Love Me Knots (6 page)

“Shut up,” she mouthed, picking up her pillow and throwing it at his head. He batted it down with a laugh.

“What if she still doesn’t believe me?”

“If you’re as obnoxious about this with her as you are with me, she’ll get it.”

“I’m obnoxious?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Of course not, sir. And I’m sure as soon as the sun comes up and I call my union rep about this, he’ll totally agree with me.”

“You’re not in a union.”

A weird noise that could have been a growl rumbled through her throat. “Sarcasm is lost on you, isn’t it?”

“Not lost, no. I simply don’t see the value.”

“It’s extremely satisfying.”

“Not to the person on the receiving end.”

“Well, Sherlock, that’s because it isn’t supposed to be. Now, do yourself a favor and wind down that over-thinking brain of yours. Get some sleep. When you wake up, it’ll be a whole new Tahiti. You’ll have the energy to go and convince your finally sane fiancée that you’re the guy for her.”

“What did your boyfriend say to convince you?”

Taylor glanced at Frankie lying on his side, black hair mussed, still smiling, all his dimples winking, and shook her head. Frankie’s convincing argument to move in together had been successive multiple orgasms. “He promised he’d give me everything I needed.” Not a lie. She’d been begging for release at the time. She flicked her mind back on track. “Just remember. Grand gesture. Show her how you really feel. She knows you’re not the kind of guy who lies to get what he wants. She’ll believe you and the three of you can get back to living boringly ever after.”

“As opposed to having clandestine sexual adventures in other people’s offices?”

Taylor smiled, for once genuinely pleased with her boss. “And here I didn’t think you had it in you. Now go show Krista. And don’t ever call before dawn again or I swear I’ll stop washing your coffee pot.” She hung up with a beep and dropped her face into her other pillow.

“That was kinda cute, babe.” Frankie laughed, making her groan. “You, giving romantic advice.”

“It’s not
cute
.”

“It’s like watching Pacino give soprano singing lessons.”

“Leave me alone, Frankie.”

“No, seriously. You’re the most unromantic woman I’ve ever met in my life. The only time I ever gave you flowers you insisted I was sleeping with someone else.”

Dammit, was she never going to live that down? “What was I supposed to think? You’d never done it before!”

“It was Valentine’s Day, dufus.”

Her cheeks stung, but no matter how much she liked Frankie, she wasn’t about to admit that she’d never had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day in her life. On purpose. He’d get way too big a head about it. She grumbled on principle and turned away from him. Her gaze caught the phone and she sighed. Maybe he was right. For all she knew, she was giving her boss the keys to killing the only relationship he had a prayer of getting.

A soft kiss pressed to her shoulder, followed by another one, higher on her back. Then another. “Don’t worry, Tay. I like you unromantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She curved her neck for another kiss, which he gave, pressing his warm body to hers.

“No, I do.” His legs moved to twine with hers while his hand slid over her hip to cup her waist. She sighed. A man like Frankie was an excellent reason to sleep naked. “There’s never any bullshit with you. You say what you mean and mean what you say. That’s sexy as hell.”

So was the way his touch was drifting up to her breast. “You’re just saying that.” A delicious shiver went through her at the brush of his stubble against her neck.

“I could try to show you.” He pressed his erection, hot and insistent, against her ass. His hand finally found her breast, those calluses of his rubbing her nipple in the way that made one eye roll up in her head.

She shifted onto her back, falling onto his arm and looking up at his smiling face. She grinned up at him. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? Trying’s for pussies.”

“Guess I’ll have to get it right then.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself when his fingers dipped into her, massaging circles around her opening. Little stars decorated her vision, making her blink. “You know the other thing I love about you, Tay?”

“Shh.” She put her finger to his lips. “You’re busy.”

His tongue flicked out, tickling the tip while he matched the motion on her clit. She gasped and he grinned. “You’re so fucking responsive.”

Or just responsive to fucking, she thought hazily, shivering at his rough whisper. At least, with Frankie she was. She’d been able to ignore other lovers whenever she wanted. All Frankie had to do was breathe in her direction and she was wet.

He lowered his mouth to her nipple, adding it to his list of flickable things. She whimpered, relieved when he sucked it deep into his mouth. Relief disappeared, though, when his thick finger slid all the way into her. Then all she felt was the heat he stirred, his stroking of the bundle of nerves nestled in her walls making her shake. He switched breasts, added a finger and subtly removed her connection to her brain.

“I can’t decide what I love more,” he rumbled, lifting his head to look at her with those melting brown eyes of his. “Eating you or fucking you?”

Was she supposed to know? She bit her lip, not quite sure what she wanted either. The ball of his hand pressed against her clit. Her legs fell open and she didn’t care which one he chose, so long as he picked one quick.

He moved, the crisp feel of his body hair tickling her skin as he all but dove for the space between her thighs. “Dessert first,” was all the warning she got. Then his mouth was there, sucking on her clit, toying with it, nibbling at her, and all she could do was scream.

Taylor was still shuddering when the broad head of his cock pushed into her and his groan floated through her ears. Legs quaking, full of hot, surging male to the point that she couldn’t feel or think of anything else, she began to rise. Muscles strained, her breasts bounced and the unbelievably sweet tension in her pussy coiled tighter and tighter. She grabbed the headboard, panting now, staring up at Frankie, utterly mesmerized by his every flex and withdrawal. So raw, so male, so unapologetically sexual. His smile was more a twist of his lips, and when his thrusts turned into fast, jutting pulses, she had no choice but to close her eyes.

He dropped over her, pushing one of her legs wider and drawing a desperate wail from her. Harder, deeper he pushed. “Look at me, Taylor.”

“Uh-uh.” If she looked, he’d see what she didn’t want him to see.

“Open those eyes, baby.” His hand slipped between them, stroking her clit downward when he thrust upward. The shock of it gave him what he wanted and the look that greeted her scared her more than anything else. Until he spoke. “I want to see your face when I tell you…I just love
you
, Tay.”

He squeezed her clit, stealing her breath and doing a hell of a lot more than decorating her vision with stars. He groaned, his thrusts wild and artless while he pumped into her, exploding with her.

She held him, drawing in gulping breaths, and closed her eyes again. He so did not play fair. He waited in her hold, nuzzling, still moving through her folds as if he just couldn’t help himself. He could. She knew he could. He was waiting for her to give him what he’d been after from the beginning.

She glanced at the phone, thinking again of her boss who was now on his own in Tahiti, chasing after what she was trying so hard to avoid. Because of the two of them, David Ellison was this close to losing it. Who was she to throw it away? All Frankie wanted was the truth and she was unfortunate enough that guilt turned her honest every time.

Frankie lifted his head, his dark gaze boring into her. Waiting.

“Fine,” she growled breathlessly, which totally ruined the effect of growling. “I love you too, asshole.”

He smiled.

God, Ellison, I hope you have better luck than I do.

But when Frankie rose up to kiss her senseless, she really wasn’t sure that was possible.

The serenade idea was definitely out, David decided from his perch on the beach. With nowhere to go, his only option had been to sit near the shore and watch the water darken as the sun went down. The hotel lights glinted off the rolling waves, and people were a constant traffic, no matter the time of night, but none of that distracted him. The bungalows formed a strand to the west, a series of pyramid-shaped grass roofs creating a hopscotch pattern into the sea. He could see the water rolling through the stilts that supported each one and the pier used to reach them. Hers was perfectly clear from his seat, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away considering his inability to reach her.

Taylor hadn’t been the help he’d been hoping for. Her ideas weren’t any better than his own. If there were anything that would definitely send Krista running again, it would be the sound of his singing voice. Flowers didn’t strike him as a big enough gesture. They practically flew on the breeze here. No, she had to take him seriously. Dying plants wouldn’t cut it.

Her last thought, though…

Could he really make obnoxiousness work? He preferred to call it obstinacy, but the effect was the same. Stand his ground. Force her to listen, somehow. He knew if he could just get the words right, she’d understand how much she meant to him. The problem was that she was so eager to have him gone, she never gave him the time to find them.

What if he had the time he needed, whether she liked it or not?

Tempting, very tempting. Enough so that he stood, dusting the sand off his pants so he could walk and think a little more clearly. His shoes, sand-scuffed and heavy, kicked up clomps of the wet stuff with a strangely satisfying sucking sound while he paced.

They did have a contract, even if he’d been trying to get Taylor to fax it so he could light the damn thing on fire. As a plan it could work. Provided he could really do this. Convince her that his feelings were dependable. Odds weren’t exceptional, considering he was still grappling to understand them in the first place.

Being with Krista had changed him in ways he never expected. He’d stopped apologizing for being different. Stopped being defensive when people made assumptions about him. He was a better person now, more connected to her and through her, to the world beyond his work. He saw that bright as day, but somehow she couldn’t. But then, she had no idea how it used to be.

Life with his father had been a lonely experience. Steven Ellison’s devotion to his son was true, but his autism interfered in ways neither could overcome. Steven required his son to speak a different language—mathematics—in a way others wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t comfortable with hugs or words or, in most instances, excessive noise. His face was still nearly unlined by expression because he couldn’t grasp the nuance of a frown or a smile or those strange configurations in the middle that David didn’t quite grasp either. He almost never made eye contact with anyone and spoke with the soft rustiness of vocal cords rarely used. If Steven’s mother hadn’t arranged a brief marriage for him, David wouldn’t exist. By the time David could walk, both his grandmother and his mother had died and his father was all he had.

But when David began to grasp numbers, something as simple as counting, they’d found a way to connect. Steven didn’t mind counting to a million, just to see if he could. There was praise there, in watching his father’s eyes light up if David could solve a difficult problem. If he could present a theorem or comprehend a concept that Steven worked for months on. Most of their time together centered around proofs and there was a special kind of happiness in that.

But it wasn’t the kind of happiness he could extend to Krista. Her lashes had flickered often when he’d introduced her to his father. Not because she was unkind or repulsed. He realized later that she was confused, the things his father said swirling over her head. She probably didn’t know Steven had approved of her, referring to her symmetry and the surprising variation of colors in her hair. There were many things she probably didn’t know.

Like the way he would stay up some nights, memorizing the rhythm of her heartbeat. Or that when she kissed him, every thought, any thought, in his head simply evaporated. That the first time he saw her he nearly tripped over his own feet, or that a day hadn’t passed since that he hadn’t come up with a reason to spend some kind of time with her. The whole contract idea, presenting a business relationship extended into personal arenas, had been devised because he couldn’t think of any other reason she might want to spend more time with him after he sorted out her finances, and he hadn’t been willing to let her go. He still wasn’t.

He found himself next to her landing, the sky still black, the breeze cool and the ocean beyond glowing where it rolled toward the shore. The party from earlier was still going on, lights and laughter pouring from every window of the large hut. People sat on the deck, huddled in small groups on the walkway, sometimes in threes and fours. He saw three sets of couples as he came closer, two of them sets of men talking with broad gestures and bright-colored drinks in hand. But the last couple, he noted, his brows crashing together, was a man and a woman.

His
woman.

{

“I should be getting back inside,” Krista said again. The guys in Bungalow Four—Ricky, Stevie, Jake and Cobb—hadn’t taken no for an answer and had finally drawn her into the party. At first, she’d been a little concerned that she might be the only woman there, but it turned out the guys had invited half the island. Or half the island had simply stumbled in, it was difficult to tell. At any rate, the four of them were perhaps the nicest men she’d ever come across.

Ricky and Stevie were the twin underwear models, she learned. Jake—or Cranky, as she’d mentally nicknamed him—was a stuntman and Cobb…well, no one knew quite what Cobb did for a living. He just seemed to happily float along in a blur of fashion, music, hair styling and Manhattans. After getting her over for some hors d’oeuvres, Cobb was content to float next to her like kelp tied to her ankle. She could shake and shake, but he stayed firmly by her side.

“Whoa, hot babe alert.” Cobb’s big hand suddenly grabbed her wrist as he walked her back to her bungalow. “Defcon
five
.”

She jerked her attention to the walkup and almost choked. David. Given the heavy pace of his walk and the lines of barely restrained fury on his face, she thought he probably had the wrong idea about the man next to her.

Cobb leaned down close to Krista’s face, distracting her from the stupidly arousing effect of her ex’s flaring masculinity, and asked, “Is my breath all right? What about my hair? Oh my God, Ricky is so not going to believe this!” He straightened, raising his chin and shifting his shoulders so his powerful bare chest looked even more impressive.

“Down, boy,” she murmured, tempted to laugh at what could only end in dissatisfaction for the young man. Even if David weren’t straight as a steel support beam and twice as unbending, Cobb wouldn’t get as effusive a response as he was no doubt used to. “I’m pretty sure this one’s for me,” she added as David came to stop in front of them. She fought to hold in a sigh.
Truly unfair that there are few things sexier than a man who thinks he’s got something to claim
. And he definitely thought she was his.

He eyed the clasp Cobb still had on her wrist before nearly roasting the man next to her alive with a burning glare. “Would you mind letting go of my fiancée?”

Cobb glanced down at the indicated grip and let go with a moue of dismay. “Luc-kee,” he mumbled, his densely lashed green eyes fluttering briefly before he did what David asked.

Krista, on the other hand, had no interest in doing anything David said. She clasped hands with Cobb’s, going so far as to twine their fingers. “I’m
not
your fiancée. I’ll do what I like.”

David’s eyes flickered, the blue so arctic she shivered. But she didn’t let go, even with Cobb’s fingers twisting desperately. She tightened her grip, hearing the six-foot-three, body-sculpted Adonis reduce himself to a strangled whine. The noise was so odd that even David noted it, which got Cobb to stop making it, thank God, but not to stop wriggling his hips in an effort to get away. He smiled, face reddening, green eyes blinking madly.

David’s stare nearly set fire to her skin when he aimed it her way. “Is the bungalow unlocked?”

Krista released Cobb’s fingers, frowning, unsure if she was unnerved by the question or the primal response in her belly to his silent vehemence. “Of course not.”

“I’ll need the key, then.”

“
Excuse
me?”

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon, too, wasn’t it?” He held out his hand. “I paid for half of it.”

“You’re
married
?” Cobb’s disappointment didn’t seem to faze David. Of course, she realized, David probably thought the disappointment was in her direction.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Cobb looked back and forth between the two of them. Since his hand was free, he was able to slink out of her reach again. “How about I just catch you later, Krista.”

Well, that’s what she got for trying to recruit a man who thought her enemy was hotter than she was.

Without Cobb as her ticket back toward the party, she was left with David at the gate of her own bungalow. She’d make damn sure she went in alone. “Hotel’s that way. Book a room of your own.”

“Why would I do that when there’s a perfectly good one right here? One I have just as much a right to as you do.” He leaned in, voice tight, his scent catching on the warm breeze to wrap around her. His body heat radiated at the edge of her senses, teasing.

The answering want washing through her lacerated her pride. Even dogs learned after getting kicked so many times. Why couldn’t she? “What part of ‘broken up’ don’t you understand?”

“Part three, section two, line five.” He rattled off the information without notable thought. As if he’d memorized every stroke of ink it had come from.

Krista’s blink was slow and disbelieving. “You can’t possibly think you can hold me to that contract.” No one ended a relationship in writing, signed by a certified notary. No one. Or was that the line about not embarrassing the other party in a public arena? Damn.

“Why not? You signed it. Now open the gate.”

She stared at the latch. He could open it with the flick of one dexterous finger, but he was making a point. She didn’t have a choice.

“Are you trying to make me hate you?”

“No,” he replied evenly. His voice rasped, the only indication of the absolute fury she could see in his eyes. “I’m trying to make you listen to me.”

“By forcing yourself into my room?”

“No.” He grazed her cheek with his lips. “By reminding you what you’re running away from.”

“Like I could forget,” Krista murmured.

David pulled back an inch. Even he could see the “don’t touch” signals coming off her. He hated each and every one of them. She opened the gate and stormed through. “You can have the couch.”

The couch?
His brow rose. He caught her about to kiss another man, a younger man—though why that qualified, he wasn’t sure, but it did—and she thought he cared where he slept? If it meant keeping her from someone else, he’d lie across the damn gate and be happy about it.

She pulled her card key from her back pocket and sliced it through the gold lock on the French doors. The doors opened inward, revealing the blue glow of the ocean water lighting up the living room from the floor. So much for sleeping. That would keep him up like an interrogation light.

He followed her in, closing the doors firmly as she walked on toward the kitchen and the hallway leading deeper into the bungalow. He glanced around, calculating how much a place like this would go for. Fancy glass floor in the living room and dining room, hardwood everywhere else. Woven linen wallpaper. Fresh flowers in gleaming glass vases on nearly every surface. Genuine rattan furniture outside, along with heavy dark wood pieces for the living areas. Marble countertops in the kitchen, which was easily twice the size of his own at home. The bedrooms would no doubt reflect the casual opulence surrounding him already.

His income had more than tripled in the last two years, but he’d been grossly overestimating his input when he said he’d paid for half this vacation. He’d maybe paid for the rental of the chaise on the deck, he thought with a regretful shake of his head.

He’d seen that other man lean down close to her, about to put his mouth on her, and all reason had fled, leaving him with a need to separate them if he had to knock the guy to the ground to do it. When she’d rejected him, he’d let his temper do the talking and now she was even angrier with him. One step forward, two steps back.

Maybe three, given her own temper.

Four, if he counted how much she’d spent to be away from him.

Despite what he’d told her, the truth was that Taylor had checked Krista’s answering machine and found a message from Betty. A few glib lines from the secretary he had no idea was so sneaky, and the travel agent had spilled all kinds of information for him, but only after making Taylor promise not to tell Krista. Perhaps it was a promise he shouldn’t have kept, but he hadn’t expected a place like
this
.

He knew every aspect of her finances. He’d taught her how to handle them herself, and she’d taken to it well, determined to have control over her own future, something he’d been proud to help her do. She hardly needed him anymore in that respect. She worked hard, lived on what she earned, and he knew to the penny what was in her savings. She didn’t have enough to cover this trip on her own. Which meant he’d done more than push her into running. He’d pushed her into doing the thing she’d vowed never to do—dip into the trust fund her father had offered her. The one she believed was simply another of Elmore James’s machinations to lure her back into submission. And she’d done it to get away from
him
.