Maybe it was the influence of his grandfather's hot Latino blood, but she was the kind of woman who attracted him physically. Round and firm in some places. Silky soft in others. In a word, feminine. A woman who looked and felt female, not like a flat-chested, lean-hipped anorexic boy.
She was curvy. Classy. Sexy as hell.
Oh, yeah. Mucho sexy, he thought, aware of a definite hardening down below. That settled it, he thought ruefully. No way he was getting out of here first. The proverbial wild horses couldn't drag him out.
She must, he decided, be a fashion model, though built more to his liking than most of those beautiful clothes racks that went by a single name. Sabrina. Bianca. Kendra. Zoe. Something along those lines. She was probably in Costa Rica for a photo shoot or a magazine layout. Sport Illustrated's legendary swimsuit issue, maybe? That would explain why she looked familiar, somehow….
Sydnee peered intently at the man, trying— unsuccessfully— to bring his features into sharper focus without her glasses.
All she could make out was a blur of coal black hair. Smudgy broad shoulders. Fuzzy clean-shaven features with— she was almost certain— a beard shadow. If only she could see his face more clearly! She wasn't completely sure, but… he sounded a lot like the jerk from the plane!
Her jerk. The "outlaw" she'd secretly named Dark and Dangerous.
If it was Dangerous, he wasn't acting like a jerk tonight, though. Then again, the fact that she wasn't drunk anymore might have something to do with that, she amended, squirming with guilt and shame.
Her memory of the second half of the flight down was foggy at best, but she had the distinct feeling she'd been a real pain in the ass. Thank God he hadn't recognized her without her thick glasses! Or her clothes.
Yet.
"Enjoying a few days of vacation?" he asked, swimming over to her with powerful, deceptively lazy-looking strokes.
"Yes and no," she hedged with a smile, treading water. The less she told him, the less chance he'd recognize her from that disastrous flight. "Hmm. The water's wonderful, isn't it? Costa Rica's much warmer than it was back home."
"Where's home?"
"New York. Just outside of Ithaca."
"New York!" He sounded pleased. "Me, too."
"What part?"
"All over." He shrugged. "An apartment in the city. A place upstate. Amish country. But I was born and raised in Houston, Texas."
Sydnee smiled. "Then you're down here on vacation?"
"Not really. My business brings me down here several times a year."
"Lucky you," she murmured with feeling. "From what I've seen so far, it's a beautiful country."
"I think so." He frowned. "Hey. You're shivering!"
She was hugging herself about the arms now.
"I think the breeze must have picked up. It feels kind of chilly when you're wet."
He nodded. "Because you stopped swimming. Duck back under the water."
He was right, she realized as she swam across the pool. Once her shoulders were underwater, she immediately felt warmer all over.
"Better?" he called, swimming after her.
"Much."
"Too bad!" When she frowned, he explained, "I was hoping you'd say you were freezing. Then I could ask you to have a drink with me."
His vivid blue eyes twinkled. His low voice was almost… well, intimate. A little shiver that owed nothing to the breeze shimmied down her spine.
"Why?"
"Because a brandy would warm you in no time."
"True. But I don't drink," she said quickly, feeling a fluttery excitement in her breast.
It wasn't a lie. She really didn't drink. The flight down here had been a terrible exception to her rule.
"Besides, where would we go?" she asked, treading water as she turned to look at him.
The moonlight transformed the drops of water that clung to his midnight hair into tiny, sparkling diamonds. His wet, deeply tanned skin glistened as if oiled.
"Isn't everything closed for the night?"
If he thought she would go up to his room for that "warm-up" drink, he was in for a big disappointment. Maybe she wasn't as street-smart or "fly" as Ella, but she wasn't stupid, either. She knew exactly what he was after.
Men were all Barry Gordons, when it came right down to it. Or Michael Ericksons— the teenage boy who had fathered her, then abandoned her pregnant mother, Clare Frost, without a backward glance. Dangerous was no different.
"Closed down? Hey, this is Costa Rica! Home of the all-night disco. Besides, the piano bar stays open till two," he coaxed.
His half smile made her wonder if he'd guessed what she was thinking.
"You'll be quite safe. Scout's honor," he added in a husky voice, confirming that he had.
"Safe! I'm not afraid of you," she insisted.
"No? Then say yes," he challenged, his blue eyes twinkling in the torchlight.
She hesitated, torn.
The new Sydnee Frost, the one who ate chocolates, wore daring swimsuits, and went for moonlit swims, still wasn't the sort of woman who accepted invitations to bars from dangerous men after midnight. Especially invitations that sounded more like the first move in a seduction than a social drink!
Then again, the old Sydnee Frost— the one the world usually saw, hidden behind thick horn-rimmed glasses, frumpy, baggy clothes, and a mountain of insecurity— would never have been given an invitation like that in the first place!
"All right. Maybe just a small drink," she heard herself say. Another woman— one with a throaty, sexy voice— had taken over her vocal cords.
"But I need to shower and dry off first, okay? How does fifteen minutes sound? Meet you in the piano bar…?"
His smile broadened from ear to ear. "It's a date."
She could feel his eyes on her hips and rear as she climbed the steps to the deck and retrieved the sarong.
Acutely aware that he was watching her every move, she wrapped it around her, stepped into the sandals, and scooped up her glasses and towel.
"Fifteen minutes," he called after her.
"I'll be there."
Chapter Five
It must have been close to two A.M. when he asked her to dance. By then she felt as if she'd known him forever.
"I'd love to," she murmured.
Taking her hand, he led her over to the open area of the bar, where another couple was already swaying languidly to the piano music.
This, she realized as Dangerous drew her against him, was where she'd wanted to be all along.
In his arms.
The past two hours had been time wasted, sipping drinks she was pretty sure neither of them wanted, when all the time she had ached for him to hold her. To feel those vivid blue eyes, darkened now with desire, caress her. To feel their bodies swaying lazily to the sultry Latin beat.
Dancing with this man, the way he looked at her, held her, was as exciting as making love.
His corded arms were clasped loosely around her. The top of her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. Her hands were clasped around his neck, riffling the soft black waves that curled over his collar as they swayed.
This close to him, she could smell his citrus aftershave and the soapy yet earthy male scent of his body. And when his hard hips and thighs brushed against her pelvis, she knew that he was aroused. That she had aroused him.
He wanted her. Sydnee Anne Frost.
And she, God help her, wanted him.
Being this close, moving her body in time to his and to the tinkling piano music, did crazy things to her pulse. And when he stroked the small of her back or caressed her shoulders, she longed to feel his touch on her breasts. Imagined his hand there, tanned and strong against her pale skin…
The thought made her nipples so very hard, so intensely sensitive, she shivered.
Oh, she had them, all right— had them bad! A classic case of "the hots" that was hot enough to melt all the chocolate in Costa Rica.
Why? she asked herself, shivering
as his lips nuzzled her hair, her throat. Goose bumps prickled down her arms as his warm breath teased her ears. Why me? Why now? Why him?
She certainly couldn't blame it on a virgin pina colada. Nor on the feel-good endorphins of a solitary chocolate. Or could she?
No way. Some other strange chemistry was at work here. Something she couldn't explain, but whose tug was— or so it seemed— impossible to resist, even if she wanted to. Which she didn't…
If Dark and Dangerous wanted to take her to bed on the strength of their two-hour relationship, she just might go along, she thought impulsively.
Sighing, she rested her cheek against his chest, both of them swaying to the music.
If he invited her up to his room on the strength of a two-hour relationship, would she sleep with him? he wondered as he dipped his dark head. Her creamy blond hair smelled like flowers as he nuzzled her ear.
It wasn't a case of being a player. Or a man who got off on making nightly conquests.
That wasn't his style.
It was simply that he found her… irresistible.
"Hmm. You smell wonderful. What's that perfume?" he asked, his voice low and caressing.
"Me," she told him, looking apologetic.
"No perfume?"
"Nooo. I'm not wearing anything. I mean, wearing any."
He made a low sound, and held her a little closer.
"I'm not wearing anything," she'd said. Her little slip of the tongue played merry hell with his imagination.
He hadn't felt this steamed up about a woman since college, when he was a horny teenager playing quarterback for the Big Red.
And yet, there was more to it than simple lust. Way more than the prelude to a brief fling. So maybe it was the start to…
No.
He wouldn't tempt fate by saying it, or even thinking it.
He would just let whatever was going to happen, happen.
"A penny for them," he murmured, stroking a soft wave of creamy blond hair off her cheek as he looked down at her.
Her head was cocked to one side as she looked up at him, beautiful big green eyes fixed solemnly on him as she listened— really listened.
"I was just thinking that I really enjoyed talking to you tonight."
He nodded. "The way I see it, I was doing all of the talking," he murmured ruefully. "You listened, and you didn't yawn once." He smiled. "For that, I thank you."
It was only the truth. Her absorption in everything he said was— well, flattering. And God knows, he'd said plenty by the time he was through. More than he'd shared with his secretary or his business associates of several years.
Making love to the beautiful woman in his arms seemed like the next logical step. He sensed that they both wanted to.
Marcia would be flabbergasted when he told her, he thought, smiling. She'd been trying to fix him up for years.
"Your turn," she murmured. "What's funny?"
"Hmm?"
"You were smiling. What's so funny?"
"Us. My secretary will never believe this."
"Believe what?"
"You and me. The way you swam into my life. Like a mermaid!" His smile suddenly vanished. He was very serious, very sincere now. "I feel as if we've known each other forever— and yet we don't even know each other's name."
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she teased. But inside, she wasn't laughing. She couldn't bear to think he'd said it to anyone else.
"No," he murmured. His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer. "Not till now."
She bit her lip and looked up at him, her green eyes dreamy in the bar's low, romantic lighting. "I know. It's crazy," she began slowly, "but I feel it, too."
"Do you? Really?"
"Really," she murmured as he lowered his dark head.
Her heart fluttered. He was finally going to kiss her. She had been waiting for it. Expecting it. Wanting it.
She might faint if he kissed her, she thought shakily.
She'd scream if he didn't.
"Perfect…" he murmured a second before he touched his mouth to hers.
His lips ignited instant heat in her body, and stirred a fierce, sweet need for more. Her lips parted. Her fingers tightened in his hair. Yielding to some primitive instinct, she pressed herself against him.
Taking her hand, he led her from the dance floor into the shadows by the potted palms. There, he gathered her into his arms to finish what he'd started.
"I want to make love to you," he said when he broke away. His voice was thick with desire as he ran his fingertip over her faintly swollen lips in a gentle caress. His eyes darkened, turning a turbulent deep blue as he looked down at her upturned face in the moonlight. "You must know that?"
"Yes, oh, yes."
"I want you to know this hasn't happened before. Not like this. And never this fast."
"Me neither," she confessed, breathless.
He kissed her again, trailing hot lips down her throat to the shadowed hollows at its base. His warm fingers seemed to scorch her skin through the flowered silk as he cupped her breast with gentle pressure, molding it to his palm. She could feel his hardened manhood against her hip as he drew her to him.
Heat flooded through her.
"Please," she murmured, trembling and uncertain whether her legs could hold her. "Oh, please."
He stopped to kiss her again on their way to his room, more urgently this time.
Crowding her into a small, dark alcove, he cupped her face between his hands. His mouth came down over hers. Hungry. Fierce. Possessive. His kisses were dark and sensual, like bittersweet chocolate.
Once inside his suite— a luxury number twice the size of her own— he crowded her up against the door and kissed her again.
"Do you want to make love?" he asked raggedly, his eyes searching her face.
"Yes, oh, yes. Hurry. Please hurry."
"You're sure?" he asked. His outlaw's face was lean and hungry and, oh, so handsome in the shadows.
"Very sure."
"If you change your mind… if you want me to stop, anytime, just say so. I'll stop. We don't have to do this."
But she was every bit as eager as he.
"You're wrong. We do have to," she whispered. "We really, really do."
Reaching for the front of his shirt, she fumbled with the small buttons. After she'd pulled the shirttail out of his belt, she burrowed beneath the expensive fabric to stroke the warm skin of his chest and abdomen, his hard, flat belly, as he showered her with kisses.
"God, you're sweet. So damned sweet and sexy," he whispered hoarsely as he kissed her throat and shoulders. "Hmm, you drive me wild."
Hooking his fingers under her top's narrow straps, he dragged them down, off her shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides.
She closed her eyes, shivering as he dragged the flowered silk down to her waist, then planted kisses in the valley between her breasts.
For the first time in her life, she hadn't worn a bra. Trembling, she stood there, bare to the waist, her breasts full and heavy with desire. The small nipples had tightened at the brush of his fingers. They were flushed now, as hard as pebbles and exquisitely— almost painfully— sensitive to his touch.
Cupping her breasts in his tanned hands, he drew them into his mouth, one by one.
She gasped. Wildfire flickered from breast to belly as his tongue caressed the sensitive crests, teasing, tasting, gently biting until she swayed, her legs too weak to hold her.
With a low, incoherent sound, he carried her to the bed. There he stripped off her wraparound skirt with just a few efficient moves. Another, and he'd peeled off her rumpled silk top.
Underneath she wore only a tiny pair of panties. Lacy and white, they showed more than they concealed.
"Don't go away," he murmured thickly as he stood to tear off his unbuttoned shirt, his slacks and silk boxers.
When he stood naked at the foot of the bed, he looked like the carved statue of a Mayan god.
The god of viri
lity.
Tall and well muscled, he was deeply tanned, except for his buttocks and upper thighs, which were much paler than the rest of him in the lamp's golden glow.
He was also very much aroused.
His manhood jutted from his groin, large and fully erect.
"You're beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured, sliding his hand under the lacy white triangle to cup her mound.
"So are you," she admitted shyly. His bedroom voice, the hungry way he looked at her, the heat given off by his hand, made her shiver with pleasure.
"Let's get you out of these, hmm?"
He leaned over her. Slipping two fingers under the narrow waistband of her panties, he slowly drew the tiny garment down her thighs and long, slim legs.
It seemed to take forever for that tiny triangle of lace to reach her ankles.
Dangerous was like a man peeling the ribbon from a box of Valentine chocolates. He took his sweet, sweet time, playing with her, teasing her, taunting her as he bared her, inch by inch.
The lacy fabric glided lazily down her legs with just a whisper of sound, but Sydnee was too aroused to move.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Couldn't do a thing but lie there, holding her breath, feeling herself grow wet with longing for him to touch her there again. Ached for him to take her, make love to her, as the silk whispered over her toes.
At last, she sprawled on the bed before him completely nude. Every part of her was exposed to him and, oh, so very vulnerable…
Vulnerable to a perfect stranger.
What was she thinking? Why was she here like this with a man she knew nothing about? Had she gone crazy? Lost her mind? She didn't even know his name, for crying out loud!
Common sense said she should have been wary. But for some crazy, inexplicable reason, she trusted him not to hurt her. Knew instinctively that she was safe with this man. That, as he'd offered, he would stop if she asked him to.
The problem was, she didn't want him to stop. In his dark blue, blazing eyes she felt luscious, adored. Sexual. Sensual.
Nothing like the Sydnee who left New York just a day ago.
That Sydnee had been too busy denying her own needs. Too intent on pursuing the educational goals her embittered mother had set for her.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 25
