by Cherry Adair
She let out a gusty sigh, and Auntie grinned. "He be one hot potato that one. Okay-dokey. Your poor, sad muscles are gonna be lovin' this. You get on the bed. On your tummy. Auntie fix good. You see."
Tally obediently lay on her stomach on the cool sheets, her head cradled in her arms. Auntie lit a candle and placed it on the table beside the bed. It smelled of vanilla. Next, she turned off the bright lamp, plunging the room into flickering shadows. Not Tally's optimum comfort level. Especially now.
Auntie patted her stiff shoulder. "You gotta relax, baby girl. Take your top off," she instructed. A click, and soft music played from the bedside clock radio.
Tally stripped off the pajama top and settled facedown on the mattress. How long could a quick massage take?
She heard the creak of a metal cap as Auntie opened a bottle, then the sound of oil being rubbed between her palms. The fragrance of mint filled the air as Auntie placed her strong hands on Tally's back.
"Now you close your eyes, and listen to the nice music. Feel Auntie's hands make everything better." For such a heavy woman, Auntie had a firm, but gentle touch.
Tally closed her eyes and tried to push everything else out of her mind. The music was soothing, and the feel of Auntie's hands moving down her spine felt great.
Michael stood on the lanai and watched as Tally relaxed under the older woman's skillful hands. He wanted to be the one touching her, stroking her smooth, golden skin. He felt like a kid standing outside the candy store. Everything he wanted was in that candlelit room. He could protect her better if he were right there with her.
He stepped quietly through the door into the room. Auntie glanced up without surprise. Her hands kept moving as she tilted her head, indicating the bottle of oil beside her on the small wicker table.
Michael smiled as he poured the mint-scented oil between his hands and came up beside Auntie.
She stepped out of his way, lifting one hand off Tally's narrow back. Michael placed his in the spot she'd just vacated, and ran his thumb up Tally's spine.
Tally moaned. "Oh. That feels wonderful."
Auntie grinned up at him and lifted her other hand in the air. Michael replaced her hands with both his, and pressed down on Tally's spine. He heard the soft brush of Auntie's callused feet as she went to the door. Felt the faint rush of warmer air as she opened the door into the hallway.
The door closed silently, leaving him alone with Tally in the candlelit room, soft music playing, and her half-naked.
He shifted a knee onto the bed, then straddled her without touching. She stiffened, her smooth brow puckered in a frown. He gently massaged her shoulder, and ran his thumb over the twin ridges between her eyes. She sighed and relaxed as he ran his thumbs firmly down the shallow indentation of her spine.
His fingers splayed across her narrow, lightly tanned back glistening with oil. He kneaded down the tight muscles in her back all the way to the low elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms.
She moaned low in her throat. "Mmm. That feels amazing"—she paused—"Michael."
He chuckled, running his fingers up her back and under her hair and rubbing her neck until she groaned low in her throat. "No surprises, huh?"
She buried her face in her arms, so her voice was muffled. "I felt the changing of the guard."
"I must be losing my touch."
"Your touch—oh, yeah, hmmm, right there—is terrific."
"This is supposed to be relaxing and you're tensing up. Listen to the music and just feel."
She wasn't going to relax just because he told her to.
Michael smoothed his hands in a circle over her shoulders.
Tally sighed. "Tell me a deep, dark secret," she demanded softly, her voice thick and on the edge of sleep.
Her skin beneath his hands was fine-grained and as soft as a child's. Her back was narrow, fragile—and, damn it, bruised. "What kind of deep, dark secret?" The combined fragrances of the vanilla candle, mint oil, and Tally's own unique scent filled Michael's senses and went straight to his head. And lower. He was rock hard. All he had to do was flip her over. He was poised right over her. God. How easy to slip into the welcoming heat of her…
"Something you've never told another living soul," Tally said dreamily.
His life was full of secrets. Most of them deep and dark. He realized he was caressing more than massaging, and found a tight knot under her shoulder blade to work on.
"This isn't the moment for deep, dark secrets," he told her thickly. "Unless you'd like to share?"
She sighed into her arms, and her body turned fluid under his hands. He ran his palm down her sides, and his fingers brushed the plumped-up swell of her breasts.
"I don't have's"—she sucked in a breath—"secrets. Deep, dark or other-otherwise."
"Yeah? Must be nice. Ask me another time."
"I will. Tell me—"
"What?"
"About you," she finished.
"What do you want to know?"
Michael fanned his hands down the small of her back, then swept them under the elastic of her pajamas. Her behind was as sleek and toned as the rest of her. Instead of protesting, Tally melted into the mattress with a sigh. "Favorite food?"
"Mexican."
"Mine too. Favorite color?" She was starting to sound almost drugged with exhaustion. It had been a hell of a night. She needed to sleep.
But damn it, he didn't want to stop touching her. "Blue," he said gruffly. The clear, unflinching blue of Tally's eyes.
"Favorite music?"
"Eighties. You?"
"Jazz."
"Hmm. Favorite Christmas?"
"The year before my mom died. I was eleven. Yours?" He slipped the loose pants down her hips and stroked her butt. No massage, just a gentle stroke of his fingers across the twin mounds of her sweet ass. He felt her shudder between his knees, and wanted to fall on her like a starving man.
"Boarding school. Switzerland. I was thirteen, and had my first best friend. Sandra Klein. Yours?"
"Best friend?"
"Hmm."
"Hugo," he said hoarsely. "My best friend was Hugo Caletti."
"What happened to him?"
"Who said anything happened to him? He's great. Lives in Peoria with his wife and three kids." I wish.
"Did he die?" Tally asked gently.
Michael looked down at her narrow back through a filmy haze. "Yeah." He swallowed the lump in his throat, and wondered why, all of a sudden, he wanted to spill his guts. He wasn't a man who liked to talk about himself. Especially to a woman. Hell. Particularly, this woman. "You could say that. Yeah. He died." He sure as shit didn't go easy into that good night. Christ, don't go there, Lieutenant.
"I'm sorry." She reached over her shoulder and clasped his fingers in hers.
He swung his leg over her and off the bed, pulling away from her. Physically as well as mentally. "You need to get some sleep."
He didn't run for the door. But he moved damn fast.
"So, how far is this famous waterfall?" Michael asked the next morning. He had to hand it to Tally: The woman had amazing resiliency. The marks on her throat made him furious every time he looked at them, yet she was her bouncy, happy self. If he hadn't seen the very real fear in her eyes last night, he'd imagine nothing untoward had happened.
He hadn't slept more than a couple of hours himself. Saying Hugo's name out loud had been a new kind of torment.
"About a mile that way." Tally gestured toward the lava field ahead. "According to Auntie, it's about half a mile beyond, and to the left"—she grinned—"of the tallest palm."
He made a concerted effort to push the darkness away. "Great directions."
"Perfectly clear to me. Look"—she pointed—"you can see the top of the palm way over there." On the edge of the lava field, the lush tropical vegetation rose in gentle folds up the hill. One tree stood above the rest. A perfect landmark.
Michael carried a hamper filled with god-only-knew-what from Auntie's kitchen. Certain
ly enough food to feed half a dozen people by the weight.
The sky was overcast, the air muggy. Coupled with a sexy as hell sheen of perspiration, Tally wore a pink tank top tucked neatly into a pair of khaki shorts. On her feet were sensible hiking boots and matching pink socks. Today she'd left off the makeup. Either in deference to the heat, or in the mistaken belief that she appeared less attractive without it.
"Do you think it'll rain before we get there?" she asked, looking up at the sky.
"Probably. So. Do you have a significant other back in Chicago?"
"Jealous?" she teased.
Michael slapped a hand over his heart. "About to throw myself on my sword."
There was silence as they picked their way over the hard lava.
He glanced down. She was trying not to laugh, her blue eyes bright with merriment. "What?" he asked.
She made a zipping motion across her pursed lips.
Smiling, he pulled her hands away from her face. "Spit it out, lady. You don't want to know my methods of interrogation."
She giggled. Not like a child, but like the vibrant woman she was. The husky, joyous sound rippled across his skin like a cool breeze. "I was going to s-say—I was going to say—I've seen your mighty sword, Sir Black Bart, and I'd recommend you not"—she went off into peals of laughter—"n-not contort yourself."
Michael shook his head, smiling at her silliness. Desire for her burned hotly through all rational thought. He didn't want to like her, for Christ sake! "Gives new meaning to the words 'go f—' "
"Nuh-ah." She reached up and put a hand over his mouth. "Be good."
He kissed her palm, then lowered their hands, twining his fingers with hers. "I'll be as good as gold."
"Ha," she scoffed, but continued walking, their hands swinging between them like two teenagers on a date.
He hadn't held hands with a girl in years.
"Boyfriends?"
"A few. Nothing serious. You?"
"Not for a while."
"Ah."
He glanced down at her. "Ah?"
She made an "erase that" motion with her hand. "Ever been married?"
"Engaged. Maria Hammon. Lasted seven months. She left me because I wasn't good enough for her." Tally shot him a look, and he smiled. "I thought you'd like all the details."
She laughed a throaty, sexy as hell laugh that went through him like fine wine. "You are so full of it. Those were bones, not facts. Did you just make Maria up on the spot?"
"Scouts' honor, she left me for the local postmaster. They probably have six kids by now."
She was still smiling. "Were you a Scout?"
"Of course, an Eagle Scout, no less. I have the merit badges to prove it."
"Like what?"
"Liiike—Massage 101 through 125."
"You aced those, I bet. Did you practice on little Girl Scouts?"
"Only if their mothers were there," Michael told her with mock solemnity. "Then there was Camping Without Being Eaten Alive By Mosquitoes—"
She laughed. "Would that be the CWBEABM badge?"
"Yeah. That's the one. And the ICSFTMB. Which was a biggy."
"ICS—what?"
"I Can Swim Faster Than My Brothers. Got that one at summer camp. Of course it helped that I was bigger and older, and they didn't know we were in competition."
"You're crazy about them, aren't you?"
"My brothers? Yeah."
"Tell me about them."
"Sure," Michael said easily, "but another time." He'd already shared more of himself with her than he had with any other woman.
"No more nocturnal visitors?" The oppressive heat reminded him of his trip to San Cristobal last year. He was counting the minutes until he could blow something up and get rid of this adrenaline buildup.
"No, thank God."
He'd known the answer before he'd asked. They'd both stayed awake last night. Alert for signs of more intruders, Michael had kept the door to his room wide open. The flimsy locks were useless. Tally's lights had remained on. He'd sat on the darkened lanai outside her room, and watched over her through the night. Dozing on and off. He was trained to sleep lightly. She hadn't slept at all.
It showed in the circles beneath her pretty eyes.
It was fortunate that this op would end tomorrow. It needed to be over soon. He was becoming dangerously fascinated by Trevor Church's daughter.
Despite the lack of sleep the night before, he felt energized. Pumped. Hell.
Horny.
Michael was confident he could make her change her no-sex rule with very little persuasion. Every time the lovely Miss Cruise looked at him, he read desire in her eyes. She hadn't denied it, either, which made him want her even more. He could break through that thin veneer of obstinacy in a heartbeat.
Hell, he should. He needed her to trust him, to depend on him. When push came to shove, he wanted her to choose him over Church, and he wanted to rub her father's nose in it.
Thinking about the gentle swell of her breasts in those virginal pajamas made him hard.
Damn it to hell.
He wasn't modest about his sexual prowess. He'd traveled far and wide, and his sexual experience was pretty damn vast. It was something of a hobby of his. A considerable portion of his studies had been more cerebral than physical. Several of his mentors had studied in the East, and although there were only so many body parts—what someone with the right knowledge could do with those parts was downright incredible. And Michael knew his way around a woman's body. Well.
He would've utilized every nuance of his expertise to get Church's daughter into his bed.
Hell, she'd made the preemptive strike.
Which dovetailed rather nicely with his newly formed plans.
Except she wasn't particularly his type. He preferred women with a little more meat on their bones, preferred redheads to brunettes, preferred dark eyes to light… but one thing he did like about her was that there was no pretense. Sex had been the Band-Aid for her fear. She admitted enjoying it. She didn't need a Band-Aid anymore. End of story. There'd been no pretence, no coyness, no evasion.
She was streamlined and would be defenseless when he put his mind and, modesty aside, his extensive talents toward seducing her.
In all things, "control" was the operative word for Michael. Control and patience. He'd shown control by not returning to Paradise Island directly from the hospital. He wasn't going off half-cocked. He'd used his infinite patience to study his prey, to recon the island, to meticulously and thoroughly rehearse in his mind exactly what he was going to do. And how he was going to do it.
"This way," she pointed, "or that?"
"That."
Tally Cruise's presence sweetened the pot. Unfortunately, she'd damn near blown his mind. The moment her hot, avid mouth had welcomed his, Michael had forgotten every damn thing he knew about control.
She'd managed to sneak under his skin in a matter of days. Who the hell was in control here? His brain or his penis?
They veered off the beaten path onto the solid folds of a'a lava.
"That must be the famous high-tide blowhole Auntie told us about." Tally nodded at the gap in the lava.
Unimpressed—it wasn't high tide—Michael glanced at the opening in the rock as they passed. Behind them, the hillside sloped gently down to the beach and marina. He was more interested in things connected with that than coming up into the hills.
Yet there was a small chance that what he was looking for was up this way. Unlikely, but possible.
"So, Miss Tally Cruise. My life story is now an open book. Tell me more about you."
Heat radiated off the lava rock. Michael, too, wore sturdy boots. Without socks. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, either, and the slight breeze felt great as it dried the perspiration on his skin. "Start with your name. How'd you get a name like Tallulah?"
Their gazes met, and Michael was pleased by the sexual pull he felt. "If one can call the Reader's Digest version an open book," Tally groused. He
r pupils dilated, but she kept eye contact for several seconds. "Okay. My turn. I was born in London, at the home of one of my mother's friends, and she named me."
Good girl, come into my lair, Michael thought. "Your mother or her friend?"
"Her friend. My mother didn't have an easy time of childbirth. She sort of… tuned out for a while," Tally said. Like, twenty-seven years. "When she got back, Aunt May had named me Tallulah Greta." She laughed. "You can imagine how that helped me in school."
"Got back from where?"
"Got back—oh, she went to meet Trevor in Tokyo a few days after I was born. Of course the birth certificate, et cetera, had to be completed. They weren't going to wait forever after all."
"Not even a few days? Or was it weeks?"
"Try a year."
"Your mother left a newborn with a friend for a year?"
"Aunt May was a very good friend," Tally said, smiling as she glanced around. "Should we go this way? It looks shorter."
"Sure."
"My mother isn't particularly maternal, I can't fault her for that. I was very well taken care of while she was gone. She made sure I had the best of everything. Her obsession, of course, was for my father. If he whistled, she was there."
"What about you? Did he whistle for you, too?"
"Off and on. He wanted to meet me, see how I was doing. At least that's what my mother insisted. Frankly, I'm not so sure that was true. He wasn't particularly thrilled with how I turned out."
"Why not?"
"Bev is drop-dead gorgeous. She used to be a model—could still be a model, if she chose. Trevor is handsome. Movie star handsome."
Michael turned to look at her. "Am I missing something?"
"I don't take after either of them. Bev always says her only child is a changeling."
"Christ, you seem amazingly well-adjusted for a woman with such shallow, self-serving parents."
Tally laughed. "Bev would've happily paid for my therapy if it was needed. Fortunately, I'm pretty well-grounded."
"Other than being scared of the dark." With one finger, he tucked her hair behind her ear. "Did you go to regular school?"
"Mostly boarding schools—plural. She couldn't always leave me with friends, no matter how good a friend they were."
