Set Up (28 page)

We're like the others, she thought. Or almost.

How nice it would be if they were just another pair of lovers.

The sand crunched pleasantly underfoot. They moved together, walking side by side, arms entwined around waists, hips brushing. His quiet presence evoked a tranquility she hadn't felt in a long while.

When he stopped and drew her to him, she didn't resist.

The moonlight shadowed the oval of his face so that she couldn't see his eyes, but his mouth was close, close enough for her to see his lips quiver.

“Amanda?”

She reached up and pulled that wonderful pliable mouth down to hers. Traces of his bourbon mingled with her piña colada as his very own odor, very own taste drowned all the extraneous flavors and scents wafted by sea and flowers.

He hesitated, but once he understood she had no intention of bolting, he curved her form to him, seeking to absorb her into his flesh, consume her body and soul until she was part of him. Once arranged, they were a jigsaw of arm over arm, shoulder over shoulder, mouth over mouth.

Pop!
came an explosion from behind.
Pop! Pop! Pop!

They drew apart.

Amanda, heart pounding, sensed something akin to her panic emanating from him. But her fear wasn’t at the sudden racket. She had immediately recognized the fireworks.

What frightened her was herself and her feelings for Callaway McIntyre.

Tearing her eyes from his, she looked to the side where brilliant shooting lights sped skyward over the hotel, arced, burst, patterned, and faded.

He coughed. “It's a fireworks display at the lagoon. For the janitorial convention. They’re taking up a lot of the rooms. Nice place to have a sales convention.”

He was trying to pass the kiss off with trivialities. Her inner battle had infected him. After their history, he would find trusting her, even in a kiss, difficult.

As they watched, more radiant bursts came. More lights of silver and gold shattered into pinpricks. Palest sprinkles of green, blue and pink dotted the velvet night sky.

“We could walk past the hotel, over to the lagoon.”

Callaway's husky voice betrayed him. Like her, he was fighting for self-control.

Her choice was quite easy after all. “No.”

The throat flutter of his swallow showed against a brilliant bursting light. “We can see better from there.”

“I can see fine from here.” She drew him toward her.

He held back. “I don't need this. You've kissed me one time and left me in bed. You kissed me the other night and turned me away at your door.”

“I know.” He wouldn't understand her capitulation when she didn't understand it herself, but she wanted him the way she hadn't wanted any man in a long time. Whatever he would give her tonight, she would take. “Let's try it again. Let's walk to my door and go from there.”

Wary, he still hesitated. After all that had passed between them, he couldn't bring himself to take the risk.

She couldn't blame him.

“Please.”

“All right.” The rasping words revealed his desire, made hers intensify. “We'll go from there.”

I deserve this much, she rationalized. He'll be gone tomorrow or next week, but I'll have something besides Tommy’s memory. I can hardly remember Tommy’s face. I can't even remember the tone of his voice. I’m too full of Callaway. The concern when he looks at Claire, the dimple when he smiles, the cold stare that hides so much uncertainty.

He took her hand, tucked her fingers under his arm possessively, carefully, as though she were made of fine porcelain.

A small gesture, but executed in a way that made her feel precious, cared about. How long since anyone had cared about her?

When they reached the beach faucet, he took her sandals and bent down so that she could hold onto his shoulder to rinse her feet. Then he wiped away the water with his hand and slipped them on.

A child would have run into her on the steps except that Callaway’s intervention meant his leg took the blow instead of her hip. At the collision, he caught the boy, kept him from falling. “Slow down, kid. You'll hurt someone.” He chuckled as the wide-eyed boy ran away.

Under his protective arm, she let him steer her past a rowdy group on the walkway.

Had she ever felt as desirable, as safe as this? No wonder he’d been married three times. Why hadn't a fourth woman grabbed him up long ago? When she caught him looking at her in the elevator, she put up her hand and touched his jaw.

His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed. Not from anger but from desire. Despite the dim light, his eyes spoke to her as surely as his voice. Inside the suite, he closed the door and turned the lock. He never took his gaze off her, yet he made no move toward her.

She stopped at the sofa. Ten feet of polished tile separated them.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. The sweet idiot expected she would back out and was giving her every chance to change her mind and save them both a bitter aftermath.

“Do I get the good night kiss-off now?” he finally asked.

“Not unless you want it.”

Silence.

Exhilaration filled her. He didn't know what to do when a woman made up her mind to have her way. Callaway, she suspected, had always ensured he made the decisions in past relationships.

So she stood her ground, not making it easy for him. She’d chosen. Now it was his turn. He would have to bridge the separating tiles.

His thumbs and fingers rubbed together in a nervous manner at odds with his fixed stare. He wanted her. She could see his chest rise and fall, see the telling bulge in his shorts.

It seemed she would have to prod after all. “For heavens’ sake. I never thought I'd have to resort to asking a man to show me his bed.”

Confidence sparked, but insecurities and suspicion remained.

Amanda perceived every doubt running through his mind, and held out her hands in reassurance.

He ignored them and scooped her up. She giggled as she clasped his neck, and let her head fall onto his shoulder.

In his room he laid her on the bed and bent over, stopping at traces of a forgotten bruise on her wrist. “I did that. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not.” His remorseful apology stoked her need.

He kissed the purple spot on her skin. “I can stop now, but soon it'll be too late. This is your last chance.”

How strange he couldn't tell. “Callaway, don't you understand? I never had a chance. Not from the first time I saw you. I’ve been fighting this as much as you, but it’s already way too late.”

His mouth found hers, claimed it, first in a hard, wild kiss that snatched away her breath and then, determined to subjugate his needs to her pleasure, by dancing his tongue in an erotic minuet on each tooth.

Somehow her dress disappeared. Her slip and bra soon followed. When his hand reached her panties and slipped inside, she shivered. He stroked her with one hand and stripped them down with the other.

How had she resisted his appeal for so long? Why had she denied this celebration of life for all these years?

Because she'd been waiting for Callaway's smile, his touch.

Her turn. She pulled at his shirt before tackling his zipper. Tearing off his shorts and boxers, she pulled him to her. Their nude bodies entangled before he pulled back, with a shuddering breath and an impassioned obscenity.

Desire left her dazed. “What's wrong?”

He chuckled, a half-hearted chuckle that turned into a peal of full-blown laughter as he rolled off her onto his back. “I knew damned well I'd never get you in bed, Amanda Jane. I was so sure you'd never, I'd never, we'd never... I didn't bring a single damned thing with me.”

She understood the problem right away. “Why, Callaway, this is so unlike you. You're always so organized.” She tried, but couldn't control her curving mouth.

“There are other ways...” He put his hand between her naked thighs and cupped her persuasively. “We can use them and afterward… What are you doing?”

She shrugged into his discarded Hawaiian shirt. “Hold the thought. I'm not as high-minded as you.”

After Houston, she had dumped the evening bag into her purse but never sorted out the contents. Tonight her actions made perfect sense: she'd intended all along to use the condoms.

What she'd told Callaway was true. She'd been lost from the moment she saw him.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when she returned. “Didn't I tell you to stay put?” Discarding his shirt, she shook her plunder in his face. “Why can't you do as you're told?”

He realized what she held. “Oh, wow!”

“I've never heard of that brand. Here.” She handed one to him, pushed him back, and fell down on him. “They may not be Wow's, but they'll work.”

He held her off. Passion had ebbed, leaving him chary. “This isn't a repeat performance of Houston, is it?”

Her passion had soared. She ran her hand down his chest. “You don't trust me.”

Desire warred with cynicism. “I... No.”

“I don’t blame you.” She found his navel, circled it with her thumb as she tried to ignore the clamor between her legs. “You want to trust me, though, don't you?” She licked his nipple.

His swallow was audible. “I don't know.”

“Let’s try that again.” Her fingers trailed down to the base of his erection, tickled his scrotum. “You do want to trust me, don't you, Callaway?”

Beads of perspiration had collected on his upper lip. He opened his mouth, but only ragged breathing emerged.

Her hand caught and held him tightly. “Don't you?”

He groaned. “Yes. God help me, yes. I want to trust you.”

“Hasn't anyone ever told you that talking during sex is a turn-off?” She lightly bit his nipple.

His chest lurched. “Put it on and I'll shut up.”

An open packet plopped in front of her. She looked at it.

A glint in his eyes dared her. “Afraid?”

“Not of you.” She took a tighter hold to prove it, heard his sharp intake of breath, and saw his laughter flee. She stroked him. Slowly. Deliberately. “Never of you.”

“Don't. Wait, before we're both sorry.” His struggle for control was truly heroic. “Please.”

She slid up, wiped the sweat off his face with her breasts. “Don't you want to feel good?”

“Yes. Christ, yes.” He caught her hair, held her motionless. “But not without you.”

All thoughts evaporated, leaving her terrible need in total command. “You make it awfully easy to love you, Callaway. Hurry.”

She slid her face down his chest and laid her cheek on his torso to watch as he rolled on the sheath, smiling a little when his hand came back to caress her, and as he rolled atop her, smiling more at the knowledge he would soon be inside her, and then gasping when in fact he was inside her.

The friction, the heat, her need expanded. The ravenous part of her met his ravishment, until her exploding body recorded his answering tremors as he filled and fulfilled every part of her need.

Delirium gave way to an explosion and then a kind of exalted happiness.

They lay spent for long moments, the quiet after consummation all-encompassing.

“I can't move,” he murmured next to her ear.

“Don't.” She held him to her, and kneaded his relaxed bottom. “Stay right here on top of me.”

“Amanda.” His hands tangled in her hair. He sounded uncertain of himself. “You said you...you mentioned love.”

“So I did.” How contented she was.

She told him in extravagant terms how wonderful he'd made her feel, how skillfully he'd delayed his satisfaction, how precisely he'd gauged the moment, winding down with, “I've never known anything so perfect in my life. You were flawless, exemplary, magnificent.”

“I'm glad.” He nuzzled her neck. “That's pretty scary, you saying that. You know. About your… about love and all.”

“I know.” Poor Callaway. She did know. Three times burned, of course he was scared. Why should this time be different? “It doesn't matter. It's something to say during sex. And what I feel for you is my problem. Not yours.”

He lay unmoving, his heartbeat steadying and his breath heating her neck. The fan above made lazy circles that ruffled his hair. The open sliding doors let in the sound of the surf. She was content to support his weight and embrace him while he rested.

He mumbled, “It does matter. You don't know me.”

“I told you. It's my problem, not yours.” She ran her thumbs beneath his hipbones, prying him up, finding and tweaking his nipples. “You feel so good. All nice and smooth and hard and... Um, what's happening down there? Maybe we'd better take this off and find a new one.”

Then his hands began to roam, catching her shoulders, tightening around her waist, shaping her hips. His mouth began to roam, too, finding a pulse here, a vein there, sucking at her fingers, her breasts, and her navel. She lay enjoying his explorations, the heat building up again. When he reached their jointure, he used short circular strokes to rekindle her desire.