by Lynsay Sands
Of course, the sleeves were too long. She would definitely have to roll them up, but it did reach two-thirds of the way down her upper legs.
“How is it?” Raffaele asked through the door, and Jess tugged one sleeve up to open the door.
“Good, I think. Or it will be once I put the luggage strap on,” she assured him.
Raffaele held it up at once.
Jess reached for it, but paused when the sleeve flapped around like a flipper.
“Allow me,” Raffaele said with amusement. Resting the luggage strap over his shoulder, he set to work on the sleeves, quickly rolling up first one, and then the other. Jess stood completely still while he worked, her nose twitching as his scent wafted around her. He smelled quite nice, she noted. Delicious even, and she realized that she hadn’t really noticed how Vasco smelled. Just that his hair was greasy. She shifted her gaze to Raffaele’s bent head and noted that his hair was dry now, and a lovely silky-looking black that wasn’t greasy.
“There we go,” Raffaele said, straightening as he finished with his efforts.
“Thank you,” Jess said softly.
“Now the belt,” he announced, and removed it from his shoulder to wrap it around her waist twice, explaining as he did, “I adjusted it to the size I thought might work, but—Oh, look, it’s perfect.”
Jess glanced down with relief when he finished and stepped back. She’d felt odd having him wrapping the belt around her waist. He’d had to bend forward slightly to do it, his head nearly on her shoulder and his arms going around her waist and back, and it had made her stomach jump and quiver a bit. Now, she took a couple of deep breaths to settle herself and turned to peer at her reflection in the vanity mirror that ran the length of the counter that held the double sinks.
Jess considered her reflection with surprise. Actually, it didn’t look half-bad. Belting it had raised it an inch or so, but it wasn’t too too short.
“Nice,” she decided, and then lifted her gaze and groaned as she saw her face and hair.
Raffaele chuckled at her expression. “My hairbrush is the brown one. Feel free to use it. I’ll wait for you in the sitting room.”
Jess didn’t bother to close the door behind him. She was dressed. Or as dressed as she could be at that moment. It felt a little odd to be without a bra. She hadn’t gone braless since she was eleven or twelve. But the shirt was big and blousy enough that you couldn’t really tell, so she picked up Raffaele’s brush and began to run it through her hair. That felt odd too. Not the brush itself, but that she was using his brush. She had no idea why. It wasn’t like it was his toothbrush or something, but it still felt strange and somewhat intimate when she finished and saw the long chestnut-brown hairs caught in the brush along with his shorter, black ones. Jess stared at it briefly, and then quickly pulled all of the hair from the bristles before setting it down.
Jess bent to toss the ball of hair into the little garbage can under the sink and then straightened to look at herself again. Her hair looked much better. A quick brushing had done a world of good and her hair now fell around her face in soft waves.
Her attention shifted to her face. She was a little pale and had dark smudges under her eyes. The result of exhaustion, Jess supposed. And probably dehydration caused by too much sun and too little water. Not having eaten since lunch probably didn’t help either, she guessed. A little concealer to remove the dark shadows, and a touch of blush to add color would have done wonders, but she didn’t have either.
Shrugging, Jess pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to draw out some natural color and then turned to leave the room, telling herself that food would help.
Six
Raffaele wiped away a circle of the condensation filming the sliding glass doors and shook his head. The entire room had a film of moisture on it and had since they’d arrived—the walls, the floor, the tabletops—and every item of cloth felt limp and damp, from the sheets to the clothes they’d hung in the closet. It was like the room was crying. He’d never seen anything like it, and hoped never to again. Even at this hour it was crazy hot and humid.
Having cleared a spot on the glass door, Raffaele peered out at the night and thought about what Jess had said. She wanted to leave, and the hell of it was, he couldn’t tell her not to go. Not only did he not have the right, but if he talked her into staying and something happened, like the rogues getting their hands on her again . . . Well, he’d never forgive himself. It seemed to him it might be better to let her leave. The question then became, did he follow her at once, or wait until this trip was done to follow her? Because follow her he would. She was his life mate. He fully intended on wooing, seducing, and claiming her.
Raffaele’s instinct was to follow her at once, get on the same damned plane, hell, even take the same taxi from the resort to the airport. He’d waited too long for her not to want to follow her like a dog following a nice juicy steak on a string. However, he was here to help Santo, and didn’t feel he could leave right away.
“Well, this is the best I can do, so we may as well head down now.”
Raffaele turned and smiled when he saw her. She looked lovely to him, but then she had before she’d brushed her hair and done whatever she had to put color into her cheeks.
“You look perfect,” he assured her, starting across the room.
Jess snorted rudely at the claim and turned to lead the way to the door. “Yeah, sure, and you’ve got vision probl—Ah!”
Raffaele reached out quickly and caught her arm as she slipped on the wet floor and nearly fell.
“Thanks,” Jess breathed once she’d regained her balance and he’d released her arm. She took a couple of deep breaths as if to steady herself and then smiled weakly, and said, “This doesn’t mean you can go telling your friends that I’ve fallen for you.”
Raffaele chuckled at her teasing, but said, “Actually, they are my cousins, not my friends. Well, friends and cousins, I suppose.”
“Really? Cousins?” she asked with surprise as he escorted her to the door.
“Yes, really,” he assured her, keeping a firm grip on her elbow in case of another slip. Raffaele had donned his shoes while waiting for her, but she was barefoot and that, combined with the slippery condensation, was dangerous.
Fortunately, Santo’s shirt acted as a buffer between his hand and her arm. The tingle of excitement and awareness from where he gripped her was more muted this time, and that was for the best. He knew Jess had experienced it too; he’d heard her heart rate pick up and the way she caught her breath the previous times it had happened. Her body was definitely responding to his. Unfortunately, Raffaele was thinking they should avoid any physical exchange until she was safely back in Montana and he had followed. Raffaele suspected it would be hard to let her go otherwise, and he wanted her to be safe. Her leaving was the best way to ascertain that.
“But you all look so different,” Jess said, drawing him from his thoughts as they stepped out into the hall.
Raffaele glanced to her with surprise as they started to walk. “Do you think so? Most people think we are similar in looks.”
“Hmm.” She considered that as he ushered her toward the elevator. “I guess you all have similar eyes, but . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll have to take a closer look once we’re at the restaurant.”
Raffaele nodded and pressed the call button for the elevator. “I shall look forward to your decision.”
“Where are you guys from?” Jess asked now.
“Italy,” he answered promptly, and then added, “Although we flew here from Canada. We were visiting family there.”
“Ah,” she murmured. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. As the door closed again, she asked, “Are you here for a wedding?”
“Vacation,” Raffaele said, and smiled with amusement at her dubious expression.
“Whose idea was it to come here? At this time of year?” she asked, her tone suggesting that whoever it was couldn’t be very bright.
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��Zanipolo’s,” he admitted with amusement. “I gave him a hard time about it when we first arrived, but now I think I was wrong and this was the perfect spot to vacation.”
“Why?” she asked with obvious surprise.
Because you are here, Raffaele thought, but merely shrugged, and said, “I presume you are here for a wedding?”
Jess hesitated, seeming reluctant to move the conversation along without getting an answer to her question, but when the elevator stopped and the doors opened, she nodded and said, “Yes,” before leading the way out.
“Family or friend?” Raffaele asked as they started walking in the direction of the beach.
“Both,” she said at once. “My cousin Krista, who is also a friend as your cousins are to you.”
“And Allison is your cousin too?”
Jess nodded.
“But not a friend?” Raffaele guessed, recalling the woman’s treatment of Jess earlier.
Jess’s mouth twitched, and then she sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think Allison has friends. She is Krista’s older sister and . . . a bit difficult,” she finished in what he suspected was a vast understatement. While he couldn’t read Jess, he had been able to read Allison when Jess had rushed to embrace her, and he’d found little of merit in the woman’s mind. It had been filled with I and me and sly cruelty.
“So, why did Krista choose to marry here?” Raffaele asked, changing the subject.
“She always wanted a destination wedding,” Jess explained. “And years ago decided it would take place in Punta Cana.”
“But could she not have held it at a better time of year?” he asked. “When it wasn’t so hot, for instance.”
Jess chuckled and shook her head. “The wedding was a year to the day from when Pat proposed.”
“Ah.” Raffaele nodded with understanding. “She is sentimental.”
“Yes, although when someone told her how hot and humid it could get this time of year, she did briefly consider changing the date. But it would have meant a lot of people couldn’t attend.”
“Because?” he asked.
“Because most of her friends and cousins are still in university or college and couldn’t take ten days to attend a wedding during classes.”
“Ah, yes.” He nodded again.
“And,” Jess added, “because off-season means great deals. The price during the busy season would have been at least double what we paid to be here now. That would have meant that at least half of the people who are here wouldn’t have been able to afford to attend. Including me.”
“I knew it!” Raffaele said with disgust. “Zani had us vacation here because it was cheap.”
Jess chuckled. “I’m not buying your supposed outrage for a minute, buddy. You told me in the elevator not five minutes ago that this was the perfect spot to vacation in.”
“Yes, I did,” he admitted, enjoying her amusement. “But do not ever tell Zanipolo I said so. He will become unbearably smug and say ‘I told you so’ at least twenty times a day for the next three centuries if you tell him I did.”
She raised her eyebrows at the obvious exaggeration, and then pursed her lips. “I don’t know. It seems to me that he deserves to know that you are pleased with the trip.” Jess clucked her tongue a couple times and then waggled her eyebrows up and down. “What will you give me if I keep my mouth shut?”
“Blackmail?” Raffaele asked with delight, knowing she was teasing.
“Hey, I’m a starving student, buddy,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll take what I can get.”
“Hmm.” He nodded, his mouth twitching with amusement, and then offered, “How about if I buy you dinner, then?”
She snorted at the suggestion. “This place is all-inclusive, my friend. You won’t have to pay a thing.”
“True,” he agreed solemnly. Raffaele then pursed his lips, and followed it up with some clucking in imitation of her, before asking, “Well, what would you have of me, then?”
Jess opened her mouth to answer, and then paused as they rounded the building they’d been walking by, and they heard music from the restaurant ahead. A slow smile claimed her lips then, and she announced gleefully, “A dance!”
“Done,” he said at once, unable to tear his gaze away from her happy face. She was absolutely stunning when she smiled like that, and he couldn’t wait to claim that dance . . . at least until he recalled his intention to keep his distance from her until they were back in North America. Holding her in his arms on the dance floor, her body pressed to his, didn’t seem likely to help him with that.
“Do you see them?” Jess asked moments later as they entered the busy bar/restaurant.
Raffaele narrowed his gaze and peered around the dim interior, and then shook his head. “They are probably out on the deck overlooking the beach. That is where we were when we spotted you in the water.”
“Really?” Jess asked with surprise as he took her arm to usher her through the crowd.
“Really,” he assured her, and then said, “Aha!” as he spotted Santo.
“You see them?” she asked, craning her head to try to see over the crowd.
The tables were all full and people had resorted to standing in small groups, drinks in hand. It looked to him as if everyone from the bus was here. Although he didn’t see Allison, he noted as he nodded in response to her question.
“Where are they?” Jess asked as he urged her through the crowd.
“On the deck, and at the exact same table we were at when we spotted you and the shark in the water.”
“There wasn’t really a shark!” she protested on a laugh.
“There was,” he assured her as they reached the deck and made their way to where Santo and Zanipolo waited at a table full of food. “Ask Santo. He was the one who spotted it first.”
“Who spotted what first?” Zanipolo asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as they reached the table.
“The shark,” Jess said, settling in the seat Raffaele pulled out for her. “There wasn’t really a shark, was there?”
“Sì,” Santo assured her.
“Yeah,” Zanipolo agreed as Raffaele took the seat between him and Jess. “Santo saw it just seconds after Raffaele pointed you out to us. We thought for sure you were a goner, but it lost interest about ten or twenty feet away from you and just turned around and swam the other way.”
“Damn,” she breathed, looking horrified.
Raffaele reached out to clasp her hand and squeeze it, and then glanced from Santo to Zanipolo. “No Allison?”
Both men shook their heads, and then Santo said, “She obviously went elsewhere.”
“Hmm,” Raffaele murmured and, noting the frown on Jess’s face, pointed out, “If she hasn’t returned to your room by the time you finish eating, we can go to the reception desk and get another key.”
“But where is she?” Jess asked with a frown.
“She was walking away with some fellow as we tried to get through the crowd in the lobby to reach you two,” Zanipolo announced. “They looked pretty chummy. Maybe she went to his room.”
“Tyler?” Jess asked, her eyes going wide. “Tall guy? Blond hair, green T-shirt?”
“Yes,” Santo said with a nod.
“Oh, they’d never—Well, I don’t know him. He might if he doesn’t know her, but Allison positively loathes all of Pat’s friends. She’d never . . . Nuh-uh.” She shook her head firmly.
“Then perhaps they have gone to a club in town,” Zanipolo suggested.
Jess appeared to consider that, and then sighed and turned her attention to the food on the table. Her expression immediately transformed into one of amazement. “What’s all this?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I ordered two of several different dishes,” Zanipolo said with a grin. “Eat up. There’s plenty of everything.”
Raffaele surveyed the various plates on the table, not recognizing much of it. But then he hadn’t eaten in centuries and while he had, on occasion
, kept Zanipolo company as he ate, he’d never troubled himself to pay much attention to what his cousin was eating. Mostly, he’d spent his time trying to avoid showing his distaste of the smells assailing him, and calculating how long it would be before Zanipolo finished and he could escape those smells. The scent of food had often turned his stomach over the past couple of centuries. He didn’t know why. It hadn’t bothered him before that, but . . .
Shrugging the concern away, Raffaele took a tentative sniff of the various scents wafting up from the dishes spread out before them, and raised his eyebrows. This food wasn’t turning his stomach. In fact, some of the smells filling his nose were rather interesting, Raffaele thought as he watched Jess pull a plate with little misshapen light brown logs, thin, pale yellow sticks, and a very tiny bowl of some kind of thick pinkish/red liquid with seeds in it toward her. She picked up one of the logs, dipped it in the small bowl of syrupy liquid, took a bite, and moaned with pleasure.
“What’s that?” Raffaele asked with interest, unable to tear his gaze away from the expression of ecstasy on her face.
“Chicken fingers with sweet Thai chili sauce,” she said on a little sigh. And then dipped the log again and leaned toward him, holding it out. “Here, try it.”
Raffaele didn’t have to be asked twice. It smelled scrumptious. Leaning forward, he took a bite and then abruptly sat up straight in his seat, his eyes widening incredulously. Sweet and heat exploded in his mouth together first and were followed by the spice in the breading and the unmistakable flavor of chicken as he chewed.
“Good, huh?” Jess asked with a grin.
Nodding, he swallowed the food and then glanced around to catch the eye of a passing waitress. When he did, he smiled at the woman. She smiled in return and immediately made her way to their table.
“What do you want to drink, Jess?” Raffaele asked, turning to her in question when the waitress reached them.
“A glass of the house wine would be nice,” she said, offering the waitress a smile.
“Sí.” The woman nodded and then glanced to Raffaele in question.
