Tango in Paradise (2 page)

He caught up with her in a few strides, which surprised her, considering how worn-out he looked. Glancing down at her, he answered in a dry tone. “In the last sixteen hours, I’ve reduced my necessary-for-survival list to a cold beer, a hot shower, and about two days of uninterrupted sleep.”

By the time they reached the entrance to the resort, April was almost trotting to keep up with his long-legged gait. The man had at least a foot on her in height, all apparently from the waist down.

He stopped just inside the open doorway, and she took a split second too long noticing. She barely avoided ramming into him, and had to balance her hands against his back to steady herself. He turned swiftly at her touch, managing to tangle her bracelets in the straps hanging from his shoulder and draped across his chest.

“I’m sorry, I seem to be stuck.” April tried to pull her hands out, but the thin silver bracelets only seemed to tangle more tightly with her efforts.

“Whoa, slow down for a minute.”

He set down the silver case on the tiled floor, and when he straightened, her nose was a mere inch from the dark hair curling damply above the opened front buttons of his shirt. He grasped her wrists and tried to tug them free. His skin was warm and rough, his hands so large her wrists looked like fragile twigs in comparison. When tugging didn’t work, he let go of her wrists and gripped the bracelets.

“Pull out.”

His rough voice jerked her gaze upward. She stared at him dumbly. A tiny electric current started at his touch on her wrists, singed a path along her
arm to her shoulder, and ended at the sensitive spot at the center of her nape, which tingled as he gazed down at her. “Pull out of what?”

A smile—one of distinct masculine recognition—crossed his face. Her mind went blank, her heart pounded. Lord, just a hint of white teeth and she felt as if he’d hot-wired her pulse.

She instinctively tried to tug her hands away from him, and yanked them right out of her bracelets.

“These,” he responded, his smile widening as he held up the sterling circles. When she made no move to take them, he lifted her hand and started to slide them back on.

“Don’t. I mean, I can do that.” She pulled out of his grasp and slid the bangles back on, wishing she could regain her wits as easily.

She gestured toward the groupings of rattan furniture scattered around the tiled lobby. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get you checked in.” She turned back to face him. “I assume you have reservations, Mr …?”

“Tango. Jack Tango.” His crooked smile was boyishly endearing. “As for reservations, if you mean about staying here, yes. But since I didn’t have the option of choosing where I was sent, I’ll just have to live with it.” The irritation underlying his words was impossible to miss. “Thanks again for your help, but I can take it from here.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wanted to get rid of her. As if to prove her assumption, he nodded and turned to go. April noticed the silver case still sitting on the floor next to her feet. “Ah, Mr. Tango? Wait a minute.”

He paused, hung his head briefly, then slowly turned. “Listen, I really appreciate everything. I’m sorry if I seem rude, it’s just that it’s been a rough day.” He broke off, arched his neck and rolled his shoulders as if working the kinks out, then let out a humorless laugh.

“Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve had a year of rough days. Now Franklin sends me down here to this dusty, godforsaken scrap of real estate. The only vehicle I could find should be enshrined in a museum …” He tilted his head forward to look directly at her. “I’m supposed to be relaxing. Can you believe that? Vacations.”

He made the last word sound like an obscenity. April felt sorry for his exhaustion, but couldn’t help wondering why he was here. Who was Franklin? It hadn’t taken long to figure out that Jack Tango wasn’t the type of man to take orders or do anything he didn’t want to. She’d kill for five minutes with this Franklin, just to find out how he’d persuaded Mr. Tango to do anything.

She stooped and retrieved his case. “You forgot your camera case.”

He uttered a choice expletive and then, more
loudly, said, “I must be worse off than I thought.”

She recalled how reluctant he’d been to relinquish his gear to Miguel. Obviously he took photography very seriously. That thought sent a surge of renewed hope racing through her.

“No problem,” she assured him. “I’m sorry, but in the shuffle, I neglected to introduce myself. I’m April Morgan, CEO of Paradise Cove.” Hoping to score a few points for her cause, she flashed her best professional smile and said, “If you’ll let me help you, I can get your hand wrapped around a cold beer in record time.”

Jack’s eyes widened. She was all of five-foot-nothing, with surprising curves, wild curly hair, and a smile that made him alter his survival list from a hot shower to a cold one. And she had just blithely claimed to be in charge of a multimillion-dollar resort.

He must be as burned-out as his colleagues had finally churned up the guts to tell him he was. Because damned if he didn’t believe her.

“Maybe vacations aren’t such a bad thing after all.” Had he really just said that? He’d fought like hell over taking a leave of absence. And pushing that damned Jeep under a sun that went on full-broil just minutes after sunrise had only made him sorry he hadn’t fought harder for an assignment instead.

“Have a seat over there,” she said. “I’ll be right
back with your key.” She flashed another brilliant smile, but didn’t wait for an answer.

Jack shrugged and accepted defeat for the first time that day. He was surprised that he didn’t mind it so much if it meant he might get to see that smile again.

He headed toward a cluster of benches, then heaped his gear on one and sat on another. This way he didn’t have to look at the floral print on the cushions. The bright colors made his eyes hurt.

The sexy, raven-haired woman arranging his stay presented a far more delectable picture.

Uh-uh, Tango
, he silently warned himself. He was here for R&R, and neither of those
R
’s stood for relationships. Physical or otherwise. Still, it couldn’t hurt to look and lust a little. He certainly had no intentions of sating that lust.

He allowed his mind to indulge in a few choice scenarios as he watched her walk back toward him, the filmy material of her flowery skirt and yellow blouse clinging to and outlining every curve of her body.

She stopped in front of him, smiling, dangling his room key as if it were a talisman that would open doors of delight. All he had to do was reach out and …

“Are you all right?” Her eyes widened. “Stay here; your reservation is for one of our private
bungalows. I’ll get one of our golf carts to take you there.”

Her voice had grown deeper, huskier—but with concern, not desire. That realization jolted him out of his hormone-induced stupor. He hadn’t ogled anyone like a teenager since … well, since he’d been a teenager. If that weren’t bad enough, he was more turned on than he’d been in recent memory—and she thought he was physically ill!

Embarrassed, he immediately pulled himself to his feet and, gritting his teeth against the stiffening muscles in his lower back, he hefted his gear. “That won’t be necessary. I can walk.”

Her expression left no doubt that she didn’t think he could make it out of the lobby, much less to the long-awaited wonders of his very own bungalow. He blamed the heat and the lack of sleep for reducing him to feeling the need to prove he was a man—proof right there that he was no longer capable of rational thought. But he trudged past her toward the closest exit anyway, determined to make it to the bungalow or die trying.

It proved to be a tougher campaign than he’d thought.

They stepped out onto a terraced set of stone steps that led down to a startling blue pool of water. The sun glinted directly off the sparkling surface, making Jack wince and grab for his sunglasses. Slipping the black shades onto the bridge of his nose,
he skirted the steps and headed toward the path that cut through the trees just past the pool.

April watched him saunter off, sorely tempted to let him wander off by himself. He’d get lost before he ever found the guest bungalows. They were nestled at the rear of the resort. In the opposite direction.

But the silver equipment case swinging in his hand made her hurry to catch up. “You’re going the wrong way,” she called out. “This is the way to the employee bungalows. Guest cottages are that way.”

He paused, then stopped. He set down the silver case, shifted the duffel to his other shoulder, picked up the case, and walked back to her. April found herself admiring the way he moved, wondering what he’d look like freshly shaven with a smile on his face, wishing he didn’t have those dark sunglasses on so she could see his intriguing eyes.…

Yanking her thoughts back to her present personnel problem, she directed her gaze to the silver case. It was on the tip of her tongue to simply explain her situation and hope for the best. She just wasn’t sure how to explain it without sounding like a total idiot.

“Your bungalow is number fourteen,” she said. “It’s down this path. Last one on the left.” Maybe it would be better to approach him with her request after he’d showered and changed, she decided. She
held out what looked like a plastic credit card. “Your key.”

Jack watched a myriad of expressions flicker across her face as if she was struggling with some important matter. Her exotic almond-shaped eyes were a warm shade of brown. Her sensually full bottom lip all but begged him to discover if her mouth tasted as succulent as it looked. Her husky voice was still arousing his body, which, considering what he’d been through today, should have been dead. And it had been, until about fifteen minutes ago. He wondered what she was thinking about.

Take the key and get out of here, Tango
, he lectured himself. Instead he tilted his head in the direction of his bungalow. “I don’t seem to have a free hand. Would you mind?” Her gaze narrowed warily. “After all, you’ve come this far.”

April studied him. Had he placed a specific emphasis on his last sentence? It had been over ten years, but she was still sensitive to sexual innuendo. And she couldn’t deny that his visual inventory of her had left her feeling unusually vulnerable. But there was still the matter of finding a photographer. Unless she wanted a complete disaster on her hands over the next twenty-four hours, she had to persuade Mr. Tango to help her out.

Besides, he was certainly in no shape to put any moves on her. “Only if you’ll let me carry something heavier than this key the rest of the way.”

“Deal.” He peeled off the strap of the small nylon bag and handed it to her. He swept his arm in front of him. “After you.”

And then he smiled.

April knew right then that Jack Tango was far from being a problem she could easily solve.

And that he would be anything but the simple solution to hers.

TWO

April hurried up the few steps to the tiny bungalow and had barely opened the door before Jack pushed past her. He tossed his sunglasses on the bar, then dropped onto the small couch, letting his duffel bag slide off his arm. It tilted over, wadded-up clothing spilling onto the woven rug covering the cushions.

“Ahhh. Air-conditioning.” His voice was almost reverent in appreciation. “Second-best invention known to man.”

The question was out before she could stop it. “What’s the first? Electric blankets?”

His light-eyed gaze pinned her where she stood. She felt like a butterfly caught against a velvet board.

“Right now the need for artificial heat is the last thing on my mind.”

April gulped. “Yes, well … let me show you where everything is and I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you want a shower. There should be cold—”

“Aren’t you still curious about what’s first?”

April made a valiant effort to give him her professional smile. “Let me guess,” she said brightly. “Cold beer?” Not letting him answer, she continued. “Aside from a well-stocked kitchen and bar, the bungalow comes equipped with two phones: one by the couch and one in the bedroom.”

“That’s it.”

“What?”

“The number one thing. Room service. Everything you desire is at the touch of your fingertips—and you never need to leave the bedroom.”

She gauged the tired grin on his face. She wasn’t about to take that dangerous piece of bait. “Well, if you desire something that’s not already here,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible, “just call the front desk and they’ll have it here before you finish unpacking.”

Jack arched a doubtful brow and looked pointedly at his duffel bag and the scattered clothes.

April couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe even we aren’t that quick. You’ll probably have time for a shower.” Her smile grew a bit uncertain as Jack rose slowly and took a step toward her. Time
to leave. “I, uh, have to get back.” He took another step. “I’m really very busy.” She reached the open doorway. “If you have any questions I’m sure the room steward or Dominguez, our concierge, can answer them.”

“Thanks,” he responded. “I’ll be sure to make a list.”