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“What would she be like?” Chloe asked before she thought better of it.
He didn’t hesitate. “She’d have curly brown hair and amazing blue eyes. She’d love the beach, not be afraid of trying new things, like skydiving and windsurfing.”
Chloe shuddered. “I don’t do heights. High places make me nauseous. I’d feel sorry for whoever jumped out of the plane first and was below me on the way down.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll remember that.”
“So you want an adventurous brunette?”
“Not entirely. Adventurous is nice. But she also has to have an amazing smile.”
He was staring at her lips and she nervously licked them. She saw him pull in a deep breath, something hot and intimate flashing in his eyes. He finally looked away and picked up his drink.
“Anything else?” Chloe asked, feeling confused and yet completely fascinated by the intense heat she’d seen in his expression when he’d stared at her mouth.
He nodded. “Sense of humor is a must.”
Okay, now he was getting someplace. Humor she could do. Chloe loved to laugh. Given the choice between a gushy, oozy chick flick and a bawdy comedy, she’d go for the grins any day. Her comedy movie collection filled several boxes in her closet.
Her mother called her ability to laugh at life, to find joy in anything, her best feature. Chloe had once countered, “Thanks, Mom. Fabulous hair or a great figure would be nice. Heck, even brains! Sense of humor is almost as bad as telling the chubby kid she has ‘such a pretty face.’”
Of course, Sister Mary Frances had called her sense of humor her ticket to a century in purgatory.
“Do you like old comedies? Laurel and Hardy?” Chloe asked.
He shook his head. “I’m more of an Abbott and Costello fan.”
“Me, too. And Mel Brooks?”
“Oh, sure.”
“So we share the same tastes in comedy,” she said with a hopeful look. “Does that let me off the hook for skydiving?”
“Ever tried parasailing?”
“From what I hear,” she replied dryly, “parasailing requires some elevation, too.”
“Okay, I’ll keep you on the ground.”
You can keep me anywhere you want me…as long as you keep me. She took a sip of her drink and thrust the thought aside.
“This is good,” she acknowledged as she sipped the last few mouthfuls of her punch. Funny how she’d begun to enjoy the rich, spicy flavors—probably because the alcohol had burned every taste bud right out of her mouth. But she wasn’t complaining.
“I’m not opposed to seeing you dance on the table…or anywhere else. Would you like another drink?”
“Maybe I’d better have a glass of water,” she said. Okay, score one for Sister Mary Frances.
“Let’s make that two.”
For the next hour, Chloe found herself thoroughly entranced by the man sitting across from her. Troy—er, Trent!—was funny and sexy, smart and irreverent. He laughed at her jokes and teased her about not being able to handle her punch. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing her brag about her brilliant little sister. He even got her to open up about her worries. Chloe found it easy to tell him about her desire for normalcy, and her concerns about her unconventional mother, whom she dearly loved, but who couldn’t really be counted on for anything.
He once caressed a lock of her hair under the guise of pushing it off of her face, which had set her heart racing for several moments. He didn’t talk much about himself, seeming to really want to focus on her, as if his own life was completely boring and she the most fascinating person on earth. That was an unusual feeling for Chloe, who was well used to sitting in the background while her flamboyant mother soaked up all attention like a paper towel soaked up spilled milk. She even finally decided she was ready to handle a second rum punch.
“You’ve got to be sick of hearing about my family, phobias, video collection, or the various lists of do’s and don’ts by which I run my life,” Chloe said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing anything you say.”
This time Chloe was the one to break their stare first. Confusion washed over her. This wasn’t quite the way she’d envisioned the evening. She’d been all set to be mysterious. To play along with his “strangers in a bar” suggestion.
But they’d gone well beyond playing sexy games. Well beyond seductive flirtation. She’d known she was attracted to him. She’d never expected to like him.
“I want to know more about you now,” she finally said. “Do you really like to do dangerous things like skydiving?”
He tilted his head to one side and lifted his hands up in helpless resignation. “Uh, yeah. I do.”
“Yikes,” she murmured, unable to picture the smooth, polished store businessman doing anything so impulsive. Trent, his alter ego, however? Well, yes, she could picture that.
“I don’t really skydive very much anymore,” he admitted. “No time, no money. I do still like to hang glide whenever I visit my folks out west. You really should try it, it could help you get over this problem you have with heights.”
“If I’m more than ten feet off the ground, I’d better have a floor or a fully operational Boeing 747 underneath me,” she countered. “Hang gliding, ha! It should be called strapping paper-framed wings on your back and pretending you’re not attempting suicide.”
He let out another laugh, and Chloe noticed, not for the first time, that every pair of female eyes in the place turned to look at him. Approvingly. Hungrily.
She reached across the table and touched his hand, sending a not-so-subtle message—he’s mine—to the overhormonal bar bimbettes in the room.
He immediately responded by taking her fingers and entwining them with his own, sending shards of heat rushing up her arm. Chloe stared at their hands, marveling again at the darkness and strength of his against her own pale, soft skin. When she finally lifted her gaze to his face, she found him studying her, a half smile on his seductive lips.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked softly, leaning close and lowering his voice to a more intimate level.
Chloe waited for the length of two heartbeats but felt like two hours for him to continue. And go where?
“The storm’s over. We could go for a walk on the beach.”
Chloe released the breath she’d been holding. “Sounds lovely.” She meant it—a walk on the beach did sound perfect. But she still somehow felt a stab of disappointment. She told herself not to be an idiot. Even if he had issued a much more suggestive invitation, as she’d half feared—okay, half hoped—she wouldn’t have taken him up on it. Absolutely not. Uh-uh, no way, never gonna happen.
Well, probably never gonna happen.
Remembering the quick stop she’d made in the hotel store before dinner, and thinking of the condom right now burning a hole in her small black purse, Chloe acknowledged the truth.
Okay. Maybe gonna happen.
3
TRENT HID A SMILE AS A variety of expressions crossed his lovely companion’s face when he suggested a walk on the beach. He knew what she was thinking—exactly the same thing he was thinking. We’re strangers. This is too soon. What is happening here and why does it feel so right?
Though he sensed he could stand up and lead her out of the crowded bar without another word, he didn’t want to push her. “Your choice. We can stay here if you like.”
“Hmm,” she said, tapping the tip of her index finger on her cheek in obviously feigned indecision. “Stay here in a hot, loud, crowded bar with a bunch of other women who’ve been ogling you for an hour? Or go out onto a romantic, moonlit beach for a refreshing, private walk. Decisions, decisions. You don’t make it easy on a girl.”
He shrugged. “The story of my life. Making the tough choices.” He leaned closer. “Besides, I haven’t noticed any other women. I have noticed the three muscle-bound college boys at the bar who keep turning around to stare at your legs each time you shift in your seat.”
Her eyes widened. She immediately turned to see. “You’re sure they were looking at me? I mean, there are a lot of women in here who aren’t sitting with other men.”
“None of whom has legs like yours.”
“Oh wait, I’ve got it,” she said, ignoring his compliment. “You’re the one they’re interested in. They’re gay. That’d explain why they haven’t hooked up with one of these on-the-prowl females.”
He chuckled. “Why is it so hard for you to believe you’re on the mind of every single male in this room?”
An adorably disconcerted blush spread across her cheeks. She really didn’t realize her own appeal. She had no idea how amazing she was. How her soft laughter could seduce a man. The way the brightness in her eyes brought energy to a lifeless room. The way every male with even a drop of testosterone in his blood saw those legs of hers and imagined them wrapped around him. Including him. Trent gulped down the last of his water.
She finally answered his question. “Maybe because I’m used to being the responsible, pretty-in-a-quiet-way, funny one who doesn’t usually incite lustful males to riot in the streets—or in the bars.” She smiled, glancing around. “You’re sure it was me they were interested in?”
“Oh, I’m sure. Did you not notice the staring contest I got into with the one in the Florida Gators shirt a half hour ago?”
Deadpan, she asked, “Oh, you’re an FSU Seminoles fan?”
He smiled. “No, NFL all the way—I’m not much into college sports. But I couldn’t let that guy get away with drooling all over you like that. I guess I’m just one of those caveman guys who feels compelled to mark his territory.”
She raised a brow. “Your territory?”
“I didn’t mean that in the primal sense.”
“Thank goodness. I think I’ve heard about how some male animals mark their territory in the jungle. We haven’t even kissed yet, so I think it’s a little early to start talking about that kinky stuff.”
Instantly knowing what she meant, he threw back his head and laughed. The jocks at the bar turned to look. She’s gorgeous, she’s bright, and she’s funny as hell. Tough luck, boys.
“So you ready to get out of here?”
She stood. “More than ready.”
As he took her arm and led her out of the bar, Trent wondered what good deed he’d done recently to account for his incredible fortune. This woman, this stranger, was a dream come true. Not only funny, charming and self-deprecating, she was also beautiful and earthy. Honest and completely unpretentious. And sexy enough to make him shake in anticipation.
Claudia was his fantasy woman come to life.
“You okay?” he asked, noticing the slight wobble in her step. They’d just exited a back door of the resort, on the way to the pool and beach area.
“I don’t do big girl shoes very well,” she admitted. She sighed, giving her own feet a disgruntled stare. “High heels had to have been invented by a man. They’re sheer torture.”
Glancing down at the strappy, spiked-heel sandals beneath slim, black nylon-encased legs, Trent could only murmur, “Strap me to the rack.”
Her giggle told him she’d heard.
“Yep. Definitely a male invention,” she continued. “Like leg wax, chastity belts and brassieres.”
“Seems like man was working against himself with those…except, of course, the leg wax.”
“There are plenty of locations in the world where women don’t feel the need to shave or wax their legs,” she countered.
“Hopefully not at the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club.” Trent met her stare evenly, then let a teasing smile spread across his lips so she caught his meaning.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she retorted softly. Then, even softer, as if she was muttering to herself, he heard her say, “And wouldn’t I just love to show you.”
Knowing the alcohol might have gone a bit to her head, Trent doubted she even knew he’d heard. He grinned but turned away so she wouldn’t see.
Well, yeah, he’d like to know. And he planned to find out. Particularly since the image of those long, tanned legs had been taunting him since the afternoon when he’d seen her in her bathing suit.
As they passed the pool and approached the wooden stairs leading down to the private, moonlit beach, Trent stopped. Since he was holding her by the arm, she halted, too. She stared at him curiously. Without explaining, Trent dropped to a crouch beside her. He reached for the straps of her shoes, unbuckling one, then the other. Taking one of her hands, he placed it on his own shoulder so she could balance herself. He noticed the way her fingers tightened, her skin burning through the thin material of his shirt. Feeling the touch throughout his entire body, Trent had to force himself to focus on the task at hand.
Impossible. He couldn’t focus on anything but her.
Not only did her soft fingers brand his shoulder, but now his face was mere inches from her silky thighs. His hands trembled as he tugged off each shoe. He was completely unable to resist gently stroking one ankle, stalling for time while he tried to control his body’s response to her nearness. Her loveliness. And the sweet, elemental scent of her body.
Controlling the tides would likely have been easier.
“Better?” he asked as he finally rose to his feet.
She smiled and almost cooed her relief as she curled her toes on the cool surface of the pool deck. “Much.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to walk in the sand in these, anyway,” he said, hearing the thickness of his voice. He struggled against the mental fantasy of sliding his hand up the sweet, vulnerable curve of her foot, curling around her calf, then moving higher. Over her knee. Between her thighs. Moving his mouth closer, to explore her softness and that intoxicating feminine scent filling his brain.
“You okay?” she asked when he fell silent.
He swallowed, hard, and nodded. “Fine. Just feeling stupid for not thinking beyond being alone with you on the beach. You’re not exactly dressed for it. Your heels would have sunk three inches deep with every step.”
Now, without the heels, he noticed how petite she was. The top of her head came to his shoulder, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes with her amazingly blue ones.
“You’d have rescued me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, you wouldn’t have left me there, stranded, with my heels stuck tight in the sand all night, right? And me doing my impression of a beach umbrella?”
He grinned as a wicked thought crossed his mind. Beach umbrella? I’d have no problem being underneath you on a beach.
She continued. “I don’t suppose it’s going to be too comfortable walking across sand in these.”
Trent followed her glance down to her legs, still covered by a pair of silky-soft black hose. No way was he going to offer to help take those off. The next time he touched her legs, it would be to explore each inch of them with his hands, fingers and mouth. He hoped it would be in the not-too-distant future. But not here, a few feet away from a clear-glass hotel door, where anyone walking by could see them.
Before he could even offer to walk her back inside so she could change, he saw her reach under the bottom hem of her short skirt and start tugging.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go back inside to change.”
She paused.
“But this works too.”
She went back to tugging.
