by Joanne Rock
He couldn’t understand her fast shift from sex to Castine, but told himself that at least she wasn’t reading anything into what they’d just shared. Damon had been afraid she’d try and rope him into a deeper relationship that he wasn’t ready for, but that hardly seemed to be something he needed to worry about. If anything he was more offended at how she could seemingly write off what had just happened without a backward glance.
“That’s right. It’s all about the profile for you, isn’t it?”
“I’m a sociologist. I’m always interested in what motivates people to make choices in life.” Shrugging, she retrieved the tie to her cover-up—the one she’d threatened to tie him up with—and threaded it around her waist. “I chose a career that lets me put those interests to work.”
“So what are you going to do in town now that your dating prospect fell through?” He picked up his shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “Did you leave any time in your schedule for a few days at the beach?”
Her eyes followed him as he dressed, the visual caress making him hot for her all over again.
“Yes. But since I can’t blog about my dating experiences here, I decided to blog about the local singles scene in Puerto Rico for a special feature. I thought I’d try to visit some unusual places to draw extra traffic.”
“Ah.” He hated the idea of her hitting the nightspots on her own. What if Castine followed her? “For a woman who’s no stranger to the clubs, I’m surprised you didn’t know a few tricks for getting away from Castine’s octopus hold last night.”
“I didn’t think I’d need to break out the jujitsu for a date that went through the system.” She slid off the bed and retrieved a silver hairbrush from a nightstand.
“The all-mighty dating computer knows best,” he muttered, stepping into his loafers.
“Could you be any more skeptical?”
“Not with my job.” Buckling his belt, he met her clear blue gaze. “In my line of work I tend to see the worst side of human nature. The pirates and drug runners. The human traffickers. So I can’t understand why an intelligent woman would take it on faith that some blind date she meets on foreign terrain is going be on the up-and-up. If you ask me, the only kind of guy who would use a service like that is looking for someone vulnerable anyhow.”
“Excuse me?” She set down her hairbrush, her body going still inside the gauzy white cover-up she’d managed to keep on the whole time they’d been rolling around the bed.
Damon sensed the indignation in her voice, but he’d never hidden who he was, and he wouldn’t start for the sake of a woman who left her dating decisions to the auspices of an electronic device.
“Face it, Lacey. The guys who hit up the dating services can’t meet women on their own because they can’t conform to the traditional system. They don’t have the finesse or the patience to work through a woman’s natural support systems of family and friends, so they take the easy way out and wait for a woman to be handed to them. That’s the lazy approach. And if you ask me, that kind of guy isn’t in it for meaningful conversation. He’s there for a quick hook-up.”
“I can’t believe I just slept with a man who thinks so little of what I do.” She fisted her hands and jammed them onto her hips, her body radiating pissed-off tension. “Actually, you’re the only man I’ve slept with shortly after meeting, and I didn’t meet you through a matchmaking service. As far as I can tell, that makes you the lazy one looking for an easy hook-up, not the guys I’ve been paired with by the computer who actually share things in common with me.”
“Lacey—”
She lifted a hand to halt any interruption. Apparently she was only just warming up.
“No. I want you to hear me out. I came here to test out a new matchmaking system and I found a big freaking flaw, so I can hardly stand here and say my program is perfect. But I can tell you that I put it in place in an effort to avoid confrontations like this, where two people who don’t understand each other at all are faced with wading through an awkward postcoital conversation because they jumped into a relationship based on absolutely nothing more than sexual attraction.”
The fire in her eyes defied him to argue the point.
And really, how could he? He couldn’t explain what drew them together any better than she could.
“Fair enough.” He hated walking away from her like this, but he didn’t know what to say, and he’d already done what he came here to do—ensure she knew to stay away from Castine. “For what it’s worth, I think attraction occurs for a reason. Sometimes it’s an indication that two people have things in common under the surface of sexual chemistry.”
She quirked an eyebrow, standing her ground by the watercolor painting of a local seascape.
“But there has to be some effort by both parties to do that, don’t you think? It’s tough to find common ground when both sides come out swinging.”
Had he done that?
He didn’t want to think he’d pushed her away just for the hell of it—or for reasons he didn’t really understand. But since he wasn’t looking for a relationship anyhow and it never paid to let emotions get tangled up in anything work related, the wisest course of action would be to get out of her room before he did something incomprehensible like get her naked all over again.
Strangely, the impulse was there even while the air crackled with fighting words.
“Let me know if you need anything while you’re down here.” He brushed a quick kiss across her lips and then slowed himself, needing one last taste of her.
She pulled away. Cool. Ticked off.
“You’d better go.”
“You’ll find more nightlife in San Juan anyhow,” he returned, trying to convince himself as much as her. He drew back, knowing a rebuff when he saw it.
Just as well, right?
But no matter how much space he put between him and Lacey Sutherland, he wouldn’t be able to truly walk away until he knew for sure she was safe from whatever Nicholas Castine had in mind.
Chapter 5
IF LACEY HAD BEEN a romantic, she might have thought the world seemed more beautiful in the wake of sex with Damon Craig. But it was only her body that felt marvelous in the aftermath.
Her brain? Not so much.
Her practical nature told her that the world was more beautiful today because she sat on one of the most gorgeous beaches on the globe on an island that boasted an average temperature of eighty-three degrees at this time of year. So the turquoise water sparkling in a protected natural pool at her feet was simply a product of fortuitous climate and geographical conditions. And the small rock formations that created the pool were merely a lovely happenstance that buffered Playa del Vega Baja from the Atlantic’s enthusiastic waves.
She dug her toes deeper in the sand and told herself that it was nature making her skin flush with pleasure under the warm sun and sensitizing her erogenous zones to the caress of tropical breezes filtering through the nearby palm trees. It didn’t have one damn thing to do with Damon Craig.
Or so she fervently hoped.
She would be going back home in a few days, while the hot lieutenant would remain stationed right here. Too far away for a relationship that she hadn’t been looking for anyhow.
Forcing her thoughts back to her planned visits to singles bars, Lacey worked on unique angles for each of the upcoming blog articles. Without knowing what the clubs had to offer, she wasn’t sure what direction her content would take. But she hoped to touch on a gamut of issues for everyone from the romantics to the bedroom thrill seekers, all of whom converged on the singles scene every night. She needed something compelling since her idea for tracking her personal dating progress with Nicholas had fallen through in a big way.
A wet dog ran past her on the beach, a stick in its mouth from a game of fetch with its owner. Lacey watched it lay the prize at a young man’s feet and thought about calling her sister.
Laura had become Lacey’s counterpoint in her career, with a more fre
e-wheeling perspective on dating that directly opposed hers and kept their debates lively. They’d always had a strained relationship, but the recent competition had made things both better and worse as the stakes had increased. Sure, they had a lot to discuss, but there were only so many paying clients to fuel both their businesses.
Somehow, Lacey didn’t think the current dynamic was healthy for a sister-sister relationship any more than it would be good for a male-female relationship, but to bow out of the month-long contest now would make her look like a poor sport, since no one could deny she was coming up short in the satisfaction surveys.
Lacey was no closer to figuring out that X factor missing from her matchmaking program, the layer of chemistry that attracted people in addition to making them practical life partners. She had hoped her time in a hotel room with Damon Craig would teach her all she needed to know, but in spite of experiencing the heady stuff to the nth degree, she was no closer to pinning down the components for physical attraction.
People called it “chemistry” but there didn’t seem to be one damn scientific thing about it.
“Would you like to buy a necklace, señora?”
A heavily accented voice startled Lacey from her thoughts and she turned to find a slim Puerto Rican woman with a knapsack on her shoulder and a fistful of simple, handmade jewelry.
“Um…” Lacey hesitated, tempted to buy something if only for the sake of distracting herself from her failing work and her frequent thoughts of Damon Craig. “I guess I’d better not.”
The woman removed a pair of oversize sunglasses from her tanned face. “You are surrounded by beauty here. Why not remind yourself of your trip with something equally pretty?”
She lifted the fistful of semiprecious stones strung on leather thongs in a variety of colors. Turquoise and quartz mingled with shells and coral.
“I’m not really here on vacation,” Lacey reasoned, thinking she’d already approached her trip to Puerto Rico a little too self-indulgently.
Memories of being pinned beneath a sexy Coastie fired across her synapses, burning the backs of her eyeballs with their heat.
The woman selling jewelry smiled. Kneeling down, she tucked the trinkets aside and settled herself in the sand.
“Then you have not discovered Puerto Rico.” She extended her arm and made a sweeping gesture toward the pristine beach and brilliant, aquamarine water. “You have come to paradise, señora. Do not leave our shores without letting it touch you.”
Lacey stilled inside for a moment, surprised to be taken to task by the jewelry woman. Determined to get back to her work in peace, Lacey reached for the merchant’s necklaces. Maybe a purchase of something would quiet the pithy wisdom that echoed the same damn thing she’d heard from both her sister and Damon.
There were shells and beads, stones and little vials that appeared to contain powder or—blood? No. Probably some kind of herbal concoction to keep away bad spirits or some such. If she asked about it, the woman would surely launch into a long explanation. So Lacey picked up a pretty, simple piece that looked like a smooth, white rock.
“How about one of the white ones. How much for that?” She’d glimpsed the type of stone before, but had automatically denied herself, since she really wasn’t a jewelry person. Her looks leaned more toward the average side and somehow, adorning herself with girly accessories had always struck her as a kind of false advertising.
“It is white turquoise. For you, twenty dollars.” The slender woman picked through the necklaces, her fingers covered in silver rings. She wore a simple black tank top and jeans in spite of the heat. Her forearms were inked with intricate tattoos wherever her long hair didn’t shield her skin.
“I’ll take one.” Lacey dug into her leather laptop bag, which she’d converted into a beach tote for the day. Bypassing her sunscreen and PDA, she found her wallet and withdrew a twenty.
“Gracias.” The wandering saleslady took the bill but hesitated before handing over the necklace. “You will wear this and think of Puerto Rico, no?”
Lacey stifled a sigh. She’d surely remember the way a total stranger had swept her off her feet in ten seconds flat, making her whole life’s work feel like a lie. How could she have had more dating success based on fate than on her new Connections system? The notion rankled even as it fueled her determination to do better. To put her years of study to work helping her clients.
“I will remember,” she promised, ducking while the woman’s ringed fingers lifted the necklace over Lacey’s head to drop the brown leather thong into place.
“Good. I am Tatiana and if you ever return to the beach, I will make you a special necklace. Just for you.” Rising to her feet, she plucked a small stone from a velvet pouch at her hip and handed it to Lacey. “This is my gift to you. A thank-you for buying my necklace. It is for good luck.”
Lacey took the stone, a shiny bit of uncut quartz.
“I could use some good luck.” She settled the stone on her beach blanket beside her and then tightened the leather thong on her necklace to shorten the cord. “Thank you, Tatiana.”
“De nada. May paradise bring you many blessings.” Smiling like a high priestess bestowing a benediction, the woman nodded before walking away, her flip-flops kicking up little clouds of sand as she hiked along the beach toward a cluster of teenage girls playing Frisbee.
Good luck and blessings? So far paradise had brought her a probable felon, a professional crisis and an unplanned sexual encounter with an intense man who had a major protector complex.
A man she never would have pegged for herself if she’d looked at their personalities on paper. But there was no denying she had the hots for Damon Craig. If she could find the formula for predicting what she’d found with Damon—a lust indicator to go along with the more substantive signs of compatibility—she’d generate more interest for Connections than her company had ever seen before.
Hell, she’d wipe her twin’s intuitive, quasi-astrology system right off the map. And while that had never been her main goal, beating Laura had become a matter of professional self-preservation at this point.
Tucking her laptop back in her bag, Lacey picked up her quartz and wrapped it in a tissue before finding a slot for it inside her case. She’d never been the superstitious kind any more than she’d ever been a romantic. And yet, there was no denying her luck was about to change if she could only convince Damon to cooperate with her on this one last project.
Truth be told, she couldn’t wait to see him again.
“THIS MISSION is going down the toilet and you’re out good-timing with some chick you met at the bar?”
Damon knew his CO well enough to know this was not the time to break into his tirade to clarify details about yesterday’s hotel encounter with Lacey. Somehow Commander Tom Stafford had heard about the events at Café Rosita’s, probably thanks to the eternally mouthy Enrique, and was none too pleased that Damon had put himself in the line of fire with Nicholas Castine. And that he’d done so over a woman.
Damon had sat in on a DOG briefing on base that morning. Intel hadn’t offered up anything new about the movement of drug shipments, so their unit was to continue routine flyovers of waters around Puerto Rico for now. But there were new reports of date-rape cases involving Castine’s amnesia drugs around town, making everyone antsy to nail the guy for good. Damon especially.
After the meeting, Stafford had cornered him on the tarmac near the hangar where Damon’s Dolphin—a short-range recovery helicopter—was housed. He was due for a recon mission of his own at fourteen hundred hours, and he needed to check over his aircraft.
“Care to explain why the hell you were in Rosita’s at the same time as our team’s primary target?” Stafford paused for air this time, indicating he was finally open to hearing a response.
In the distance, a chopper fired up for a routine mission over the Atlantic, the blades kicking up a soft breeze before they gathered speed. Other flyers on base did the routine stuff—the search an
d rescues, distress calls, shore patrol. Damon’s unit was specially tasked to the drug-running operation, a mission that had been months in the planning. He would only be stationed here for as long as the threat remained, then it was on to wherever the DOG group was called next.
“The bar in question is a longtime Coast Guard hangout, sir. I saw at least four other guys from this base while I was there.” Damon knew he wasn’t supposed to live and breathe the operation, but he had a tough time leaving this one behind at the end of the day. Drug runners pushed his buttons to start with. And Castine had crossed a line when he’d started groping innocent women.
“And you figured you’d just blend right in. Is that it?” Stafford shook his head, his craggy, sea-worn face weathered beyond his forty-five years. But then, the guy had been a fisherman’s kid before the Coast Guard. If rumor could be believed, the CO had been born shipboard during the roughest squall the Bering Strait had ever seen. He was one of those quiet types who rose through the ranks quickly, keeping to himself so much that his men were forced to fill in the blanks about his past.
He’d become a legend in his own time. A squintyeyed, pissed-off legend at the moment, but a mythic presence nonetheless.
“We’ve never received orders to stay away from our target.” In theory, Damon knew better than to argue, but he figured pointing out this fact might be important. He didn’t want to be the guy assigned to his desk when the time came to bring Castine in.
“Common sense says not to get in a pissing match over a woman with a person of interest,” Stafford returned, his steely gaze offering a warning more significant than the words he spoke.
“I thought at the time she might be involved in Castine’s network.” Damon knew no one in his unit would have complained if he’d brought forward a key contact to help further the mission. “But since she’s clean—”
“We need to make sure she’s not Castine’s next target.” The C.O. nodded, seemingly content that he’d been appropriately brought up to speed. “Just keep in mind you need to put the bigger mission above the call to play white knight. When this thing blows wide-open, I want you there to haul in this guy.”
