Then she got out of the water.
He stopped laughing.
She wore a bright orange bikini—her nipples pressing against the elastic fabric like little pebbles begging to be touched. Water streamed down her body, pooling
in her cleavage and sliding down her hips and thighs in a way his hands wanted to. He watched her mouth move, hypnotized by her full, wet lips. He knew she was speaking, but he couldn’t hear a sound.
Suddenly she turned and walked toward the deck chairs, giving him an enviable view of her backside.
He stood, paralyzed, as he studied how the orange fabric of her bikini emphasized the seductive swish of her hips and the round curve of her butt. She abruptly stopped and turned to him. “Michael? Is something wrong?”
He quickly lifted his eyes and saw the worry on her face. “No, I—”
“Was the walk too much for you? This pool is far from your cabin. I should have thought about that.” She came up to him and draped his arm over her shoulders then wrapped her arm around his waist, pressing her wet body against him. He groaned.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked sharply.
She was killing him, but it was sweet torture and the evidence of his desire was on full alert. If her hand slipped lower than his waist he was a lost man. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Why not? Don’t worry about anyone looking—it’s none of their business.” Arlene held him tighter. He knew she meant it as an act of reassurance, but it affected his equilibrium and he stumbled forward. “Careful, Michael. I don’t want you to fall. Lean on me. Come on. You did it before,” she said, leading him to the deck chair. Once they reached it she swept the items off the seat. “There you go.”
Michael sat down and briefly closed his eyes.
“You really are in pain, aren’t you?” she said, anxious. “And I’ve gotten you wet. Do you want me to help you take off your shirt?”
His eyes flew open. “No!”
She hesitated, surprised by his vehemence, then softened her voice. “Is it because of your bruises?”
He met her eyes with amazement. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on him. The expression in her eyes reflected only deep concern. That Arlene truly cared about his well-being stunned him. Who was this woman who could dress and walk like a sex kitten one moment and be Florence Nightingale the next? And why did she keep looking at him like that? As if he was special and dear to her? He could hardly remember the last time a woman had treated him with such tenderness. The last time was…no, he wasn’t going to go back that far.
Her attention was becoming like a drug he was starting to crave. Michael covered his eyes, unable to meet her gentle gaze. “Yes,” he lied. “It’s the bruises.”
“They don’t look that bad, but I understand.”
He sighed with relief that she’d believed him, then he felt the soft pressure of her fingers on his leg. He nearly leaped off the chair.
“What are you doing?” he asked, noticing that one of her bikini straps was sliding down. He stared at it wishing he could move it with mental energy—
just a little lower.
She pulled it back up. “I’m going to help you. Just lean back.”
“Don’t. I’m fine. Really,” he said then lifted his legs and swung them onto the chair to prove it. But he did the motion too fast and swore.
“You don’t have to pretend you don’t need help,” she said then stood and reached across him.
He balled his hands into fists. Her beautiful brown body was like a tree and her breasts hung in front of him like two bright oranges ready to be plucked. He could imagine peeling off the outer layer and sucking the divine fruit underneath. Before he could further enjoy his fantasy, she pulled back and opened a towel.
He stared at her, wary. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to put this over you.”
Michael took it from her and draped the towel over his lap, glad that his trunks were loose. “It’s all right. I don’t need it.”
She grabbed her own towel and wrapped it around herself, staring at him, unsure.
“I’m okay,” he said, glancing away. He was going to kiss her if she kept looking at him like that.
“I don’t—”
“So tell me about Bertram, the man at your table,” he said, desperate to change the subject.
To his relief the look of worry left her face and Arlene smiled. She sat down on the lounge chair beside him. She told him about Bertram, a failed ventriloquist who tried to throw his voice and make his sock puppet talk then she did an imitation of him trying to feed it. And Michael burst into laughter and winced, begging her to stop.
“I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip.
Michael rubbed his side. “It’s my fault for asking.”
“I don’t usually make people laugh. Maybe I should stop talking.”
He shook his head. “No, I like it, just talk about something else.” He pointed at her and said in a stern voice, “Just try not to be funny.”
Her lips twitched but she obliged and told him other stories about interesting people she’d met on the ship. Then she told him about her eagerness to visit the islands and what she hoped to see on her high-seas adventure. At that point Michael realized he liked listening to her talk. He liked her slight New England accent and the pictures she painted with words. “You’re a really good storyteller. Have you ever thought of writing your stories down?”
“Oh, um…no,” she said awkwardly. “I leave the writing to my sister.”
“You have a sister?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, we’re twins actually.”
“Identical?”
“Yes.”
He paused. “Ever switched places?”
“A few times when we were ten,” she admitted. “But then my grandmother found out and made our lives so miserable we never did it again.”
“Is your sister anything like you?”
“No, she’s, um…what’s the word?”
“Boring?”
“No,” she said in a tight voice. “More reserved. She writes romance novels.”
“While you live them? I bet she uses you as her inspiration.”
She lowered her gaze. “No, she says her imagination is enough.”
“If I had you in my life, I wouldn’t need any imagination.”
Arlene blushed and again she baffled him. How could a woman who wore a bright bikini blush at such an ordinary compliment?
“Tell me more about my competition.”
“Why?” She took off her swimming cap and fluffed up her hair. She adjusted the towel wrapped around her.
“I want to know.” Michael extended his hand and lifted her arm. “Did he give you this?” he asked, gesturing to the silver bracelet.
“Yes.”
“Could I at least get a name? Or are you making him up?”
“He is not a figment of my imagination. His name is Clyde. Clyde Harris. He’s an antiques dealer.”
“Like you?”
“I work for him.”
“That sounds cozy. A clever way to ensure job security.”
She frowned. “We have a lot in common. He’s also very generous, an excellent dresser and—” she faltered and reached for her suntan lotion.
“And?”
“And that’s all you need to know.”
“But I want to know more. How did you meet?”
She shook her head. “That’s none of your business and forget about trying to get me to share anything more. You’re a man of the world and our meeting is just a moment in time. I don’t believe I am, or will be, the only woman in your life. Why should you expect to be the only man?”
It was a fair question that Michael couldn’t answer. In an instant something in him changed. He didn’t want to be just another man in a woman’s life, the charmer, the playboy, the friend. His past relationships—both real and false—suddenly felt hollow. He craved something more. Something real and lasting. He didn’t want to be with just any woman; he wanted to be with This Woman and he wanted to be Her Man. The one and only.
He didn’t want another man to touch her, to wake up to her smile, to taste her lips. Especially when he hadn’t had the chance to yet. The strength of his desire surprised him and he fought to keep it at bay. It had to be the medication that was fogging his brain. He was only going to take aspirin from now on.
“Besides,” she continued. “I know more about him than I do about you.”
Michael studied her then tilted his head to the side. “What do you want to know?”
She stared at him for a moment then asked, “What do you do?”
“I’m a travel writer.”
“It must pay well.”
“I also have various investments.”
“How about women?”
He grinned. “Yes, I like to invest in them too.”
She met his grin with one of her own. “Are you investing in one now?”
“Do you mean
right now
or generally?”
She raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his interest in her. “Generally.”
“No, I don’t have one right now, but I’m hoping to change that. Anything I invest in increases in value.”
“I see,” she said, with a knowing look in her sharp gaze that hit him at his core. For a moment he felt exposed, as if she was a savvy game hunter recognizing the predatory nature in him, but she didn’t judge him. He knew then that Arlene may be a lot of things, but she was no ditz.
“So you’re not going to tell me anything more about Clyde?” Michael asked, determined to stay focused on his job.
Arlene leaned back in her chair. “There’s nothing you need to know.”
“Why isn’t he here with you?”
“I told you my reason before. We’re giving each other space.”
“Do you like keeping secrets?”
She turned to him. “Just some.”
“I get a sense that you don’t trust men in general.” Michael paused. “Or is it just me in particular?”
“It’s not you. I have a poor record.”
“How bad?”
Arlene put on her sunglasses and pushed them up on her head like a headband. “The men in my life have been deceivers, betrayers, adulterers and a host of other things.”
“And you expect me to fall into one of those categories?”
Her eyes searched his face, looking for something he couldn’t fathom. “Let’s say I hope not, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said and he saw a vulnerable look of hurt that touched him. But before he could say anything Arlene covered her beautiful brown eyes with the dark shade of her sunglasses, effectively shutting him out.
Later that night, alone in his cabin, Michael remembered that moment and scowled as he stared at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He was one of the deceivers she’d tried to guard herself against and he hated himself for it, but he had no choice.
He splashed cold water on his face. He had to pull himself together. She was just a woman. He’d never let a woman affect him like this, especially a target, and he wouldn’t start now. He could love them and leave them and usually did. He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t hurt anyone. He was a charmer, not a heartbreaker. He was a brief fling that made a woman feel good, and he was usually in and out of their lives before they could miss him and he liked it like that. He didn’t need permanency. He was a free agent.
Michael wiped the water from his face with a towel, briefly pressing the towel against his face, remembering how Arlene had held him close. There was something different about her. Her soft warmth was like coming home. He’d never had a true place of safety. He angrily crumpled the towel into a ball and threw it at the mirror. No. He wasn’t going to fall for that crap. He wasn’t going to delude himself. A woman was a woman. That was
all. He’d met prettier women, smarter women, kinder women, sexier women. Why was she having such an effect on him?
Because she was genuine. She lived her life and made no apologies for it. That truth rang in his mind like a lost echo. She hadn’t fallen for him initially because she’d seen through his game. She took care of him because he was wounded, not to get something from him. And she talked to him without pretense—or a hidden agenda. She didn’t tell him about her history with men to get pity. She told him because that was the truth. He’d been a liar so long that her honesty lured him in like a beacon of light in darkness. She made him want to be a better man.
A knock on the door took him out of his thoughts. Michael glanced at his watch. It was only eight. They’d agreed to meet at eight-thirty at the restaurant. He opened the door and saw Joy standing there.
“Darren told me to check on you,” she said. “How much have you gotten?” She was dressed for dinner in a seductive red sheath dress. She crossed the room and sat down at his small table.
Michael tucked in his shirt. “Not much.”
“You will. She’ll fall for you soon enough.”
“You think so?” he asked, with more hope than he’d realized.
Joy sent him a curious look. “They usually do. Why do you sound so surprised?”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “No reason.”
“What’s up, Vaughn?”
He let his hand fall. Joy only called him by that name
when she was determined to uncover something. “Arlene may be more complicated than we thought. She’s done this before. It may be harder to get what we want.”
“You always get what you want.” Joy leaned back and crossed her legs. “I saw you and Arlene by the pool and it looks like you’ve finally gotten her under your spell.” She paused and traced a circle on the table. “Or is it vice versa?” she asked while watching him as he maintained his distance.
“It’s not like that,” he said in a gruff voice. He took his dinner jacket out of the closet. “I haven’t been myself. It’s been a crazy trip. First I was hit by a car—”
Joy flattened her palm on the table and gaped at him. “What? When?”
“Last night.”
She jumped out of her chair, rushed over to him and touched his face. “Oh my God! No wonder you disappeared from the party. Why didn’t you tell me?” She measured him with dismay. “Are you sure you should be up?”
“I’m all right.” For some reason her concern embarrassed him and he stepped away. Joy let her hand fall and composed herself. Years ago they’d had an affair. They had even flirted with the idea of marriage, but their relationship never got to that stage. Although they were now older and wiser and she was still gorgeous, Michael didn’t want to get that close again. Joy must have sensed it because instead of returning to the table, she sat on the edge of his bed, providing Michael with a fabulous view of her legs.