Chapter Six
Quinn awoke in the same tangled mess of arms, legs, and sheets she and James had fallen asleep in the night before. Blinking against the morning light flooding the bedroom, she breathed deeply. Warm, sultry air drifting in through an open window filled her lungs. She held her breath for a few seconds and then silently released it so as not to wake her sleeping husband.
In no hurry to get out of bed, she closed her eyes and dozed until James stirred. He yawned and heaved a contented sigh. His arms tightened around her, and he pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. “Good morning.” His voice had a rumbling and raspy quality from lack of use. He rolled onto his back and rubbed an eye with the back of his hand.
Turning on her side, Quinn draped her arm over his chest and rested her thigh across his abdomen. If she tried to get any closer, she’d end up on top of him, which was in no way a bad thing. She tilted her face up toward his. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?” With her lips so close to his jaw, she seized the opportunity and kissed it.
“Best night’s sleep ever.” The thumb of his hand on her thigh brushed back and forth over her skin. He closed his eyes again. “I’ve never been this relaxed in my entire life.”
She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“There’s not a word in any language that can do justice in describing your ability to relax me.” He opened an eye and peered down at her. “How about you? How’d you sleep?”
“Take my ability to relax you and triple it. That’s what you do to me.”
“So you slept like the dead.”
“Basically, yeah.”
The corners of his lips twitched. “I’d strut around like a peacock to celebrate my prowess, but I don’t want to get out of bed.”
“I’m torn. I’d love to watch you preen, but I don’t want you to get out of bed either,” she said and nipped his chin with her teeth. This precipitated an enthusiastic, giggle-filled tussle that left them sweaty and panting.
Some time later, Quinn picked up the hanging thread of their conversation. “What should we do today?”
“Are you saying we should actually get out of bed?” he said in mock surprise. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
She chuckled. “It is a conundrum. But did we fly all the way to Turks and Caicos Islands to stay in bed for a week and a half?”
“I fail to see a problem with that plan,” he said, trying to suppress a smile. “It worked really well for us all day yesterday.”
An involuntary hum escaped when she thought back on the first full day of their Caribbean honeymoon. They’d done nothing but eat, drink, talk, nap, and make love. “It was the perfect day, wasn’t it?” She flipped onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. “I withdraw my original question.”
He sighed. “No, you’re right. We should take advantage of being here. How about this? Why don’t we go down to the beach in a little while? That will give housekeeping a chance to come by our room and I’ll get to watch everyone admire my smoking-hot wife in her bikini.”
She shot him a wicked smile. “Not when all eyes will be on you in your Speedo.”
“Which I would totally rock,” he deadpanned. “Sadly, though, my Speedo didn’t make the trip. You’ll have to settle for regular swim trunks.”
“I dunno,” she said, eying him. Bare-chested and propped back against his pillow with his hand behind his head, he was all sorts of sexy. And the way the rumpled sheets only partially covered his lower half, it was all too much. She was only human after all. She crawled on top of him, stretched out, and gave him a long, languid kiss. A shiver racked him when she gently caught his earlobe between her teeth and tongue. “I prefer you with no trunks at all.”
They made it to the beach. Eventually.
* * *
Quinn glanced up from her menu and raised her gaze to the canopy of palm fronds above their heads. Through the web of thin green leaves, she noted the sky had turned indigo as darkness began to fall.
Their table was in the outdoor section of The Grove restaurant situated amongst spotlight-bathed palm trees. The glowing candles and white tablecloths gave it an elegant yet casual feel. Reggae music played softly in the background. It was the perfect Caribbean setting.
“What’ll it be?” James asked, looking at her from across the table. “Surf or surf ?”
She snickered and scanned the menu. While there were a few dishes featuring meat of the land-dwelling variety, most were aquatic. “You know, I’m thinking surf. Should I have the salmon or the conch?” Her nose wrinkled. “I’m not sure about the conch, though. Did you see what came out of that shell down at the beach today? Really big. Really slimy.”
“Hey, you were ready to eat goat eyeballs when we were in India. Now you’re gonna let a giant mollusk gross you out?” His head cocked to one side. “Gastropod?”
Quinn whipped her phone from her pocket and did a quick search. “Actually it’s both. All gastropods are mollusks, but not all mollusks are gastropods.” As she put her phone away, she said, “Thus endeth the marine biology lesson.”
He shot her an affectionate smile. “I love how being married to a librarian means my questions will never go unanswered.”
“Ah. So that’s why you married me. For my reference skills.”
“Well, you do have other skills I appreciate.” He raised his glass and sipped his wine, failing to hide his lopsided grin.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yes. I can catalog with the best of them.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He returned his glass to the table. “Cataloging.”
“Well, if that’s what you want to call it.” Smiling at his quiet laughter, she closed her menu and set it on the table. “I’m going with the salmon.”
“And I’m gonna live on the edge and try the conch ravioli.”
A roar of raucous laughter boomed from a table at Quinn’s four o’clock. She peered over her shoulder to check out the rowdy bunch. It was a table of six—three men and three women. One of the men was red faced, and not in the “spent time in the strong, tropical sun” way. The guy was well lubricated. Noting the number of bottles and glasses populating the table, she had the feeling the volume from that particular group was only going to increase as the evening wore on.
When one of the other men occupying the table looked directly at her and smiled, she gasped. She recognized him. The chiseled jaw, the thick black hair, and those emerald-green eyes were unmistakable. Her head snapped around. Wide-eyed, she leaned toward James and hissed, “One of the guys at that noisy table over there? It’s Rhys Townsend.”
His eyes darted toward the party of interest and back to her. “Who?”
“Rhys Townsend. He plays Edward Walker in the movies. They just finished filming Destination Khartoum.”
“He must be here on vacation. I’m sure he’s exhausted after all of those fake shootouts and pretend car chases.”
She smirked. “Don’t be snarky. Not everyone can be you.” She peeked over her shoulder again. The gaze of Rhys Townsend hadn’t left her.
Her head whipped around again. Busted.
“You should go over and talk to him,” James said.
Her mouth went Sahara desert dry. “Really? You think?”
“Why not? You’re a huge fan and this is probably the only chance you’ll ever have to talk to him.”
“What do I say?”
“I’m a big fan? Edward Walker is my favorite character ever?” His eyebrows rose with inspiration. “I know. Have him autograph the novel in your purse.”
“But he didn’t write it. He just plays the main character in the movies.”
James gave her a flat stare. “You mean to tell me if you had a Harry Potter book with you and you saw Daniel Radcliffe sitting at a nearby table, you wouldn’t ask him to sign it?”
“Good point.” She retrieved her purse from the floor and fished out the paperback and a pen. “You want to come with me?”
“Nah. You’re the fan. I’ll stay here to keep our server from thinking we’ve abandoned our table.”
“You’re not worried about me talking to a good-looking movie star?” she teased.
“Not to sound too cocky, but I’m sure you’ll come back to me. You weren’t exactly calling out Rhys Townsend’s name a little while ago.”
Her face flushed hot when visions of her and James in the shower together before dinner flashed in her mind. Water streaming over his wide chest and down his hard, flat abs. Soapy hands gliding over wet skin . . . His name had indeed echoed off the shower tile. Repeatedly.
She sucked in air through her nose, blinked, and shook her head. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I’ll definitely be back.” To soothe her cottonmouth, she downed three swigs of water before pushing back her chair. She rolled to her feet and held her bag across the table. “Hold this please.” It contained, among other things, her Baby Glock.
He took it and set it on his lap. “Married three days and I’m already the guy holding his wife’s purse.”
“I promise to give you a proper thank you later,” she said in a husky tone.
His gaze burned into her, igniting a fire inside. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She was tempted to skip everything, haul him back to their room, and ravish him. Only her growling stomach and the promise of a delicious dinner kept her from doing just that. “Be back in a minute,” she said and headed for Rhys Townsend’s table.
When she reached it, she stopped and stared into that familiar and handsome face.
He smiled at her expectantly.
Her tongue felt two sizes too big for her mouth. “Hi, Mr. Townsend,” she said haltingly. “I, um, I really love your Edward Walker movies. I’ve seen them all a bunch of times. My favorite is The Shogun Sword, where you, I mean Edward Walker, had to fight that Samurai wannabe, Take-haru Shimizu, on that rickety bridge over that gorge.” A moment ago, she could barely speak. Now it was nothing but verbal vomiting. “It wasn’t even in the book, but it was so gripping. The whole thing made my palms all sweaty. I can’t wait to see the next movie.” Her mind kept going and so did her mouth. “Did you know that many consider the deepest gorge in the world to be the Kali Gandaki Gorge in the Himalayas? It all depends on how you measure it.”
She willed herself to stop and internally cringed now that she’d finally turned off the word spigot.
“It’s always nice to meet a fan,” Rhys Townsend said smoothly. His dazzling smile showed off a set of perfectly straight teeth. Their whiteness in contrast to his tanned face nearly blinded her. His British accent wasn’t as refined as his movie alter ego’s, but his baritone voice was just as rich.
She relaxed now that Townsend hadn’t called security to drag her away. “I’m sorry you caught me staring. I’m usually more polite.” She gave the other members of the party a tentative smile.
The three women were clone-like in appearance. They were in their mid-twenties and blond, and wore too much makeup. In unison, they glanced up and gave Quinn the once-over. Apparently, she was found lacking since they turned away and tipped their heads together in private conversation.
“S’all right,” the red-faced man said in a volume greater than necessary. “Happens all the time.” He pointed at Townsend with his drink. Some of the amber liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass and splashed onto the tablecloth. “Right, Rhys?”
She internally rolled her eyes. Of course the most obnoxious person at the table was an American.
From a distance, Quinn had estimated the inebriated guy was the same age as Rhys Townsend, about forty or so. Up close, she now realized he was closer to her and James’s ages, late twenties. Based on the way he seemed to be actively pickling his liver, she wondered if he would even reach forty.
He looked vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on from where. Maybe he was Rhys’s fellow actor. He had the looks for it. Whatever his claim to fame, with his preppy clothes, four-hundred-dollar haircut, and massive watch forged from a solid gold ingot, the man oozed affluence.
“That it does,” Rhys answered.
Quinn turned the paperback around so Rhys could see the cover. “I was wondering if you could autograph my book. I know it hasn’t been made into a movie, but it is an Edward Walker story.”
“Ah, yes. The Leopard’s Claw,” Rhys said and took the book and pen from Quinn. “Don’t mention this to anyone, but it’s being considered for the next Walker movie.” He clicked the pen and opened to the title page.
“I hope they choose it,” Quinn said. “I haven’t finished it, but Takudzwa Marufu is a great villain.”
“I’ll be sure to cast your vote with the producers on your behalf,” Rhys said with a smile. Pen poised on the page and ready to scribe, he looked up and asked, “What’s your name?”
She answered, and while Rhys signed the title page, her gaze flicked to the third man at the table. He was a mountain of a man with an intimidating mien and massive, tattoo-covered arms bulging under a tight, black T-shirt. A two-by-four cracked over his bald head would snap in half like a matchstick. The bodyguard, she surmised.
“There you are, Quinn,” Rhys said and returned to her the now signed book and pen.
“You wanna sit with us?” the red-faced man asked, gazing at her with rheumy eyes.
Before Quinn could decline, Rhys threw a glance in James’s direction. “I don’t think she does, Gibson. Her dining partner appears keen for her to rejoin him.” To Quinn, he asked, “Boyfriend?”
Quinn tossed a look over her shoulder at James. His expression was amiable enough, but she noted the sharpness in his eyes. He wouldn’t fully relax until she was safely back with him. “Husband. We’re on our honeymoon.” Addressing Rhys again, she said, “Thank you for the autograph.”
“You’re welcome. Happy honeymooning.”
“Thank you.” Quinn turned on her heel and hurried back to her table.
“How’d it go?” James passed her bag over to her. “I ordered for you, by the way.”
“Thanks. Rhys Townsend is really nice.” She stuffed the book and pen in her purse and set it on the floor between her feet. “He didn’t even bat an eye when I started rambling about the deepest gorge in the world.” She took a deep drink from her wineglass.
James smiled affectionately and said, “Which is . . .”
“You know me so well,” she said before relaying to him the information. “The younger guy with Townsend was blitzed.” Her nose crinkled when she scowled and shook her head. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before, like I should know him.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Did you catch a name?”
“Townsend called him Gibson.”
James took piece of garlic bread from the basket and tore it in half. “Gibson,” he said quietly, clearly mulling over the name in his mind. A few seconds later, he set the uneaten bread on a plate and looked up at her. “I think I know.”
He took his phone and tapped at the screen with his thumbs. A half a minute later, he nodded, shifted his weight onto one hip, and returned the phone to his pocket.
She waited for him to convey his findings.
He picked up bread, took a bite, and chewed deliberately. The twinkle in his eye told her he was merrily yanking her chain.
“Care to share?” she asked.
He swallowed. “What’s it worth to ya?”
She bit back a smile. He was so damn charming. “I might ask you the same question.” An eyebrow arched defiantly.
“Withholding sex already?”
She tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “I can’t even tease about that. The very idea makes me ill.” After a sip of wine, she said, “Okay, here’s the deal. Tell me what you know and I’ll give you a back massage as soon as we get back to our room.”
He squinted and scratched his cheek. “You have to use massage oil.”
“Of course.”
“Hot massage oil.”
“It’d be wrong if it wasn’t.” Her heart rate spiked just thinking about straddling her husband, her hands gliding over his slicked-up skin.
“Naked.”
“I assumed you would be.”
“No. Both of us. Naked.”
Her stomach fluttered. “Deal.”
He beamed at her. “You’re not very good at this negotiating thing. You never even countered my offers.”
“That’s because your offers were my counteroffers.” She took another sip of wine and set the goblet on the table. “You know what?” He leaned in when she lowered her voice and said, “I don’t even care who the sloshed guy is anymore. I just want to go back to our hotel. I’m ready to live up to my end of the bargain.”
He ran his tongue over his lips. “I wonder if we could get—” His words were cut off when their server arrived with their dinners.
Set before them were plates laden with food. Quinn breathed deeply and filled her nose with a mélange of mouth-watering aromas. She forked a bite of salmon drenched in a lemon butter caper sauce into in her mouth and purred. It was simply divine. She snatched a piece of garlic bread and broke it in half. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll give you that back rub after we finish dinner.”
“That’s fine,” he said before stuffing his mouth with ravioli. “We need to eat to keep up our strength.”
“I like how you think.” She bit into the bread and hummed with pleasure at the intense flavor.
“And since I know you’re good for that massage, I’ll give you the intel on Rhys’s friend. His name is Gibson Honeycutt the Fourth. His great-grandfather was a real estate tycoon. The family is worth a gazillion dollars.” He shoveled in another forkful of pasta. “Also, his dad, Gibson Honeycutt the Third, is a senator.”
“Right. I remember now. He’s the senator’s son who had a fling with that reality TV star. He got her pregnant and it turned messy when he left her for another woman. My guess is one of the women over there is that other woman.” A corner of her upper lip lifted into a tiny sneer. “Although, for all we know, she might be the newest other woman.”
“Yeah. He seems like a real charmer,” James said wryly.
Quinn pushed the less than gallant Gibson Honeycutt IV from her mind and changed the subject. “What do you want to do tomorrow? Snorkel? Take a boat out? Lie on the sand like beached whales?”
His head cocked to one side. “You know? I’m having a hard time thinking about anything beyond you fulfilling your part of our deal tonight.”
“Yeah.” Her imagination—and her autonomic nervous system—kicked into overdrive. “Maybe we should ask for the check.”
“You don’t mind skipping dessert? I hear they have some incredible coconut pie here.”
She slid her foot from her sandal and stroked his shin with her toes. “Maybe we can get it to go.”
They got it to go.