Tango in Paradise

by Donna Kauffman

  Her voice had grown deeper, huskier—but with concern, not desire. That realization jolted him out of his hormone-induced stupor. He hadn’t ogled anyone like a teenager since … well, since he’d been a teenager. If that weren’t bad enough, he was more turned on than he’d been in recent memory—and she thought he was physically ill!

  Embarrassed, he immediately pulled himself to his feet and, gritting his teeth against the stiffening muscles in his lower back, he hefted his gear. “That won’t be necessary. I can walk.”

  Her expression left no doubt that she didn’t think he could make it out of the lobby, much less to the long-awaited wonders of his very own bungalow. He blamed the heat and the lack of sleep for reducing him to feeling the need to prove he was a man—proof right there that he was no longer capable of rational thought. But he trudged past her toward the closest exit anyway, determined to make it to the bungalow or die trying.

  It proved to be a tougher campaign than he’d thought.

  They stepped out onto a terraced set of stone steps that led down to a startling blue pool of water. The sun glinted directly off the sparkling surface, making Jack wince and grab for his sunglasses. Slipping the black shades onto the bridge of his nose, he skirted the steps and headed toward the path that cut through the trees just past the pool.

  April watched him saunter off, sorely tempted to let him wander off by himself. He’d get lost before he ever found the guest bungalows. They were nestled at the rear of the resort. In the opposite direction.

  But the silver equipment case swinging in his hand made her hurry to catch up. “You’re going the wrong way,” she called out. “This is the way to the employee bungalows. Guest cottages are that way.”

  He paused, then stopped. He set down the silver case, shifted the duffel to his other shoulder, picked up the case, and walked back to her. April found herself admiring the way he moved, wondering what he’d look like freshly shaven with a smile on his face, wishing he didn’t have those dark sunglasses on so she could see his intriguing eyes.…

  Yanking her thoughts back to her present personnel problem, she directed her gaze to the silver case. It was on the tip of her tongue to simply explain her situation and hope for the best. She just wasn’t sure how to explain it without sounding like a total idiot.

  “Your bungalow is number fourteen,” she said. “It’s down this path. Last one on the left.” Maybe it would be better to approach him with her request after he’d showered and changed, she decided. She held out what looked like a plastic credit card. “Your key.”

  Jack watched a myriad of expressions flicker across her face as if she was struggling with some important matter. Her exotic almond-shaped eyes were a warm shade of brown. Her sensually full bottom lip all but begged him to discover if her mouth tasted as succulent as it looked. Her husky voice was still arousing his body, which, considering what he’d been through today, should have been dead. And it had been, until about fifteen minutes ago. He wondered what she was thinking about.

  Take the key and get out of here, Tango, he lectured himself. Instead he tilted his head in the direction of his bungalow. “I don’t seem to have a free hand. Would you mind?” Her gaze narrowed warily. “After all, you’ve come this far.”

  April studied him. Had he placed a specific emphasis on his last sentence? It had been over ten years, but she was still sensitive to sexual innuendo. And she couldn’t deny that his visual inventory of her had left her feeling unusually vulnerable. But there was still the matter of finding a photographer. Unless she wanted a complete disaster on her hands over the next twenty-four hours, she had to persuade Mr. Tango to help her out.

  Besides, he was certainly in no shape to put any moves on her. “Only if you’ll let me carry something heavier than this key the rest of the way.”

  “Deal.” He peeled off the strap of the small nylon bag and handed it to her. He swept his arm in front of him. “After you.”

  And then he smiled.

  April knew right then that Jack Tango was far from being a problem she could easily solve.

  And that he would be anything but the simple solution to hers.

  TWO

  April hurried up the few steps to the tiny bungalow and had barely opened the door before Jack pushed past her. He tossed his sunglasses on the bar, then dropped onto the small couch, letting his duffel bag slide off his arm. It tilted over, wadded-up clothing spilling onto the woven rug covering the cushions.

  “Ahhh. Air-conditioning.” His voice was almost reverent in appreciation. “Second-best invention known to man.”

  The question was out before she could stop it. “What’s the first? Electric blankets?”

  His light-eyed gaze pinned her where she stood. She felt like a butterfly caught against a velvet board.

  “Right now the need for artificial heat is the last thing on my mind.”

  April gulped. “Yes, well … let me show you where everything is and I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you want a shower. There should be cold—”

  “Aren’t you still curious about what’s first?”

  April made a valiant effort to give him her professional smile. “Let me guess,” she said brightly. “Cold beer?” Not letting him answer, she continued. “Aside from a well-stocked kitchen and bar, the bungalow comes equipped with two phones: one by the couch and one in the bedroom.”

  “That’s it.”

  “What?”

  “The number one thing. Room service. Everything you desire is at the touch of your fingertips—and you never need to leave the bedroom.”

  She gauged the tired grin on his face. She wasn’t about to take that dangerous piece of bait. “Well, if you desire something that’s not already here,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible, “just call the front desk and they’ll have it here before you finish unpacking.”

  Jack arched a doubtful brow and looked pointedly at his duffel bag and the scattered clothes.

  April couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe even we aren’t that quick. You’ll probably have time for a shower.” Her smile grew a bit uncertain as Jack rose slowly and took a step toward her. Time to leave. “I, uh, have to get back.” He took another step. “I’m really very busy.” She reached the open doorway. “If you have any questions I’m sure the room steward or Dominguez, our concierge, can answer them.”

  “Thanks,” he responded. “I’ll be sure to make a list.”

  April’s concern about just what—or who—might be on that list diminished as he drew nearer. On close inspection, his eyes looked like light green marbles caught in red spiderwebs. His voice was a bit scratchy and when he smiled—that little one that turned his lips up a little at one corner—it was easy to forget the predatory gaze he’d raked over her not moments ago. She breathed a quick sigh of relief. “You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  She had descended to the second step when she realized she hadn’t even approached the subject of her need for his services. At this point, and given his fatigue, she could hardly just blurt out a casual, “Oh, by the way, if you’re not doing anything later, would you mind shooting a wedding rehearsal for a senator’s daughter.…”

  But she couldn’t leave without at least trying to set things up to her advantage for later.

  She turned back to find him standing in the open doorway.

  “Is there something else?”

  She stared up at him. How could someone so tired still look so … virile? “No, not really.” Chicken. She drew in a quick breath. “I know you’d like to rest. But, if you’d like, I can have the desk ring you in time for the late lunch seating.”

  Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. She just didn’t give up. He finally hung his head in silent defeat. Why didn’t she just leave? But for that matter, why had he followed her to the door? He needed sleep. Craved it. And now he was finally standing less than ten feet away from his entire list of survival necessities.

  So why was he actually giving ser
ious thought to her invitation?

  At that moment his body decided to take matters into its own hands, and he felt his knees start to sway. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned his shoulder against the door frame to cover his rapidly evaporating strength. Macho theatrics right to the end, he thought. “Sorry, but I don’t plan on being conscious for at least twenty-four hours.”

  Surprisingly, her polished smile faltered a bit. For a brief second true disappointment shone in her eyes. He didn’t want it to, but that small ripple in her seemingly unflappable cool bothered him. Aw, hell. Locking one knee and crossing his ankles to bolster himself, he added, “But I’m sure by tomorrow morning I’ll be starving. How about breakfast? Say, around nine?”

  “Of course. That’ll be fine.” She nodded nicely enough, but the smile didn’t come back.

  For some ridiculous reason he was too tired to analyze, he didn’t want her to leave without one. Even that fakey CEO smile would do. Then he could let her go. “Ms. Morgan?”

  She turned back, resting one hand on the stair railing. “Yes?” The sunlight filtered through the thin fabric of her yellow blouse and outlined the gentle curve of one side of her waist and the fullness of a breast. “Is there something else?”

  A number of responses came to mind, but all of them required energy, and he was presently using all of his just to breathe and stay upright. But he couldn’t ignore the sense that he’d disappointed her somehow. “Was there any particular reason you wanted me to eat lunch?”

  She started, obviously caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

  “You just seemed so … I don’t know.” He took a deep breath and pushed away from the door frame, paused for a moment, then dragged a hand through his hair. “I just got the feeling you were … disappointed that I wanted to sleep the day away. Since I doubt you’ll miss my sterling personality, it must be something else. Does the resort have some policy that all guests attend lunch?”

  It was a weak attempt at humor, but her expression remained one of polite restraint as she shook her head. Yet his trained eye didn’t miss the subtle motion of her throat muscles flexing as she swallowed.

  Lord, he thought, momentarily spellbound, the camera would love her. His fingers itched to grab his favorite Nikon and run off a roll or two.

  As if she’d read his mind, her gaze strayed into the bungalow behind him, stopping at his equipment bags. He looked at them, too, then back at her.

  Uh-oh. She wanted something from him, and based on the equipment she’d chosen to look at, it wasn’t his body—though at the moment he could hardly blame her. Still, it irritated him that he’d completely misread the signals.

  All traces of the teasing tone he’d tried earlier disappeared. “Let me guess, you want something from me and I bet it has nothing to do with proper nutrition.” She looked guiltier than sin on Sunday, but he felt a grudging respect when she lifted her chin a notch.

  “Actually, there is something—”

  “Sorry. No dice.” His voice hardened a bit. He felt like such a sucker. “I came here to get away from work for a while.”

  April held his gaze. She should have known finding a photographer literally on her doorstep was too good to be true. But there was no point in backing off now. “I realize how tired you are, and if it weren’t so important I’d never ask for help from a guest, but—”

  He took a step closer to her until only the two stair steps separated them. “But nothing. I’m really sorry, but whatever it is, you’ll have to find someone else. The only pictures I’m taking on this trip are for me and me alone.”

  He watched her try to mask her desperation. The sun side-lit her features, creating shadows under her eyes. His fingers tensed. “I might make an exception if the favor includes you being the subject; otherwise the answer is no. Period.”

  April blanched. Taking pictures of her was the absolute last thing she’d ever ask him to do. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked.” Embarrassed by both his apparent sincerity and the bungling mess she’d made of asking him for help, she stammered, “I … I’m sorry. I’ll figure something out.”

  She paused, fighting for composure. She’d already practically begged the man—a paying guest—to help her out. He didn’t need to be subjected to a list of her problems as well. “I’ll let you get your rest, Mr. Tango. I’ll have the desk call you at nine tomorrow morning, unless you wish otherwise.”

  “It’s Jack. And nine sounds fine.” She nodded, then turned to leave. Jack noticed a brown streak marring the sleeve of her blouse and reached out to brush at the stain, but dropped his hand immediately when she stiffened. His gaze darted to her face and found her quietly assessing him. “Your blouse. It’s dirty. It must have been the strap of my gear bag.”

  She looked at her arm, obvious relief crossing her face when she spied the streak of dirt.

  Something wasn’t right here, he thought. Even though he’d mistaken the reason for her earlier persistence, her reaction just now didn’t jibe. His annoyance fled. “Please put the cleaning tab for this on my bill.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “It’ll make me feel better for being so rude to you.”

  “You weren’t rude, just tired. If anyone was rude, it was me.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a lousy liar?”

  She paused, looking away for a moment, then met his gaze directly. “Not when it counted, no,” she responded evenly.

  Again she surprised him. “Then they were blind.” Her responding smile lit her features all the way up to her lovely brown eyes. Just standing there, being the recipient of it, seemed to infuse him with renewed strength. “Have breakfast with me tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some rest, and we’ll talk. Okay?”

  “Does that mean you’ll consider my request?”

  “You really are the CEO, aren’t you?”

  She lifted her shoulders slightly as if to say she had to try, but her smile was unapologetic. “Will you?”

  “Only if you’ll consider mine. I meant what I said about taking some pictures of you.” Her smile became a memory. What had he said? “I was serious about being on vacation too. Any pictures I take while I’m here are for me and me alone. I don’t intend to sell them, just appreciate them,”

  Seeing he hadn’t eased her mind, he shrugged as if it didn’t matter. He didn’t want it to matter. “Forget I mentioned it, okay? But the breakfast offer still stands. I promise that with some sleep I won’t embarrass you in public. Please?”

  His “please” was accompanied by the crooked smile she’d already learned did dangerous things to her ability to reason. Sexy and so tempting. Too tempting. April argued with herself that it would be crazy to pass up a chance to change his mind. “I’d be glad to. Why don’t we meet on the observation deck cafe. It’s at the top of the main building facing the ocean.”

  “Sounds great. I always enjoy a beautiful view first thing in the morning.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you then.” April forced herself not to rush back down the path. And she absolutely refused to contemplate why his twinkling, green-eyed gaze had swept over her during his comment on his preference of morning scenery.

  Or her immediate reaction to it.

  April looked up from her morning tea to stare out over the deck railing, watching the morning waves roll relentlessly onto the beach. Each crest seemed like an endless second hand, ticking away the time on nature’s eternal clock. Her time was running out.

  She forced her gaze back to the tack sheets she’d picked up from Carmen’s teenage nephew first thing that morning. “Smithson will flip,” April muttered under her breath. She cringed at the blurry results of Alejandro’s attempt at shooting yesterday’s wedding rehearsal and dinner. “That is if the bride-to-be doesn’t kill me first.”

  How on earth she was going to pull off a wedding of this caliber with a seventeen-year-old camera buff as her photographer? April’s thoughts scattered as she felt the wispy hairs on the back of her
neck stir in a way that had nothing to do with the windy morning. Jack Tango was around somewhere.

  She barely managed to shove the sheets under her place mat before he took the seat across from her. She didn’t stop to analyze just how she’d known it was him.

  “Am I late?” His voice was raspy, as if he’d just awakened.

  “No, not at all.” Then she made the mistake of lifting her gaze to his face. Big mistake.

  Gone was the shadow of a beard that had grazed his jaw. His dark blond hair was still a little wild, probably from the stiff morning breeze, but he hadn’t been out in it long enough to dry more than the tips. He’d replaced the dusty cotton shirt with a yellow T-shirt that should have been rumpled, given his method of packing, but the breadth of his chest had stretched out any wrinkles.

  None of those things were what made her wary, though they certainly accounted for her increased pulse rate. The guy cleaned up better than good, she thought, and purposely avoided wondering what he’d put on the lower half of his body. It was safer. If there was such a thing around him.

  “Don’t tell me. There’s a dress code for breakfast, right?” The corner of his mouth curved in that little smile, making it clear he’d noticed her quick inventory. “I don’t do tails before nine P.M., but I’ll go back and put on a tie if it’ll make you feel better.”

  April returned his smile, charmed despite herself with this new, improved, even sexier version of Jack Tango. Her sunny outlook clouded slightly as her gaze shifted from his dry smile to his eyes. Her first mistake had just become her second.

  The rising sun at his back cast his face in shadows, making his eyes an almost incandescent green.

  She’d convinced herself after leaving him in the bungalow yesterday that she’d overestimated their effect on her. As his gaze slowly took in her appearance, she knew she hadn’t. Not in the least. “You look just fine,” she assured him in complete honesty.

  “May I return the compliment?”

  He was just being polite, she told herself. His smile shouldn’t have such a devastating effect. It was just a smile. But combined with those eyes …