This guy was not the type he’d expected Elle to go for. There was a bad boy across the fire pit who kept eyeing her. He was shirtless, with a tattoo covering one shoulder, worn jeans and a light in his eye that said he knew how to live life to the fullest. Now, that was who he’d expected Elle to go for—someone dangerous and just as daring as she was.
Although, he was glad that so far she had ignored bad boy’s pointed looks of interest.
Zane scooted closer to Elle and the yuppie. He wasn’t spying… He was doing reconnaissance. There was a difference.
“Do you have any plans for tomorrow? I was thinking about the ballroom classes. I’ve always wanted to learn the tango.” Even the guy’s voice sounded false, his laughter too forced.
“Hmm.” Elle sipped at her drink, a smile curving her lips. “I’m actually planning on going out into the jungle to paint. Marcy, the director, managed to get me some paints and canvas from the mainland. They aren’t mine, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”
“Sure, but I should have known I’d want to paint when I saw the beauty of the island in that magazine ad.”
“You saw it, too? That’s the reason I came here. It looked so…perfect.”
Elle laughed, the low-throated sound jolting through Zane. “Exactly.”
“So do you know where you’re going to paint? Maybe I can come with you. Watch. I’ve always wanted to watch an artist at work.”
God, what a terrible line. If the guy knew anything about art, Zane would eat the bullets out of the gun currently locked in the safe back in his bungalow. Zane might not know much, but at least he didn’t pretend an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt until Elle had stormed into his life.
“Sorry, no. No one sees my stuff until it’s done. Personal rule of mine.”
“Oh.” If Zane’s teeth hadn’t been squeezed together so tightly, he might have smiled at the crushed expression on the other man’s face.
“I heard one of the staff talking to a couple about a waterfall back a little ways into the jungle. I might end up there. Or I might end up somewhere else. I think I’ll just start walking and see where the path leads me.”
Elle went to take another sip of her drink, only to find that the glass was empty. With one of those tinkling laughs, she gave the guy an almost sheepish grin. “Looks like I need another drink. It was very nice to meet you, Stewart.”
Zane found himself lifting a single eyebrow in the dark where no one could see it. The brush-off. And not a very subtle one. Elle pushed up from the log and sauntered across the gathering, toward the bar. Stewie frowned, but then followed her back into the fray. Zane watched as he shifted his focus to another woman and began chatting. This one looked a little more receptive to his advances, not that Zane cared if Stew ended up with company tonight.
Dismissing him out of hand, Zane turned his attention back to Elle. Her back was against the bar, one hand holding a fresh drink and the other arm stretched out across the wooden lip of the counter. Her knee was bent, one sandal pressed tight against the side of the bar.
Her eyes ran across the crowd. From his vantage point on the other side of the clearing, hidden by the shadows, Zane couldn’t tell if she was searching for someone in particular or just looking.
He considered going to her, but before he could move, bad boy was beside her.
Elle smiled up at the guy. Zane couldn’t see her eyes clearly enough to tell whether the smile was real. A few seconds later, when Elle shifted her body closer to the man, Zane realized it didn’t matter.
He watched as Elle stood on tiptoe, arched her body away from the bar and into the man’s space. She lifted her chin, moving closer so that he could lean down and whisper something into her ear.
She laughed. The sound didn’t make it to Zane, caught by the wall of ambient noise from the other people between them, but he saw. She pressed her palm against his chest—his bare chest. Zane half expected her to push the man away; instead, she seemed to use his body to steady her own off-balance posture.
Dropping back down onto her heels, Elle took a step away from him. Setting her half-empty glass onto the bar behind her, she turned to leave, throwing a quick glance back at the man as she walked away.
The man stood there for several seconds, watching her go. He turned to speak to several people he’d been talking to earlier, and ninety seconds later, bad boy was following her.
And Zane was following them both.
ELLE WALKED THROUGH THE silent halls. Everyone was either out on the beach or at the bar or holed up inside one of the rooms, enjoying the sensual setting and tropical heat.
She was heading back to her room. Alone.
There was no question she could have had a companion…if she’d been interested in anyone but Zane occupying her bed.
All night, she’d felt his eyes on her. How many times had she scanned the people around her, looking for him? She could feel him, caressing her skin as he’d watched. Or maybe that was just her overheated imagination.
He couldn’t have been watching through the lens of a damn camera. Not out in the open on the beach. No place to hang one from, right? Although, it did make her wonder what the range of those things was. Something she’d gone her entire life without needing to know.
Even now, she could swear she was being followed.
Elle stopped and whipped her head around, staring down the empty hallway and feeling like an idiot.
Definitely her overactive imagination. Knowing that Zane and his staff were watching apparently made her jumpy.
Still, she couldn’t stop her feet from moving just a little faster as she turned the corner. Her room was the last one on the right, across from the freight elevator masquerading as another room door.
A sound echoed down the hallway she’d just come from. Elle’s heart rate picked up and her body flushed warm with unease. Hadn’t that hallway just been deserted?
She was five feet from her door, fumbling inside the clutch she’d brought to find the key that suddenly seemed to have disappeared. Throwing glances over her shoulder, she let out a tiny groan as the guy she’d been talking to at the party rounded the corner behind her.
His eyes immediately found her, standing alone and vulnerable at the end of the hallway. Or at least she assumed he thought she was vulnerable. He was far enough away that if she could find the damn key, she could slip into her room and avoid a confrontation.
She might know how to protect herself, but the first rule her father had taught her was “fight only if you have to.” Exhaust all other options first.
A small spurt of relief flooded through her as her fingers closed around the cold edge of the key. The guy—the one with the tattoos, tanned muscles and “God’s gift to women” chip on his shoulder—had taken only a few steps when all hell broke loose.
One minute he was striding down the hallway, the next he was slammed against the wall, Zane’s arm lodged firmly against his throat.
The key slid through Elle’s fingers, dropping to her feet with a metallic ping as she sped toward the two men.
“Why were you following her?”
“Zane, what are you doing? Stop it!”
He threw a glance her way before dismissing her, but the quick glimpse she got showed eyes that were glittering chips of glass, refracting the light and reflecting the anger rolling around inside him. His jaw was tight, the muscles in the arm pressed underneath the other man’s jaw pulsed with the intensity of the hold Zane had—on the other man and on himself.
“I asked you a question.”
“I wasn’t following her, man.” The words scraped past Zane’s hold, making Elle cringe. They sounded painful.
She reached for Zane’s arm, hoping that she could pull him back. The muscles beneath her hand rippled, but he didn’t budge.
“Zane, let him go.”
The other man slowly moved his arm, reaching into his pocket to pull out a key identical to her own. “My room’s right over there.” With a trembling finger, he pointed down the hallway.
Zane raised his arm from across the other man’s neck. Holding both his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture that really meant nothing at this point, he took two steps away, giving the man just enough space to scoot around him toward the door he’d indicated.
Elle almost felt sorry for him as he sent several furtive glances over his shoulder. Up until the moment his back was pressed against the wall and an elbow was cutting off his circulation, Elle would have said he was bad straight down to his toes. Now she wondered if the tattoos were fake and the long shaggy hair was a wig. The guy had squealed like a little girl.
She supposed Escape was the sort of place where someone could alter their persona. Become the person they’d always wanted to be.
As the man slid his key into the lock, his hand only slightly shaky, she wondered what he did in real life. Accountant. Insurance actuary. Something very boring and safe. He could have made money as an actor, at least until someone rammed him up against a wall.
“Are you o—” Zane took several steps toward her but he never made it where he wanted to go. Instead, Elle struck out at him, grasping his arm and spinning his body, pinning him face-first against the wall.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew that if she hadn’t had the element of surprise on her side, she never could have gotten the jump on him. Even now, if he’d really wanted to, he could have gotten out of her hold. But he might have hurt her in the process and she knew enough about Zane by now to realize he’d never in a million years let that happen.
Hadn’t he just defended her? A woman he suspected of lying, stealing and the worst sort of treachery?
He’d never hurt a woman. He was a protector. Well…okay, unless she was a danger to others. And they both knew Elle wasn’t.
“What the hell…” His words, even muffled against the wall, sounded lazy and unconcerned. Was he laughing at her?
“I can take care of myself, Officer Zane.”
“Special agent. How many times do I have to tell you?”
She shrugged, hoisting his arm just a little higher with the motion. His body moved with her, sliding against her own.
Bad miscalculation.
How could she go from indignant to aroused in the space of a single heartbeat?
“I get it. You can take care of yourself. That doesn’t mean you might not need protection now and again.”
“From the staid accountant taking a walk on the wild side?”
“Have you ever met a serial killer?”
Zane flexed his wrist beneath her hold, testing her. At least, she thought that’s what he was doing, although it also had the added advantage—or disadvantage, depending—of forcing the flat of his fingertips to brush against the underside of her breast.
She breathed out the single word, trying to stay focused. “No.”
“Most of them are psychopaths pretending to be staid accountants and boring lawyers.”
Elle wanted to take a step back, but if she did that she would have lost the advantage of her weight pinning him against the wall. She had no doubt that, at the first sign of weakness, he’d have their positions flipped, her own body pressed tight to the wall. Again. Not something she wanted to repeat. Okay, not something her brain wanted a repeat of. Her tingling, aching body could just stuff it.
Gritting her teeth, Elle ignored the growing sensations. “Probably why they’re serial killers. Boredom can drive you to any number of things.”
Taking advantage of the inch of space she’d inadvertently given him, he rolled his hips beneath hers. The movement pressed the tight muscles of his ass against the cradle of her hips. Her thighs spread wider, crushing back down against him. Her vacant hand grasped on to his hip, hoping to hold him still with the combination.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Her fingers brushed against something cold and hard tucked into the waistband of his pants. Her gaze darted to the side, eyeing the smooth plastic surface of his all-access key card.
She didn’t think. Pushing up on tiptoe, Elle pressed her body closer. She enjoyed the way he tensed beneath her, the way his breath caught in his lungs for a second before bursting out on a groan. He watched her with narrowed, glittering eyes. Not even his vulnerable position, his cheek pressed against the wall, could diminish the intensity and appreciation in his appraisal.