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Minute by Minute
Jo Leigh


Veterinarian Meg Becker has found the perfect man–online. Newspaper columnist Alex Rosten is funny, sexy–and only a mouse click away day or night. He's exactly what vulnerable Meg needs in her too-frantic life. Never mind that the safest sex is typing from the heart….Alex wants to take their relationship to the next level–meet face-to-face. A romantic at heart, he sends Meg a ticket to a gorgeous tropical island–a place that has starred in the nighttime fantasies of both.The cybersex has been great. But Alex is convinced you can't beat the touch and taste of the real thing. Yet what happens in the next twenty-four hours might just leave them both at a loss for words….









She couldn’t believe how much she wanted Alex…


Everything from his voice to the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled hit Meg where it counted. Yeah, it probably didn’t help that she hadn’t had sex since the Ice Age.



Time. That’s all she needed. Time to feel as if the man sprawled on her bed was the same man she liked so much online.



Meg felt her cheeks fill with heat. She’d told him so much about herself. They hadn’t actually had sex, of course. But the man definitely had a starring role in all her sexual fantasies.



Which they’d discussed. In detail.



She knew Alex liked things intense. That he was a very oral kind of guy. And that he had a thing for white panties.



Should she just pounce on him? It wasn’t her style. Not that she had an actual style, but jumping him after an hour and a half together seemed…excessive. So how long was enough? Four hours? Five?



Of course, she’d known him a year online. More than enough time, Meg thought, grinning. She might not jump him in the next ten minutes, but it wouldn’t be long….







Dear Reader,



I don’t know about you, but when I daydream about a perfect setting for romance, there’s always a beach involved. Soft breezes, warm sand, puffy white clouds and a gorgeous man in a hammock. That’s where I lived while writing Meg and Alex’s story for 24 HOURS: ISLAND FLING. Okay, so it was all in my imagination but surely that counts.



I got the idea for Minute by Minute because so many of my girlfriends have been meeting men online. The conversations have been intimate, revealing, enticing and very, very safe until they decide to meet in person. That’s when things get…interesting.



Was he telling the truth? Will he be as funny? As kind? As sexy? Will it be as easy to talk when you’re lying together in that hammock? There are so many things that can go right or wrong and it all comes down to the first 24 hours! So get ready for a wild ride, and don’t forget your piña colada!



I hope you enjoy all the books in the 24 HOURS: ISLAND FLING miniseries. And don’t forget to check out my Web site at www.joleigh.com.



Cheers,



Jo Leigh




Minute by Minute

Jo Leigh





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Cara and Kimberly,

for many hours of Island fun!




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue




Prologue


[DCWatcher] First…don’t be mad, Meg.



[MtnVet] Don’t be mad?



[DCWatcher] Yeah.



[MtnVet] About?



[DCWatcher] You need to go to the door.



[MtnVet] My door?



[DCWatcher] Ha, yes. Your front door. I’ll wait.



[MtnVet] Be right back.



[MtnVet] Alex, what is this?



[DCWatcher] Tell me what you got.



[MtnVet] Flowers. Beautiful, I might add. And a pretty big envelope.



[DCWatcher] I’m glad you like the flowers.



[MtnVet] Calla lilies are my favorites. You knew that, didn’t you?



[DCWatcher] I try to pay attention, Meg. Now, open the envelope.



[MtnVet] Alex????



[DCWatcher] It’s the island, Meg. I couldn’t believe it when I found it. It’s everything we talked about. The thatched bungalows, the scuba diving, the hammock in the palm trees.



[MtnVet] We were drunk. It was New Year’s Eve.



[DCWatcher] I know. I was there.



[MtnVet] It was a fantasy, Alex.



[DCWatcher] But it doesn’t have to be. What’s it been, a year now that we’ve been meeting online like this?



[MtnVet] About that, yeah.



[DCWatcher] So, here’s the deal. It’s your birthday today. You got me that incredible Mingus album on mine, and I wanted to do something special for you.



So when I found out about Escapades, I said what the hell.



[MtnVet] Alex, there’s an airline ticket in here. And a reservation.



[DCWatcher] Five days, four nights. And don’t worry. The bungalow has a loft with an extra bed and bathroom. I don’t want you feeling any pressure.



[DCWatcher] Meg, you still there?



[MtnVet] I am, but I don’t know what to say. We don’t even know each other. This is so extravagant.



[DCWatcher] We don’t know each other? What are you, nuts? I’ve told you more about myself than any other living human. And honey, the things I know about you…



[MtnVet] Yeah, yeah. I guess so. I have been incredibly indiscreet, haven’t I?



[DCWatcher] Don’t worry. I’ll never tell a living soul about your spanking fetish.



[MtnVet] Alex!!!



[DCWatcher] Just kidding.



[MtnVet] Jeez, tell a man one little fantasy.



[DCWatcher] Say yes, Meg. I know you need this break. You haven’t taken any time off for so long. I don’t know how you’re walking around, considering all you do.



[MtnVet] I know, but so soon? In two weeks? Oh, man, Valentine’s Day?



[DCWatcher] Don’t read anything into it. It’s when I could get the reservation.



[MtnVet] My ass. But it’s sweet anyway. Only, who’s going to fill in when I’m gone?



[DCWatcher] How about Scott?



[MtnVet] He didn’t get much out of his last stay here.



[DCWatcher] But maybe, if you’re gone, your loving patients and their owners will have to turn to him.



[MtnVet] I suppose.



[DCWatcher] Meg, you’re stalling. Listen to me. We both need this. I’m tired of just looking at that picture of you, although God knows, you look great. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice, listen to your laugh. It doesn’t have to go anywhere. Hell, it can’t. I’m in D.C., you’re in L.A. But for just five days and four nights, can’t the twain meet?



[MtnVet] The twain, huh? I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.



[DCWatcher] Man, do you have a dirty mind.



[MtnVet] Me? You’re one to talk.



[MtnVet] Would you really sleep in the loft?



[DCWatcher] If necessary.



[MtnVet] And this bungalow. It doesn’t have a TV?



[DCWatcher] Nope. But it does have room service. And a masseuse.



[MtnVet] Oh, God. That sounds like heaven.



[DCWatcher] So what are you waiting for?



[MtnVet] Alex, what if we hate each other on sight?



[DCWatcher] How could I hate you? You’re what I look forward to most every day. I leave the damn computer on all the time, just listening for that little tone announcing I’ve got mail. Don’t you get that by now?



[MtnVet] I’m grinning like an idiot here.



[DCWatcher] That’s a good start.



[MtnVet] And that picture of you in the Washington Post? You did say it was a recent one, yes?



[DCWatcher] Yep. If you weren’t sickened by that, we should be okay in person.



[MtnVet] Well…



[DCWatcher] Come on, woman. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?



[DCWatcher] Meg?



[MtnVet] Wait, I’m imagining the worst. It’s pretty horrible.



[DCWatcher] Tropical island. Warm breezes. Pure white sand on a private beach. Drinks with tiny umbrellas in them.



[MtnVet] Stop. I can’t stand it. Okay. Yes. I’ll go.



[DCWatcher] It was the umbrellas, wasn’t it?



[MtnVet] You do know me too well.



[DCWatcher] So for real? Yes?



[MtnVet] Yes. Wow.



[DCWatcher] Wow, indeed.




1


IT WAS NOON ON THE dot when the plane, a little propeller job that had flown so close to the ocean Meg could have jumped without a parachute, landed on the island. The view, of rocky cliffs, crystal clear blue waters, and vegetation so green it almost hurt, had stolen her breath, and she wondered if she’d ever get it back.

It didn’t help that she was scared spitless. Not about the plane; she loved puddle jumpers. He was, theoretically, already here. Since her birthday, she’d hardly been able to think of anything else. She was going to meet Alex Rosten in the flesh. After an entire year of talking to him online in private chats, they were going to be face-to-face in, like, thirty seconds.

Meg waited until everyone else had cleared the aisle, and then she got her travel bag from the overhead compartment. Her body fairly quivered with tension. Although she was trying to be very Zen about the whole experience, she was failing miserably. She wanted to like him. She wanted to be attracted to him. She wanted him to sweep her off her feet.

Problem was, she also wanted not to like him so much, to find him more a friend than a lover, and she needed to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

For a woman whose biggest single risk up to this point was going to UC Davis instead of UCLA, this little vacation was monumental.

Her whole life had been swallowed by her work. Since her father had died and left her his veterinary clinic in Diamond Canyon, she’d been working six days a week. But because she was always on call, time off was more a concept than a reality. Her only personal time was when she was online with Alex.

If they blew this, if the chemistry wasn’t there, then what? What would she do on those nights when by some mysterious grace he was there when she was there, and they talked until they both got stupid with tiredness? Until they laughed at the most ridiculous things ever?

She needed Alex. Needed to find him on the other end of the computer, needed the possibility that she’d find him. She’d been so fiercely protective of their relationship that they’d never even spoken on the phone. He’d asked, she’d debated, but in the end it seemed safer just to keep the status quo. Which this little trip shattered all to hell.

“May I help you, Miss?”

She turned to the steward, sharp in his khakis, thick eyebrows raised. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

She pulled up the handle on her case and rolled it toward the door. Would Alex be on the tarmac or inside? Would she know him immediately, and he know her? And, oh, God, was she supposed to kiss him? Hug? Shake hands?

Pushing her hair back behind her shoulders, she straightened, took a deep breath and stepped onto the portable steps.

Blinking in the tropical sunlight, she scanned the small group of people standing in front of the terminal. The heat hit her hard, not because it was so different from the cold Los Angeles winter but because her fear and anticipation had chilled her deeply. When she thought of the things she’d told him in the late hours, the fantasies she’d revealed in lurid detail…It was hard to breathe as her gaze went from one face to another.

He wasn’t there. The impatient noises behind her sent her forward. It was only eleven steps down, and not that far to enter the terminal, but she had to consciously make her legs move.

Maybe he’d chickened out. It was possible, right? She’d hear her name over the loudspeaker, a message at the desk.

Not likely. He’d sent her an e-mail yesterday with his flight information from Dulles. He’d sounded so excited. Which wasn’t fair. Shouldn’t he be sweating this, too? He probably figured in five days and four nights, he was bound to get lucky, so why worry? What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t see things in exactly the same way.

Going by his picture—well, pictures—he was a nice-looking guy. Although the photo of him from the Washington Post was too grainy to see him fully, when she’d Googled him, she’d found others. Him with politicians, him getting awards, him being important. He rarely smiled, but there’d been this one…He was alone, leaning against a brick wall, and he looked happy. She remembered finding that picture and thinking about his smile. Such a good smile. Not to mention his expressive eyes and his dark, thick hair. She already knew the most important things about him—that he had a great sense of humor, and that he was really smart, and kind. She should be filled with anticipation—good anticipation, not this sick dread.

If only she hadn’t been quite so open. If only she hadn’t told him all of her secrets…



HE SHOULD HAVE GONE outside. Alex ran a hand through his hair as he paced underneath the huge circular clock above the terminal doors. The plane had landed, and he knew she was out there, so what was he doing in here?

He was behaving like an idiot, like a teenager. At thirty-three, he’d had his share of blind dates, and he’d never given them a second thought. They’d clicked or they hadn’t. No sweat. Of course, he’d never been in a situation like this one.

He liked Meg more than anyone he’d met in a hell of a long time, but it was all online, and that wasn’t the truest test. Not by a long shot.

His buddy Craig had met a woman online. Through Match.com. They’d talked for three months. She’d lived in Brussels, and Craig had liked her so much he’d paid for her to move to D.C. It was a disaster.

She’d used him, lied, made up just about everything about herself, except for her name.

If Meg had done the same thing, Alex was screwed in more ways than one. Not just because they’d be in such close proximity for five days, but because, despite his best intentions, he had expectations. Which was always, always a mistake.

Don’t hope, you can’t get hurt, right? Everyone’s got their own agenda, and the smiles and the handshakes don’t mean shit. He’d been in Washington a long time, and he’d learned not to underestimate the depth of deception in the human heart.

No, he wasn’t going to think about D.C. He’d spent all day wondering how the press was reacting to his latest column. It was either going to be a scandal worthy of congressional investigation, or a blip on the radar, buried somewhere in the back pages. It was out of his hands.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, startling the woman next to him. He gave her a smile, then stepped out to meet Meg. And stopped.

Oh, Christ. She was perfect.



MEG BLINKED. It was him. She gripped the handle of her bag as she stared. He was so much more than she’d pictured. Taller. Darker hair. Brighter smile. And his eyes were filled with a pleasure she could hardly comprehend.

“Wow.”

“I’ll say.”

He laughed, and it did things to her insides. Then he took the few steps needed to be close. Close enough to touch. “Nice to meet you, Meg Becker.”

She grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.”

He looked at her. Really looked. First at her face, his eyes crinkling in the bright sunlight, then slowly down her body. He didn’t pause, but he didn’t rush.

She’d worn a pale green, sleeveless button-down blouse and beige capris. Comfort was her goal, as the trip from L.A. to Florida had been a long one, and then the hop to the island, of course. She’d left her hair down, and it occurred to her that she should have brushed it. Put on fresh lip gloss. At least checked to make sure her makeup hadn’t smeared.

When Alex’s gaze rose again, he didn’t seem displeased. Not if that incredible smile was any indication.

He had to be at least six feet tall. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and the softest looking shirt. The sleeves were rolled up a couple of turns, showing the dark hair, not too thick, on his arms. It wasn’t buttoned all the way up, either, so she could see the suggestion of hair on his chest. It made her want to touch him. Feel if his hair was as soft as the sleek cream shirt. If his chest was as hard as she hoped. Altogether, he was kinda built and surprisingly sexy.

She laughed. She wasn’t even sure why, except, oh, God, here she was on a tropical island with a man she was seeing for the very first time and they’d been together two seconds and already she wanted to plaster herself to his chest.

Alex laughed, too. It was a great sound. Deep, rich. Quite yummy. Lord, he had dimples. Not little teeny ones, but long commas next to the smile lines bracketing his mouth.

“There’s not a flight out until tomorrow,” he said, “so it’s too late to turn back now.”

“I don’t want to turn back.”

“Thank God. How about I take you to see the island?”

“Sounds great.” She stepped closer to him, expecting him to back up and lead her to her baggage, but he didn’t move. His eyes had softened, lost their humor but not their spark, and the smile that had been there since he’d opened the door drifted, leaving him with parted lips and a look that told her that no one was going to be using that loft, after all.




2


CHARLIE HANOVER LOWERED THE POST to his lap as he swung his leather chair around. He had a great view of the Washington Monument from his office and when it snowed like this he’d often sit and stare for long stretches, just letting his thoughts go where they may.

So Alex Rosten had officially gone ’round the bend. Charlie smiled, letting the moment have its due. That bastard Rosten had been a thorn in his side since college. Charlie didn’t care how many times Rosten denied it, he had been the one to start those rumors of plagiarism when they’d both been up for the Balakian Award. It was no coincidence that Alex had won.

Charlie figured he’d be done with Rosten after that, but no. They’d both been up for jobs at the Post at the same time, and, again, no coincidence, Alex had triumphed. But now that Charlie was covering Washington for the New York Times, Alex could kiss his ass. Although he didn’t have to now. With this column, Alex wouldn’t have a source left in Washington, or anywhere else for that matter, who’d give him the time of day.

Picking up the paper, he read the article again. He’d give Alex credit—he focused on his own errors of omission. He’d spilled the beans about Senator Allen’s birthday bash in Hawaii two years ago. The celebration had been an obscene display of wealth, with everything from barely dressed dancing girls to troughs of the most expensive champagne and caviar in the world. The total price tag had been in excess of two million, most of it taxpayer money. That little detail hadn’t hit the papers, even though there had been a large contingent of journalists sipping the bubbly and enjoying the view.

Charlie had been there. Had a great time. He’d gotten a dozen good columns out of that junket, and he had no regrets. You gave a little to get a little. That’s the way it worked in Washington. The way it would always work. But Alex, in a fit of ethical remorse, was now sorry he hadn’t reported about the misappropriation of funds. He admitted that while he’d suspected the money was tainted, he hadn’t dug further. Because, like Charlie, he’d gotten a lot of other juicy tidbits at that shindig. More than just the material for a number of political columns, he’d gotten the biggest single commodity on the Hill—information. The one currency that never loses its value.

According to Alex, he was no longer willing to trade information without full and immediate disclosure to the American people. Noble sentiment. But it would never work. It wasn’t how the game was played. Power was everything in Washington, and no bleeding heart would ever change that.

Charlie put the article away as his secretary stepped inside his office. “Talk to me.”

“Alex Rosten is gone,” Stephanie said. “On vacation.”

“Not surprising. Where?”

She frowned. “This is gonna cost you. I had to promise I’d go to dinner with that slimy creep at the Post.”

“Two three-day weekends?”

“Deal.”

“So?”

“He’s gone to an island in the Caribbean. To a resort called Escapades. And before you ask, I called around. There are no rooms at the inn.”

“Escapades, huh? Don’t worry about it. I know a guy. Get me everything we have on Rosten. I want to be out of here in two hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charlie turned to his computer, to his database. He didn’t know the owner of Escapades, but he had a buddy who did. And that buddy owed him, big time. Which is how the game was played. Only this time, Charlie was going to make sure Alex Rosten went down in flames.



ALEX HAD ONLY BEEN on the island a few hours, but that didn’t stop him from giving Meg a detailed tour. They were in a glorified golf cart, her luggage safely stowed in the back. The island was actually a pretty big place. On one side, the side with the airport, was a full-out luxury resort. They passed a large white hotel, curved and glittering and elegant. Near the hotel were several restaurants, a couple of pools, a spa, tennis courts and more. Everything a person could want, if a person wanted to be around people.

On the other side of the island, where he was taking her, were bungalows. Only twelve, all of them perched either in the seaside palm trees or right over the water. The one he’d booked was over the water. No restaurants, no pools. Just the bluest ocean on earth meeting the bluest skies in the heavens.

They had the use of the cart for the duration of their stay, which meant they could go wherever they chose easily, but he had high hopes that they wouldn’t be spending a lot of time at group activities.

“This is breathtaking,” Meg said, as they drove by one of the huge swimming pools.

“It’s got a swim-up bar. And I think that waterfall is actually a slide.”

“No kids.”

“One of the advantages of an adult resort. And it’s all-inclusive. You want a drink, they bring it to you. You can eat anywhere. The only thing they charge extra for is deep-sea fishing. Basically, you want it, you got it.”

She looked at him. “I want a whole lot.”

“Then we’re in the right place.”

Her smile lingered in his mind’s eye as she turned back to the scenery. He, on the other hand, had to figure out a way to stay calm. Cool. As if he didn’t want to jump her the moment they were in the bungalow. Hell, as if he didn’t want to do it right this second.

What the hell had she been thinking when she’d e-mailed him that picture? It didn’t come close to what she really looked like. Jeez, she’d caught him completely off guard. Dammit.

The woman was beautiful. She had long, really thick, almost black hair. It framed her face, and oh man, what a face. Dark brows, dark lashes and dark eyes. Pale, delicate skin. The contrast alone was worthy of epic poems.

She was taller than he’d expected, and he could see that all that yoga she talked about had paid off. Again, a mixture. Lean lines with fascinating curves just where they should be.

He couldn’t blow this. He hadn’t invited her to sex-apalooza. In fact, he’d gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make sure she felt completely at ease. But it was clear that if she didn’t want to sleep with him, he’d have to kill himself.

“Oh, God,” she said.

He followed her gaze to the first clear view of the beach. “This is nothing,” he said. “Wait till we get to the other side of the island. There’s a huge lagoon. And we have a lot more privacy where we’re staying.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded, wanting this part to be over already. It was awkward, the first steps of a new dance. He wanted it to be like when they were online. He could speed things up, take her right to the bungalow, but he’d promised her a tour, and she should have it. There was so much to do here, and even though he’d like to keep her to himself, this was her vacation.

Meg turned to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“What made you look for the island in the first place?”

“Aside from our fabulous New Year’s Eve conversation?”

“Yeah. Aside from that.”

He eased the cart around a few trees and toward the spa. The jungle was thicker here, and he thanked the timing gods that they’d made the trip in February, when the air was perfectly warm, but not too humid to breathe without a snorkel. “You weren’t home,” he said.

“Ah. Well, that clears everything up. Thanks.”

“It’s true.” God, he was glad she was as sarcastic live as she was online. “You weren’t home one night and I’d already written my column about the damn environmental bill I told you about. That idiot Thompson was just spoiling for me to say something that would upset—”

“Alex.”

He knew that tone, despite never having heard it before in his life. He had a tendency to get caught up in tangents, even on the computer, and Meg rarely let him get away with it. And now he could put the voice with the sentiment.

It seemed absurd that they’d never talked before. That this was their first meeting. On the other hand, why sit in the frying pan when you can jump right into the fire? “Right. I was seriously thinking about relocation at the time, and I figured an island worked for Gauguin, so why not me? So I surfed the web, and then I came across this island, and it was so much like what we’d talked about that, you know.”

“That you decided to spend an absurd amount of money so that we could meet here.”

“Basically, yeah. There’s the spa.” He pointed. “That whole building.”

“Is that your way of distracting me from follow-up questions?” she asked.

“No, that’s my way of saying there’s the spa.”

She looked at him. And damn if he didn’t recognize that look, too. Yeah, he’d never seen her, except for that surprisingly unflattering picture, but nonetheless.

“And about the questions. I told you. You can ask anything. I have no secrets,” he said.

“None?”

“Maybe one.”

“Which, of course, I’m going to have to get out of you before our time here is through,” Meg teased.

“Go for it.”

She grinned, then turned her attention to the spa.

The building was white, like the hotel, and it reminded him of the Greek Isles. Columns, open architecture, stark. A beautiful setting with ample views of the lush vegetation and the ocean. There were also some tents on the outskirts, more Roman than Greek, which were closed to their view. “Those are massage tents.”

Meg sighed. “I’ve dreamed of this. A real massage where I don’t have to think, or move, or do anything but make moany noises.”

“We can sign up right now.”

“Yes, please.”

He found the entrance and parked the cart under a nearby tree. Meg climbed out and he followed her up a series of marble steps, between two columns and into a spacious lobby. He hadn’t been to a lot of spas, but he’d read about this one, and it was supposed to be one of the best in the world.

A lovely older woman with silver hair smiled at them as they approached the marble desk. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to get a massage, please,” Meg said.

“Of course. We have a four-handed massage, with two therapists working on your body at the same time. Aromatherapy, of course, using some of the fruits and oils unique to the Caribbean. We have reflexology, Swedish massage, hot stone massage, a sports massage tailored to your needs, and of course, our famous couples massage.”

“Okay,” Meg said. “I’ll take one of each.”

The woman smiled. “How would you like me to book them?”

“I was kidding. I want them all, but I’ll take two—how’s that?”

“Whatever we can do to make your stay more relaxing. There are also hydrotherapy sessions, seaweed baths, mud baths, and a mineral salt bath.”

“Now that’s just being mean.”

Alex touched Meg’s arm, wanting to give her all those treatments himself. “Anything you want.”

“I can’t decide. Do you have a brochure?”

“Naturally,” she said, handing her the folded chart. “But keep in mind you need to give us some advance notice. What I can do is put you down on our wait list, and notify you when we have an opening.”

“That would be wonderful.”

While Meg wrote down her name and how long she’d be staying, Alex studied the picture that dominated the wall across from the desk. Maybe he was nuts, but it looked like a Monet. Or a Manet. He could never get them straight. Whichever, it looked like something that belonged in a museum. With the blues and greens and soft lilypads, it was as tranquil as the building, as the breeze.

Meg thanked the receptionist, and they turned to leave. She walked slowly, sniffing the air as she walked. “It’s amazing.”

“What?”

“The ocean scent. It’s all over the island. Everywhere.”

“I’m used to the East Coast waters, and I don’t remember this smell at all.”

“I don’t think it’s like the California beaches, either. Maybe Catalina, but not quite. It’s like the ocean mixed with flowers somehow. I wish I could bottle it and take it home with me.”

“If I could get that for you, I would.”

She stopped, smiled at him. “This is the best present ever. You know that, right?”

“I hope so.” He waited, thinking maybe this would turn into a moment. The thought of kissing her was right there, urging him to move, but he held back. The first kiss was going to have to be her call. After that all bets were off. It wasn’t easy, but it was right. He had to wait.

The way she hesitated made him think that she was considering the options. But she didn’t lean forward. All she did was smile. It was enough. For now, at least.

“Where do we sign up for the other stuff?”

“Back at the hotel.”

“Should we do that now? I’m just thinking the place is pretty crowded…”

“Absolutely. Let’s go.”

They walked together, matching rhythms as they went down the steps. Once they were in the cart, he turned around and back to the hotel. It was a little trickier to find a place to put the cart, but after driving a few minutes, he found a space. The crowds here made him glad he’d gotten the bungalow, where it was quiet and empty and far away from all these adoring couples.

The entrance to the hotel was even more ornate than the spa facilities. Big marble steps again, but this time there was a fountain that greeted them just before the open front doors. He’d been to Italy several times and he recognized the fountain. It was a smaller version of the Trevi. When they reached the edge, he looked down and found the bottom glittering with coins of all kinds.

“It’s like that movie,” Meg said.

“Right. Legend has it that if you toss a coin into the fountain, you’re destined to come back.”

“My wallet’s in the cart.”

He dug a quarter from his pocket. “Use this one.”

“Do I have to do something special? Say any magic words?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe turn around and toss it over your shoulder.”

“And make a wish?”

“Sure, why not.”

She did exactly that. Turned and closed her eyes. He could tell she was getting detailed about the wish, because it took some time, but eventually, the coin went over her shoulder and plopped into the water.

When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with pleasure. If nothing else came of this impromptu getaway, at least he’d given her this. A chance to escape from her brutal work schedule, a way to relax and just take it easy.

“Oh, the hell with it,” he said, coming up with another quarter. He turned his back on the fountain, wished in no uncertain terms that the next few days would be filled with a lot more than frolicking in the sand and getting massages from strangers. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard the coin splash down.

Meg seemed to think that was funny, which was okay with him. Damn, her laugh was great. But enough of wishing. He wanted to do the sign-up thing so he could take her to the bungalow.

He bowed toward the door. “After you.”

Tugging him by the shirt, she led the way, but they both slowed as they went inside. He’d heard about the decor here, and the lobby, more than anything else, told him the tales were true.

The interior was huge and elegant. The furniture was mostly rattan, and a dozen huge plantation ceiling fans made it feel like outdoors. Between the couches were glass-topped tables, most of them with large tropical flower arrangements. Like the spa, the art was all Impressionist paintings, damn good ones. If they were prints, they were the best he’d ever seen. If they were real, he couldn’t imagine the kind of security they’d need.

“I think that’s where we need to go.”

She was pointing at the concierge desk, which had a big Activities banner across the front. A nice-looking woman on the phone smiled at them and held out a clipboard.

Meg took it, and him, to a nearby couch. Alex sat, and then she sat. Close. Really close. Jesus, this was bad. This was really bad. He was way too aware of how much he wanted her, and it had been what, an hour? He could not go there. Not yet. There was time. Now if he could only convince his dick that it should chill.

“Wow, this is a lot of stuff.”

He looked at the list as she filled in their names. All major groups were included, from windsurfing to climbing a rock wall.

“Jet Skis. Cool.”

He could do Jet Skis. Anybody could do Jet Skis, right? “Great. Mark that one.”

“And scuba, of course,” she said.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Meg turned to him. “Are you certified?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I see.”

“I’ve watched reruns of Sea Hunt on Nick at Nite. Does that count?”

She grinned.

It wouldn’t do any good to be embarrassed. In fact, it was stupid, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to think he was the alpha male. All buff and strong and able to slay the woolly mammoth. Unfortunately, what he was really good at was conjugating verbs.

“What else?” she asked.

He looked down the list. “Volleyball?”

“I haven’t played since high school, but I really liked it. Let’s do it.” Her comment was punctuated by an audible tummy gurgle. Meg blushed, squinted her eyes.

“Okay, next on the tour will be food, yes?”

“Probably a good thing. The last food I had was hours and hours ago.”

“All right. Anything else you want to play?”

She looked at him as if he was going to slap her hand away from the cookie jar. “Do I have to decide it all right now?”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have to do a damn thing you don’t want to. Vacation, remember? All fun, all the time.”

“Good. Let’s get fed, and then…” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Then you can take me to the bungalow.”



MEG SAT AT THE LITTLE table, waiting for Alex to come back with their food. She’d ordered too much, but screw it, she was starving. Besides, everything smelled like heaven, and she was a fiend for fish tacos.

She looked behind her. There he stood, chatting with some tall cowboy guy, looking very fine and a wee bit impatient.

Meg was a lot of things, but dense wasn’t one of them. The vibes were there between her and Alex. Oh, yeah. And they definitely weren’t one-sided. She’d known back in L.A. that she was attracted to him, especially after seeing that one picture. But she’d had no idea she’d want him this much.

Everything from his voice to the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled hit her where it counted. Yeah, it probably didn’t help that she hadn’t had sex since the Ice Age, but that wasn’t the only thing going on.

The problem was that she had no clue what to do. Should she just pounce on him? Get the booty out of the way up front, and hope the spark built? While it was a fine idea, she wasn’t sure she could do it. It wasn’t her style. Not that she had an actual style, but boinking after an hour and a half wasn’t close. So how long was long enough? Four hours? Five?

Of course, if she counted all the online time they’d shared, she’d actually known him a year, which by anyone’s standards was more than enough time.

It just didn’t feel like a year.

If they’d said the exact same words to each other over a computer, she’d have been relaxed and cool as a cucumber. In person, not so much.

She wanted that comfort level back, and something told her it wasn’t going to happen in bed. It needed to happen when they were talking, going about the day. Then the bedroom thing would happen naturally. At least, that was her present theory. She reserved the right to change her mind whenever.

She turned back around. He’d be here soon, bearing food and drink, which was good. More talk had to be a step in the right direction.

In the meantime, she could look at the gorgeous view. The ocean wasn’t very far away. She had no sense of distance or direction, so she couldn’t say exactly how far, just that she could walk it in about five minutes. Alex had scored them a table right on the edge of the deck. She could almost forget that every other table was occupied with couples. Couples who touched. A lot. Kissing was also high on the agenda, with groping tailing by a hair.

It made her discomfort with Alex more acute, and looking at the ocean the best alternative.

God, it was stunning. She’d only seen pictures, and none of those had even hinted at how it would feel to actually be on that white sand, to smell that orgasmic scent. Even the breeze was something new. Slightly moist, a little salty, it lifted her hair and skimmed every available bare spot.

It would feel luscious to be nude here. To feel it all over.

A shadow on the table made her jump, and she turned to find Alex with a tray. She removed plates, napkins, forks, drinks. Then he put the tray away and came to sit next to her.

“This looks incredible,” she said, pulling her plate close.

He grabbed one of his tacos and bit into it with gusto.

She grinned and took a bite of her own. When she’d swallowed, she said, “Ambrosial.”

He nodded, but was too busy eating to respond.

Which was just fine. Sitting in the warm air, listening to distant metal drums, feeling the breeze and eating fantastic fish tacos, she felt something inside downshift.

She might not jump him in the next ten minutes or so, but that whole four-hour wait was beginning to feel a mite excessive.




3


“OH, ALEX. IT’S…”

He grinned as he drove their cart to a clearing that overlooked their beach, one he’d scoped out before she’d gotten there. Her reaction was exactly how he’d pictured it. Better. Her hand had gone to her chest—flat palm just under the sweet spot on her neck. It was a nice hand. No jewelry. Her short nails were neat and painted the palest pink.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said, scanning the magnificent vista.

“Wait till you see inside.”

She turned to him again. “You were thinking about relocating?”

“View now. Questions later.”

“Promise?” she said.

“There’s a phone but you don’t have to use it. There’s no TV. And I don’t think we can fill five whole days with scuba diving, so yeah. I promise.”

“I plan to be unbelievably intrusive. Rudely so,” she said.

“As long as we’re talking quid pro quo,” he said, thinking of all kinds of questions he’d like to ask her.

“Hmm.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked.

She put her hand on his arm. “You must stop that immediately.”

“What?”

“Asking me about the worst that can happen. I know it works for you. You say it, and in your head, the worst can’t possibly happen, because you’ve said the magic words. But they’re not magic for me. I do think about the worst, and I don’t just go for a quick visit. I linger. I buy new drapes.”

“Okay. Consider it done.” He’d never thought about that phrase, although he knew he used it often. For him, it was a pressure release. More of a saying than a practice. But clearly, for Meg it meant a lot more.

“Really?” she asked, her brows raising in surprise.

He nodded. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, and that’s the truth, too.”

She laughed.

“Now what?” he said.

“What I just said. What you just said.”

“That was funny?” Alex asked, sounding surprised.

“No. I don’t do that,” Meg stated.

“Talk?”

“No. Put it out there. Not until I know someone really well, and most of the time not even then. But we’ve been together for two hours, and I said what I meant. And,” she said, leaning toward him, widening those beautiful eyes, “nothing horrible happened.”

He looked at her so long he almost crashed into a palm tree. But once they were steady on the path again, he nodded. “You know what?”

“What?” she asked.

“This is gonna be interesting.”



THE BUNGALOW WAS something out of a dream. Thatched roof, wooden steps leading up to a balcony. The ocean as pure and clear as if it had just been made.

With the scented breeze nudging her hair, teasing her skin, she let Alex tackle her big suitcase while she grabbed her small one. Her sandals clicked on the boardwalk as she stared down into the water, watching a little something dart behind a slightly bigger something.

When she stepped up onto the balcony, she was torn between seeing what treats lay inside and just standing there breathless with wonder.

It was the brush of his hand on the small of her back that made her decision, and after a shiver of sheer happiness, she went the rest of the way inside.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

His chuckle, rumbling, deep, was the perfect first sound in this perfect paradise. Shiny, geometric patterns of wood made up the floor and the walls. The staircase to the loft was made of thicker wood, like flattened tree branches. Windows opened to the ocean, to the white sand.

Then there was the bed. It was right out of a Humphrey Bogart movie, complete with white mosquito netting and lush white pillows on top of an obscenely thick comforter. The couch, a rattan affair with thick blue cushions, looked inviting and comfy, and everything, everything smelled of the sea.

“You like?” he asked.

She turned. Alex stood with his arms across his chest, like the inventor of the wheel. His dark brows lifted and his teasing lips blossomed into a full-out, take-no-prisoners grin. She couldn’t grin any harder herself. Her cheeks actually ached from the attempt. “It’s heaven.”

He rose up on the balls of his feet. “Damn straight.”

How could she resist? He couldn’t even stay on the ground, he was so pleased. She walked right up to him, looked into eyes that were dark blue, not brown, and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “It’s hard to believe it’s real.”

“Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s still New Year’s Eve and we’re still drunk.”

“That would explain so much,” Meg said, leaning in. And then her lips met his. Softly. Learning. Slightly parted.

His breath snuck inside, and it was sweet and a little minty. She felt his hand slip to her waist, but there was no pressure, just contact.

She moved closer, parting her lips. He followed her lead, not forcing anything. Until she licked his bottom lip. Then he pulled her tight against him, from breast to thigh, and the kiss went from sweet to hot in one blazing second.

Meg froze. Just…froze.

Alex, to his credit, backed off immediately. Even more to his credit, he didn’t seem the least freaked that she’d freaked. He smiled, tilted his head to the right, but he only said, “Why don’t you get unpacked? Check out the room, and don’t forget to look at the guest services book. Remember,” he added pointedly, “anything you want, anytime you want it.”

“Thanks, Alex,” she said. She went to her big suitcase and hauled it up to the bed. “Where will you be?”

He gestured upstairs. “Figured I’d put on some trunks. Get ready for some fun on the beach. Come back down when you’re done.”

She watched him walk up the wooden staircase, her gaze moving down from his shoulders to his waist, to his long legs. As soon as he disappeared, she sat down with a whuff.

The kiss had gobsmacked her in a major way. A normal person would have been pleased. Would have wanted more. Would have shouted yippee from the roof. But no. Not her.

It hadn’t been that long, had it? She’d gone out just last…

Spring.

God, she was such an incredible loser. Instead of finding herself a nice, hunky guy to share her bed, what did she do? Slept with a three-legged Labrador retriever and a blind cat. Yeah. That was healthy.

The good news was she still had time to get her act together. Alex didn’t seem upset, or even that surprised, which worked in her favor. The bad news was, what the hell was her problem?

She stood and unzipped her suitcase, amused at how much she’d packed. She could have fit the necessary clothing in her overnight case. She wouldn’t be needing her jeans, or much of anything but her bathing suits and sundresses.

It made putting things away a lot easier. All her makeup, which she didn’t even think she’d use, was in one case. Her hairbrush and dryer, another. And then there was the large, economy box of condoms she’d picked up in a haze of optimism.

Time. That’s all she needed. Time to feel as if the man in the bungalow was the same man she liked so much. That she knew so well.

That knew her.

Holy crap, she’d told him so much about herself.

She felt her cheeks fill with heat. They hadn’t actually had cyber sex. Not really. But the man definitely had a starring role in a lot of her fantasies.

Which they’d discussed. In detail.

Not him, per se, but the fantasies? Oh, yeah.

She knew he liked things intense. That he preferred women who gave as good as they got. That he was a very oral kind of guy. And that he had a thing for white panties.

He knew that her tastes weren’t exactly vanilla.

She looked at the box of condoms. She should have wished for courage at that fountain.



ALEX SPLASHED MORE WATER on his face, then leaned on his arms while he dripped into the sink.

He was in trouble. The kind that reminded him of what it had been like to be seventeen. It had sucked. He’d had no control over his dick, he’d been tongue-tied and stupid, and he’d stuttered when he was around women. Make that any woman. Except his mother and his aunt Esther. Theoretically, he’d outgrown that stage of development.

He raised his gaze to the beveled mirror. He wasn’t a kid anymore, not by a long shot. He was a professional. Maybe that should be ex-professional, but still. He’d won prizes. So why was he feeling like…Like he was seventeen again?

He was pretty damn sure he hadn’t been a jerk with her. Yeah, he’d kissed her, but she started it.

Oh, yeah. Mature. That was him all over.

They had five days. Five days to talk, to let her feel comfortable with him, to get to know each other. But damn, he wanted her.

She knew things about him that he’d never told anyone. Not even Ellen. And he’d been in love with Ellen. At least, he used to think so.

Now, he wasn’t sure. About Ellen, about his work, about his whole goddamn life. What he was sure about was this. Bringing Meg here. Getting away from everything that screwed with both their heads.

And he’d do whatever it took to make sure that it went perfectly. Even if that meant he’d have to suffer.

He laughed at himself. Loudly. Suffer? Please. He was in paradise with a gorgeous woman who got his jokes. Even if they never…

Ah, bullshit. She wanted him. She just didn’t know it yet.

“What’s so funny?” she asked softly.

He turned, and there she was. He hadn’t even heard her come upstairs. She’d pulled her glorious mane back into a loose ponytail, which made her look, however improbably, more beautiful. She had this flimsy little scarf thing on that couldn’t hide the itsy-bitsy bikini underneath.

Seventeen was generous. He was all the way back at the first day of puberty. “What?”

“You were laughing. I heard you down the stairs.”

“Remembering an old joke,” he said, lame as that was.

“I’d like to hear it,” she persisted.

“You’re too young, and we need to go to the beach,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“A moral imperative?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Then I suggest you get out of those jeans,” she teased.

Alex blinked. Then kicked the bathroom door shut.



MEG LOOKED AROUND the loft, searching for clues. She ran her hand down her thigh as she wandered to his bed. Actually, the bedside table. There was a book there, facedown, and she had to pick it up, see what he was reading. Up Country by Nelson DeMille. She liked DeMille, but she hadn’t known Alex did.

What she did know was his taste in music. Jazz. Obscure jazz, on vinyl, to be precise. It was how they’d met.

Next to the book was a portable CD player, and when she flipped it open, she smiled. Art Tatum. She had this exact LP, and they’d listened to it together, him in D.C., her in L.A., while they’d typed to each other.

Her father had been a collector. He’d loved the big bands. There were rare days, days when he was actually home, that she’d walk into the living room to find the music blaring on their ancient hi-fi, and her parents doing the Lindy Hop, with wide, bright smiles on their faces.

She’d first learned to dance by standing on her father’s shoes as he’d moved her around the room. Jazz had been her childhood soundtrack, and hearing certain songs, even now, brought her right back to the moments, large and small, of growing up with her slightly nutty folks.

After her father died, leaving her his practice, she’d gone back to that old love. She’d searched for others who shared the passion. That’s where she’d first run into Alex. In a chat room for jazz fans.

He was a collector also, and at first, their conversations had been exclusively jazz-centric. He wasn’t so much into the big bands as he was the singers. Billie Holiday. Cab Calloway. But they’d understood each other, right from the get-go. They had this shared language, which made the conversations flow.

Then they started chatting about other things. He lived such an interesting life. As a columnist for the Washington Post, he was at the cutting edge of politics, and damn, he wasn’t afraid to say what he felt. That was one of the things she liked most about him. She never had to wonder.

Her life seemed so mundane in comparison, but he always wanted to hear her stories. Her practice was more like the veterinarians of old, or at least of small towns. She treated everything from hamsters to llamas. On her mountain, an enclave of ex-hippies and old coots, there was every kind of creature, and she was the only vet. The only one they trusted, at least. Because her beloved father had trusted her, and that was sacrosanct.

She checked Alex’s bathroom door. It was still shut, and she wondered what the hell was taking him so long. All he had to do was put on some trunks. Then she turned back, wondering if she dared open the drawer. It was a pretty nosy thing to do. She wouldn’t care for it one bit if he invaded her space like that. But then, she’d never said she was fair.

She did it. She opened the drawer really carefully, even knowing the door behind her could open the next second. And she burst out laughing.

Condoms. The exact same brand that she’d put in the exact same drawer next to her bed.

She covered her mouth to muffle the sound when the door opened behind her. Spinning around, she shoved the drawer closed with her hip and tried to look innocent.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” she asked back.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m just warm.”

He walked toward her slowly, studying her far too intently. “I think your nose just grew, Pinocchio.”

“I was snooping. Are you happy now?”

He nodded, but his scrutiny didn’t end. “And what did you learn?”

“That you like DeMille. And Tatum.”

“Art or O’Neil?”

She laughed, moving away from the drawer. “How about that walk on the beach?”

He smiled back, and although they’d only met that afternoon, she knew without a doubt that he knew she’d peeked in the drawer. Which was only fair, she supposed.

“Did you remember your sunscreen?”

“Yes, in fact, I did,” she said.

“Good. I wouldn’t want that beautiful nose to burn.”

Her fingers went to said nose in a moment of adolescent shyness.

He winked at her, and her hand moved from her nose to her tummy, which had gone all mushy. Then he led her down the stairs, through the bungalow, then onto the incredible white sand.

She hadn’t bothered with shoes, because, why? And the feel of the sand under her feet was unlike anything she’d experienced before. She was used to Southern California beaches, where the water was cold, the sand dirty, and you had to watch every step because you never knew where a pop top was hiding.

This was pristine and soft. The water was perfect, not as warm as the air, but not too chilly. “Oh, man, this is—”

“The farthest thing from Washington, D.C., I could think of.”

“No, I think that would be Antarctica, but hey, this works, too,” she said.

“You’re cute. Anybody ever tell you that?” Alex quipped.

“And yet, somehow, I can’t hear it enough.”

His grin was as warm as the sunshine as they wandered down the beach. There were birds in the distance, and although she couldn’t see them, she imagined exotic plumage and long beaks, all courtesy of the Discovery Channel and, in the distant past, her own studies. She should have been used to palm trees, but these were actual natives, not like the ones in L.A., and she had to fight back the urge to touch every one.

She turned to the other thing she wanted to touch, letting her gaze wander over his chest. Not perfect—no six-pack there—but it was nice. Strong. And so were the thighs beneath his blue trunks. “So why did you really do this?”

“Birthday present,” he said quickly.

“No, that was the excuse. What’s going on?” she asked.

He kicked some sand and increased the distance between them by a hair. “Things have been…interesting with work.”

“Interesting as in the old Chinese curse?”

He smiled, nodded. “I used to love waking up in the morning. Seriously. I couldn’t get enough. Nothing mattered except the work. This was even before the column, when I was learning the ropes at the Post. Everything was exciting and challenging, and I was on the side of the White Hats for truth, justice and the American way.”

“And now?”

“Haven’t you heard? Gray is the new white. And my hat’s become a bit tarnished.”

“Oh.” She tried to see his eyes, but he was assiduously studying the sand. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really,” he said.

“Is it just work? Or are things not peachy in your personal life, either?” she asked.

“What personal life?”

“Ah, that’s a tune I know by heart,” she said, sighing.

“Honey, you wrote the music.”

She stopped. It took him a minute to realize that she wasn’t next to him, but then he came back.

“We’ve chatted pretty much every night for eons, talked about everything from Nietzsche to your obsession with white panties, and this is the first time I’m hearing you’re unhappy with your work?” she said.

He shrugged.

“But your column is doing so well.”

He looked at her with such troubled eyes that she hardly knew what to do. “Let’s go swimming,” he suggested.

She reached to pull off her cover-up. “We didn’t bring towels.”

“Oh. Not good. You go on in. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He hesitated, and she wasn’t quite sure why. That look was still in his eyes, that combination of hope and despair that made her want to hold him. With a slight shake of his head, he turned back to the bungalow, jogging easily through the sand.

Just yesterday she’d told herself over and over that she knew this man. That she’d spent a year getting to know him. They’d shared secrets. Big ones. And she didn’t know something as huge as his unhappiness with his work?

What else didn’t she know?

She tossed her cover-up to the sand and walked into the surf. The waves brushed her legs and then her thighs. The water was a little chillier than she’d first thought, but nice. She lived an hour from the beach in L.A. and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in the ocean.

He was right. She had written the book on working too much. It had to stop, or she was going to lose it big time. The only problem was, she didn’t know how to stop it.

The first step was to stop thinking about it. To stop thinking altogether. And the best way to do that was to have oodles of hot, sweaty sex. Having seen Alex’s super pack o’ condoms, she surmised that he needed the exact same thing.

Anesthesia by orgasm.

It worked for her.




4


ALEX GRABBED A COUPLE OF the big towels, both of them vivid with animal prints, and went back out to meet Meg. Thigh-deep in the water, she was as beautiful as anything on the island.

He hadn’t expected that. He’d been so used to looking at her picture that she didn’t really seem like the same woman.

Not that he was complaining, but it was still a little disconcerting.

Which was how she must be feeling after his confession. He hadn’t even planned on telling her. At least not on the first day. She didn’t need to be burdened with his crap. It was probably all midlife-crisis bullshit, although he was only thirty-three. And for God’s sake, he worked in politics. How could anyone not get caught up in all that power and all that bull? It had crept up on him with amazing stealth. Secrets shared, held close to the vest, but they all came with a price. Nothing earthshaking, nothing to lose sleep over. Until he was buried so deep he could hardly breathe.

Which was why he’d needed to get the hell out. To take his mind off work, off Washington, off anything but one beautiful woman who made him laugh as much as she made him hard.

He jogged through the sand, checking out Meg, checking out the emptiness of the beach, putting two and two together. Although the actuality of doing anything out here, while private, would probably be uncomfortable. Sand had its place, and that was far, far away from all the good body parts.

On the bright side, the bungalows were real close.

Meg turned as he spread out the second towel. She was in up to her waist now. When the waves receded, her hips and thighs came into view.

He wanted to touch her. Everywhere the water touched. He wanted to feel the soft skin between her thighs, trace every curve.

“It’s fabulous,” she said, waving him in.

He went in, shocked by how cold the water was, but completely unwilling to admit it. Smile firmly in place, he decided this was another reason not to have sex at the beach.

“Is it always this deserted?” she asked.

“No idea. The other bungalows are booked, though. I know, because the only reason I got this one, considering the holiday, was through contacts at the paper. Redskins tickets were involved.”

She grinned as she dunked a little deeper into the water. “I’m glad you didn’t say blackmail, because I doubt very much I would have cared.”

“Confessions of wickedness so early in the week? Excellent.”

She splashed him and the shock of the water threatened his manly countenance. He managed to hold it together somehow. Especially with Meg as a reward.

“The water is so clear. I can’t even imagine how good the snorkeling’s going to be,” she said.

Should he tell her he’d never been snorkeling? Or on Jet Skis? Or gone windsurfing? That his experience with large bodies of water consisted of flying over them at thirty-five thousand feet? And was there any cool way of casually mentioning that he played a mean game of one-on-one at his local park?

He decided to show, not tell, so he took three long strides, then dived into the water. Tensing from the cold, he swam until he got more accustomed, which was just long enough so that he gasped for breath when he shot up.

Actually, he felt pretty damn good. Which had more to do with Meg than with the ocean, but the ocean didn’t hurt.

She was laughing. What a sight it was. Broad laughter. Laughter that involved every part of her, and he chalked up another one for the good guys. He knew she didn’t laugh like this often. Her life was one problem after another, one horse, one llama, one cat, then the next. Always on call, never enough help. Never enough rest because the phone might ring.

They both needed to be here. And they both needed to get the hell over whatever awkwardness they felt, and get down to it.

He was going to make sure that by the time Meg Becker got back on the plane, she’d be the most sexually satisfied woman who ever lived.

If he felt damn good along the way, so much the better.

As he watched her, as the waves knocked him in the ass with soothing regularity and the sun warmed his chest, her laughter stilled. She rocked with the same rhythm, from the same waves. The joy was still there in her eyes, but something else was there, too.

Curiosity. Desire. But still, that bit of hesitation. They knew each other and they didn’t. The only cure was getting close, letting down the walls. Telling the truth.

He wasn’t used to that. Not that he lied all the time, but he’d learned to be very selective about what he said to whom. It was all about omission in his line of work. Getting the other person to reveal too much, while he revealed nothing at all.

Which was great when he interviewed a congressman, but counterproductive in the ocean with the woman he hoped to sleep with until they both cried uncle. “I was thinking about walking to the hotel tonight. Getting some dinner, checking out the disco. What do you think?”

“I think yes,” she said. “But I’m going to need a nap before that. I’ve been up since dawn.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now quit being such a wuss and let’s do some real swimming,” he said.

“Who you callin’ a wuss?” she asked, hands on her perfect hips.

“If the shoe fits.”

She gave him the evil eye seconds before she dived sleekly into the water. He watched her glide along, the ocean so clear it was like glass. She stopped when she was just behind him, and as he turned, she rose from the sea.

Glistening, dripping, beautiful. Even though she was close enough to touch, he resisted. Too soon, and too much, and she’d been traveling since last night. He wanted her to be comfortable and willing. There was time enough. If he could last. Which wasn’t looking so good at the moment.

He yawned widely. Nap. Yep, that would be good. The privacy wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Now who’s the wuss?”

“You’re the one who brought up sleep,” he said.

She grinned as she squeezed the seawater from her long ponytail. “Okay, naps it is. Right after we finish swimming.”

“Finish?”

“We’ve just gotten wet. Come on, you can’t tell me you’re done already,” she teased.

“Me? Nah. I’m raring to go.”

She grinned. “Raring, huh?”

“If I had an engine, it would be revving,” he said.

“You’re completely full of it, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?”

“The way you keep inching toward the shore was my first clue,” she said.

“Busted.”

“We’ve got days to swim. Let’s go.”

He grabbed her arm as she turned. “No, no. Swimming is good. Seriously. I just haven’t been in the ocean much. Did you know it was salty?”

That made her laugh. Which was a good thing. “Okay, we’ll swim. For a little while.”

“Deal,” he said.

“Then we nap,” she stated.

“Also a deal,” he said.

“But not for long. An hour, tops. There’s too much I want to do today.”

He nodded his assent to that, too. Then he dived into the water once more. This time was better. Especially when she shimmied up next to him. God, how she moved in the water. She flowed as if she was born to it, all grace and clean lines. He could watch her forever.



THEY WALKED BACK to the bungalow wrapped in the beach towels. At the door, Meg kissed him. Nothing monumental, just a brush of lips on lips and a quick retreat. It was a start.

Although he ached for more, he kept his cool. “Are you sure an hour’s going to be enough? Sleep, I mean.”

She nodded. “There’s too much I want to see. I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

“Okay, then.”

She hesitated, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.

Alex waited, but she simply shook her head and walked inside. He hung his towel on the deck railing and followed her, but headed right for the stairs. The loft was cool, even more so when he stripped off his trunks. Tempted to leave them on the floor, he instead went to the bathroom, rinsed out the saltwater and hung them over the shower stall. Although the idea of just falling into bed was incredibly tempting, he turned on the water in the shower. Might as well go to sleep clean. Besides, the shower was an excellent place to take care of some important business, especially considering she was just downstairs.

He got inside, letting the heat soak into his muscles. Eyes closed, he thought about her as his hand went to his thickening cock. He rubbed lightly with his forefinger and thumb, but teasing wasn’t going to cut it. Not with the possibilities of what lay ahead, a jumble of erotic pictures flashing one after the other in his tired head.

One image surfaced and stuck. It was from a conversation they’d had ages ago. He’d accused her of being a prude for some reason he could no longer recall, and she’d laughed at him. Of course it was typed, but he could tell it was real. Then the line came that had been his companion until the wee hours of that morning: I’ll admit I haven’t had the most experience in the world, but there’s not much I wouldn’t be willing to try.

If she’d told the truth, if she truly was as adventurous as she claimed, then this week could be the most exciting of his life. The things he wanted to do to her. With her.

The images grew more vivid, and okay, so maybe the whole white panties thing was an obsession, but he’d feel bad about that later. For now, it was Meg and she was naked, and holy shit.

His balls tightened and his head hit the shower stall as he shot, pure and hard, and Jesus, what was it going to be like when he was actually with the real, live woman?

Slumping against the cold tile wall, he waited until his legs were steady, then he washed, wondering where he was going to get the patience to let her call the shots. Because, dammit, he wasn’t going to screw this up.

Whatever happened here on the island, the friendship had to be maintained. Nothing, not even his untrustworthy cock, was going to get in the way.



MEG TURNED OVER, trying to find the perfect spot on the luxuriously soft bed. She was exhausted, especially after her swim, but she couldn’t get her mind to shut the hell up.

All she could think of was what was going to happen over the next few days. Not the fun-time activities at the hotel or in the water, but between the sheets.

She’d liked Alex from their first conversation online. He’d been funny and sweet, and he knew how to spell. It was incredibly snobby, she knew, but if someone couldn’t spell or had lousy grammar, she simply couldn’t get into any kind of lengthy discussion. That he was a writer had come as no surprise.

As they’d gotten to know each other, they’d talked about everything, not just jazz, and she’d found his opinions erudite, witty and compelling. Not that she’d agreed with everything he’d said, but he’d kept her on her toes.

It reminded her of college, and her classes in philosophy, the discussions at the dorm that went way into the night, when the topics ran the gamut from the social significance of The Simpsons to the emerging European Union.

While Meg didn’t regret her decision to become a vet, she often wondered what her world would have been like if she’d followed another path. She’d thought about being a teacher. Her love of the language had begun early in life, and her hunger for books had never abated. Part of what killed her about her situation on the mountain was that she rarely had time to read.

Chatting with Alex had given her a great deal of the stimulation she needed, in addition to doing something books couldn’t—he kept her awake. In the past few years, every time she opened a book, she’d fall asleep by page ten. It wasn’t fair.

She shifted again, this time plumping the pillow. Dammit, she needed this nap. Tonight was going to be wonderful, but not if she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Knowing he was just upstairs wasn’t helping.

Meg sighed. She knew a surefire way of getting some peace. Not that it was unpleasant, but she’d wanted this week to be about real, live sex, not vibrator sex. She’d brought her vibe along just in case, but now that she’d met Alex…

Which kind of brought up the next big topic. If she jumped him before dinner would he get the wrong impression? The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was a tramp. On the other hand, the subtext for the whole trip was that they were going to hump like bunnies, so what was the big deal?

She opened the bedside drawer, reached behind the condoms and found her virtually silent bed buddy, then got comfy again. He’d said an hour. He wouldn’t surprise her, and even if he wasn’t asleep, he couldn’t see her bed from the loft.

She held her breath for a moment, straining to hear if he was moving around upstairs. Nothing. At least not from the loft. But there were definitely sounds, and they weren’t tropical birds.

A woman’s voice came through Meg’s window. An argument, from the sound of it. Meg couldn’t hear the other side; the woman must be standing near an open window.

It wasn’t the fantasy soundtrack of Meg’s dreams, but it wasn’t so loud she couldn’t deal with it. It did make her feel bad that anyone could fight in such a wonderful place. She turned to the small clock radio on the nightstand and turned it on to what was evidently the only station on the island. Instrumental music of the tropical kind. It did the trick. She settled back on her pillow, closed her eyes and went straight for the good stuff.

A bounty of fantasies awaited, and all of them took place in paradise with the man sleeping upstairs. The exotic won out over the mundane, and she pictured them in a cove, with the ocean as a melody, him taking off her clothes until she stood naked on the pale sand.

The look in his eyes was hungry, ravenous, as if he’d never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. His touch, oh my. Electric, knowing just where, just how.

Her muscles tightened, her head went back as she tensed, and almost before it had begun, she was there. Gasping, clenching. Letting the orgasm flood through her body like honey, all the while making no noise at all, but thinking, yes, yes, yes.

Her eyes closed as sleep descended, so quickly she didn’t even bother putting the vibe away. She simply shoved it under the comforter on the other side of the bed, seconds before she was out.



AT FOUR THIRTY-ONE, Alex thought about going downstairs. It might be a bit soon, considering they’d parted at three-thirty, but she’d been very clear about the one-hour thing. The fact that he couldn’t think of anything but being with her had nothing to do with it. Okay, it had everything to do with it.

He’d crashed hard and fast after the shower, and awakened surprisingly refreshed. Because they wouldn’t be back before dinner, he’d put on jeans and a button-down shirt. He’d thought about wearing trunks instead of shorts but decided if they were going to go swimming tonight, it was going to be somewhere private, and it was going to be naked.

He went to his window and looked out over the ocean. Just staring at that wide expanse of water and sky relaxed him. He thought about his office. It was downstairs, in the back of his town house. There was one window, which overlooked a forlorn little park. It didn’t matter because he never looked out. He was a panic writer, always waiting until the last minute to get his column done, and when he wasn’t working on the column, he used his laptop either upstairs or on the kitchen table. Mostly, though, he was on the phone or at a restaurant. His contacts were everything. At least, they had been. He doubted he would have any by the time he got back. Which wasn’t the end of the world, right? Jesus, he hoped it wouldn’t be.

After making sure his wallet was in his pocket, he stood at the top of the stairs, listening for signs that she was up.

He heard footsteps, so he went down. She smiled as she saw him, and the look of her in her snug blue dress, with her hair cascading in waves around her face and onto her shoulders, almost made him groan. God, the dress was strapless, and it emphasized the length of her neck, her toned arms, to say nothing of her long, slender legs.

“I was just coming to get you,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “It’s so beautiful out there.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “A perfect time for a walk to the hotel.”

“I brought a wrap. Do you think it’ll get much cooler?”

“I don’t think so, but this is my first time here, so…”

“You’ll keep me warm.” With that, she went out. No purse, no wrap, nothing but the woman and the little strapless dress.

He watched as she stepped over to the edge of the balcony, how her dress curved over her ass as she walked. All that stuff about waiting for her to make the first move?

Not gonna happen.




5


“WELL, HELLO THERE.”

Alex and Meg turned toward the bungalow just down the boardwalk to find a woman leaning against the railing, her filmy scarf wafting in the breeze. She was in her mid-fifties, and dressed in a bright resort ensemble. Her hair was short, her earrings big, and her smile was a bit too wide.

She pushed off the rail and walked toward them. “I’m Tina Lester,” she said, holding out a manicured hand. “I see we’re neighbors.”

Alex took her hand. “Hi. Alex Rosten. And this is Meg Becker.”

Tina smiled at Meg. “How are you enjoying the island?”

“It’s great so far,” Meg replied. “Haven’t been here that long.”

“We saw you check in this afternoon. You’re going to love it. There’s so much beauty and tranquility. So good for the soul.”

Meg smiled. “Right.”

Tina looked behind her just as a man walked out of their bungalow. He was in a Hawaiian shirt that wasn’t too garish, and khaki shorts that showed off his fish-belly-white legs. “And this is Walter. Darling, this is Alex and Meg.”

“How you doing?” Walter said, sans smile. He did, however, perk up when his phone rang. He retrieved it from his pants pocket and flipped it open. He turned toward the bungalow and in seconds he was involved in an argument that had him close to a bellow.

Even Alex could tell these two were not on a second honeymoon. He looked to Tina, whose lips had pressed together. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, she seemed more resigned than angry, and yet the tension was thicker than the scent of the sea.

Walter turned back to them as he closed his cell phone. He still wasn’t smiling, and didn’t seem in the least pleased to meet their bungalow mates.

“Hi, Walter,” Meg said. “It’s nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll run into you again, but please excuse us now. We’re late for our spa appointments.”

Tina opened her mouth, but Walter spoke first. “Unless you’re shopping, you’re not likely to run into her. You two have a nice night.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, hurrying Meg down the stairs. They made it to the path unscathed, clutching each other as if they’d escaped from the lion’s den.

He steered her toward the path that would lead them to the hotel. “Whoa. That was interesting.”

Meg leaned in close and whispered, “I heard them arguing earlier. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear enough.”

“Well, we don’t have to socialize. This is our vacation and we can do whatever we want.”

“Right,” she said, “but just so you know? With the windows open, voices carry.”

He tried to remember if he’d said anything while he’d been in the shower. He didn’t think so, but maybe he’d groaned or something. Nothing he could do about it now, anyway. He pulled Meg closer with his arm around her waist. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Eventually. Actually, I slept wonderfully once I could finally relax. All this travel and excitement. I’m not used to it.”

“How far away is that mountain of yours from the beach?”

“About an hour, but that doesn’t mean much. I hardly ever go.”

“Yeah. I can see how it would be tough to find the time.”




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