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‘Really, you’re sure?’ she said, then bit her lip.
Dial down on the tarty—that sounded a bit too eager.
‘Uh-huh.’ His dark gaze returned to her face.
‘Back off, Henry. You’re poaching.’
Ella spun round at the deep, wonderfully familiar accent—and the shot of adrenaline went into overdrive. Cooper Delaney had looked super-fit that morning in ragged denim, but he took fit to a whole new level in a dark blue polo shirt and black jeans. But then her head carried on spinning and she started to tilt.
A tanned hand shot out to grasp her upper arm and hold her upright. ‘Damn it, Henry, how many of those things have you given her?’
‘Only the one.’ The barman, who Ella’s slightly fuzzy brain had registered must be called Henry, sounded affronted.
‘Oh, yeah?’
Ella blinked, hearing the edge in Cooper’s usually relaxed tone. Was he mad about something? And what did it have to do with Henry, the benevolent barman?
Cooper slapped a couple of bills onto the bar with enough force to make her jump. ‘That’s for the rum punch, man. The lady’s with me.’
Really? Fabulous.
So she hadn’t imagined his offer of a date. The spurt of joy at the thought was quickly quashed, though, when his fingers tightened on her arm and he slanted her a look that didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her. ‘We’re out of here.’
‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’ She pivoted on her heel, making a grab for her glass. But missed as he hauled her away from the bar.
‘You’ve had enough.’
Henry shrugged and shouted after them, ‘Sorry, miz. I told you he was no good.’
‘You didn’t have to pay for that,’ she said, racing to keep up with his long strides as he marched past the tables and headed out into the night, dragging her along in his wake. ‘Henry said it was on the house.’
‘Yeah, I’ll just bet he did.’ Was that a snarl?
A succession of people called out a greeting to him or shouted across the crowd, but other than throwing back a quick wave of acknowledgement he barely broke stride. By the time they stepped off the deck and he swung her round to face him, she was breathless, the happy glow from her Swizzle fading fast.
‘Okay, let’s have it.’ His shadowed face looked harsh in the half-light from the bar as he grasped both her arms, and made full use of his superior height. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I...’ And just like that her tongue swelled up, rendering her speechless. And all Ruby’s advice about how to put her flirt on got washed away on a tidal wave of mortification.
He didn’t look remote, the way he had when they’d parted that morning. He looked upset.
She’d made a terrible mistake—coming here when he hadn’t really meant to...
‘Because if you’ve come all the way out here to give me another smackdown, don’t bother. I got the message the first time, sweetheart. Loud and clear.’
Smackdown? What smackdown?
‘I should leave,’ she blurted out, suddenly wishing that the worn floorboards of the bar’s deck would crack open and swallow her whole. Or better yet whisk her back to her nice, quiet, ocean-view room at the resort.
Sticking to safe might be dull, but at least it didn’t get you into these sorts of pickles. She’d never managed to piss off any of the guys she’d actually dated to this extent.
She sent a wistful glance back at The Rum Runner—the joyous dance music pumping out into the night. The lively bar had contained so many exciting possibilities less than five minutes ago. But as she stepped past him he didn’t let go.
‘Hey, hang on a minute.’ The edge had left his voice. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Was there a question in there?’ she asked.
He didn’t look mad any more, which she supposed was good.
But as his emerald gaze raked over her the focused attention made her breasts tighten. Humiliating her even more. Obviously her nipples were completely immune to his disapproval.
But then his wide lips quirked. ‘It was never meant as a smackdown, was it?’
She tugged herself loose, and stepped back—starting to get annoyed. Okay, so she’d misinterpreted his offer of a date. Although how she had, she still wasn’t sure. And her big coming-out party was officially a washout—but did he really have to gloat? And what was all this nonsense about a smackdown? ‘I really have to go.’
She went to walk round him again. But his large hand wrapped around her wrist and drew her up short. ‘Hey, don’t... Don’t go.’
He stood so close, the delicious scent of seawater and soap surrounded her. Making it a little hard for her to process the words. Was he apologising now? After all but biting her head off? ‘Captain Delaney, I don’t think—’ she began.
‘Call me Coop,’ he murmured, the husky tone sending those tempting shivers of reaction back up her spine.
She drew in a breath, not able to recall a single one of Ruby’s careful instructions as he stared down at her with the glint of appreciation in his eyes—and fairly sure she didn’t want to any more. This evening had turned into a disaster.
She might as well face it, she would never be as good a flirt as Ruby, even if she took a degree course. She huffed out a breath. ‘Listen, I genuinely thought you asked me here, and I had such a nice time this morning, I don’t want to sour it now.’ She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, feeling stupidly bereft at the thought of her party night ending so soon, and so ignominiously. ‘But I really think I should go now.’
Because I’m a little concerned you might have a borderline personality disorder.
* * *
She came here to see you. You dumbass.
Warmth spread across Cooper’s chest like a shot of hard liquor but was tempered by a harsh jolt of regret as he registered the wary caution in Ella’s eyes—which looked even bigger accented with the glittery powder. Her lips pursed, glossy with lipstick in the half-light, as if she were determined to stop them trembling, crucifying him.
What the hell were you thinking? Behaving like such a jerk?
Even he wasn’t sure what had gripped him when he’d walked into the bar and spotted her chatting with Henry, with that flushed excitement on her face. But the word that had echoed through his head had been unmistakable.
Mine.
And then everything had gone straight to hell.
Of course, his crazy reaction might have had something to do with the severe case of sexual frustration he’d been riding ever since she’d stepped aboard the boat that morning, but that hardly excused it. And the truth was he’d been handling it just fine, until the moment she’d handed him that wad of bills on the dock.
That was the precise moment he’d lost his grip on reality.
He’d been snarky and rude, acting as if she’d offered to kick him in the nuts, instead of giving him a forty-dollar tip.
He accepted tips all the time, to hand over to the kids who crewed the boat. Just the way Sonny had done for him when he was a kid.
He’d founded his business on the generosity of tourists like May Preston and her husband, who came back every year and always showed their appreciation way above the going rate. But when Ella had done the same, somehow he’d lost it. Instead of seeing her generosity and thoughtfulness for what it was, he’d been thrown back in time to the humiliation of his high-school days and the never-ending stream of dead-end jobs he’d taken on to keep him and his mom afloat. Back then, his teenage pride had taken a hit every time he had to accept a gratuity from people he knew talked trash about his mom behind his back. But he’d brushed that huge chip off his shoulder years ago, or at least he’d thought he had.
Why the weight of the damn thing had reappeared at that precise moment and soured his final few moments with Ella, he didn’t have a clue, and he didn’t plan to examine it too closely. All that mattered now was that he didn’t blow his second chance with her.
That she’d come down to The Rum Runner at his suggestion was one hell of a balm to his over-touchy ego. The least he could do now was show her a good time. And given how cute and sexy she looked in those hip-hugger jeans and that skimpy tank it wasn’t exactly going to be a hardship.
He raked his hand through his hair, trying to grab hold of some of his usual charm with women, and think of how best to engineer his way back into her good graces after acting like such a douche.
Then he recalled how she’d been moving that lush butt while chatting to Henry, rocking her hips in time to the music. His pal Oggie’s band played the opening sax solo, backed by the manic drum beat, of their best dance track. And he hoped he had his answer.
‘You can’t go back to the hotel. Not before you’ve danced to some real Bermuda soca with me.’
‘I don’t know...’
She glanced back at the bar, but he could hear her hesitation.
‘Sure you do. It’ll be fun.’ He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and buzzed a quick kiss across her knuckles. ‘You’ve come all this way. And I’ve acted like a jerk. So I owe you.’
‘That’s really not necessary.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, the indecision in her voice crucifying him a little more.
‘Sure it is. One dance. By way of an apology? That’s all I’m asking.’
The shy smile was enough to tell him she’d forgiven him. But the sparkle of anticipation was tempered by caution. ‘Okay, I don’t see how one dance could hurt.’
‘Awesome.’ He placed his hand on her waist to direct her back into the bar, the spike of lust making his throat go dry when her hip bumped his thigh.
‘It may be thirsty work, though,’ she shouted above the bump and grind of drums and bass. ‘Perhaps I should go back and get my Rum Swizzle?’
‘Let’s work up a sweat first,’ he said, placing firm hands on her hips as he slotted them both into the packed dancefloor, the sweat already slick on his forehead. ‘I’ll buy you one later.’
Dancing with her was bound to be really thirsty work, but he didn’t plan to let her have any more Rum Swizzles. Those damn things were lethal, especially on an empty stomach—and with her tiny frame and that little stumble at the bar after only half a glass, he would hazard a guess Ella Radley was a really cheap drunk. He wanted her fully conscious for the rest of the night, so he could enjoy her company—and anything else she wanted to offer him.
Her perfume—a refreshing mix of citrus and spices—drifted over him as she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and rolled her hips to the riotous bass beat in a natural, unaffected rhythm that was more seductive than original sin.
She grinned up at him, the cute smile a tempting mix of innocence and provocation, then jerked up on her toes to shout in his ear. ‘Aye-aye, Captain. But be warned. I’m on a mission tonight to get whatever I want.’
His hands tightened on her hips as her belly bumped against him and his groin throbbed in time to the music. ‘Not a problem, sweetheart.’
Because so am I.
* * *
‘That’s enough of that.’ Coop lifted the sunshine drink out of her hand and held it easily out of reach. ‘I want you able to walk out of here.’
Ella sent him a mock pout, but couldn’t disguise her happiness as his gaze settled on her face. The way it had been doing all evening, with a gratifying combination of possessiveness and desire.
They’d danced until they were breathless to the band’s medley of soca anthems, then eased into the seductive moves of the soul tunes when they slowed the pace later in the evening.
It was well after midnight now, and the bar had begun to empty out. His large group of friends, most of whom had come over to their table to banter with Coop or introduce themselves to her, had mostly drifted away, leaving only a small group of die-hard couples on the dance floor still bumping and grinding with gusto and a scatter of people by the bar.
She’d danced with a few of the other guys, enjoying that relaxed, casual camaraderie that reminded her of her own friendship group back in Camden. But most of all she’d enjoyed the feel of Cooper’s gaze on her throughout the evening—that said to everyone they were a couple. That—how had he put it?—she was with him, for the night. It had made her feel as if she belonged here, even though she was thousands of miles from home.
But more than that, his constant attention and that quick easy smile had both relaxed her and yet held a delicious tension, a promise of what was to come. Because she had no doubts whatsoever about where this was all headed. The smouldering looks, the proprietary touches, the irresistible scent of him, tangy and salty and spicy, wrapping around her in a potent blend of pheromones and sweat. And the delicious press of his erection outlined by the slow, seductive, sinuous moves of his muscular body as they danced.
The coil of desire had been pulsing in the pit of her stomach for hours now. Ready for him to make the next move—and if he didn’t, she was ready to take the unprecedented step of making the move for him.
It was official. Ella Radley’s flirt was now fully operational, the intoxicating buzz of the Rum Swizzles nothing compared to the glorious buzz of anticipation.
‘And where exactly would I be walking to?’ She arched an eyebrow, her tone rich with a confidence she’d thought had died inside her a lifetime ago.
His thumb brushed her cheek, his irises a mesmerising moss green in the bar’s half-light. Resting his forehead on hers, he closed his fingers over her nape, that wandering thumb caressing the frantic pulse in her neck. ‘My hut’s down at the other end of the cove. You ready to take a stroll with me in the moonlight?’
It was the invitation she’d been waiting for, but the surge of excitement still made her giddy. She could already feel those rough, capable fingers on the slick flesh between her thighs. She wanted to taste him, touch him, inhale that delicious scent, and take the impressive ridge in his pants inside her. Her sex clasped and released, hollow and aching with the need to be filled.
Touching her lips to his, she licked across the seam of the wide, sensual mouth that had been driving her wild all day. The shot of adrenaline was as stimulating as the pulse of reaction when she heard him drag in a ragged breath. His fingers plunged into her hair, then clasped her head so his tongue could plunder.
She let him in, her tongue duelling with his as they sank into the ravenous kiss.
He broke away first, the pants of his breathing as thready as her own. ‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’
She nodded, not sure she could speak around the joy closing off her throat.
Standing, he gripped her hand and hauled her out of her chair. He tossed a few dollars on the table, and sent Henry a parting salute. She waved her own goodbye at the barman, who was stacking glasses, a rueful smile on his face.
‘See you around, pretty lady.’ Henry waved back, shouting over the murmur of goodbyes being thrown their way by the bar’s other remaining patrons. ‘And don’t you be doing anything I wouldn’t, Coop.’
Coop dragged her outside, sending her a wicked grin over his shoulder as the night closed over them. ‘Given what you would do, man,’ he whispered for her ears alone, ‘that gives me a hell of a lot of options.’
For some strange reason she found the comment riotously funny, her chuckle blending with the fading beat of music and the sound of the rolling and retreating tide as they stepped off the deck onto the beach. He laid his arm across her shoulders, tugged her into his side to lead her along the sand and into the darkness.
Crickets and night crawlers added an acoustic accompaniment to the flickering light of the fireflies in the undergrowth and the hushed lap of the water. She kicked off her sandals, picked them up, and let her toes seep into the damp sand.
The walk in the moonlight he’d promised went past in a blur, neither of them speaking, the only sound the sea, the insects and the rhythmic bump of her own heartbeat. A one-storey shack raised over the beach on a wraparound deck appeared as if by magic out of the undergrowth on the edge of the sand. A lamp suspended from the porch rail shone like a homing beacon, illuminating the rudimentary clapboard structure.
He dropped his arm from around her shoulders, to lace his fingers through hers and lead her up the steps onto the porch.
‘You live here?’ she asked, enchanted by the spartan dwelling.
‘Yeah, mostly.’ He held open the screen door to reveal a large, sparsely furnished, but tidy room. A sofa with well-worn cushions made up the living area, while a large mattress, the sheets neatly folded across the bottom, stood in front of the open deck. A tiny kitchenette cordoned off by a waist-high counter took up the hut’s back wall, next to a door that she deduced must lead to a bathroom.
But it was the open deck, blending the hut’s interior with the beach outside, that took her breath away. The silvery glow of the moon dipped over the horizon, shimmering over the water and making the dark sand look as if it disappeared into oblivion. The fresh scent of sea and salt and exotic blooms only added to the feeling of wild, untamed freedom that was so like Cooper himself.
‘It suits you,’ she said.
He huffed, the half-laugh both wry and amused. ‘Why? Because it’s cheap?’ he said and she heard the cynical edge.
‘No, because it’s charming and unpretentious and unconventional.’
He turned up the lamp, giving the modest hut a golden glow.
