“Are we still talking about corporate law?”
“What would you like for it to be about?”
The flight attendant bustled through, swinging hips demonstrating her irritation with them for blocking the aisle. Tilda sipped her margarita carefully, since it seemed to be going to her head. Still, giddy was far better than weepy.
“And you?” He inquired, cocking his head. “How do you earn a living?”
She sighed theatrically. “Sales. Boring, I know. But I’m good at it.”
“I bet you are—a savvy and beautiful woman can sell anything.”
“Ha! Yes, I just sashay in, flutter my lashes and I’m done for the quarter. I wish.”
“What do you sell?”
Ah, and here it was. Fastest way to kill a flirtation was to tell a guy you’re a CEO of a major firm. Besides, she was off the clock and happy to be that way for a while. The whole point of vacation was not to be that suit-clad woman in the corner office, if only for two weeks. Still, it was best to stick close to the truth, especially since she was a terrible liar. Batting her lashes, she pursed her lips in an air kiss. “Very sexy and exciting home medical equipment.”
He dropped his head back against the headrest and laughed.
She giggled along. “Sorry—yeah, I need a vacation, too.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Oro Beach Resort. It’s supposed to be the best.”
“It is, yes.” He winked at her. “It’s also my family’s resort.”
“No way!” Jeez, she sounded sixteen. Definitely the tequila.
He held out a well-manicured hand. “Miguel d’Oro, at your service.”
She shook it, using her practiced business shake—not too limp, not grasping. “Tilda Campbell.”
Tilting his head, he studied her. “You don’t look like a Tilda.”
She made a face. “Matilda. Which is the name of your grandmother. Tilda is a poor second-best choice.”
“My grandmother’s name is Sofia, actually.”
“Lucky her.”
“Why not Mattie?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?”
He chuckled. “No, I see your point. No family nicknames?”
“Not that I’m going to tell you.”
“Oh, come on. We’re friends now, yes?”
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and huffed out a breath. “Roo.”
“Roo.” He repeated it, rolling the word in his mouth, making it into a question.
“You know—Waltzing Matilda, Australia, kangaroos...”
“Roo. I like it.”
She shook her head at him. “I’m going to regret telling you that.”
“Does that mean I can see you again? Perhaps a late dinner at the hotel after we get in. Would your friends mind that?”
Her friends? She frowned. Oh, right! Her imaginary safety-net friends. Patti-Kay and Mary Sue-Ann. They’d be blonde identical twins from Mobile.
“Did you say they’re meeting you at the airport?”
“Oh right. I did say that.”
“There are no friends, are there?”
She groaned and thumped her head against the headrest. “No. I was supposed to be going with my asshole now-ex-boyfriend, but he dumped me right before the flight. How pitiful is that?”
“Sounds lucky for me.”
She rolled her head to look at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Perhaps I could entice you with an offer—one you won’t want to refuse.”
“From what you say, you’re talented at setting things up that way.”
“I am.” His smile slid into sexy. “A vacation rebound fling could be what you need. Think of it as one of the many rejuvenating spa experiences Oro Beach Resorts offers our guests.”
“With a personal touch from one of the original d’Oros?”
“Exactly.” He flashed that smile again, now decidedly sexual. “A vacation experience to fulfill your wildest fantasies. No strings attached. No one from home will ever know.”
It sounded good. It sounded damn good. And when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
“What’s in it for you?”
“Now it’s my turn to wonder if you’re seriously asking me that.” He caressed her with that sensual gaze. “My work is stressful and it’s good for me to have an...outlet to burn off steam when I can. You’re a beautiful woman and something tells me you might enjoy what I have to offer.”
“So, is this what you do? You get called in by the family to cool your heels at the resort, so you look for lonely female tourists on the plane to recruit for off-the-clock R&R?”
He sipped his own margarita, thoughtfully. “Actually, no. I’ve never done this before.” He raked a hand through his thick hair again and the tempered anger came through. “This situation is more personal than most. I’m already on edge, which will not help. It’s serendipitous that we sat next to each other on this flight. I think we are meant to scratch each other’s itches.” He caught and held her gaze with burning promise. “I feel confident in guaranteeing you complete satisfaction.”
She pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you cornering me?”
He let his gaze drop to her cleavage, met her eyes again. “Is it working?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Good,” he purred. “We’ll discuss terms over dinner.”
* * *
Since she’d already arranged for a car from the resort—and she needed to wait for her enormous checked suitcase plus deal with visitor Customs while Miguel breezed through the citizen line with his carry-on—they decided to meet at ten at the patio restaurant.
It didn’t give her tons of time to primp, but enough to rinse off, spray on some perfume, tweak her make-up and shimmy into a spaghetti-strap sundress. Already the air felt blessedly soft and warm. Amazing to have left Philly in shin-deep snow and be here in her fabulous balcony suite with bougainvillea spilling over the rail.
When she found Miguel at the patio restaurant, she saw he had changed also, out of his sharp lawyer’s suit and into an open shirt of muted blue and a sports jacket. He rose to greet her, kissing her on the cheek, and held her chair when she sat. A grave busboy poured her water from the bottle on the table and she peered at it, trying to read the label.
“Guaranteed clean,” Miguel reassured her. “Oro serves only bottled water, although we are on our own well, which we have tested weekly.”
“Only weekly?” She arched a brow.
“More stringent than U.S. legal standards.”
“I’m sure you’d know.”
“I do. Would you care for wine?”
“You know, I think I’ll stick with another margarita—don’t want to mix up my liquors.”
“I’ll do the same then.” He signaled the waiter, who produced two astonishingly large margaritas, decorated with limes and pineapple chunks marching up the pole of a gold foil umbrella. “Merry Christmas, Roo.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Merry Christmas, Mickey.”
“Call me that again and I’ll spank you.”
“Ooh, saucy.”
He didn’t smile back, but gave her a stern look that made her shiver. “Do you enjoy being spanked?”
She focused on her margarita. “I haven’t been spanked since I was a kid. That was not sexy.”
“The way I do it is.”
“I’m not sleeping with you tonight, if that’s what you’re thinking. We just met.” Now, tomorrow night...
“Sleeping with you is decidedly not what I have in mind. I intend for you to be awake and fully aware of everything I plan to do to you.”
That got her attention. That and the hot desire in his eyes. The warm night, the tropical flowers, the surf crashing right below—all conspired to make her throw caution to the Mexican breeze. This would be a hell of a vacation. Fuck Greg.
“Tell me more.” She nibbled on a slice of pineapple.
He nodded at the menu. “Decide wha
t you want to eat and I will.”
She was starving. Eagerly she flipped through the menu. “I’m having the most fattening, decadent thing on here. Oh my god—lobster nachos? Score!”
“And here I thought you’d order the filet mignon.”
“Nope. I’m indulging. For the next two weeks it’s nothing but sin and fun for me.”
“That fits my plans well.”
“So, speak to me of these mysterious plans.”
“Tomorrow is the first day of Christmas.”
“Like in the song?”
“Yes,” his lips twitched in amusement. “Though it’s an old tradition. For each of the twelve days of Christmas, we will indulge in something...special.”
“Something sexual?”
“Yes.”
“Do I get to know what it will be?”
“No, these will be surprises for you. But you have to agree to accept these gifts with an open heart. Each day I’ll give you something. I will spend time with you as I can—”
“When you’re not fighting with people.”
“Exactly. And in the evening, we will indulge ourselves.”
“Okay.”
He laughed that warm, open laugh of his. Like gold and sunshine. “No other questions or terms?”
“Nope.” She grinned at him over the rim of her margarita. “Sign me up. Twelve Days of Sexy Vacation Christmas.”
“You’d make a terrible lawyer.”
“Maybe.” She slid her thigh against his under the narrow table. “But I can sell you anything—and I know a good deal when I see it. Sometimes endless negotiating gets old, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” He put a hand on her bare knee and she warmed, heating with a delightful flutter. “I like it much better when I have things my way.”
“Mmm. Do you plan to have me your way, also?”
“I do.” His fingers slid higher, caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh. “In every way.”
“Maybe we should get started tonight after all.” She held her breath, hoping he’d go higher. Instead he smiled, tantalizing, and took his touch away. She frowned at him and he shook a finger at her.
“The game has begun, Roo, and along with it, the anticipation. Your only responsibility is to receive.”
“Maybe I should have negotiated more.” She pretended to pout. The waiter set down a platter of the most decadent nachos she’d ever laid eyes on. “Wow.”
“See? All good things come to those who wait. Enjoy yourself.”
This would be good for her. No-strings-attached sex. None of the usual getting-to-know-each-other dinners and laborious conversations over meeting families or blending friend-groups. Just sun and kinky fun. She scooped up a chip piled with fresh lobster and dripping with cheese, then winked at him. “I intend to.”
December 25
Christmas Day
A Partridge in a Pear Tree
She awoke the next day feeling literally like a kid on Christmas morning.
Sunshine poured in her open balcony doors and the ocean gleamed that perfect Caribbean blue outside. A gecko basked on the white railing and the scarlet ruffled blooms of some flowering vine spilled over it in perfect contrast.
Tilda pulled on her short silk robe and strolled out to lean on the rail. People were already finding their way to the beach below, while cabana boys set up umbrellas in Oro’s trademark gold.
Christmas morning, indeed!
A discreet knock on her door followed by a soft “Room service?” brought her back inside. A cute young man politely averted his eyes and wheeled in a silver cart.
“Breakfast, Señora Campbell. Where shall I set it up?”
“Can I have it out on the balcony?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Then I wish!”
After a few efficient moments, he’d set up breakfast and disappeared. Tilda poured herself coffee from the pitcher—with real cream and extra sugar—and chose a chocolate croissant from the pastry plate. A square vanilla envelope sat on the tray and she propped it up against the little vase holding a spray of jasmine, enjoying the anticipation.
Today would be a partridge in a pear tree—even she remembered enough of the song to know that much. How that could possibly be made sexy, she didn’t know. But Miguel seemed like a creative guy, in a lawyerly, controlling way. He’d no doubt thought of something interesting.
Another knock at her door, with a young woman outside this time. She simply smiled, showing perfect pearly teeth, and held out her hands while she bowed. Tilda took the gold-foil-wrapped box with a giant ribbon from the woman’s upturned palms and fumbled in her robe pocket for a tip. She hadn’t been ready for the room service kid and there hadn’t been a ticket with the tray.
But the young woman waved her hands, smiled, bowed, smiled again and trotted off, softly singing “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
Tilda took the box back to her sunny balcony and set it next to the note. The gold wrapping sparkled, the glittery bow scattering prism shards. There was something about a beautifully wrapped gift that added a special glow. It didn’t matter what was inside—just this much pleased her. She still had the present she’d brought for Greg buried in her suitcase. All the time she’d spent selecting it, imagining them drinking midnight champagne on the balcony of their suite, seeing in Christmas Day with a romantic exchange of gifts. She should have spent more care selecting the guy.
“This is better,” she told herself out loud. And opened the envelope.
Merry Christmas Roo,
I have sent you a little partridge for your pear tree. You are to wear it all day. I shall visit you as I can and we’ll see if we can’t shiver your leaves.
Miguel
Okay then. She opened the box, taking all the time she liked to make sure the paper didn’t tear, savoring her one Christmas present. Maybe she’d make a little scrapbook when she got back home, of the notes and hints of what went with them. A private souvenir album.
The box itself was embossed with the logo of the hotel gift shop. Handy. The resort might be bustling, but she doubted the shops in town would be. Inside, on a bed of pale blue sat a gleaming silver bullet-shaped vibrator.
For her pear tree indeed.
She finished her coffee, reading the instructions that came with the vibrator. Not that it was all that involved—insert vaginally and off you go. The remote control that came with it was conspicuously missing. The thought of it in Miguel’s pocket, out there somewhere, sent a thrill through her. So much so that, when she went into the bathroom to insert it, she was plenty wet enough for it to slide right in.
It rested inside her, the size and weight stimulating all on their own. She smiled at herself in the mirror and tousled her brownish-blond curls. For once she looked kind of sexy and mysterious, with that pleased little smile. Fa la la la LA.
She dressed in her new one-piece bathing suit with the matching cover-up, loaded up her tote bag and headed down to the beach. As she walked, the heavy bullet rocked inside her, a gentle heat under her simmering excitement. She kept her eyes peeled for Miguel, but saw him nowhere.
A cabana boy happily set her up in a prime spot, with an unobstructed view of the ocean. She sank into the lounge chair, feeling sensual with the sun’s heat and her secret. The young man offered to bring her a drink and she decided what the hell. She might as well plan to spend the day in this chair, reading and napping.
Waiting for her new lover.
From time to time she forgot about her invisible companion, until she shifted position and sensations swamped her anew, just from the weight inside her. The mild buzz from the piña coladas and the sexy beach-read on her reader only added to her heightened state, until she started seriously contemplating returning to her room to get herself off.
Of course, she hadn’t brought any of her own vibrators, since Greg wasn’t into that, but the old-fashioned method worked fine.
She’d about decided to do that, when the cabana boy appear
ed with a tray. “Your lunch, Señora.”
Bemused, she cleared off the little table between the two lounge chairs and he set the tray there, whisking off the dome with a flourish.
“Poached pears?” she asked.
“Simmered in brandy sauce. Also smoked partridge, along with a variety of soft cheeses. I’m to bring you something else, if you’re not pleased.”
“No, I’m plenty pleased.”
He’d brought a bottle of oaky chardonnay with the meal, spiking the metal ice bucket container into the sand under the shade of her umbrella. She’d taken a taste of the pears when Miguel poked his head around the cabana shade.
“May I join you?”
“Of course,” she gestured at the tray, feeling both shy and excited at once.
His gaze traveled along her body, taking her in. “You look most lovely—but that suit covers up too much skin.”
“I’ve seen what some of these girls aren’t wearing. I couldn’t do that.”
He smiled and sat sideways on the twin lounge chair. “Yes, you will.”
“I will?”
“If I tell you to.”
The thought electrified her and she held herself still instead of scissoring her thighs together. In a white linen suit and a light peach shirt, he looked more exotic today. Like he might be found smoking Cuban cigars in a sidewalk café.
“Unless you’ve had second thoughts?” His eyes drifted down to the vee of her thighs, as if he could see through her.
“No.” Sweat ran down between her breasts. “Thank you for the gift. Merry Christmas to you.”
With a sly twist of his lips, he pulled a slim silver remote from his pocket. “And is your pear tree nice and ripe, lovely Roo?”
She blushed and didn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes from the remote, watching his thumb pass back and forth over the button.
“Are you feeling shy around me?”
“A little. I barely know you and we haven’t even kissed.”
“It makes it more exciting, doesn’t it? A reversal of the usual thing.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) Page 2
