CHAPTER 5

SHE WANTED HIM. She honestly wanted him, and that made Tony feel like the tallest, strongest man on the planet.

Of course, she didn’t actually know who he was. Not really. She’d fallen for an illusion, his secret identity, the man out to protect the island guests from boogeymen and the pitfalls of nature. But the real Tony? Well, his white knight days were long over.

Still, the thought of Kyra in his arms, in his bed, whatever the terms…well, the image was enticing, and not one he intended to turn away. He’d told the truth—in a lot of ways, she was his fantasy. A woman who looked at him like he was the whole world. A woman who wanted him and wasn’t afraid to show it. A woman who could make him forget, even if only for the night, just who he really was.

Alan was right. He did need a woman. A woman like Krya who didn’t know—wouldn’t ever know—his secrets.

“Your place or mine?” she said. Despite the flirtatious tone, he heard a quiver of nerves, and her hesitancy only increased his desire. Somehow, she’d fallen for him. In some small way, she belonged to him.

The realization humbled him. She was sharing so much with him, trusting so much to him. He held out his hand for her to take, squeezing her fingers lightly as he curled his hand around hers.

“Yours,” he said, taking care to remember to keep his voice pitched low. “It’s closer.” And since he shared his place with his alter ego, it was out of the question.

He pulled her closer, automatically moving to her left side so that he could see her out of his uncovered eye.

“We’ll miss the party,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.

He felt like a heel. Of course she’d probably come to Intimate Fantasy expecting to meet some man who’d sweep her off her feet. A man who’d take her out dancing and for long walks along the beach. A man who knew his way around a classy menu. The last thing in the world she’d probably expected was to be paired with some mysterious man in black who came and went with the night, keeping to the shadows and as far away from crowds as possible.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked, unsure what he’d do if she said yes. He could always wait in her cabana. Joining the festivities was simply out of the question.

“No!” Her response was quick and adamant, and relief surged through him. “I mean, not unless you do.”

“I’m not interested in anyone at the party. I’m only interested in you.”

She met his eyes. “Naked and in candlelight, right?” she asked boldly.

He grinned, enjoying her playfulness. “Well, we can always blow out the candle.”

“Just so long as we’re clear on the naked part.”

“Oh, I think we’re clear.” As fabulous as she looked in the sarong-style skirt and flower-print bikini top, he would be even happier to see her out of it.

They were almost to her cabana when she stopped, turning around to face him. The lights from her cabin lit her hair in silhouette, giving her an ethereal appearance. “That goes for you, too,” his angel said.

“What’s that?”

“Naked.”

He let his gaze roam up her body. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Except…” She swallowed, her hands balled into fists.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Except for the patch.” She licked her lips, then dropped her gaze. “I don’t want you to take off the patch. And no lights. Nothing but candlelight, anyway.”

“All right.” Since he had no intention of letting her get a good look at him, her condition was an easy one.

She looked up, her head cocked. “That’s okay? You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said.

He could tell the moment understanding struck her.

“You want me,” she said, “but you don’t want me to know who you are.”

He shrugged. “Clever girl.”

He could practically see the inevitable question pass over her face. Why not? But she didn’t ask it. She didn’t pry.

He, however, wasn’t nearly so polite. “You want me to stay anonymous,” he said simply.

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Not to him. “Tell me.”

She slipped closer, sliding her arms around his neck, her face close to his. “Because, darling Michael, that’s part of my fantasy.”

* * *

BEFORE SHE COULD talk herself out of it, she captured his mouth with her own, thrilled that she could be so bold and reckless. He tasted like sin—decadent, delicious, more satisfying than chocolate—and she reveled in it, exploring, tasting, teasing.

Her head was light, her knees weak—every cliché she’d ever heard about hit her in the overwhelming onslaught of pure passion. It was all right there, in her head, her belly, between her thighs.

He nibbled on her lower lip, teasing her with his teeth as shots of electricity scattered through her. Her body melded to his like molten steel, and she pressed against him, centering his thigh between hers in the futile hope that the pressure might somehow squelch the craving fast building inside her.

His hands caressed her back, his fingers splayed across her skin while his thumbs stroked her side and teased the swell of her breasts. She moved against him, silently trying to urge his hands forward, wanting his hands hard on her, wanting the storm inside her to build to a maelstrom, desperate for him to take her right then, right there, so there could be no chance that she’d do something as foolish as change her mind.

“Please,” she murmured, surprised she could even form sounds, “touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

His voice, raw and gravelly, seemed to pool between her thighs. She realized his hand had slipped between them, and he was stroking her through the thin material of her wrap-around skirt.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

More. She mouthed the word, but couldn’t say it out loud. She was being decadent. Wild and wanton. And damned if that didn’t scare her to death.

She’d never behaved like this before, never asked for what she wanted. Never wanted like she did now. Not like she felt with him. A wave of fear crested, decades of being the good girl kept pulling her back until she felt herself stiffen in his arms.

His hands stroked her hair, soothing and calming her. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. As slow as you want.”

His finger slipped under her chin, tilted her head up, and she saw the concern on his face. He took a tiny step back, still holding her hand, but increasing the distance between them. Whereas before they had almost seemed like one person, now there was a thin strip of air. A billion molecules keeping her from him, and to Kyra, the gap seemed wider than the Grand Canyon.

He turned slightly and nodded toward the ocean. “Why don’t we backtrack a little? Take a walk on the beach? I can tell you bad jokes, and you can pretend they’re funny.”

He took a step, but she tugged him back. “No!” She gnawed on her lower lip as he stopped and looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I promise the jokes aren’t that bad.”

She laughed, thankful he could so easily put her at ease. “I don’t want to talk.” She shook her head, frustrated. “That’s not what I meant. Talking is great. You’re great. I just don’t want to talk now. I didn’t mean…earlier…it wasn’t—”

He hushed her with a gentle finger to her lips. “I want you more than any woman I’ve wanted in a long, long time. If you’re telling me that you want to go inside your cabana with me, then just nod.”

She kissed the tip of his finger, then, before she lost her tenuous courage, she took it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the digit, relishing the salty taste of his skin. She closed her eyes and drew his finger in further, letting her teeth graze his knuckles as she abandoned herself to passion.

He moaned, and his free hand slipped around her waist, pulling her close until she couldn’t mistake just how much he wanted her. His breath was hot against her ear, stirring her hair as a sound of pure masculine satisfaction escaped him.

“Sweetheart, that damn well better be a yes, because I don’t think I can stand it if that’s your way of letting a guy down gently.”

With one final sultry tug of her mouth, she released his finger. “Yes,” she said, hooking one arm around his neck. “That most definitely is a yes.”

With unfamiliar boldness, she urged him closer until their lips touched. The contact was gentle, but the effect was anything but. As if taking its cue from her reaction, the wind kicked up.

“The storm’s coming,” he whispered, his lips moving against hers.

“We should go inside.” She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “Quickly, before I change my mind.”

He twisted a finger in one wind-tossed strand of her hair. “Is that something you’re likely to do?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s time to go inside. Because I don’t intend to let you get away.”

* * *

HE WATCHED as she fumbled with the key, finally managing to open the door. “Sorry. Just a little nervous.” She stepped over the threshold and stood awkwardly. “Well, this is it. My little home away from home.”

She kept the lights off, but from the dim light of the moon he could see that her cabana was sparsely but comfortably furnished—a bed, a small couch, a cozy breakfast area. With its abundance of windows and bright-colored furniture, the room was airy and inviting.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said lightly. He knew she was nervous, clearly not a woman prone to casual affairs, and it humbled him that she so obviously wanted him.

She headed for the kitchen area and started opening drawers. “Yeah, I spent hours choosing a theme. I almost went with Feng Shui, but decided on island casual instead.” She shut the last drawer and shrugged. “No candles.”

“In my cabana, they’re under the sink in the bathroom with the hurricane supplies.”

“Your cabana?” she asked from the bathroom. She came out holding two thick candles. “Ta-da. So I guess that means you’re a guest here, too.”

“Some of the staff have cabanas. Only the summer kids stay in the bunk room.”

Her mouth twitched. “Not exactly an answer, but the best I’m going to get, right?”

“Right.” He took the candles and matches from her, letting his fingers graze hers. “Not to be presumptuous, but why don’t we light one by the bed?”

“Um. Sure. Bed. Fine.”

Grinning, he moved to the bedside table and lit a single candle, filling the area with a flickering orange glow.

“Much more romantic, don’t you think?” He was forcing himself to make small talk when all he wanted to do was lose himself inside her. Her nearness was driving him nuts, but she was nervous, and for her he was going to take it slowly, was going to make it perfect.

“Very romantic.” She moved closer, standing just a few inches from him.

Her skin glowed in the soft light, begging for his touch, and he traced the line of her neck and shoulder with the tip of his finger. “They sell candles in the gift shop,” he said, sure he sounded like an idiot, but her presence was turning his mind to mush. “I’ll get some for tomorrow.”

Her eyes danced with mischief. “Oh? So you figure you’ll be back tomorrow night?”

He blinked, suddenly realizing that for her this might be a one-time fling. “Oh. Well… I…actually—”

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath, then reached behind her back and unfastened her halter. “I’m not nervous anymore.” She concentrated on the knot at her neck, and he watched, mesmerized, as the top fell to the ground.

She was stunning, and he could have stared at her for hours if she’d let him.

“Touch me,” she whispered, moving into his arms.

He couldn’t remember ever being happier to oblige a request. Her breasts were firm and fit perfectly into the cups of his hands. He flicked his thumb over her erect nipple, felt himself harden as she gasped and tilted her head back, exposing the sleek line of her neck.

He could see her pulse beat in her neck, and he bent to kiss her there, the warmth of her skin against his lips tantalizing. With deliberate slowness, he trailed his kisses lower, each soft moan nearly driving him over the edge. Her breath came in staccato bursts, and when he closed his mouth around her breast, she cried out, only to stifle the sound with her fist.

He wanted more, needed more. Her pure, honest reactions were the most potent of aphrodisiacs, and he craved her. Wanted to explore—to taste—every inch of her.

“Kiss me.”

The demand was little more than a whisper, but he obliged, closing his mouth hard over hers, trying to convey without words how much he wanted her and how much this night meant to him.

While his tongue danced with hers, his hands skimmed down her body, then back up, grazing the soft skin around her waist, her belly, then kneading her breasts. Gently at first, then rougher as she broke their kiss, urging him on with soft pleas of “more, yes, more.”

“You’re delicious,” he murmured, then trailed his tongue from her navel to her nipple just to prove the point.

“Oh, Michael.” He noticed with pure masculine delight the quiver in her voice. “My knees are weak. The bed?”

He shook his head and pulled himself up. “Not yet.” It had been almost a year since he’d been with a woman, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold back if they were in bed, with her warm and willing under him. But he wanted to maintain control of himself for as long as possible. Wanted the night to last forever. Wanted to take her to the edge and have her desperate for more. For him.

Gently, he urged them backward until her back was pressed against the wall. Then he urged her hands up over her head.

“But I want to touch you.”

He shook his head. “Later. I promise. Right now, just close your eyes.”

Her smile—a combination of pure feminine power and complete trust—just about did him in. When she obliged, he gently kissed each lid before trailing his fingers down to the knot at her hip.

One simple little knot held her entire skirt on, and naturally it tormented him with its stubbornness. He considered simply pushing the skirt up around her waist, but he wanted to see all of her, every inch. And that meant loosing the damn knot.

“Need a hand?” Barely a whisper, her amused voice drifted over him.

“I’ve got it.” He’d spent every summer of his life before the accident on a sailboat. He knew knots. So it was particularly frustrating that one simple square knot refused to cooperate. Of course, on a boat, he wasn’t delirious from lust.

When he managed to untie it, though, he knew his effort had been worth it. The skirt fell away, pooling on the tile floor at her bare feet. She shifted, pressing her legs together, and he grinned, amused by her attempts at modesty.

With something close to reverence, he traced the outline of her panties. When he cupped his hand over the dark vee, she moaned and arched her back, spreading her legs for him. Stifling a groan, he stroked her through the soft silk that was already damp with the evidence of her desire.

His erection strained painfully against the confines of his jeans, and he shifted to ease the pressure, not wanting to take his hands from her body even long enough to undo his fly.

Slowly, he moved closer, his lips to her cheek, his body against hers. She whimpered, the small sound sending his blood coursing hot through his body. But when she moved her arms down to stroke his hair, he pulled back gently, taking her hands between his own.

“Not yet. Just you. Trust me.”

She nodded as he urged her hands back up the wall. Her body was lithe and firm. Stretched out like that she seemed to offer him an invitation to touch, to explore, and he happily accepted the offer. He kissed her ear, teasing the soft curve, then trailed kisses down her throat, her shoulder, and lower still.

He took her breast in his mouth, tasting, sucking, as his hand trailed lower. Her skin was soft under his fingers, and when he reached the elastic band of her panties, he didn’t stop. He slipped his finger under and stroked the coarse, short hair, and she gasped, sucking in air and tilting her head back.

He teased her nipple with his teeth, and she moved her hips under his hand, urging him lower and lower until his fingers found her slick, sweet center. She was wet and hot and ready, and it thrilled him more than he could have imagined to know that she was ready for him. That she wanted him.

Taking care to taste every inch of her, he nibbled his way down, flicking his tongue over the curve of her breast, tasting the salt of her skin, dipping his tongue into her belly button.

She laughed softly. “That tickles.” Then, “Please, I want to touch you.”

“Soon,” he promised.

He knelt slowly, slipping his hands under either side of her panties and dragging them down over her hips. She made another soft noise as they fell to the floor and he urged her legs apart. He felt his back tighten painfully as he urged her closer, but he ignored it, not willing to let anything spoil the moment, wanting only to kneel before her, to breathe in her feminine scent, to taste every single inch of her.

Slipping his hands behind her, he cupped her rear and dipped his head. He wanted to kiss the inside of her thigh, that soft place that drove women wild. And Kyra was no exception. She trembled under his touch, dropping her hands to his head. This time, he didn’t object.

He moved his kisses higher, drunk from the taste of her. And when she knocked his cap off and buried her fingers in his hair, he did the same, burying his tongue deep in her, then teasing her secret feminine places with the tip of his tongue. She writhed under him, her fingers knotting in his hair. A spasm shot through his back, and he pulled her closer, riding out the pain.

“Michael.” Her voice was hoarse, unsteady, and filled with passion. For a fleeting moment, a twinge of sadness caught him. He’d give anything to hear his real name on her lips, but that wasn’t possible, and for now—for her—he’d take what he could.

“Please,” she said, cupping his face with her hands, and urging him to look at her, with her eyes glazed from passion. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”

It was, of course, a demand he wouldn’t think of refusing. But with his back screaming in pain, he didn’t know how the hell he could accept.