Another woman came on stage to perform a solo dance to the beat of a single bongo-type drum. Her long, black hair hung to her waist and shimmered in the spotlights. She wore a red flower over one ear, a red bandeau bikini top and a wrapped skirt rolled at her hips. She began to sway to the music and again the tempo picked up, the drummer playing faster and faster, the woman’s graceful arms waving and her hips shimmying. When she turned her back to the audience, her skirt twitched and swung as she rotated her hips with jaw-dropping speed. Brooke couldn’t take her eyes off the way she moved, the sexuality in her motion.
When the show ended, she turned to Dylan. “That was amazing!”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“I wish I could move my hips like those girls!” Their grace and control amazed her.
“You could learn.”
She laughed. “I don’t think so. That’s mind boggling how they move like that.”
He leaned closer. “When missionaries arrived on these islands, they were horrified by how suggestive the dances—and how naked the dancers—were. They thought it was sexual and sinful, so they banned it.”
“Um. It is pretty suggestive.” That sounded prudish. “Not that I don’t like sex.”
Oh my God.
She’d obviously had too much wine at dinner. “I mean, those girls are beautiful and sexy.” Heat swept over her face. She turned to the breeze that drifted into the restaurant through large opened windows, letting it blow her hair back and cool her hot cheeks.
“Hey, don’t worry, you’re just as sexy as they are.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she muttered, shifting back from him.
“Well, good. So…what now?”
“Um…”
“Do we call it a night?”
“I guess so.” Fatigue rolled back over her. “I’m really tired. That was a long flight and I didn’t sleep much.”
“Okay.” He rose and held her chair for her as she stood too. “So. Your place or mine?”
Chapter Four
Brooke gazed back at him. “When Barrett said to stick to you like…um, well to stick close to you, I don’t think he meant we had to share a hotel room.”
Dylan grinned and lifted a hand to ease back a strand of dark hair that had blown across her face. The wind was really picking up outside. How bad was this storm going to be? He glanced out into the dark night, at the palm fronds tossing in the wind, then mentally shrugged and turned his attention back to the beautiful woman in front of him.
She’d surprised him when she’d appeared outside the restaurant. Earlier, when she’d interrupted his sexytimes with Lexi and Suri, she’d seemed so buttoned-up and tight-assed, hair scraped back off her face, dressed in business clothes that seemed so out of place in the exotic paradise. Then she’d arrived wearing this tropical-orange halter dress that showed off an amazing body, including killer legs from what he could see of them from the just-above-the-knee hem. Her hair hung down past her shoulders in loose waves and curls, and with shiny lips and a little color in her cheeks, she was…hot.
The sexy, half-nekkid dancing, although he’d seen it many times, always stirred up a little heat inside him. Maybe that was making him see Brooke as hotter than she was. Maybe that was making him say stupid suggestive things like “your room or mine” when he didn’t mean it.
Oh hell, who was he kidding? He totally meant it. He’d do her in a heartbeat.
“You never know what trouble I could get into overnight,” he murmured.
More color flooded her pretty cheeks and her long eyelashes fluttered. “Hmm,” she said. “That’s true.”
His heart skipped a beat. “I only have one bed,” he reminded her.
“Me too.” She sighed. Then she patted his cheek. “We’ll just have to go with the separate rooms, I guess.”
“Damn.” He smiled into her eyes and she held his gaze, and holy shiz, heat flared up sizzling hot between them. He was pretty sure it wasn’t one-sided either. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“That’s okay. It’s not far from here.”
But he took her hand and led her out of the nearly empty restaurant. They passed through the spacious lobby, still buzzing with people after the show, then up the elevator to her second floor room.
“You don’t have a view of the lagoon,” he said when they turned right after emerging from the elevator.
“No. It’s a garden view, or something. It’s still pretty and I didn’t come to sit and look at the view.”
They paused outside her door and he noted the room number. She fished her key card out of her little purse then paused. She turned her head up and looked at him over her shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said. “I actually enjoyed it.”
He laughed. “You sound surprised.”
“Well, I didn’t really expect to enjoy this trip. I pictured myself chasing you with a big stick, trying to get you on the plane.”
“You haven’t got me on the plane yet.”
She turned her body more toward him, her forehead creasing. “You are going to come back with me, aren’t you? Didn’t I convince you how serious this is?”
He smoothed back a strand of hair again. She had really nice hair, long and shiny and silky. He wanted to wrap it around his hands. “Sure,” he said. “But I also told you I don’t want to go back this soon.”
“When did you plan to show up in San Amaro?” she asked with a touch of exasperation.
“I usually get to a competition a few days ahead of time.”
She slumped against her door. “Not this time, Dylan. We have plans.”
“Maybe I have other plans.”
She turned and let her forehead drop against the door with a thunk. And then did it again.
“Hey,” he said, pulling her back. “Don’t do that.”
“You’re frustrating me. And I’m too tired to deal with this right now.”
He blew out a breath. “It’s late. Let’s meet up for breakfast. No, brunch. You need sleep. Call me when you’re up.”
“Fine.” The word came out between clenched teeth, which amused him. She slipped the card in and out and then opened her door and stepped inside. “Good night, Dylan. Behave.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
He watched her door swing closed with a click, then turned and headed down the hall. Behave. Fuck. He was going back to his bungalow, alone and sober. Two things he did not like to be lately. Alone and sober he started thinking about crap, thinking about things like tanking in the water, things like being pounded by a wave, and things like Matt and Corey getting married.
As he passed the bar, he cast a longing look inside. He saw a few familiar faces. Most of the guys had left Tahiti and headed home or off to their next competition. He could go in and have a drink and shoot the breeze with whoever was there who wanted to talk. Probably there’d be some beach bunny in there who’d be eager to go sheet surfing back at his bungalow with a champion surfer.
Then Brooke’s face appeared in his mind. He shook his head. If she made him go back to San Amaro, he’d have no excuse for not going to Matt and Corey’s wedding. He’d have to be Matt’s best man. Christ, he couldn’t do that!
Tension gripping his body, he passed by the bar and headed out the back exit into the hotel grounds. The winds had picked up even more, bending palm trees and blowing leaves around. He picked up his pace into long strides until he reached his bungalow, let himself in and then leaned against the door for a moment. Going to bed—alone, dammit—was about all he could do.
He awoke after a restless sleep full of frustrating dreams about tanking and being pushed to the bottom of the ocean, interspersed with sex dreams involving… Christ, no, not Brooke. After he’d left San Amaro, he’d dreamt a lot about Corey, but only now did he realize that hadn’t happened for a while. But Jesus, he’d just met Brooke yesterday. Well, technically he’d met her about ten or twelve years ago, but that didn’t really count.
He ordered coffee from room service then walked out onto the deck overlooking the lagoon. Holy crap. The dark sky loomed close to the ground, wind churning up the water of the lagoon into foamy waves. Down at Teahapoo, the waves were probably eight or ten footers, but with the wind and rain, there would be no surfing. Thank God the competition had wound up earlier in the week.
Trade winds whipped the palm trees back and forth, some of the more slender trunks bending under the pressure. A few drops of rain splattered him and he headed back inside, closing the doors he usually left open.
He showered, drank coffee, watched a little television, waiting for Brooke to call him. He was starving. He checked his cell phone for the time. Shiz, nearly noon. Was she still sleeping?
A knock at the door had his head whipping around and he jumped to answer it, expecting Brooke. Instead it was hotel staff.
“My apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Schell,” the man said. “But we’re moving everyone out of the bungalows because of the storm.”
“What?” He leaned against the doorjamb.
“The full impact of the storm is expected to hit here tonight. We need to move everyone to the main hotel building for safety. I’m very sorry, but we’ll find you alternate accommodations for tonight, or longer if necessary.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m sorry. If you need any help packing your belongings, I’d be happy to send someone to assist you.”
“No, no. I don’t need any help. When do we need to move?”
“As soon as possible. As you can see, the winds are really picking up and it’s beginning to rain. If this does turn into a Category One cyclone, these bungalows will be at risk.”
“Yeah. I guess so. Sure.”
Dylan closed the door and turned to survey the bungalow. He’d been there a while and had his shit all spread out, but he always traveled pretty light, other than his boards. He sighed as he began to throw stuff into his bags.
Once packed, he headed out, shaking his head at all the others exiting their bungalows with worried expressions on their faces, loaded down with their luggage. What was he supposed to do now? Go to the front desk, probably, and find out where they were going to put him for the night.
But the hotel lobby was pandemonium with guests and suitcases everywhere, kids screaming and running around, anxious parents trying to control them while they lined up at the front desk. Jesus. Dylan paused and rubbed at the faint burning feeling in his chest, then sighed and bypassed the lobby and went to the elevator. He rode up to Brooke’s floor and hauled his stuff down the hall to her room.
When she didn’t immediately answer his first knock, he frowned again. Had she gotten up and gone for breakfast without calling him? He raised his hand to knock again and the door opened.
She stood there, hair mussed, eyes sleepy, dressed in a pink tank top and a pair of pink-and-white polka dotted shorts. His eyes immediately went to her braless breasts, soft beneath the top, nipples clearly visible. His groin tightened and he swallowed.
“God, what time is it?” she said. “You woke me up.”
“It’s past noon,” he said. “You slept for twelve hours.”
“Oh wow.” She rubbed her eyes and blinked at him. Then her eyes fell on his luggage and she frowned. “What are you doing? Did you check out already?”
“Er, no. Bad news about the storm. They made me evacuate the bungalow.”
“What?” She shoved her hands through her hair. “Come in. I’m not awake yet and I’m confused.” She stepped back and he followed her in, bringing his belongings with him. The room was black, with the curtains drawn across the windows and no lights on. She obviously wasn’t aware of what was going on outside.
He crossed to the windows and drew the curtains. Watery light spilled in, but here, away from the ocean, looking into a courtyard of sorts, the effect wasn’t so obvious. The palm fronds whipped back and forth and a gust of wind blasted rain against the glass doors. “The storm is hitting hard,” he said. “They’re worried about the bungalows so they made us all leave. They’re going to find other rooms for us, but it was gnarly down there in the lobby so I came up here.”
“Well, we’re leaving tonight anyway,” she pointed out, staring out the window.
“Um. Doubtful. The airport is likely closed.”
“What?”
He gave her a big smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not my fault.”
“Well, you don’t know that for sure, do you?”
“No. But I’m fairly certain.”
“I’ll phone and check.” As she moved to the desk where her phone was charging, he admired her legs. Yup, killer. She was probably only on the high end of average height, but her legs were long. Long, slender and smooth, making him want to run his hands up and down them. His dick twitched in his loose shorts.
She made the call but didn’t say a word, so she must have gotten a recording. Then she stabbed a button on the phone and dropped it to the desk. “Shit,” she muttered. “I can’t believe this.” She turned to him. “It is closed. All flights in and out are canceled.”
He lifted one shoulder and smiled. “I figured. You wouldn’t want to be on a plane trying to take off in a cyclone.”
“Cyclone!” Her eyes went wide.
“Yep.” He moved back to the window to look outside. “I guess we’re safe here.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”
“I’m starving,” he told her. “Get dressed so we can go find some food.”
She stood there, her fingertips of both hands resting on her jaw. “Food. Okay.” She looked around the room as if still half asleep.
“Or we could just go back to bed,” he said. He glanced at the queen-sized bed with rumpled white sheets, pictured her naked there, with those long legs wrapped around him. Oh hell, now he was really hard.
She snorted. “As if.”
Well, that had gotten her moving. She poked around in a suitcase and pulled out another sundress. With a glance his way, she then found what looked to be the skimpiest little pink panties in the world and then…he watched…a strapless bra. She disappeared into the bathroom to dress, closing the door firmly behind her.
His bottom lip pushed out in an amused pout. Then he smiled.
Heh, this was kind of funny, actually. Not that he wanted to be in the middle of a cyclone, but at least they weren’t headed back to San Amaro tonight. This wasn’t going to last forever though. Even the worst storm would probably only shut things down for a few days. He sighed. It bought him a little time, but she seemed pretty determined to get him back there. And he reluctantly had to admit he didn’t have a helluva lot of choice.