She didn’t want to feel this way! Not about him! It was Carson she needed to think about. Not bloody black-haired Joaquin Santiago!
Cool it, she told herself. Just calm down.
He was flirting with her. He didn’t mean anything by it. He was teaching her, for heaven’s sake. It was her own foolishness—her own heightened awareness—that was making it out to be more than it was.
“You’re such a girl,” Hugh had always said disparagingly when they were growing up and she would let her flyaway emotions get the best of her instead of being logical and sensible like him.
Don’t be such a girl, she told herself sharply. And deliberately, coolly she turned away from Joaquin to pay the cashier and get herself under control. By the time she was putting her wallet away, she was feeling better. Calmer. More businesslike. It had cost an arm and a leg to look this beautiful. As long as she was paying for it she felt more in control.
And even if she blew the seduction thing, she didn’t doubt that Carson would notice the haircut. Carson, she said over again in her mind. Carson. Carson. Carson. It helped to think his name. It was easier to visualize him—his quirky grin, his twice-broken nose, his light-blue eyes that crinkled when he grinned. His brown sun-streaked hair. As she catalogued his features in her mind she felt calmer, cooler, more collected.
“Ready?” A smooth baritone jerked her back to reality.
Molly wiped her hands down the sides of her shorts. “Yes,” she said as he opened the door and she stepped out into the heat of the midmorning Bahamian sun. Then, stopping on the pavement, she turned to smile up at him.
“Well,” she said brightly, “that was a first. I never would have done that without you, believe me. So thank you for the lesson.”
He inclined his head. “De nada. You are welcome.” Then he held out his arm to her.
She stared. “What? I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”
“I do,” he agreed. “So come along. We’re going shopping.”
“But I—”
They went shopping.
It wasn’t exactly like being Cinderella with her own fairy godmother and a couple of mice waving magic wands and conjuring up gorgeous clothes, decking her out in finery and transforming her into a princess.
On the contrary, it was exactly like being dragged through half a dozen Nassau boutiques by a cross between Henry Higgins and the Spanish Inquisition intent on outfitting her from top to toes.
Dresses and trousers, tops and bottoms appeared and disappeared briskly as Joaquin studied them, then her, then decreed which ones she should try on. Molly couldn’t imagine either of her brothers going anywhere near a boutique and feeling comfortable about it, but Joaquin seemed perfectly at home.
He would, she thought. He had probably outfitted a dozen mistresses this way. The thought was surprisingly annoying and made her scowl fiercely.
“Don’t make faces,” he said sharply. “Turn around. Let me see that from the back.”
“There isn’t any back,” Molly said tartly. It was a sundress cut low with criss-cross straps. It was flirty and feminine and it didn’t have pockets. Where would she put her hands?
“Very nice,” he purred. “Put that aside,” he said to the saleslady.
“I didn’t say I wanted it,” Molly protested.
“But you look beautiful in it,” the saleslady assured her. “And you want to look beautiful for your man, don’t you?”
“He’s not my man!” Molly said, embarrassed.
“I’m her teacher,” Joaquin agreed equably, making her want to throttle him. But he only smiled blandly when she ground her teeth. “Try this.” He plucked a severe plain green silk dress off a hanger and thrust it at her.
“That? It looks like an emerald-green crayon wrapper,” she argued.
Wordlessly he held out the dress and gave it an imperious little twitch.
Molly snatched it from his hand. “Bully,” she muttered, and stomped into the dressing room. The dress fit like a crayon wrapper, too. It clung to her breasts and her hips when she shimmied into it. But once she had it on, it highlighted every curve. It also swished softly when she walked, making her aware of its fluid drape and keeping her from rocking back on her heels and shoving her hands in her pockets—because like all the others it didn’t have any pockets!—the way she did when she was working on an engine.
And that, she supposed, was the general idea.
Still, it seemed very plain, very simple. She said so. “And it doesn’t have a back, either.”
“I noticed,” Joaquin said drily. “Simple is good. You don’t need frills and flounces,” he told her. “Those are for women who need to draw the eye away from who they are. You, querida, have all the natural assets you need.”
His words—and the way he was looking at her—made her warm all over. Made her feel attractive. Enticing. Some of that power she’d felt the night before bubbled up again inside her.
It was scary. Invigorating. Maybe a little bit dangerous.
Like playing with fire.
Carson, she reminded herself. Think about Carson.
It was like putting a damper on the flames.
But only for the moment. When she had chosen all her purchases and Joaquin picked up the pile of carrier bags, then offered her his arm, she hesitated only briefly.
This was a lesson, she assured herself. Only a lesson.
“Bueno,” Joaquin approved. “Now come along. We will get something to eat and then I will let you flirt with me.”
Only a lesson, she repeated desperately as a light breeze off the sea ruffled through her newly cut hair. It teased her, tickled her, challenged her.
Last night’s power was definitely back. Now she needed to learn how to harness it, control it, use it.
She took a deep breath and nodded, then fluttered her lashes outrageously at him. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
HER BEST SHOT damned near did him in.
Well, maybe that was an exaggeration.
But the new haircut not only did wonders for her looks, it seemed to jump-start her self-confidence. From her fluttering lashes to her twinkling eyes to her impish grin to her glossy cap of auburn hair, Molly McGillivray was a bundle of temptation.
And Joaquin was not immune.
On the contrary, he was as susceptible as the next man. More so, perhaps, because he enjoyed it so much.
He played his part enthusiastically, relishing the banter, the innuendo, the wicked teasing. It was a sort of verbal foreplay, he supposed. A prelude to things to come.
But for the moment he was content just to watch her eat, to smile as she tossed her head and ran her fingers experimentally through her newly shorn locks, to offer her a piece of his steak and feel the burn of desire as she nibbled it off the end of his fork.
After they’d eaten, he drank a cup of coffee and she ordered dessert.
“Something really decadent,” she decided, studying the menu. “Ah, yes. I’ll have the Sinful Seduction,” she told the waiter, making his eyes grow wide and Joaquin choke on his coffee.
Molly grinned at him as the waiter left. “It’s just chocolate cake,” she explained. “But it sounds much more wicked than that. Perfect, don’t you think?”
Joaquin nodded, not quite able to speak.
When it arrived, she gave him a bite of it. It was very good, but not as good as the tiny smidgen of whipped cream he removed from above her upper lip moments later.
She jerked at his touch, then her tongue darted out to run over the spot he’d just touched, and he sucked in his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Molly demanded.
“Nothing.” Nothing that a little sexual satisfaction wouldn’t resolve.
“Do I have more gunk on my face?” She patted at her lips and chin.
“You’re fine,” he said.
“Am I boring you? Of course I’m boring you,” she answered her own question. She shoved the plate of cake aside. “
We can go. I’ve had enough. I—”
“No!” He caught her hand and kept her from rising. “Finish your dessert. Please. Or,” he said as the thought occurred to him, “give me another bite.”
She started to push the plate toward him, then stopped and drew it back toward her and picked up the fork. “All right,” she said slowly. “We’ll share.”
She picked up a piece on the fork and held it out to him. He took it, savored it, all the while watching as she took another forkful and put it in her own mouth. There was a crumb on her lip. He ached to nibble it off. She ran her tongue over it, then offered him another bite, her eyes never leaving his.
It was the most erotic piece of cake he’d ever eaten.
It was sinful seduction right down to the last crumb.
And then when he was giving serious consideration to offering her a further lesson in a hotel room nearby, she glanced at her watch and yelped, “Ohmigod, I’m late!”
He frowned, confused. There was no timetable for seduction. In that way it was even better than soccer. “Late?”
“I told Sophy we’d meet them at four. You told Sophy we’d meet them!” She was jumping to her feet and grabbing for the carrier bags even as she spoke. “It’s already ten past. Hugh will have my head. We have to be punctual. Reliable. Professional,” she quoted. “I shouldn’t have done this!”
“Sophy will understand. You can tell her our flying lesson took longer than we thought.” He grinned, but she just shook her head. She was picking up the bill and fumbling for her purse.
Annoyed, Joaquin snatched the bill from her hand, glanced at it, tossed some bills on the table, then took the carrier bags from her.
“I will carry them,” he told her, more annoyed than he wanted to admit at her ability to switch gears so quickly, to think about Hugh and her job and the rest of the world when he was still thinking about only her. “And you should have done this,” he said firmly.
But he was talking to her back. Molly was already running out the door.
IF THE REACTIONS of the male population of Pelican Cay was anything to go by when they saw Molly that evening, her new haircut was a raving success.
Hoby the boatman gaped when she poked her head out of the plane. “Who you be?” he demanded, making her laugh delightedly as his astonishment turned to an admiring grin.
Then Amby Higgs dropped his soda bottle on the dock at the sight of her. And Jimmy Cash’s jaw nearly dragged on the ground. The men playing dominoes under the tree by the customs house couldn’t seem to take their eyes off her.
Nathan Wolfe did a double-take as he came out of the grocery store. “Molly?” he said as if he didn’t believe his eyes.
“Hi, Nath,” Molly called cheerfully. “How you doin’?”
“Fine, thanks,” Nathan replied, then, looking her up and down, grinned his approval. “Obviously so are you.”
Molly blushed but looked pleased. “It’s pretty amazing,” she said to Joaquin as they continued up the hill. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“They noticed,” Joaquin said grimly. And they could damned well stuff their eyeballs back into their heads. He scowled at every last one of them. And when they finally got back to her place and she opened the gate, he said flatly, “I’m coming in.”
She didn’t demur, but led the way up the steps and opened the door. “Just drop them on the sofa,” she said, waving an arm toward it. “I’ll sort them out later.” She was opening her purse as she spoke and taking some money out of her wallet. She held it out to him. “Thank you,” she said politely. “For today.”
He stared at her, then, appalled, at the money in her hand. “What’s that for?”
“Lunch.”
“When I invite a woman out for a meal, I pay the bill!”
“But you didn’t invite me. You just said, ‘We’ll go eat and you can flirt with me.”’ She quoted him exactly. And infuriatingly.
“It was an invitation,” he said through his teeth. “And now is the lesson. You will be polite enough to accept it.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Do you know, the only time you sound Spanish in the least is when you’re coming over all bossy and arrogant?”
“I can be bossy and arrogant, as you call it—” he bit out “—in any language I choose. And you can be polite in English.”
They glared at each other. She thrust the money at him. He folded his arms across his chest.
Finally she—and it would have had to be her because he was not giving an inch—sighed and stuffed the money back in her wallet. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He nodded curtly, still incensed. “I will.”
Their gazes held. The awareness between them grew. The need. The desire. Everything that had been building like a summer storm all afternoon.
Mesmerized, Joaquin lifted a hand to touch her hair. It was like silk against his skin. Slowly, gently he threaded his fingers through it, let them graze her scalp. She went totally still under his touch, didn’t even seem to breathe as his fingers skimmed lightly over the bones of her head, then ruffled the hair against her ears.
“Que bonita eres,” he murmured. “Bellisima.”
He heard her swallow, could see the pulse flutter in her neck. Deliberately he trailed a finger along the line of her jaw to her chin. He touched her mouth.
She jerked, as if out of a sleep, and took a quick step back. “Wow. That’s pretty powerful stuff.”
Joaquin frowned. “Powerful stuff?”
“Spanish compliments,” Molly said with a light laugh. “Is that part of your regular routine?”
“Routine?” He practically growled the word.
She gave herself a little shake. “You know, the seduction bit. Is that what you say to all the girls?” She had moved away from him now, had put the coffee table between them.
“I don’t have a ‘seduction bit,”’ he told her sharply.
“No? It’s all improvised, then?”
He scowled. “What is this? Why are you angry?” He watched her pacing around on the other side of the room and wanted to go to her and grab her and make her tell him what was going on.
“I’m not angry.” Her tone said otherwise, though. “I’m just…putting things in perspective.” She hugged her arms across her chest.
“What does that mean, in perspective?”
No, she was definitely not like all the other women he’d charmed and flirted with this month. They had been as predictable as the tides. This woman was a complete puzzlement.
She shook her head. “It means I’m trying to keep my head,” she said. “You make me crazy.”
“I? I make you crazy!” Joaquin gave a harsh laugh. “Do you know what you make me? You make me want to do this!”
And he took two steps, went straight over the coffee table, hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
Gooooooaaaaaaalllllll!
Yes, oh dear lord, yes.
Just like in soccer, it wasn’t all in the setup. It wasn’t all in the finesse. Sometimes it was just a matter of desperation. You saw a little bit of daylight. You knew what you had to do. You took the risk.
And the kiss.
It was explosive, hungry, powerful. There was nothing careful, nothing practiced, nothing schooled about it. It was all improvisation, Molly would have said, Joaquin thought, if Molly could have said anything.
But she couldn’t because she was completely occupied, her mouth meeting his, her tongue tangling with his, tasting his, kissing him with an eagerness equal to his own, driving him further, so that his hands slid down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her against him, so he could feel her soft yielding body against the hard aching need of his.
It was exhilarating. It was heart-poundingly wonderful.
And it was over—just like that.
Somehow—he wasn’t even sure how—when he’d loosed his grip to haul her closer, she’d slipped away and skittered right across the room, where she stood, ruffling her fingers
through her mussed hair and taking quick, shallow little breaths.
“Well,” she said, blinking rapidly. “That was interesting.”
He gaped at her. “Interesting?” He practically strangled on the word.
“Instructive,” she modified, her tone as cheery as an elementary schoolteacher’s. “And perhaps a very good place to end today’s lesson.” She gave him a bright smile. “We wouldn’t want me to get information overload, now would we?”
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE WAS the one-day wonder of Pelican Cay.
At least, Molly hoped her fame—or notoriety, depending on how you looked at it—didn’t last any longer than that.
By the next morning almost everyone on the island had dropped by Fly Guy to see for themselves. Several people had been hanging around the shop when she arrived to open up in the morning. More showed up when they left. More stopped in to chat and ogle later in the day.
“Maybe you should just announce my new look on the radio,” Molly finally said when even Trina the weather girl turned up.
Trina laughed. “No point. Everybody already knows. It’s yesterday’s news.”
Molly devoutly hoped so. She didn’t want to think about it.
She had bigger things on her mind. Like the way she’d responded to Joaquin Santiago’s kiss.
She refused to think of the kiss as anything more than a “lesson.” She understood perfectly well what he was doing. He was rattling her, waking her up, making her aware of how little she really knew.
What he probably didn’t have any clue about was how much she wanted to know! And, unfortunately, how much her desires focused on him.
She felt guilty about it. As if she were being unfaithful to Carson. And it didn’t help when Hugh got back from Miami, walked in the shop, took one look at her and his jaw dropped. “God almighty, look at you!”
Then he walked all the way around her, shaking his head in wordless amazement while Molly bristled, expecting brotherly sarcasm. What she got was a brotherly narrowing of eyes and the suspicious demand, “Is this on account of Santiago?”
“No! Of course not! How can you say such a thing?”
Lessons from a Latin Lover Page 7
