by V.K. Sykes
* * *
Nate made her spend the entire afternoon hacking away at a stupid white ball.
They hadn’t talked much more about her conversation with Detective Rich. There wasn’t a lot to say, and she was sick of talking about Lance Arnold anyway. Sick of thinking about him. She’d cried most of the tension out of her system—at least she hoped so—and now wanted to forget the man existed for the next couple of days. That was why she’d made the escape to Florida, wasn’t it?
Nate, probably thinking it would be fun—or at least distracting—had been adamant that she take the opportunity to get up close and personal with a set of golf clubs. She had no desire to play a game she thought was kind of stupid, but she wanted to please him so she’d gone along with it.
As they made their way around the course, with him enthusiastically encouraging her pathetic attempts to the hit the ball solidly or make a putt, she found herself reading messages into his behavior. He obviously wanted her to take up the game, and kept referring to future rounds they’d play at this course or that course. It had to mean he envisioned they’d be playing together well into the future. When she’d told him that she’d be a brutally slow learner and that he’d have to be extra patient with her, he’d grinned and said he was a very patient man.
Holly had really liked the sound of that.
By the end of eighteen, grueling holes, though, she was tired, hot, and grumpy, and felt like she’d made an utter fool of herself. But Nate simply hugged her and told her she was a real trouper.
She liked that a lot, too.
When they got back to the condo, they showered together and Nate instantly made her forget about her weary limbs. With startling ease, he brought her to a mind-numbing climax twice—first in the shower and then on top of the bed. She was glad to see all her tension and anxiety certainly hadn’t made her lose her libido. How could it, when Nate Carter had his hands on her?
She liked that the best.
Nate had made reservations for dinner at the Ritz-Carlton on Amelia Island, just an hour north of his place. Rather than driving up the faster but non-scenic interstate, they’d opted for A1A and the little ferry that crossed to the north side of the St. John’s River.
Now, as the boat moved away from the dock, Holly gave Nate a quick apology and got out of the car, dodging through the row of parked autos to look over the starboard railing. The sandy shores of a small state park stretched out in front of her. She smiled as memories of the park’s pristine beaches and quiet tidal lagoon came back to her. Seagulls and pelicans wheeled through the tangy sea air as the western sky over the wetlands put on a spectacular sunset show of magenta and gold. She inhaled a deep breath of sea air, the clean scent a sharp reminder of how much she missed the ocean.
Once the ferry docked, only an easy fifteen-minute drive through the marshlands to Amelia Island remained, and Nate made short work of the distance. As he pulled the BMW under the Ritz-Carlton’s portico, a uniformed valet rushed forward to hand him a ticket and a bellman helped Holly out, immediately asking if they were checking in. Regretfully, she said no, a real shame now that she thought about it. A romantic night at a beautiful seaside resort sounded like it would have been something close to heaven.
The maitre d’ at the Salt Grill, where they had their reservation, immediately recognized Nate and greeted them both with effusive warmth. He led them to a candle-lit table in the corner looking out toward the ocean, just a long stone’s throw away across the dunes. It was low tide, and the flat beach seemed to stretch out forever, indistinct with the sea as the two merged in a silvery-gray line.
The dinner turned out to be superb, as she’d expected, and they had a wonderful time talking about everything under the sun. She and Nate thought alike about a surprising number of things. And they had a lot of time to explore different subjects because it took them forever to eat their way through nine tasting courses. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered Holly one bit, but they had a long, twisty drive back to Ponte Vedra and both of them had consumed a little more alcohol than they should have. When Nate suggested an after-dinner drink, Holly waved her finger at him.
“Not a chance, you crazy man. In fact, I think we should get another cup of coffee and then head out. We can have a nightcap when we get home, if you want. And I’m going to drive, since the combination of your injured shoulder and your blood alcohol level doesn’t exactly inspire a passenger’s confidence.”
Nate, who by now obviously felt no pain, gave her a wolfish grin. “I’ve been thinking about that for a while, sweet stuff, and I’ve got a better idea,” he said, his Brooklyn accent becoming more pronounced by the minute. “Why don’t we just stay right here for the night?” Then he chuckled. “In a room, I mean.”
Holly arched her eyebrows in surprise. “I’d love to, of course, but we didn’t bring any extra clothes. Or anything at all.”
“Don’t worry about clothes. You saw the shops we passed as we came down the hall. Everything we might need we can buy right here in the hotel in the morning. The Ritz will give us toothpaste and brushes. We’ll be all set. No problem at all.”
She thought about it, but it felt like taking advantage of him. Still, it would be safer than driving home, and the idea of a sexy night at the beautiful resort certainly had its appeal. “But it sounds a little extravagant, Nate. If we do it, you should let me pay part of the bill.”
“Thanks, but forget that thought. Holly, you deserve a treat and I intend to give you one,” he said seriously.
“But you already have,” she protested.
“Sorry, babe. You’re just going to have to get used to being spoiled.” The look in his eyes dared her to challenge him, but the implication of his words thrilled her to her core.
“Well, I suppose when you put it like that,” she said. “Staying here is a wonderful idea. Thank you, Nate.” She gave him a grateful smile.
He winked at her. “Trust me when I say I’ll make sure you pay in several other ways.”
I certainly hope so. She gave him the sexiest smile she could muster. “Trust me when I say I’ll hold you to that.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said huskily, rising from his chair. “I’ll check us in at the desk. I don’t think there’ll be a problem getting a room.”
Holly followed him with an avid gaze as he left the restaurant. She’d never seen a man look better in a suit—all elegance, style, and power in the perfectly tailored, jet black Armani. But Nate was simply sex-on-a-stick no matter what he was wearing—a baseball uniform, jeans and a tee shirt, or a designer suit.
Every woman in the place obviously agreed with her, since they followed him with eyes that left little doubt as to what they were thinking. It still seemed incomprehensible to Holly that Nate desired her so much.
Incomprehensible, but indescribably thrilling.
