by Joan Kilby
Having another child to make up for the loss of her first one wasn’t fair on her next baby. And what about the guy, rushed into marriage to satisfy Emma’s longing for a family? It was a recipe for disaster for everyone concerned.
“I think you’re making a mistake—” He held up his hands at her glare. He would have to be a masochist to have this discussion again. “But what do I know? Just don’t settle for the first man who is willing to give you a baby. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Of course I won’t.” She paused. “What about you? I would have thought the ladies would be lining up once you were free. I thought you’d have a girlfriend by now.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“In other words, you’re here for sex.”
“Don’t make it sound so crass.” The opening bars of a salsa had Darcy swiveling to face the dance floor. “Women go on singles cruises looking for a fling, too.”
“Some are looking for a fling. Some are looking for the white picket fence.” Emma turned around and crossed her legs, the side slit in her dress revealing smooth bare thigh. She nodded discreetly at a woman wearing a modest dress, a frozen smile and a red hibiscus tucked behind one ear. “She’s searching for Mr. Right.”
“How can you tell?” Darcy was truly curious.
“She’s trying to look ‘fun’ and not pulling it off. She’s probably a librarian from the suburbs who never gets asked out. She came on the cruise hoping to meet a dentist or an accountant, someone respectable but not too challenging.”
Emma wasn’t that mean. She was only trying to wind him up. “She’s probably perfectly nice. I’ll bet she’s a great cook. And a good listener.”
“I bet she has five cats that she texts daily with twee messages. I bet she uses those old-fashioned dolls with crocheted skirts to hide toilet rolls.”
“My great-aunt Gladys makes those dolls.”
“I rest my case.” Emma sucked on her straw, slurping the liquid at the bottom of the glass. “The point is, would you want to have sex with her?”
“Aunt Gladys?” he asked innocently. At her exasperated look he conceded, “All right, I know what you mean. No, I probably wouldn’t be interested, not if you’re right about her wanting to settle down. Anyone out there take your fancy?” he added, prepared to hate whoever she picked on sight.
“Hmm.” She scanned the room. “That guy in the dark jacket, the one with the gelled hair.”
“Are you kidding me? He looks like a serial killer.”
“He’s cute. Harmless.”
“Your children would look like Ted Bundy.”
The band segued into a samba. Darcy’s feet tapped restlessly on the rung of his stool. Almost more than wanting to have sex—although that was top of his list—he wanted to dance again after a drought of over a year and a half. The best partner he’d ever had was sitting beside him.
She gathered her clutch purse. “I’ll get out of your way. You don’t want me to cramp your style.”
“Hang on.” Would it be wrong to dance with Emma one more time? She tensed, half-off the stool. How would he put this so she didn’t get the idea he was interested in anything more? “If we dance together, everyone would see how great we are. You’d have your pick of the men after that.”
She gave him a dry glance. “No false modesty.”
“No point. We’re good and we know it.” Latin dance might be the only thing they did well together anymore but they could outshine anyone.
Still she hesitated. He understood her wariness. With them, an evening of Latin dancing invariably led to sex. That wasn’t his intention tonight. No, sir, not going down that road again.
He hopped off his stool and held out his hand. “It’s only a dance. Promise.”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “One dance. For old time’s sake.”
Darcy led her into a clear space on the floor, spun her around and then pulled her in close. Excitement thrummed through his blood. Emma locked gazes with him, their faces mere inches away. With their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, they moved as one to the sensual, hypnotic, intensely erotic beat. Emma’s body twisted and turned, her breasts and hips swiveling in opposite directions. The rest of the room faded away....
The music ended with a flourish. Emma flung her arm out and bent backward, her head falling back dramatically. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Applause brought Darcy’s attention to the room. The dance floor had cleared around them. Someone whistled.
“You’ve still got it, babe.” Darcy pulled her upright. Nodding to the ring of admiring men and women, he added, “You can take your pick. I don’t trust Ted Bundy. Just my opinion, of course.”
The music segued into a salsa. He stepped away and reluctantly let go of her hand.
Emma’s eyes sparkled. Perspiration gleamed on the upper curve of her breast. She captured his hand again. “Let’s not stop yet. One more?”
This was the old Emma, the woman he’d fallen in love with. He shouldn’t. It would be a mistake—for both of them. But he couldn’t resist either the invitation in her eyes or the moment of fun. What was the harm? One more dance then they would move on, Emma to begin searching for her next husband, him to find comfort for the night. With a grin he tucked her into the crook of his arm.
Of course he should have known it wouldn’t end with one dance. After the salsa came a lambada, hot and fast and sexy. Then a tango had them moving across the floor, arms outstretched, cheeks pressed together. Darcy gave up any pretence of looking for other partners. No way was he giving Emma up to some geek with two left feet. They belonged together—at least on the dance floor. At least for this one night.
And to think he’d almost refused to join the Latin dance class Emma had dragged him to at the community center the first year they were married. This wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d be interested in, but after three lessons he’d been hooked. After that they’d frequented the Latin clubs in the city, once even entering a contest and placing second.
The music segued into a rumba—the dance of love, and his and Emma’s favorite. Their hips moved sinuously, thrusting and retreating in a mock display of the sexual act. Damp tendrils of curling red hair framed Emma’s face. Her cheeks were flushed and a fine sheen of perspiration gave her face, chest and arms a glow. Hot. So hot. She pressed her butt against his groin and rotated her hips. It was a move they’d done countless times before. He was getting hard. He hoped she couldn’t feel him. This was only a dance, not a prelude to something more.
But the dance was bigger than both of them. He forgot himself, totally focused on Emma in his arms. The room became a blur. There was only the sexy beat of the music and the two of them moving in sync. When Emma spun to face him, blue eyes locked on his, her lips slightly parted, he knew she was aroused, too. Seeing her nipples stand out against the silky fabric of her dress, his blood heated to fever pitch.
The dance ended. Breathing hard, Darcy held on to Emma’s hand and hip, waiting for the next. She waited, too, trembling slightly. The bandleader spoke into the mike. They were taking a break. Back in twenty. People began to leave the dance floor, heading for the bar and the tables ringing the ballroom. Others streamed through the open doors onto the deck.
Emma gently disengaged from their dancer’s embrace. “I could use a glass of water.”
Darcy needed a cold shower. Hell, Niagara Falls might not be enough to put out the fire in his blood. He needed to put distance, physical and emotional, between himself and his ex-wife. This was the perfect opportunity to thank her for the dances and let her go gracefully.
Instead, he said, “Let’s go outside.”
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA HESITATED. She’d known the dance would be erotic. What she hadn’t expected was the emotional upwelling. This was the first time they’d danced together since Holly’s death, the first time they’d done anything that didn’t involve
grief and guilt. She’d been transported back in time to before, when she and Darcy had been deeply in love, innocently happy. How she missed, and longed for, those days.
Darcy’s black hair was slicked to his temples and his cheekbones slashed with red. His dark brown eyes were burning her up. It didn’t take much effort to picture him naked, in bed, broad bare shoulders, muscled chest and sheets twisted around his lean hips.
Her heart was still beating fast, not only because of the athletic dancing. Being in Darcy’s arms again, feeling him pressing against her brought back all the best parts of their marriage. In bed and on the dance floor they were hot and passionate. If they could have done nothing but rumba and make love they might still be together.
Tracey was at the bar with a couple of men, motioning her over. Emma should make an excuse to Darcy—bathroom, drink, anything to get away from him before she did something stupid. She was starting over, looking for someone new, someone to build a life with, have a home and a family. Darcy was her past, not her future.
If only his presence wasn’t so compelling. If only he wasn’t the only man on this cruise she’d like to spend time with. She heard herself say, “Fresh air would be nice.”
Outside, couples leaned against the railing, arms entwined, gazing at the moon spilling liquid silver across the inky waves. Ghostly gulls wheeled and soared into the night sky. Her heeled sandals ticked on the metal deck as Darcy led her past the others, seeking a secluded area.
She must be insane to hook up with him when she’d come on this cruise expressly to try and forget the man. But she’d also come to have fun. It had been too long since she’d laughed, or danced. Darcy was excitement on legs, a party in a pair of pants. If she were looking for a fling, if they didn’t have history, he would be her go-to guy.
Despite the way their marriage had ended—with anger and recriminations—she trusted and respected him...even if he was now cruising for casual sex. They’d met in the E.R. at the Frankston Hospital when he’d brought in a woman who’d been slipped a date-rape drug at his pub. Even though he hadn’t known the woman, he’d stayed till she was treated and personally called his friend Riley so she could report the matter to the police. When he’d asked Emma out she’d said yes right away. Guys as caring as Darcy didn’t come along every day.
That seemed a very long time ago. Since then Holly’s death and the aftermath had eaten away at their love until there was nothing left.
They rounded a bulkhead onto an empty stretch of deck. Nervous, she tugged her hand free and went to the rail. A warm wind pushed her hair every which way and lifted the skirt of her dress.
Darcy’s arms came around her from behind, sliding across her midriff below her breasts. Warm and solid—and yes, still aroused—he felt so good. She leaned away to tell him she couldn’t do this. After all the pain they’d gone through to extricate themselves from each other’s lives, it was a mistake. Before she could speak he kissed her behind the ear, sending tingles rippling across her skin.
“I’ve missed you,” Darcy murmured against her neck.
Her eyes shut, her chest aching. She’d missed him, too. More than she’d realized. Missed his humor and caring and strength. Plus, with Darcy she didn’t have to pretend to be happy. He knew what she’d been through even if they didn’t agree on where fault lay. Unlike a stranger, he wouldn’t ask awkward questions about her broken marriage or unwittingly probe deeper so she’d be forced to either lie or confess she’d lost a daughter in tragic circumstances. Someday she might heal enough to speak of Holly without bursting into tears. But not yet.
Darcy traced the curve of her waist with his fingers, sliding up to cup her breast. His hand was warm and alive, but he waited, allowing her time to decide if she wanted his touch. The needs of her flesh—and her emotional needs, too, if she was honest—overrode her good sense. She missed the comfort of being held. Missed, too, the mindless pleasure of sex. Those few moments in which she could blank out the gaping hole in her life left by Holly’s death.
She covered his hand with hers and pressed his fingers into her breast, pushing his thumb across her nipple. His sigh, deep as a groan, rippled through her, and she turned in his arms. His heart thudded against her chest as she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned up for a kiss.
Now there was nothing demure in her approach, or tender in his response. The kiss was hot, wet and deep, almost violent in their mutual need. Abstinence might not have made their hearts grow fonder but it fueled desire. Over the past year she’d had opportunities to sleep with men, but hadn’t. She’d thought her libido had crashed. Apparently not. All it had taken to resurrect it was Darcy. Scary thought.
“Em.” His voice was ragged. “I know I’m not what you need—”
“Shh, you’re what I want.” She dragged him down for another scorching kiss that left them both breathless. “For tonight, that is. This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together.”
“Hell, no,” he said vehemently.
She knew where she stood with him. There would be no coy handing over her phone number and wondering, hoping he would call. No worries that he would expect more than she was able to give. One night together and they’d be done. Almost as if it had never happened.
“My place or yours?” Darcy asked.
“Yours, if you’ve got a cabin to yourself. I’m sharing with Tracey.”
“This way.” He looped his arm around her waist and with his other hand, reached behind for the door to the passageway leading to cabins. “Is Tracey going to worry when you don’t come back to the ballroom?”
“Probably not. She’ll assume I met someone. The singles cruise was her idea,” Emma added in a burst of nervous chatter. Was she really going to sleep with Darcy? “She wanted to go to Vanuatu, but when I saw the Latin dance theme it was case closed as far as I was concerned.”
Darcy’s hand slid over her butt as she spoke, letting her know he wasn’t really interested in Tracey. His subtle squeeze reminded her of their courting days when he’d been so eager to get her to bed he couldn’t keep his hands off of her.
They weren’t courting now, she reminded herself. There would be no happily ever after. Tonight was simply about two people who knew each other better than anyone else, and who cared enough that they could give comfort and release, but who had too many issues to be together. She blinked against an unexpected pricking of her eyes. This wasn’t sad. It wasn’t.
He stopped in front of a door and slid his key card in the lock, then let her walk in first. He had a single cabin, cozy, but big enough for two people who wanted to get close. And impersonal enough that she wouldn’t associate the bed or the room with anything in their past.
She dropped her purse on the table and slid her arms around his neck for a kiss that instantly reignited her desire. He clasped both hands on her hips, pulling her tight to his, leaving her in no doubt he was ready, willing and able to satisfy her needs and wants.
Without thinking, she turned to let him unzip her dress. The pang hit her unexpectedly. This used to be a ritual, one of many small rites built up over their brief years of marriage.
His hands paused.
Was he remembering, too? “Something wrong?”
He pressed a kiss on the nape of her neck as he slid the zipper the rest of the way down. “Not a thing.”
The straps of her gown slipped over her shoulders and the dress puddled around her hips. With a hand on his shoulder for balance she stepped out of it and stood before him, slightly self-conscious in her high heels and brand-new violet lace bra and thong she’d ordered online from Victoria’s Secret. If there was an upside to being single with no kids, it was that now she had time for the gym. Months of working out showed in her toned arms and legs, and thinner waist.
Darcy’s eyes widened and he whistled under his breath. “You look amazing.” He stroked down her arms and took her hands in his, then raised their clasped hands to twirl her around, the better to admire her new figure.
<
br /> “Thanks. I’ve been working at it.”
“I’m honored to reap the benefits—even if I’m not your Mr. Right.” He made a wry grimace, as if to acknowledge that at one time, he had been, and yet had turned out to be so wrong.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk too much,” she said.
“Good idea.” Humming a rumba he locked eyes with her as he unbuttoned his shirt. His hips swiveled to the catchy Latin beat.
His mellow baritone and the smooth circular motion of his hips had her twitching in response. Swaying closer, she helped him with his pants, tugging them down his legs, leaving him in black knit boxers that clung to his muscled butt and hugged the thick bulge of his erection.
She hummed along as they reprised the tango in the confines of the cabin. With even less fabric between them the dance was almost unbearably sexy. Darcy’s hands whispered over her bare waist, spun her then brought her bottom in snug to his groin. Seeing them move together in the mirror was an added turn-on. Her nipples peaked against the lace, tender and aching to be sucked and touched. Between her legs she was wet and hot and heavy. Their steps slowed, became languorous and even more sensual. He kissed her neck, his breath hot on her skin. His hands slid around her front, one slipping inside her bra to mold her breast, one covering her mound. He pressed her against him, their hips moving to his increasingly breathless humming.
Emma closed her eyes, her hands roaming over herself, his legs, his arms, anywhere she could reach. She moaned as he slipped his fingers inside her panties and found the slippery folds of sensitive flesh. He eased back enough to drop his boxers and then his cock was nudging her from behind, seeking and finding her entrance while his fingers brought her tantalizingly close to climax. She sagged in his arms as her knees turned to jelly. He moved inside her, thrusting and whispering hot sexy things in her ear. He was close, too. She recognized the ragged state of his breathing and the tension in his muscles.
