Tempted in the Tropics (7 page)

Chapter Nine

Paige was so focused on Lane’s abs that she nearly missed the spellbound look on his face when she came out of the changing room in her bikini. One corner of his mouth quirked up mischievously as he checked her out, looking positively edible in a pair of white swim trunks that hung just low enough on his narrow hips. His abs were so defined she could count them, all the way up to his smooth pecs and tightly muscled shoulders. And there were no chicken legs on this guy, which might’ve detracted (a little). His calves were sturdy and well-developed. She swept her gaze over every sexy inch of him and reminded herself to breathe. Nothing she’d baked in Sweet Bee’s had ever looked so delicious.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing any of that magic mud, Doc,” she quipped, because she couldn’t think of anything else appropriate to say out loud.

He tipped up his chin. “You either.”

Paige hated the feeling of heat rushing to her face, but she couldn’t stop it. She’d dated her fair share of good-looking guys, but something about Lane had her wanting to impress him more than she had the others. He could piss her off in a heartbeat, but he
was
smart, sexy, single, and super-buff. And those were just the adjectives that started with
S
. Given time, she could wear out the entire alphabet describing him.
Don’t forget stiff and stubborn
.

“So maybe we should just skip it,” Lane teased. He’d seemed hesitant at first, but now she’d swear he was excited about going in the mineral baths. Trying to get him to shake his uptight image might be fun.

“No way, mister. There’s mud in there with your name on it.”

Beneath an electric-blue sky, they made their way over to the Black Water Pool. The tropical sun tingled on Paige’s bare shoulders. She tried to hold back a step so she could get a good look at Lane from behind, but he matched her pace, even slowing some, seeming to have the same idea about her.

“Are you trying to look at my butt?” she asked.

He nodded, the curve of a smile on his lips. “Absolutely. Could you do me a favor and make it a little easier?”

She faced him and walked backward slowly. “Not a chance.” She turned around, walking in step with him. “Nothing easy to get is worth having.” She unfolded her brightly striped towel and wrapped it around her waist, knotting the ends at her hip.

“That’s just wrong,” Lane teased. “At least I was honest.”

They stepped onto the rustic patio that surrounded the Black Water Pool. Adjacent to the mineral baths was a wall of sheer rock where a cheery attendant stood. She greeted them with a smile and nod. A large tree shaded a portion of the bath that was about the size of an average backyard swimming pool. Several people, dressed in shorts and T-shirts or bathing suits, sat at the edge. They dangled their feet in the dark water—so dark there was no way they could see their toes.

“I’ve never seen water that black before,” she said, now a little hesitant herself. “Unless it was toxic.” She’d chosen her brown bikini with a gold shimmer, thinking it could withstand exposure to the mud without noticeable damage, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Lane reached out and tugged at the knot of her towel, his fingertips skimming the super-sensitive skin at her waist. A rush of sensation pulsed through her, lingering long after his touch. The towel quickly fell free. He caught it before it slipped to the ground and slung it over his shoulder. “Consider this your first time,” he said, his tone low and sultry.

Good Lord…
Paige could hardly blink. If this was any indication of the doc’s bedside manner, she could only hope for long-term, intensive treatment.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

They took the steps into the pool together, their feet disappearing into the black water, then their knees, up to their waists and almost to Paige’s shoulders.

“It’s warm.” She clenched her teeth as her feet sank into the muddy bottom of the pool. “And squishy.”

She was surprised to see him looking as excited as a five-year-old. “I’d guess a hundred-one to a hundred-two degrees—with a high slime factor.”

“Ever said that to a patient before?”

He shook his head. “Not that I haven’t wanted to.” He grinned, flashing his dimples without a warning.

“One-hundred-and-one point six Fahrenheit,” the attendant said with a lilting island accent. Paige imagined the woman could make a string of curses sound like a lullaby.

“Your guess was pretty close,” she said to Lane.

“Pretty close? I was dead on.”

“Dead’s not a comforting word to hear from a doctor.” Paige splashed black water on his chest and watched, mesmerized, as the rivulets ran down his temptingly touchable pecs. She quickly snapped out of her daze when he dipped beneath the water, then came up with two fistfuls of mud and plopped the pitch-black slime on her shoulders. She gasped, grabbing his wrists, but not tightly enough to keep him from massaging the mud onto her skin. It happened so fast she didn’t know whether to be shocked, disgusted, or turned on. She settled for a little of each.

Lane shook the water from his hair, seeming satisfied. He looked even hotter all wet, if that was possible.

“Gross,” she said, even though she thought she might melt as his strong hands smoothed soft mud on her shoulders. She couldn’t wait for her turn to slime him.

“Medicinal properties,” he teased. “Remember?” After covering her shoulders, he swept his fingertips along her neck, taking his time and lightly swirling circles all the way up to her earlobes.

Her breath hitched. “I can almost stand it on my shoulders, but the squishing between my toes is creeping me out.”

With one swift move, he swept her off her feet and cradled her to his solid chest. Her stomach jumped into her throat. “Put me down!” She playfully flailed in his arms but he held tight.

“Do you want mud squishing between your toes or not?” His eyes glinted with mischief. Paige realized she was a fool to keep fighting. Up-close-and-personal with his pecs was a pretty awesome place to be. She blinked the water from her eyes and looked up into Lane’s. He bent his head down and lifted her up so his face was just inches from hers.

Holy crap, he’s going to kiss me!
Paige’s heart did a backflip with a twist. They’d already gone from truce to lip-lock?

“Better?” he asked, his breath warm and minty, his gaze fixed on hers.

For once, she was speechless, her pulse thrumming. After what seemed like forever, she found her voice. “A little,” she teased. “I’m still covered in mud.” Did she really want to kiss the guy who didn’t seem to care if she couldn’t make the rent on Sweet Bee’s next month? Besides, one kiss could make the rest of her time in St. Lucia really awkward.
Or really incredible.

“Then maybe it’ll be a lot better,” he said softly, “if I do this.”

Paige tensed, still unsure about which way she wanted this to go. Her mind argued
no
while her lips screamed
yes!
He drew her closer for a moment…

Then unceremoniously dunked her into the water.

…

Lane had totally wanted to kiss Paige, but then he’d second-guessed himself—and her. Was starting a vacation fling the best idea? He’d never had a one-night stand, or any relationship he knew would be temporary from the get-go—especially with someone he disagreed with, and that was being generous. She had brokered a truce between them, but he kept thinking back to Maple Creek and how she’d outed him to Mrs. Hawthorne, then had barely spoken a full sentence to him at the blood drive. She had no idea where he was coming from. Regardless, she was incredibly hard to resist, with her sultry gaze and shimmering lips, and her lithe body pressed close to his. Maybe they could forget about Maple Creek, at least while they were in paradise.

Paige emerged from the water looking feisty and determined, her fists full of mud. She quickly slimed most of it across his pecs then clapped her muddy hands against his cheeks, pulling him close.

His heart revved.
Is she going to kiss me?

“It’s time to get serious with the mud.” She released him and smudged a glob of black goo on the end of his nose. “There. Where’s my camera when I really need it?”

Lane playfully swiped the mud off of his nose. The attendant smiled and the other visitors seemed amused as they gathered and left. Before he could dip in the water and rinse his face, Paige began smoothing out the mounds she’d heaped on his chest, her delicate hands and fingers teasing him with the lightest touch. She disappeared beneath the water and came up seductively soaked, with more mud in her hands, and carefully covered every exposed inch of him. When she was finished, she took a step back and studied her work. “Perfect,” she grinned. “Now you won’t need sunscreen.”

“You two belong in the Pool of Love,” the attendant said.

Uh-oh.
That was the last place they belonged.

Paige furrowed her brow as if she were thinking the same thing. “Pool of Love? I know what this must look like, but we’re barely even friends.”

Lane awkwardly released Paige, letting her stand on her own in the creepy mud. She’d pretty much read his mind again, and said exactly what he’d been thinking.

“You should still go see it,” the attendant said. “It’s a smaller, clear-water pool near the old Ventine Baths. Cooler than this pool…and more private.” She smiled coyly, as apparently Paige’s argument hadn’t convinced her.

Lane ducked underwater and scrubbed the mud off his nose. There was no way he wanted to have a conversation about the Pool of Love with black mud smeared all over his face. Maybe it
was
a good idea to cool things off some, even though the name of the place suggested more heat. He emerged to see the attendant still looking at them expectantly.

Paige gave him a sidelong look and shrugged. “Gotta love a combo ticket. Might as well see everything while we’re here.”

She smiled at the attendant and did him the huge favor of stepping out of the pool ahead of him. Needless to say, the view might’ve been the best he’d seen in St. Lucia so far, but when she turned around and faced him, dripping wet and sun-drenched, she gave him an even better one.

Lane inhaled sharply. Maybe the Pool of Love was a perfect place to start a fling.

Chapter Ten

“Is this what you had pictured?” Lane asked as they stood at the edge of the pool. The guide had been right. It was more intimate and private—surrounded by walls of stacked or sheer rocks, some covered with flowing vegetation, then the slope of a rising mountain—and the water was clear and welcoming. A small waterfall cascaded from the far wall.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s nice.” She stepped into the pool, which was much shallower than the last one, reaching only to her knees. “I thought it would be deeper, though. You know, I figured there might be some kind of lore about lovers drowning here and that’s where the name came from.” She lifted one of her narrow shoulders. “Guess that’s just hyper-romantic thinking based on too much Shakespeare.”

“I didn’t take you for the Shakespeare type.”

“No? Would you believe me if I told you I almost named Sweet Bee’s ‘To Bees or Not to Bees’?”

He grimaced. “You’ve got to be kidding, because that’s just…bad.”

“You’re right. I am kidding, and it is bad.” She smiled as she took a few steps farther into the pool. “Coming in?”

Lane caught up with her. The water was cooler than the Black Water Pool, but still pretty warm. “I’d call this one at about eighty-eight degrees.”

He led her to the back of the pool near the waterfall, where they sat next to each other on a couple of rocks on the bottom and stretched out their legs.

“I’d say eighty-nine,” she said with a playful smirk.

“Just to be disagreeable.”

She grinned, looking stunningly sexy in the St. Lucian sun, the gold shimmer in her brown bikini top glistening every time he risked a glance at it, which was often. Her hair was beginning to dry, and she swiped away a stray lock that the trade winds had blown across her face.

Lane noticed a small, pink heart tattooed on the inside of her wrist framed by the opening of the narrow silver bangle bracelet she wore. “Let’s see that tattoo.”

She proudly presented her wrist, and he had a closer look. The tattooed heart had a thin black outline, the artwork simple and precise. “That’s nice.”

This place really was surreal. Here he was, in the Pool of Love, hot for a girl with a tattoo.

She lifted one eyebrow. “You mean I’m not going to get a doctor lecture about dirty needles and hepatitis?”

“Sounds like you don’t need one,” he said. “But personally, I’d never risk getting inked.”

She shook her head, her lips turned up at the corners. “No surprise there.”

So much for convincing her he wasn’t uptight.

“We all three got one,” she said. “My mom, my dad, and me.”

“Your dad?”

She nodded, yet didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her expression turned serious as she gazed at the tattoo. “Before my mom died—when we found out she wasn’t going to make it, we decided to do something to remind us of the love we shared.” Her voice hitched. She took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Since one of us was leaving.” She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Not that we needed a reminder…but still.” She stared out into the distance. A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. “My dad got a red heart.”

Lane squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry you lost your mom,” he said, surprised she’d revealed a vulnerable side of herself that he never would’ve guessed was there.

She smiled ruefully. “Changed my life, that’s for sure.”

“You mentioned a little about that the night I came to Sweet Bee’s.”

She looked surprised that he’d remembered.

“You said you moved back to Maple Creek from a real life you had somewhere else to take care of your mom. What was your real life like?”

She glanced up at him, seeming to appreciate him asking. “I lived in DC, in a little apartment in Dupont Circle.”

“Nice.” He could imagine her fitting in the city with all of her energy and zest for life.

“And I was a pastry chef at the Hay-Adams hotel.”

“For real? That place is big-time swanky.”

“For real. I loved my job, even though the hours killed me. But when my mom needed help and my dad couldn’t handle it all alone, I wanted to be in Maple Creek for both of them. I knew my time with my mom was limited—but I guess you could argue that’s the case with everyone, huh?”

He’d never thought about it that way, but she was right. You never knew what life was going to bring or what it was going to take away. He nodded slowly.

“There was no way I could stay in DC or manage to keep my job when my mom needed care. My dad is a barber—we didn’t have the money to bring in nurses during the day. So I moved home and took care of my mom until she went to hospice.” She blinked back tears, seeming determined not to let another one fall. “After that, she didn’t last long.”

Her story tugged at Lane’s heart. “That had to be devastating for you and your dad.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t bear to leave him alone, and I’m not sure he could’ve held up if I’d have gone. So I stayed and opened To Bees or Not to Bees.” She gave him a slow, small smile.

Lane smiled, too, still amazed she’d let her guard down, if only for a few minutes. “But if your mom was still around, you’d be back in DC?”

“Or someplace that has more to offer young people. Don’t get me wrong, I love Maple Creek and the people there. But they’re way beyond Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get, and sometimes you don’t even recognize the flavor.”

He’d seen enough of his uncle’s patients to know exactly what she meant. “I can’t argue with that.”

“But I grew up with those quirky people, and now I’m one of them—even though I never dreamed I’d be.” Seeming less emotional now, she splashed water up onto her neck and shoulders, and Lane stole glances at the sparkling rivulets that trickled over the swell of her breasts.

“We’re like a huge, extended family,” she said. “But a lot of the family is old, and their health is failing. I’m trying to do what little I can to help keep them from suffering like my mom.”

He’d heard her say that before and seen her back up her words. Clearly there was more to her than the sassy girl she passed herself off as. Not many people their age would unselfishly stick around in a lazy town like Maple Creek and try to make a go of it, much less focus their business on helping older people.

Paige gave him a forced smile. “But that was before you rolled into town from wherever you came from and jacked everything up.”

Lane tensed. He hadn’t guessed that talking about her tattoo would lead them down this path. Next thing he knew she’d be asking him exactly where wherever-you-came-from was. “I—”

She shook her head quickly. “Don’t. You’ll be in Maple Creek for what…a few more weeks? After that you’ll be gone, and I’ll be scraping to keep the lights on because you were
in no position to get involved
.” She lifted her shoulders and dropped them, as if she thought it had been a casual decision for him.

Lane’s stomach clenched. “I thought we had a truce.”

She stood, leaving him staring straight-on at the tiny triangle that was the bottom of her bikini, her tight thighs, her smooth, flat stomach, and a belly button that was itself a work of art. He’d seen his fair share of belly buttons, so he had plenty to compare it to. Her strategy might not have been intentional, but this wasn’t a fair way to fight. He stood, too.

“Doesn’t that mean I just settle for you getting your way?”

He pressed his hand to his forehead, then dragged his fingers down his face. So much for an idyllic island vacation. “It’s not my practice, Paige. They’re not
my
forms and they’re not
my
laws.”

“You could’ve helped me out—and your patients, too.”

“Take my word for it, I really couldn’t.”

“More like wouldn’t.” She turned, again treating him to that spectacular rear view he’d been angling for earlier, and waded to the waterfall, gingerly picking a path over the rocks on the bottom of the pool.

Something inside begged him to come clean and tell her what had happened in Austin. Maybe then she’d understand why he was so insistent on everything being above scrutiny, because people were watching and his career was on the line. She’d been open with him, but it didn’t seem as if her recent past was as full of screw-up-your-life-beyond-recognition drama as his. He had no idea how she would react if he told her. People in Austin he’d thought of as friends had clearly doubted his innocence in the pain-pill-prescribing scandal. While his uncle’s offer for him to temporarily run the practice in Maple Creek had been a desperately needed vote of confidence and support, Paige might not see it that way.

After getting her footing, Paige faced him. She tipped her head back beneath the cascading waterfall and ran her hands through her loose hair. His debate came to a screeching halt at the sight of her. The scene was like something from a glossy travel brochure where an irresistible yet unobtainable bikini-clad model seduced you into booking the most expensive vacation ever, hoping you’d possibly catch a glimpse of her while you were on your trip.

Lane couldn’t fight his reaction to seeing Paige standing beneath the frothy flow. He took a deep breath and willed himself to stop reacting like a hormone-drunk teenager. She was definitely testing his self-control.

He stood riveted as the rushing water unexpectedly loosened the back tie of Paige’s bikini top. With her arms still raised, the strings fell to her sides, yet the tie around the back of her neck stayed secure. She seemed unaware as, through a glaze of glistening water, he saw the perfect, supple curves of her breasts peek below the loose fabric. A battle raged inside him. He should look away or warn her. Surely she didn’t know what was happening and she’d no doubt be embarrassed. But the pure male parts of him begged him to keep quiet.

“Paige,” he called, loudly enough for her to hear him above the cascade.

A split second later she shrieked, cupped her hands over her breasts, and jumped from beneath the waterfall, nearly losing her balance on the rocky surface of the pool. Lane steadied her.

She squeezed her eyes closed. “Please tell me you didn’t see my boobs.”

Lane tried not to laugh. “Did you just say boobs?”

She popped open her eyes. “Boobs, breasts, mammary glands…whatever the hell you doctors call them. Please tell me mine weren’t out there.”

“Turn around. I’ll tie you back up, even though that sounds a little kinky.”

She turned. “Stop teasing me—and avoiding the question. Tell me what you saw.”

He got to work on the tie. After it was secured and she’d fussed over straightening the triangles in front, she faced him.

“A man never peeks and tells.” He smiled slyly.

She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh crap. You did see them.” Her words were muffled, but he understood her just fine. She looked up at him, pleading with those big, golden-brown eyes.

“I liked what I saw,” he said. “But it wasn’t anything too private.”

She lowered her eyebrows.

He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I promise.”

Seeming somewhat satisfied, she lowered her hand from her mouth, but she kept biting her bottom lip. Thanks to her, he’d seen plenty of stimulating sights today, but that sexy lip-biting was what finally got him.

“Do we have a truce or not?” he asked.

She nodded. “You did save me from flashing my boobs to all of St. Lucia.”

He was the only one around, but he wasn’t going to argue. “So we can kiss and make up?” The cliché was out of his mouth before he even thought about its implications. Now he was the one in an awkward position. His pulse raced as he waited for her reaction.

She cocked her head and grinned slyly. “We can kiss…”

He slowly drew her close to him, flattening his hand at the slick small of her back and pressing her to him, her curves straining against his muscled torso. She could probably feel his heart pounding, its rhythm even faster now that they were skin-to-skin. He swept his fingertips softly across her velvety hairline, down a soaking lock of her hair, and gently twisted the end around his fingers.

He cupped her head in his hand and touched his lips to hers—featherlight until he couldn’t resist her any longer. Beneath the St. Lucian sun, with a wisp of a tropical breeze, he kissed her with all the pent-up desire that had built within him since he’d first laid eyes on her. She parted her satiny, supple lips and he deepened their kiss, each sweep of her tongue sending a new wave of pleasure pulsing through him.

Having a fling with her while they were on the island was feeling like a better idea all the time. Tempting and temporary. Perfect.

He lifted her off her feet again, just as he’d done in the Black Water Pool, and cradled her to his chest, his lips never leaving hers. She clutched the back of his neck and arched her body, kissing him as if she knew exactly how he wanted it and was eager to give it to him.

Lane had never felt this much passion in a kiss—not even with Stephanie, ever. Somewhere in his foggy mind, he wondered what else he’d been missing. Clearly Paige had some kind of magic that he was eager for more of, but if she kept up what she was doing right now, he was going to explode or go blind. Maybe both.

Someone with a deep voice cleared his throat loudly, and Lane reluctantly drew away from their kiss. He and Paige glanced up at a sight that ruined the mood in a heartbeat. At the edge of the pool stood a squatty, balding, middle-aged man whose large, hairy belly hung so far over his tiny Speedo that from a certain angle, it might look as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He had his arm around a large woman his age who was a head taller than him, and just as round with glaringly white skin. The pattern on her old-fashioned skirted one-piece bathing suit looked like a wallpaper design from the seventies. She fanned herself with a bright pink wide-brimmed hat.

The man whistled and smiled lasciviously at his wife. “I mean to tell you,” he said with a heavy northern US accent, “when they told us this was the Pool of Love, they weren’t lyin’.”

Paige stared at Lane, wide-eyed, and said under her breath, “Please tell me those aren’t your parents.”