Chapter Seven
Wow. So…that happened.
How it’d happened, she wasn’t 100 percent sure. Well, she was… A game of Scrabble, a guarantee, the perfect kiss…but still. Wow.
So where was her oh-so-willing-to-please bachelor? She blinked her now familiar surroundings into focus: the dark gray walls, the high thread count sheets that would have cost her a week’s salary, the yummy, nearly naked man stepping into the room from the shower.
Double wow.
Jake gave her a half-smile. “Morning.”
A sigh escaped her. Literally escaped her; she couldn’t have prevented it if she’d tried.
Conjuring up a been-here-before smile, she rolled onto her left hip and struck her best Cosmo girl pose. “Good morning to you, too.”
He responded to her obvious flirtation by anchoring the towel at his waist. She bit down on her bottom lip. Last night with Jake had been phenomenal. She hadn’t known two people could generate that kind of heat. In her past relationships, she hadn’t felt a fraction of the raw desire or slow satisfaction that had flooded her system with him. And looking at him now, in all his half-naked glory, she was ready to do it again.
Shockingly ready.
Kate watched as he strolled over to the dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pair of faded Levis and a gray T-shirt. Her gaze zeroed in on the jeans. Denim was definitely not conducive to an encore. Hoping he’d take a hint, she let the sheet drop a lower, revealing a little cleavage. But instead of forgoing the clothes, he yanked the towel away, tossed it playfully in her direction, and stepped into the jeans. Commando-style. She liked it. Of course, she’d like it better if he climbed back into bed.
Instead, he walked over and dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “Do you want coffee?”
She blinked. Could he really be talking about coffee? Because all she could think about was how to get him to unzip his jeans. “Yes,” she said. “Coffee’s good.”
“Okay, then. I’ll get the caffeine rolling.” He yanked the shirt over his head—more’s the pity—and picked up his glasses from the nightstand and settled them against the bridge of his nose. “I need to make a few repairs, but I promise I’ll be done in time to take you to the airport in time for your flight.”
All her dreamy notions about romantic afternoons and more mind-blowing sex careened to a sudden halt. “My flight?”
“Back to Manhattan. The charters will be running again by this afternoon.”
She heard him talking, but she failed to comprehend. Yes, it’d been one night, but…he’d already booked her flight? The one-two combo of anger and disappointment jabbed at her insides, an emotional sequence too complicated to contemplate, so she shoved it aside. “You booked my flight?”
“I reviewed the schedule, made sure flights were taking off.” He took a step back. Physical distance, check. Emotional distance, double-check. His ex must’ve really done a number on him. “But I can book it, if you’d like.”
“No, I can take care of it.” One night. No interview. A man of his word. Despite all her cool girl thoughts, she’d not been ready.
He rubbed a hand across the heavy stubble on his jaw. Buried his hands in his pockets. Cleared his throat. “Okay, then.”
“Okay,” Kate said, forcing an ease into her voice she didn’t feel. She tugged the sheet up an inch or two. They’d been clear that this was a one-night stand. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted something more. A two-night stand. A three-night stand. A…
A what? A relationship?
No. She was here to try out not rushing headlong into that self-defeating goal.
Jake gestured toward the bathroom. “You know where everything is…towels and…” His words trailed off as his gaze fell on the red bra peeking out from beneath the sheet. He cleared his throat again. A habit she suddenly found annoying. “Take your time.”
She wrapped the sheet around her backside and tugged the scrap of lacy material back under the sheet with her toes. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He bent to brush another swift kiss across her mouth, shoved his hands back into his pockets, and wandered out of the room.
She watched him go, her body aching in all the right places, his musky male scent still clinging to her skin. Her mouth twisted to one side. Clearly, she’d been wrong about one thing. Great sex was not necessarily part of the whole star-spangled, bells ringing, love-forever package. Not always. Because no matter how incredible she’d felt last night, no matter how great the sex, Jake Wright was obviously not The One.
For starters, he lived in a cliffside stronghold where he probably never heard more than the wind. She lived in a city with subway grime and commuter noise, where every corner housed a Starbucks ready to pony up a Venti Bold Pick of the Day. He wanted to hide. She wanted to live. To grab the Big Apple by its stem and take a big bite out of it. She wanted to be so much more than that pretty girl from Ohio. She wanted to be out there, feeling the pulse of the world.
More than anything, she wanted to love. Real love. Deep down and forever. Jake Wright may have written all those beautiful words in his book, but obviously, great sex aside, he was a man who refused to believe in relationships. Heck, he was maybe incapable of offering one anymore. And for better or worse, she was a girl looking expectedly for love.
But did that really have to be a deal breaker?
True, the fact he’d practically booked her flight home stung, but she’d enjoyed last night—more than she imagined possible. Chasing love had only brought her lousy dates and heartache. Instead of worrying about finding the right guy and the right relationship, she should be focusing on having fun, on enjoying her life.
Commit to not looking.
Maybe that was what Deepak Chopra meant by the Law of Least Effort. If she stopped looking for that perfect man, stopped expending all her effort trying to create the right kind of romantic relationship, and instead, focused on living her life, then The One would find her.
No more planning relationships. Yes. Absolutely. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t plan other things, things like an interview with a reluctant bachelor. She eyed a teeny-tiny bikini peeking from the top of her bag, a new plan developing in her brain,
One night. No interview—fine. But the night was officially over.
He wanted to book her flight. No more guaranteed great sex? Fine. No more guarantees at all, she thought, pulling the bikini from her bag. Last night may have been off the record, but this morning? Well, she was for damn sure not leaving without her interview.
Kate tossed aside the sheet and climbed out of bed. Mr. Ex–Sex Factor had better get ready, because this love blogger still had a few cards to play, and more than a few questions for her bachelor. A small smile touched her lips. Like it or not, today was totally on the record.
…
While he waited for Kate, Jake busied himself with the removal of the hurricane panels. Anything to keep from striding inside, slipping into the shower, and pressing her slick, naked body up against the cool tile. Dammit—no. Where was his famous self-control? A ten second shower fantasy had his dick twitching in his pants.
Sure, he’d enjoyed last night. What red-blooded male wouldn’t have? The heat between them had been unbelievable, a fact he’d simply chalked up to his non-existent sex life. But now, he wanted more.
Waking up next to her this morning, listening to her soft breathing, seeing her so cozy and vulnerable, he’d felt…hell, he didn’t know what he felt, but he didn’t want to feel anything. Not cozy. Not vulnerable. Nothing. Not even the fact that he wanted to bury himself inside her more than…Jesus Christ—no. He slammed the hammer hard against the side of the panel. No.
Needing distraction this morning, he’d called the resort to check on the safety of the guests, verify the restoration of power, authorize clean-up crews. He’d accomplished a lot while Goldilocks slept. Even managed to confirm the availability of her flight back to Manhattan. Made him feel like a real asshole later, watching her try to cover her disappointment.
The muscles in his jaw tensed. Hurting her had not been his intention. He was a fixer, not a man who broke hearts into uneven pieces.
This was why he didn’t date anymore, including what they’d done last night.
But revising his “one night, no interview” commitment wasn’t an option. Kate Bell needed to head back to the city, and he needed to keep his freaking wits about him. Before he did something stupid. Like ask her ask to let him explore every delicious inch of her depths. Listen to her honeyed sounds. Make her crazy. Blow. Her. Mind. He felt his throat constrict. Hadn’t thought of that one for a while. Hadn’t wanted to.
After trading the hammer for a power drill, he set the bit against the plywood and started into the panel. But when Kate sashayed onto the wraparound porch, Jake took one look at her, forgot to release the go button on the drill, and drove a hole straight through the storm cover.
“Dammit.”
He yanked the tool away. So much for his custom-made shutters.
Fighting back a smile, she eyed his drill bit. “Need help?”
“No, I do not need…” Aw, fuck.
Jake pointed the tool toward the ceiling and tried to breathe. He needed oxygen. Why was no oxygen going to his brain? Maybe because most of the oxygenated blood in his body was rushing due south. Then again, how could he blame his brain for allowing the detour?
The deep-coral bikini top she wore hugged her curves, dipping low enough in front to give him a delicious glimpse of cleavage. The itsy bitsy bottom, and about a mile and a half of silky smooth legs, were wrapped up in a gauzy skirt tied lazily at the curve of her hip. As she moved toward him, the skirt fell away to expose a flash of creamy thigh and he envisioned those legs wrapped around his waist. Man, she looked even sexier now than she’d looked an hour ago, naked, tucked underneath his sheets.
“Nice bikini,” he said, amazed to have strung two words together.
“Thank you.” Kate smoothed her skirt over the curve of her hip, and his mouth went dry. Seemingly unaware of the effect of the simple gesture, she stepped closer and eased the drill from his hand. “Maybe you better let me take over from here.”
His male ego kicked in. “I can finish.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, letting the whirr of the drill bit add punch to her words. “But I’d like to offer you a deal.” Her mile-long legs climbed up the aluminum step ladder, and the sway of her ass sent his brain along another detour. He tried to focus on her deal. “For every hurricane panel I remove in under forty seconds, you answer one interview question.”
“And if you fail?”
A smile lifted the edges of her mouth as if failure was impossible. “I’ll tell Jane her match was a miss. No more interview. No more bachelor.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Ever.”
“Ever?”
“That’s right. She drops the subject entirely.”
“Jake…I can’t guarantee she won’t try again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re very convincing. I’m sure you can make it happen.”
She pursed her lips, like she was considering every possibility. “This’ll either be the shortest interview in the history of interviews, or…”
“Or you get exactly what you want.” Jake looked at her. No doubt about it, she held a tool like a pro, but the kind of speed she’d promised required top-notch execution. No way could she do it. He grinned. Ten minutes, he’d be an interview-free zone. “I’ll take that deal.”
Her ensuing smile was sugar-sweet and innocent, but the gleam in the back of those mischievous green eyes sent a different message: game on, sucker.
She tossed him her phone with the stopwatch app open on the screen, and in less than six minutes, she’d removed all the panels protecting the windows of the wraparound porch, stacked them by the door, and handed him the drill. So much for less-than-superior execution. The woman could probably operate a high-speed power tool in her sleep.
Jesus Christ.
He shot her a sidelong glance. “Guess I owe you a few answers.”
“Six, to be precise.” She nodded toward the windows lining the back of the house. “Unless you want to go for more.”
He stabbed at his glasses and handed her the phone. “Better quit while I’m ahead.”
He’d answer her six questions. After all, she’d won fair and square, and he was a fair and square kind of guy. But if they were going to spend the afternoon trading more of her sexy questions, keeping his hands to himself might prove to be impossible. Especially given the way she looks in a bikini. Time to conjure up that famous self-control of his.
Her flight back to New York was confirmed.
For better or worse, he wasn’t about to change his mind about relationships. Still a matchmaking-free zone. She was a Relationship girl. Seeing her try to cover her feelings earlier? He wasn’t going to hurt her again.
Truth be told, he wasn’t that mad about having to do the interview. At least this would help her career. He couldn’t offer her anything beyond last night, but at least he could offer her this. First things first, though. They had to get out of here. If he was going to do an interview, it would be as far away from anyone else as possible.
He tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “We can’t do the interview here. Ready to take a ride?”
Her answering smile was slow and knowing. Like last night’s sex. He shrugged. Well, it was a good question. A very good question. He pointed toward his vintage Ducati. “That is our ride.”
On impulse, he’d parked there earlier. He loved that bike. He’d relinquished most of his former high-flying lifestyle, but the motorcycle? The motorcycle he’d kept.
Kate eyed the bike with a healthy mix of suspicion and fear. “You’re joking, right?”
“Aw, c’mon now, Miss Frequent Flyer.” He reached past her and lifted his leather bomber from an outside hook near the door. “Afraid of racing down the open road with me?”
Her expression said it all. Yes. Hell, yes.
He wrapped the jacket over her shoulders and pulled her close. “Bikini and leather. Not motorcycle club approved,” he said, resisting the urge to place a fast kiss on her mouth. “Looks good on you, though.” He linked his fingers through hers and led her across the fifty yards to his workshop. “C’mon, you need a helmet and, while I hate to lose the view”—he gave her bare legs a lazy glance—“a pair of jeans, too.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which you just happen to have.”
He tossed out a teasing, not-so-boyish grin, “Always prepared.”
The sound she made in response spoke volumes about how she felt about that.
He chuckled, punched the code into the keypad, and waited as the workshop door rumbled open. Inside, he opened the closet and grabbed a pink motorcycle helmet and a pair of very feminine, very sexy dark denim jeans.
“These ought to work,” he said, turning to Kate.
Her gaze was glued to the jeans, her expression now telegraphing a seven word question: who the hell do those belong to? He grinned again. His love blogger was jealous, and he’d be damned if that idea didn’t please the hell out of him.
He winked. “I’m pretty certain my sister packed that pink duffle bag, and since she failed to pack you a pair of jeans, you can borrow hers.” He pressed the jeans into her hands.
“How did you know?” She stopped. Shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.” Making little circles in the air with her index finger, she looked over at him, the expression on her face as prim and proper as her bikini would allow. “Turn around.”
Jake couldn’t help a small chuckle. “I’ve already seen what’s underneath that bikini.” He set the helmet on the table and took a step closer. “In fact, I’ve already enjoyed what’s underneath that bikini.”
He reached for the edge of her wrap, and she backed up another step, pressing her gorgeous backside against his Chris Craft cruiser. What he wouldn’t give to coax her out of her bikini and into that boat for an afternoon of lovemaking. But—no.
He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and bent his head to breathe in the cherry blossom scent of her skin. Damn. Not a good idea. Her scent reminded of springtime in New York. Keeping control of himself wasn’t going to be easy.
She turned her face toward his, her lips parted, her breathing soft and sweet—
And yep, willpower was a finite resource, because this time he couldn’t help but kiss her, his lips falling to hers as if drawn in by some gravitational force. He kissed her slowly, pressing her body up against the smooth planks of the boat as she returned the kiss, sinking her fingers into his hair to pull him closer.
He took pleasure in the kiss, the press of her lips against his, the feel of this woman in his arms. He ran his hands down her waist, settled on her hip and slowly ended the kiss, letting his mouth linger against her lips. She looked up at him, flushed and beautiful. He felt unsettled, off-balance somehow. This woman arrived on his island and shot his peace all to hell in ways he didn’t dare contemplate. He took a small step back, his hands falling from her hips.
“If you want to see the rest of this island, you better get those jeans on so we can ride. Now.” Right now. Before they wound up creating more trouble than he’d bargained for.
After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped around the hull, presumably to untie her silky skirt, wriggle her hips into those sexy jeans.
Self-control, self-control, self-control.
Jake strode across the room. Distance. Distance is good. He pulled an old quilt from the closet and grabbed a small bottle of champagne—compliments of one of the resort’s vendors—from the workshop fridge. As he closed the door, Kate came back around the boat, and he caught a glimpse of her reflected in the stainless steel. She’d woven the airy skirt through the loops of the jeans like a belt, allowing the floral fabric to float over her hips and thighs. Standing next to Island Time, her blonde hair falling across bare shoulders, no makeup or artifice, she looked like some kind of bohemian goddess. She was beautiful.
Jake felt something shift inside him. Yesterday he’d expected a hot-shot Manhattan girl, all tailored clothing and New York attitude. But today he was seeing a woman who was soft and lovely and totally unexpected. If he were a better man, the kind capable of feeling and offering the love she needed, he’d be a fool not to try. He just hoped one day she found that man.
He walked over, traded the quilt and champagne for the butterfly-embossed helmet, and settled it squarely on her head. The damn thing made her look even more beautiful.
“Perfect.” He choked back his feelings and secured the strap. “Now you look like a biker.”
Her dubious look made him smile, and he took her hand and led her outside to the Ducati.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, eyeballing the bike, pulling the helmet strap tight.
“Yes, I’m sure.” While she got used to the idea, he opened the seat trunk, added the champagne to the soft-pack cooler he’d filled this morning while Goldilocks had been sleeping in his bed, and strapped it carefully on the back of the bike.
Kate gazed longingly back at the truck. “Can’t we take the Ford?”
“Not as much fun as the bike, sweetheart.” He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and traded his specs for a pair of prescription sunglasses. “Trust me,” he said in a teasing whisper, “you’re going to love it.” He straddled the bike and reached out his hand.
She made a defeated sound in the back of her throat, put her hand in his, and climbed onto the back of the bike. With her settled behind him, Jake fired up the bike and accelerated forward. An exhilarated cry escaped her as the coastline disappeared in a rush behind them. When he’d suggested taking the bike to a better place for the interview, he’d stupidly failed to imagine the way she’d look wearing her bikini under his leather jacket or the way she’d feel pressed against him as they zipped along the island roads, outracing the balmy air. Her palms fell low across his abdomen as the twin engines thrummed beneath them. Not exactly a recipe for emotional distance.
“You okay back there?”
He felt her nod against his shoulder blade. “Just stay on the right side of the road.”
Without bothering to fight the smile easing across his face, Jake turned the bike onto the narrow road that led to the island’s interior. She curled into his back on the curve, and he took pleasure in the feeling of her arms wrapped around him. The way her body tucked into his as he maneuvered the bike. The way her hipbone felt pressed up against his backside.
“Don’t worry,” he called back into the wind, “you’re safe with me.”
But was he? Last night had been incredible, and yes, okay, probably just a function of being alone for so long, and yet, part of him wanted her to stay.
He shifted down to release the clutch and brought the motorcycle to a stop along the edge of a hidden cove on the far side of the island. His favorite place. He hadn’t planned on coming here, but…“Welcome to Memory Cove.” He accepted the helmet she handed him and tried not to think too much about why he brought her here. To this place. “Caribbean legend says the memories of a day spent here can’t be forgotten.”
“Pretty romantic.” Sitting astride the bike, she shrugged his jacket away from her shoulders like some kind of island fantasy come to life. “Any memories you can’t forget?”
He hung the helmet on the handlebar, pretty certain he’d never forget this woman straddling his bike, slipping out of his leather bomber, challenging his solitude. “On the record?”
“On the record.” A smile moved slowly across her pretty face, an inviting smile that called to the impulsive desires simmering beneath his skin.
“No memories,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not yet, anyway.”
She peeked over at him. “Maybe we can change that.”
His gaze gravitated to the exposed curve of her neck. The damned strings on her bikini practically whispered, “Untie me.” His slow smile met hers. “Maybe we can.”
Careful, Jake. He needed to tamp down his not-to-be-trusted instincts. He twisted a blonde curl around his index finger. This woman had managed to slip under his reserve, chip away at his practiced loneliness. She should have been out on the first flight, but the truth was that he wanted her as badly as he could remember wanting any woman, a literal physical ache. She’d reawakened a combination of sensual and emotional instincts he’d buried a long time ago. Instincts that had brought him pain once before. As he unhooked the cooler from the back of the bike and tucked the faded quilt under his arm, a small part of him worried he’d be less content with his peace after she was gone.
Not that it changes anything, he thought, helping her from the bike. With his fingers linked through hers, he led the way through the natural stone arch, down a hidden staircase lined with sea grapes ripening on vines bent by the storm’s wind. He moved at her pace, careful not to rush.
At the bottom, the steps gave way to a quiet beach of white powdery sand and an endless expanse of turquoise blue water. The storm had washed away the island’s imperfections, and now the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, the summer air warm and still. He breathed in, enjoying the way the warm, salty air mixed with the sweetness of the flowers, the sea grapes, the tumbling vines. He still remembered his arrival on the island—a semi-famous guy whose life had turned on him, a neglected city kid trying to outrun his mistakes. The moment his toes sank into the warm sand, he’d felt quiet in his soul. No cameras. No interviews. No runaway celebrity scandal. Just miles of endless blue sky. About as far from Brooklyn as a guy could get. He’d loved it here. He still did.
Inside the cove, red and purple flags flew over an abandoned lifeguard station, indicating high surf level. He’d set them up yesterday before she’d crashed into his peace. He’d take them down later, but for now, the colorful warning afforded some much-desired privacy.
He stole a glance at the woman standing next to him, listened to her breathe in time with the rhythm of the crashing waves, took in the way the tropical bikini top hugged her curves, the way the tight denim jeans coasted past slim ankles to bare feet.
Seclusion never looked better.