and peered underneath. His dark hair appeared longer without his hat, and when he tipped his head, a strand fell across his forehead.
“Nope. Just a little cut. Nothing a Band-Aid and antiseptic won’t take care of.” He looked up at her and she drew in a breath.
He had the most intriguing eyes. Neither was the same color, but a myriad of sea greens in one, and arctic blues in the other. Jimi leaned forward slightly, as if magnetized to him.
“Your eyes.”
“What about them?” He held her foot a little tighter.
“They’re beautiful.”
Jimi was surprised when he burst out laughing. The deep booming sound filled the tent and she blinked. What was so funny?
“They’re just eyes, hemahema.”
“But so unique.”
“I can thank my mother for them.” His smile was wide, and Jimi saw his Hawaiian ancestry in the bold and strong features, dark hair and deeply tanned skin.
“Was she Hawaiian?”
“My grandfather was. Now, let’s get this foot cleaned up.”
“What’s hemahema?” Jimi asked. “You said that a couple minutes ago.”
“Clumsy, awkward.”
“Humph. Nice.”
He chuckled and then spoke in a low voice she could barely hear. “Your clumsiness got you in my arms, though. Didn’t it?”
He glanced at her from under his dark eyebrows and her world tilted. The corner of his mouth lifted on one side and she was enchanted. That simple, seductive glance was full of so many promises. Promises she had every intention of making him keep.
“Yes, it did,” Jimi whispered. “And I don’t even know your name.”
“Shall we keep it a mystery?”
Jimi gave him a seductive smile. “That would make it very interesting.”
He looked back at her foot. Jimi drew in a soft breath as he carefully cleaned the cut, applied ointment and then a bandage before glancing at her. Jimi’s heart fluttered when he smiled, tightening his fingers a little more on her foot.
“All done. You’ll live.”
Sensing the impending end to their intimate moment, Jimi decided it was time to make her move. She slid forward and, not breaking eye contact with him, reached out and curled her fingers around his neck. His muscles under her fingers were hard and his skin warm. As if her fingers fused to him and captured his energy, their connection crackled with electricity. He seemed to resist against the pressure of her hand. Jimi was insistent. When she pulled him toward her, she saw a myriad of emotions race across his face, and for a moment she thought he would pull away. But he didn’t and gave her that crooked smile again. Her gaze dropped to his lips. His enticing and oh-so-kissable lips. Lips she wanted to taste, feel, explore.
When he dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her, Jimi gasped. He curled his fingers around her ankles and pulled her closer, holding her ankles behind him before letting go. Jimi hooked them together around his hips and shivered as he ran his hands over her calves, along her thighs, and grabbed her waist. Jimi wiggled to reduce the distance between them. The urgency to feel him next to her had her strung tighter than a drum.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, and lowered his head so his mouth brushed tantalizingly close to her earlobe.
“I—I know.” Jimi could barely form words, he had her so spun.
“I like that.” His lips pressed in the curve of her neck.
“Oh, you’re killing me.”
She moaned as his lips tickled along her neck, his breath warming her skin until she thought she might melt right into him. He was everything male. His essence enveloped her and she craved more of him. A totally random thought flitted through her brain. I’m made for him. Then it was gone when his hands roamed over her, stealing all coherent thought. One hand went up to the back of her neck, under her hair to swipe it aside, the other down to her butt. She gasped as he pulled her tight, his fingers digging almost painfully into her flesh. But that pain brought such sweet pleasure she wanted more.
Jimi tightened her thighs around his hips, pressing into him, until her breasts were mashed against the unbelievably hard chest. He groaned and she thrilled to the sound. His fingers thrust into her hair, fisting the strands, and the sting in her scalp was another welcome burst of pain that almost kept her grounded.
He pulled her head back gently, forcing her to look at him. Jimi was at an utter loss for words. She wanted him, and he gave every indication he wanted her, the evidence of that pressing hotly between her thighs and only separated by the layer of their jeans. Jimi tipped her hips and sighed when he responded by thrusting into her.
“I can tell you’re going to be all sorts of trouble,” he growled.
“Is that a good or bad thing?” Jimi murmured, not breaking their gaze.
Her heart hammered so hard it hurt. This man—she still didn’t know his name—held her hair tight while his other hand scorched a path from her ass up her side. He hesitated ever so briefly with a gentle caress at the side of her breast before cupping her face, holding her in his large, warm, rough...but so tender hands. She welcomed the control he was taking. Needed him to force her to let go. Her brain shut down when he pulled her head to him and crashed his lips over hers.
* * *
DALLAS TASTED HER as if a starved man. Her lips were soft and deliciously plump. He found her tongue with his, which was his undoing. Heat erupted inside him, flowing through his veins like thick, heavy lava. The sweetness of her mouth made him want more.
Her arms tightened around his neck. Dallas took her face between his hands, holding her firm. No way was he letting this seductress out of his arms just yet. Dallas opened his eyes to watch her, keeping his mouth fused with hers. The strands of her hair twined with his fingers, so palupalu, soft, he wanted to draw the curls over his face. He inhaled, taking in her scent. Fresh and clean, with a hint of flowers. Her eyes were closed, and he lifted his mouth from hers and waited to see if she’d open her eyes. She didn’t, and he decided the eloquent curve of her brow needed to be kissed. Her gold lashes fanned across her pale skin. Never had he seen anything more beautiful. Sexy. And wanton.
Dallas nuzzled her under the sharp arch of her brow. She sighed. His cock swelled when she wiggled closer, tightening her thighs around him. He could easily push her back on his cot. Flick open the buttons of her shirt. Whisk off the jeans and take his pleasure. Pleasure she seemed very wil
ling to provide.
Pleasure he’d be more than willing to reciprocate.
Jimi leaned into his fingers when he teased the buttons open. She trembled and he yearned for her. This strange and beguiling city girl who did not fit into the wilds out here. Or with a man like him. Perhaps that was what made her so much more tantalizing. Why not have a vacation fling? What happened in Kona stayed in Kona. No one need know. It would be over after the wedding. He’d keep it secret, knowing he was breaking his own rules.
A shiver rumbled through his muscles when her fingers tracked across his back, pressing and stroking as if she were trying to imprint him. Then they locked behind his neck and she burrowed against his chest. His hand was trapped between them in the wonderful firm softness of her breasts. Their clothes were in the way and he wanted to rip them off her in this frantic moment of passion. Period. Nothing remotely close to making love. Yet, if he thought of it as lust, an unsettled feeling grew in him.
Dallas pushed it aside. Being with a beautiful, alluring woman with no expectations or ties was just how to lose himself. There was no crime in that.
Jimi sighed as he nibbled the edge of her jaw. Dallas growled in to her and inhaled her wild and exotic scent that was just like his island. He’d learned long ago to seek out those special little places on a woman—it was so worth the extra care—and he found the delicate spot just behind her ear. Jimi’s body went lax in his arms. She ran hands down his back, leaving a trail of heat that spiked into fire when she linked her thumbs through the belt loops and pulled him to her. He settled between her thighs, her heat searing him. Sound dimmed. All he heard was the thumping of his heart and her soft, breathy sighs. Jimi dropped her head back, giving him more access, and he didn’t waste the opportunity to search for her trigger spot, smiling when she shivered as he licked along her collarbone.
Voices pierced his lust haze. He tried to ignore them, but when he recognized the laughter, Dallas swore and sat bolt upright, pushing her away. Regret washed through him at the confusion on Jimi’s face and he wanted to explain but couldn’t. She stood and shoved her hands into the jeans pockets.
