Hiring Cupid (9 page)

Oh, save me. Don't look.

Carly slammed her mouth closed, aware as her cheeks, hell every single part of her, overheated.

Okay, so the man wasn't quite naked. In fact he wore a pair of swim shorts—and damn it, they fit perfectly.

The guy was tanned—seemingly all over, because there was no white skin whatsoever showing above his waistline.

Nada. Not one little itty bit.

Carly swallowed hard.

Mr. Genie needed to be renamed, and Mr. Adonis seemed rather apt right now.

Carly dropped the edge of her towel she had forgotten she was holding.

"How about I rub sun block on your back, hmm?” Marco offered. He held up the bottle of sun block and her blank gaze traveled from it and back up to stare at his quizzical grin.

Rub her back? Oh, Lordy.

"I can't do it if you're clothed. You'll need to strip down to your swimsuit."

"Strip?” she croaked.

Marco's brows wiggled and his grin widened.

With shaking fingers, Carly lifted her t-shirt over her head, tossing it to the sand, uncaring that the very sand she'd picked with utmost diligence off her towel now littered her t-shirt. Too bad. She didn't care. Right now, the only thing she was aware of was Marco's hot gaze on her. Hot and bold.

Stripped down to her bikini, Carly chastised herself for bringing such a skimpy thing. Damn it. It barely covered what it needed to. But the thing that irked her most was that as Marco's beautiful fingers took great care in ensuring she wouldn't burn under the tropical sun, he, blast it, seemed totally unaffected by their closeness. He was playful and attentive, never threatening ... and it bugged the hell out of her. She wanted ... what? To touch him, to feel.

"Oh, hell,” Carly groaned and turned over on the warm sand. Frustration singed her emotions. She desperately needed to cool her over heated body. Throwing her towel aside she raced for the water, ignoring Marco's call. Diving into the incoming tide she swam a few easy strokes, arms slicing through the clear blue ocean. She tried not to think, simply concentrate on her strokes, but visions of Marco kept interrupting any sane thought and she gave up. Flipping onto her back she brushed back the tangled wet mass of her hair.

"Trying to swim back to the mainland,
cara?"

Marco stood beside her, a peeled mango in one hand. Without saying another word he tore a piece off, popping it into his mouth, sucking his fingers one at a time, licking them free of juice, though his heated gaze never once left her face.

Carly's heart thudded an erratic beat in her chest as she hardly noticed her feet sink back onto the ocean floor. His actions were mesmerizing and when a trail of juice dribbled down his chin and he licked at it with the tip of his tongue, she thought she'd melt with the blatant heat this one simple action induced.

Oh hell.

She couldn't take her eyes off his lips, his tongue, thinking what he—they—could do to her. What she wanted them to do to her.

Double hell.

Marco stepped closer, standing between her legs. He tore off another piece of the mango and ran the cool flesh against her lips. They parted and he fed her, slowly, bit by bit, until it was all gone and the sweet droplets of tangerine colored nectar dripped down her chin. He had her spellbound and when he brushed the nectar with the pad of his finger, then traced the outline of her lips, she swore the world had stopped spinning.

She was losing it.

Carly gasped as the nub of Marco's thumb pressed against the pad of her bottom lip. Automatically the tip of her tongue laved his finger. It tasted sweet, salty, and absolutely delicious.

"The fruit of passion,” Marco said and licked his lips with a deliberate slowness

Carly followed his every movement.

Definitely time to change the subject.

"Race you to the reef,” she challenged and dived into the water. Escape was the best answer. Escape her feelings, and escape impulses she wasn't sure she could deny. Because sure as the sun was yellow, she was having impulses and control was
not
a word in her vocabulary right now.

"That's the best imitation of Tarzan I've ever seen,” Carly chuckled a few hours later as Marco climbed a palm for more of the deliciously sweet finger-sized bananas.

Relaxed as she had ever been, she lay on the sand and stared out across the ocean. The sun had passed its highest point and had begun to descend to the west.

"Fancy seeing the fish up close?” Marco delved into a sack he'd brought with them and produced flippers, snorkels and masks.

Carly donned the flippers and tried on her mask, but it flopped down her face.

"Here,” Marco stood behind her and the tincture of musk and the pure maleness of him mingled with the hint of the ocean spray assailed her senses, making her tense instantly. She held her breath as his hands altered the strap on her mask. She wished he would hurry. He was too close and she couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Deny it. Ignore it.

Fat chance!

"Follow me,” he finally instructed.

She did as she was told, knowing she couldn't ignore him. Not in a million years.

Within minutes she was up to her waist in the tepid swirling waters. The tide was on the way in and as the frothing waves crashed against her, tipping her off balance, Marco snaked a hand out, gripping her elbow to steady her. She froze at his touch.

Yep, way too close.

She tried to ease herself from of his grasp, wishing she could ignore his scowl as his hand dropped away.

But within minutes as the sight below the water unfolded and she entered the watery paradise her worries melted.

Surrounded by exotic fish swimming in convoy, she and Marco wound their way into deep crevices. Carly was in awe of the sight before them and every few minutes she surfaced to drag in another lung full of air before descending again. Rocks, which above looked brown and dull, came to life and the swaying fronds of seaweed and plant life were lush and alive. As a small school of fish swam by, their tails all seeming to flick in unison, Carly had to stifle the urge to laugh. She gave Marco the thumbs up and smiled nevertheless before shooting to the surface and crashing through the turgid waves to tread water. She yanked her mask up and wiped her eyes. Her breathing was short and sharp. “That was fabulous. It's a different world."

"
Cara
, don't you realize this yet. This whole island is another world. This paradise is your grotto."

"That sounds rather magical,” she sighed. Moving towards the shoreline, she stepped onto the sand and bent over to wring out the excess water from her hair. But when she stood up, it was to face Marco whose blatant arousal burned in his darkly powerful eyes. She quickly looked away.

"You're getting burnt."

"Am I?” Her voice was a soft whisper of sound.

"
Si
. You need to put on more sun block.” Marco dug into his sack again and pulled out a white tube. “See, I'm a regular boy scout."

"My hero. Are you prepared for
everything
?” But the moment she uttered the words, Carly realized how searching they were and blushed to the roots of her hair. She tried to subdue the racing imagery that whirred like a recurring video in her mind, and failed.

"Did you join the Boy Scouts in Italy?” she finally managed to ask, hoping the change of topic would douse the fire igniting in her belly.

"What makes you think I live in Italy?” Marco's tone was sharply reproving.

"Well, don't you? I mean you are Italian, right?"

"
Si
.” But he didn't expand and as his fingers slathered the thick cream across her shoulders and down her back to just above the line of her bikini bottom, all air evaporated from her lungs. Her body reacted with a tantalizingly aching awareness to the slick graze of his caress, while her brain struggled with a silent plea.
No. Stop. Don't tempt me.

"Italy was the land of my birth, but my mother is English."

"Oh.” Carly wished she could think of something more intelligent to say, but every word dried up on the tip of her tongue as Marco continued to massage the cream into her much overheated skin. It was like an elixir, setting her on fire with desire. One she really should douse, but didn't. She played for time, anything to dissipate the want. “When did you come to New Zealand?"

"Ten years ago. I've lived in New Zealand and Italy."

"And your mother?"

Marco faltered. He was clearly uncomfortable and Carly heard his barely audible sigh. She snatched a look at him over her shoulder, shocked as she saw a deep and abiding sadness etched in the suddenly somber lines on his face.

"My mother lives here now."

"Is she married?” He hadn't said mother and father so Carly presumed Papa Valente wasn't in the picture. Funny, Papa Valente sounded just like Papa Mason.

"Married. Oh
si
, Mama marries. Well not at the moment, but...” His voice trailed off and he dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Enough about the real world. This island is not reality. Let's enjoy it."

Carly wondered at his sudden change, but chose to say nothing. “Isn't that the truth. This island definitely isn't reality. Mind you, the whole scenario is something from cloud cuckoo land,” she said. And who would have believed she would be ensconced with her own version of Romeo.

"Right, like good Boy and Girl Scouts,” Marco instructed, his mood lightening in the flicker of an eye, “we will explore the island."

He held his hand out to her and smiled. It was as infectious as it was dazzling, and also very sexy, sending Carly's stomach into a tailspin. Damn it, those butterflies were at it again, kicking up their heels at her expense.

An hour later however, they'd tramped inland after having run out of beach, finding the craggy crevices too steep and sharp to traverse.

The vegetation was quite dense inland and as Carly edged her way through an archway of palms she recognized the tinkling sound of water coming from behind a small copse. Veering towards the sound, she brushed aside a heavy frond and came to an abrupt halt. There, on the other side of the clearing was a sparkling clear waterfall. Like a jewel in a crown of green emeralds it cascaded over a wall of rock and into a crescent shaped pool. Carly thought she had died and gone to heaven; the sound was an elixir to her hot and sticky body and beckoned instantly.

"It's glorious,” she called out as she trailed a hand in the crystal clear pool.

Marco followed suit and dipped his fingers and grimaced.

"Okay, so it's chilly,” she acquiesced.

"Try freezing."

"Where's your boy scout spirit gone to now? I thought Italian men prided themselves on
machismo
."

A burst of deep male laughter ricocheted around their hidden oasis. “You calling me a chicken? I am not some Italian youth who sandpapers the front of his jeans to look manly."

Carly did a double take. “You're not serious are you?"

"It has been known."

"Oh my.” She blushed to her roots.

"Don't worry, it is not something I've ever resorted to."

She gulped, working double hard to stifle the urge to glance down his length. “Glad to hear it. I mean, not that I'm
glad
... oh, you know what I mean.” Well, what else could she say? Sandpaper. Yikes. Talk about desperate. She stole a glance at Marco. There was nothing desperate about this man. He oozed sex without even trying. He was macho, manly, whatever you wanted to call it. He wore it like a second skin, a part of him that was so integral that it was one and the same. Yet, she acknowledged, she barely knew anything about him. There was no way however she would call Marco “Mr. Invisible". He couldn't help but stand out.

Carly fanned her face with her hand. She was hot. Way too hot and it wasn't anything to do with the sun or the temperature. Still clad in her bikini, she slipped into the pool and stood under the waterfall, letting it spill around her, sending watery ripples across the pool.

"Why don't you join me, or is it too cold?” she teased.

Marco's eyes narrowed, shadowed by the heavy fall of his coal black lashes. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was thinking.

"Is that a challenge?"

Oh boy. Her tongue licked over her suddenly parched lips. “You could look at it that way, I suppose,” she acquiesced teasingly.

"I never run from a challenge,
cara mia
."

His answer hung between them, though it was what he hadn't said that worried her. “I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or not.” But before she had time to refute the challenge, Marco stripped off the still damp jeans he'd donned after their swim, and joined her.

Naked! He was naked. Butt naked. Oh, my God, she choked back a gasp as he circled her like a lion on the prowl. Her head began to spin and her breasts peaked, aroused to fever pitch, the buds swollen and achingly sensitive.

"You should never challenge a man. It is like that English saying, a red rag to a bull."

There was a roaring in Carly's head and the only thing she could focus on was a bare-chested Marco, the taut muscles of his shoulders and washboard abdomen tapering down...

Her gaze lowered to where the water lapped his torso and she blinked furiously. Nope, she wouldn't, couldn't, and definitely shouldn't think about it, but when Marco bent his head to hers and whispered, Carly knew she was lost.

Again.

"I want to meet your challenge."

"How do you know what my challenge is?” she parried, surprised any words could actually pass her lips.

Heaven help her. Carly groaned inwardly at the audacity of her teasing remark. Marco was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. So close, that when she felt his breath fan her inordinately sensitive skin, her eyes shuttered momentarily and she gloried in every wave after shockingly wanton wave of sensations.

He laughed then, a deep, barrel-chested sound. “
You
are the challenge. You challenge me with every movement."

Oh Lordy! “You're being fanciful.” But there was a knot of tense emotion blasting her body that Carly knew she had no chance of controlling.