by Rebecca York
“No.”
“You think I’m not up to the job?”
His hand stroked down the length of her bare back, then traveled lower to cup her bottom. Heat shot through her then, heat she couldn’t deny, even when she knew there were things they had to say.
“I think you’ve been doing magnificently,” he told her in a thick voice. “Nobody could have done it better. It’s just damn bad luck that Reynard has a fixation on you.”
She nodded against his wet skin, struggled to speak when her nerves were dancing and tingling. “The beauty salon…I couldn’t tell you about it before. But Rosalie was there. I thought she was acting strange. I guess I know why now.”
His hand continued to play across her back, sending currents of heat through her. “Did you find out anything else?”
Lord, he was still trying to concentrate on business when both of them were so turned on that the spray was changing to steam as it hit their bodies.
“One of the manicurists asked to work on me after she heard my name. I was afraid to say anything to her directly. But I had a roundabout conversation with her. I think maybe she’s seen Dawn, but she was afraid to talk about it. Probably she knows the place is bugged.”
“Yeah.”
She raised her head, stroked her lips across his cheek, entranced by the electrifying, abrasive quality of his beard. He’d shaved only a few hours ago, yet she could clearly feel the stubble against the sensitive skin of her lips.
For several moments neither of them spoke. Then she remembered something else she had wanted to discuss.
“And I was thinking about Fowler. It wasn’t just tonight when he noticed us coming in. It was at the airport, too.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Reynard’s lying to us about him?”
“Why would he?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, unable to keep herself from sliding her hand down his hard flank.
She felt him react to her touch, knew that if they stayed this way for many more seconds, coherent discussion would fall by the wayside.
“What do we do?” she managed, trying to focus on the problem that had brought them here in the first place.
His voice was husky as he answered, “Keep looking. Follow the plan we outlined before we left New York. Find a place where we can exchange information. Somewhere else besides this damn shower. Because this is…”
The sentence trailed off as she felt his body moving against hers, felt him stroke his erection against her belly.
She struggled to hold on to the last shreds of coherence. But they evaporated when she felt Jack’s hands on her buttocks. He must have reached behind her and lathered his hands with soap because they had turned slick, running over her wet skin with a total absence of resistance that was like fire streaking over dry grass. Touching her the way the woman in the movie they’d seen on the plane had touched the man.
“Oh God,” was all she could manage to murmur as slick, wet heat pooled between her legs. And when he shifted her body so that those soap-slick hands could lift and fondle her breasts, she answered him with a sob of need.
She had wanted him again almost as soon as he had climbed out of bed that evening back at Winston headquarters. Though desire had receded to the background, it had never entirely left her. Today and tonight had only added fuel to the fire.
And now need pulsed like a throbbing jungle rhythm through her bloodstream, through her brain, through every cell of her body.
He began to play with her taut nipples then, the soap and touch of his fingers combining to bring her close to the edge.
He used a light, circling motion that drove her wild, alternating the rhythm with flicks of his thumbnails across the very tips, so that she thought she might start the water around her boiling.
Panting, she found the soap dish, slicked her own hands, then boldly found his jutting cock, starting with a teasing stroke that drew a quick indrawn breath from him. The breath turned into a moan as she closed her fingers around him, squeezing and sliding up and down his length with the same maddeningly slick touch that he was using to drive her beyond insanity.
Looking down, she admired her handiwork. He had been hard when she’d started. Now his penis was red with engorgement, the skin like velvet over tempered steel, radiating life and heat.
“Jesus!” he gasped. Then in a strangled voice, he commanded, “Don’t. I want to come inside you, not in your hand.”
The hand fell away, because she wanted that, too. Wanted it with a desperation that bordered on madness.
He stepped out of her reach, and she cried out from loss. But he was only washing the soap off his hands, letting the water wash the front of his body.
She imitated his action, ridding herself of the soap, watching his hot gaze follow the water cascading downward toward her sex.
She had hardly noticed the configuration of the shower. But when he lifted her up onto a triangular ledge in one corner, she realized that the interior had been designed for sport as well as cleanliness.
“Brace your feet,” he instructed, and she did, against small wedges positioned perfectly to hold her legs open for him—hold them open so that his scorching gaze could find her swollen sex. She had never felt so exposed, so helpless, or so utterly needy.
“Please,” was all she could say. “Please, don’t make me wait.”
Water beat down on them like an added caress as the hot, hard rod she had teased and stroked plunged into her.
She cried out at the joining of their flesh, cried out again as his fingers found her clitoris, stoking her need as he moved within her in a fast, hard rhythm.
The intensity was too great for the joining to last more than seconds. He drove her to a sharp, overwhelming climax that was like an electric shock jolting her body. And while the waves of pleasure still lapped through her body, he followed her over the edge.
He collapsed against her, his head drifting to her shoulder, and she reached to stroke her fingers through his wet hair, turned her head so that she could skim her lips along his cheek, drinking in water and man taste.
JACK EASED HIS BODY out of Maddy’s, feeling the loss of contact keenly and immediately. If he were free to do anything he wanted, he would start up all over again. No—not just start up. He would have begun arousing her once more while their bodies were still joined.
He squeezed his eyes closed, because thinking about that had him hardening again. Lord, if he were inside her now, building her pleasure again, he’d be able to feel the small clenching of muscles, the glorious contractions of her sex around him that he knew would result from touching and caressing her.
She was so responsive. So damn hot. So giving.
And he wanted her every bit as much as he had a few minutes ago.
He’d known how the session in the shower was going to end up. Known that there would be no way either one of them could resist the hot, slick pressure of body to body.
Yet he hadn’t been lying to her. The shower was one of the few places on this whole damn island where they could safely hold a conversation about anything important.
Of course, there was also the jungle. He’d been tempted to step off the path and pull her into the underbrush. But he’d known that was too risky. Not with the animal sounds all around them—and the foliage rustling. For all he knew Reynard let that damn panther loose at night to prowl the grounds.
Maybe he even thought it was amusing to find an occasional mauled guest in the morning. That would certainly fit the man’s warped sense of humor.
So he’d gotten Maddy back to their villa as quickly as possible. And into the shower. With two distinct purposes in mind.
As he stroked his hands over her shoulders, he found he could no longer kid himself. Making love with her had meant something. Not just sex. Something more personal. Something he couldn’t afford to examine too closely—at least while the two of them were on Orchid Island.
He sucked in a small breath and felt
her catch the subtle change in him.
“What?” she whispered.
He didn’t tell her he was calculating their odds of getting out of this place alive. And they were not as good as he’d assumed when they’d planned this rescue mission.
“We should get some sleep,” he murmured, shutting off the water, then reaching outside the shower for a large, fluffy towel.
He helped her down from the ledge where she was still sitting, then leaned her against himself as he began to dry her body, trying not to react to the intimate contact.
He worked the towel over her hair, appreciating the silky texture. She felt boneless, relaxed, her eyes heavy-lidded.
Draping the towel around her shoulders, he whispered, “Wait here.”
Outside the shower, he grabbed another towel and did a quick job of drying himself. Then he stepped into the bedroom, crossed to the dresser, and opened the drawer where he’d seen her sleepwear.
He found a little wisp of a gown with spaghetti straps and delicate lace at the top edge of the bodice.
Bringing it back to the bathroom, he slipped it over her head, helped her get her arms free of the gossamer fabric.
If there was a camera in the bedroom, at least the bastards wouldn’t see her naked, he thought as he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bed. He didn’t care about them seeing him. It was just Reynard and his guards, after all.
Pulling back the covers, he settled her in the wide bed, then went back and closed the bathroom door almost all the way, leaving only a narrow shaft of light knifing into the room.
When he slipped in beside her, she rolled toward him. With a small sound, she wrapped her arms around him, and he gathered her to him, holding her in the darkness, vowing to get her out of this mess if it was within his power to do it.
7
MADDY COULDN’T HOLD BACK a small stab of disappointment when she woke alone in the big bed.
As she lay there curled on her side, she remembered falling asleep in Jack’s arms. And before that—the incredible session in the shower.
Heat rushed through her body when she remembered their wild, uninhibited lovemaking. Not just wild and sexy. Caring. Because if there was one thing she’d discovered about Jack Connors, it was that he cared as much about his partner’s pleasure as his own.
His absence now told her that he’d pulled back from her again. Or maybe he’d just awakened early and hadn’t wanted to disturb her.
Yeah, right.
She could hear him out in the living room, talking on the phone. She hadn’t heard it ring, so he must have been the one to make the call—or he’d turned off the bell in the bedroom. Checking, she found that wasn’t the case.
So who could he have called? Nobody on the mainland, certainly, because she was sure that wasn’t permitted. The only person she could think of was Reynard. And that had her nerves jangling again.
Sighing, she pressed her hand to her forehead. Last night, after their talk with Reynard, she’d started worrying about whether she could trust Jack. Then, in the shower, he’d wiped away her doubts.
One phone call, and she was on edge again.
Damn! It had been a colossal mistake not to talk to him about Ted’s accusation before they left New York. Now she needed to get his side of the story. But she wasn’t going to drag him back into the shower to do it. Which meant they had to find another place that was safe for personal and business discussions.
But where the heck was that?
With a grimace, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. Inside the door, she stopped short, her gaze focusing on the shower as vivid images played through her mind.
Going very still, she tried to get a grip on herself. After the first time they’d made love, Jack had acted like it had never happened. And probably she’d let him know she was hurt. Well, this morning, she wasn’t going to make that mistake.
Of course, things hadn’t ended quite so abruptly last night. But she could come up with a reason for his behavior. A reason that certainly hadn’t entered her head last night when she’d rolled toward him in the bed and snuggled into his arms. If he thought somebody was watching the bedroom proceedings on a video camera, than he would have turned in a performance for the cameraman.
A white terry robe was hanging on the back of the door. She took it down, pulled it over her gown and tied the belt before heading toward the living room.
Jack was just replacing the receiver in the cradle.
“That was Reynard,” he said, without waiting for her to ask, his voice matter-of-fact. “He wants to talk business with me again this morning.”
“He called you?” she asked carefully, mindful that the walls had ears.
“He sent over a note with breakfast.” Jack swept his arm toward the cart that stood beside the door. “We have coffee. It’s excellent by the way. Kona, I believe. Tropical fruit, a quiche lorraine and a selection of Danish pastry—also quite good. I recommend the cherry. If we want anything else, there’s a buffet on the patio outside where we had the cocktail party last night. You know, I love this place,” he added enthusiastically.
“It’s certainly luxurious.”
Jack was watching her, and she kept her face carefully neutral as she crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, then added cream and sugar.
After selecting a blueberry Danish, she sat down at the table by the sliding glass door.
“Do you mind finding something else to do this morning?” he asked. “I know business bores you. And you had to sit around listening to us last night.”
“You’re right.” She patted her head. “Actually, I need to go to the beauty salon. You did a fine job of messing up my hair last night—and I simply can’t face the world looking like this.”
JACK STUDIED MADDY as she took a swallow of her coffee, then bit into the Danish and chewed appreciatively.
“This is really good,” she murmured. “I should indulge myself more often.”
He considered her words, found himself looking for hidden meanings. She was showing more enthusiasm for the breakfast bun than she was for him. In fact she was acting like what had happened between them last night was no big deal.
The way he’d acted after that first frantic session back at Winston Industries.
He supposed he should be grateful that she wasn’t making any claims on him. But the reaction was unsettling. He found himself wanting to stride across the few feet of space that separated them, pull her to her feet and fold her into his arms. For the pleasure of feeling her body pressed to his. And the reassurance that he could get a reaction out of her.
He had to stop his tongue from stroking across his lower lip as he thought about the delicious taste of her. The wet, hot joining of her mouth with his.
Hell, the wet, hot joining of more than mouth-to-mouth.
Against his will, memories of last night flooded through him like a riptide. For several seconds, he couldn’t move as he was caught again in the lovemaking—in the incredible look of arousal on her face, in the incredible feel of his cock sliding in and out of her. Then he blinked, turned away before he could do or say something he would regret. Before she could see that he was turned on.
Pretending he needed more coffee, he sloshed some into his cup and took a gulp, burning his mouth.
Without turning, he said, “Then I’ll meet you back here around lunchtime. Perhaps you could join some of the other ladies at the Greek pool complex?”
“Perhaps. Or I might get a facial and a massage,” she answered languidly.
“Yes. This is your vacation, too. You do whatever you like.”
“Um.”
Again he fought the urge to yank her to her feet—to crush his mouth down onto hers and force a reaction from her.
But he stayed where he was.
Since when had he needed reassurance with a woman?
Since Maddy, apparently. He made a small, choking sound.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Turning, he strode toward the door. The hot tropical air slapped him in the face as he stepped outside.
Grimly, he began striding up the path they’d taken the night before. Then he caught his breath, slowed his pace as he remembered where he was and what he was here for.
MADDY WATCHED the tense set of Jack’s shoulders as he disappeared from view.
It flitted through her mind that playing hard to get was a little difficult to manage, when the man you were teasing had made wild, passionate love to you the night before.
But she was pretty sure she’d pulled it off. And the knowledge brought a smile flickering over her lips.
He’d been thinking about last night. So had she. They’d both been aroused. But that was the advantage of being a woman, it was easier to hide your physical reaction. If your nipples got hard, you could always blame it on the air-conditioning.
She leaned comfortably back, enjoyed another bite of her Danish. It was good. Hardly her usual breakfast in New York. But just the thing this morning.
As she chewed, however, the smile died on her lips, and the pastry turned to clay in her mouth. It was all she could do to swallow as a wave of guilt assaulted her.
She was pleased with handling Jack this morning!
But she’d forgotten about a couple of important things. She still didn’t know how far she could trust the man. And she’d come here to rescue Dawn Winston, who was here on the island—at the mercy of a cruel, vicious man—because Maddy Guthrie hadn’t done her job.
She balled her hand into a fist, pressed it against her mouth. Lord, she’d never been more off-balance. Never less able to do her job. Jack Connors had turned her brain to mush, the bastard.
Standing, she strode toward the bedroom and began pulling clothing from drawers, silently admitting that she couldn’t blame Jack. The only person she could blame was herself.
