Tango in Paradise (7 page)

“No. Thanks. I still have work to do this after—” She gulped as her gaze moved automatically from watching his backside to observing the bunching of his bicep as he twisted off the cap of his beer.
“—noon,” she finished weakly. This was insanity. And it had just gotten worse; this time he’d caught her looking.

She averted her gaze and cleared her throat to speak, but Jack cut in before she could begin. It was just as well. She didn’t have a clue as to what she was going to say anyway.

He perched on the arm of the couch at the opposite end from her. “Don’t you ever take some time off?” He tilted the bottle up and swallowed a long draft before looking back at her.

She knew she was in trouble when she didn’t respond until she’d finished watching his throat muscles contract as he swallowed. Was there anything this man couldn’t turn into a sensual experience? “I … I don’t have a regularly scheduled day off, if that’s what you mean. But don’t worry, I had every intention of keeping up my end of the agreement”

He held a hand up to stop her, then wiped his damp palm on his shorts, unintentionally drawing her gaze back to his thigh. April didn’t care if he’d think she was incredibly rude, but she shifted her position and stared out of the window. It had to be safer.

“I didn’t ask because of our stupid agreement. Call it professional curiosity. I just wondered what you do when all this”—he made a sweeping gesture with his arm—“gets to be too much. Even in a
place this beautiful and peaceful, the pressure of running a business this size must get to you.”

“Sometimes. But I’m used to it. It’s what I do.”

“Why?” She stiffened and he added, “I meant, why did you decide to build a resort out in the middle of nowhere?”

She relaxed and smiled, choosing to remember the better reasons. “My grandfather had land here. I spent a few summers with him. He ran a small charter-fishing business. That business eventually became Paradise Cove.”

“How long ago did he die?”

The question startled her, making her instantly aware of how far she’d let her guard drop. At some point during her explanation she’d turned to face him again. The way he looked at her … She had this insane impulse just to blurt out the whole story to him, but she immediately stifled it. She’d be a fool to trust those probing eyes of his so easily. “Eight years.” In response to his raised eyebrow, she added, “No, it wasn’t easy, but I had a lot of help here. There are a few people still on staff who were quite loyal to my grandfather.”

Eager to change the subject before he asked any more questions, she said, “Earlier, you used the phrase ‘professional curiosity.’ Why? Does your profession keep you from relaxing?”

“I’ve been accused of overdoing it a bit,” he said dryly. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. A friend of
mine managed to convince me that a small break wouldn’t kill me.” He chuckled softly. “Although after twenty-seven rolls of Aunt Minnie and Uncle Jeets and the rest of the illustrious Smithsons, I’m not too sure it won’t kill
him
.”

April turned back to face him. The laughter in his light words had failed to cover the underlying fatigue, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a trace of unrest. “Is that part of what you meant the other day? About being dispensable, I mean? Are you afraid of being fired?”

This time his laugh was more natural. “No. That’s the least of my worries. I guess it’s just that my career always seemed like one big vacation to me anyway and …” He trailed off for a moment, and this time he was the one to look out the front window. “I don’t know, somewhere along the way it stopped being fan and started being a job.”

“What exactly do you do?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” His casual shrug took any harshness out of his words. “For the time being I’m more interested in learning how to relax.”

Even lounging on the arm of the couch, barefooted and with a beer in one hand, an aura of tension radiated around him. April felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up her neck. “Mr. Tango—” His head whipped around, his expression almost
fierce. “Jack,” she corrected quickly. He calmed a bit and so did April. Calling him by his last name had seemed strange and formal to her, too. “I’ve done nothing but bitch and moan since I walked in here. I’m sorry. I never got the chance to tell you how grateful the Cove is for—”

“I didn’t do it for Paradise Cove,
mi cielo
.” If Jack had hoped to make her feel better with his heartfelt statement, he’d failed miserably. Her entire body went stiff as a tree and her golden skin paled considerably. He immediately shifted to sit beside her. “April?” When she didn’t turn he started to reach out, then pulled back. “Will you look at me?”

She turned to face him, a measure of respect reflected in her eyes, making him glad he’d kept his word. “What did I say? Does the idea that someone would want to help you frighten you?”

April read only true concern in his eyes. She saw no trace of ulterior motives. She ignored the tiny voice that whispered it probably wouldn’t make a difference if she did. She wanted to confide in him. She needed to.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault really, you couldn’t have known.”

“What’s not my fault? This is the second time I’ve seen you freeze up like that after I’ve said something. Tell me what it is that bothers you.”

“It’s silly really. It’s just that …” She let a small
sigh escape, steeling herself to face the memories that would surely come with the explanation.

“What, April? I can’t prevent it from happening again if you don’t tell me.” He curled his fingers into his palm to keep from stroking her face. “You can trust me.”

She pulled back just slightly and he shifted away a few inches, sensing this was difficult for her.

“My, uh … my father used to call me that.”

“Call you what?” Confused, Jack broke off, going over what he’d said to her just now. She could only mean one thing. “You mean
mi cielo
? But that’s a fairly common Mexican endearment, why should it bother you?” He saw her slump a little, as if someone had released a knot in her spine. “I’m sorry. Has he passed away?”

“No, he’s very much alive. And yes, it was a term of affection he used with me. But that was a long time ago.”

Her tone softened, as if she were very far away. The sense of loss, of grief, was so real he’d been sure her father had died. There was a world of hurt in her voice and in her posture, and Jack felt a sudden rage made stronger by its impotence.

He might not be able to slay the dragons of her past, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try and comfort her now. “Will you trust me to touch you?” She stared at him, obviously a bit surprised by the request. He didn’t realize he’d held
his breath until she dipped her chin in the barest of movements.

He ran his palm lightly over her hair, traced a finger along her cheek, then gently pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She resisted at first, but he whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, April. Let someone hold you. Let me hold you.” He felt an incredible sense of joy when she slowly relaxed in his arms.

He suspected she needed to talk about it, maybe even wanted to. But he was loath to do anything to end this respite. He gently smoothed the loose strands of her hair, wanting desperately to know what she was thinking, remembering. What had her old man done to her? And what about her mother?

A dozen other questions popped into his mind and he silently cursed the inquisitive journalist that was as much a permanent part of him as his arms and legs. But he also knew his need to uncover and understand what had happened in her past went deeper than the basic instinct to get to the root of a story.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” he murmured against her hair, the soft fragrance enveloping him in a calming, soothing embrace. The slight tightening of her arms before she moved back was the only indication she gave that she’d heard him.

“I really should be getting back.” Her voice was still hushed, as if she’d been sharing secrets meant for his ears only.

“April, wait.”

She scooted to the edge of the couch and turned to face him again, her expression not quite the professional mask she was obviously struggling to wear.

“We still need to decide what to do about my fee.”

She looked as if she’d been slapped. He’d wanted her to stay longer, so he’d said the most asinine thing in the world, guaranteed to make her think his holding her had been a calculated act. He hurried to do some damage control before she came out swinging.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Honest. Forget the damn deal, okay?” He raked a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. Releasing a huge sigh, he looked at her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I want to spend some time with you.”

He saw her anger falter a bit and stomped down a twinge of guilt for being about to seize that small opportunity. The most important thing right now was getting her to agree; he could lack himself for his methods later. Hell, if she said yes, he’d let
her
kick him.

“No cameras, okay? Just you and me taking a little time to escape the pressure.” Her eyebrows
farrowed as if she were debating the merits of his offer. “You pick the time, I’ll provide the entertainment, and we’ll call it even.”

Her eyebrows raised as her eyes widened, and he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at her obvious interpretation of what he’d meant by “entertainment.” “Not that kind,” he teased, grinning broadly. “But I’m glad to see we’re back on the same wavelength.”

That almost earned him a smile. Her lips quirked at the corners and he felt his heart do a double take. Yep, he was in serious trouble here.

“All right,” she answered, still sounding a bit tentative. “But it will probably take a few days to schedule in some time. What kind of time frame did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you can spare. Say, an afternoon? Surely the resort won’t go to ruin if you take off for three or four hours.”

Only one eyebrow lifted at that, but he got his smile. It was worth any and all amount of trouble and suffering.

“You’d be surprised what can happen around here in thirty minutes, much less three hours.” When he started to speak, she raised her hand to stop him. “I’ll do the best I can. Deal?” She lowered her hand and offered it to him.

“Absolutely.” He took her hand in his and tugged it a little, forcing her to shift closer to him to keep
her balance. Turning her palm upward, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he slowly lowered his mouth and pressed a soft kiss in the center of it. Then he slowly curled her fingers into her palm.

He raised his head; their eyes remained locked on each other. Long seconds elapsed as they searched each other’s eyes. The total silence was both pulse-poundingly loud and infinitely peaceful.

Little by little, April’s hand slid from his grasp. Praying her legs would hold her, she slowly rose from the couch, the action a bit awkward as she was unable to tear her gaze away from his. She backed into the coffee table, her calves bumping around the edge, then reluctantly turned toward the door.

She stepped into the blade of sunshine slicing through the slightly opened door, wondering why it no longer represented freedom to her. Instead it was as if the world on the other side of that door suddenly represented risk—the risk of failure, the risk of success, the risk of the past coming back to haunt her. Only here, in Jack’s arms, had she felt safe, secure.

She thought of what Senator Smithson had told her and knew the greatest risk of all was still waiting for her. The risk of old, unwanted pain and humiliation finding her again and ruining everything she’d worked so hard for.

With one hand on the door, she turned to find
that Jack had risen and was watching her closely, the intensity of the moment they’d shared still reflected in his eyes.

If she stayed here, she instinctively knew Jack would protect her from the pain and humiliation, or at least he’d try. But who would protect her from the risk of a broken heart?

Jack stared at the door for several long minutes after April walked out into the afternoon sunshine. He downed the rest of his beer in one shot and pushed himself off the couch. He recalled again the stricken look in her eyes when he’d inadvertently called her by her father’s pet name. He thought back to the wedding reception several days ago when he’d called her that.

Jack froze in mid-stride. She was pale and stiff then, too, but he hadn’t been the cause. Smithson. What in the hell did Smithson have to do with April’s father? Or her past?

Jack sat down on one of the wicker bar stools by the counter that separated the small kitchen from the dining area and pulled a pad of resort stationery in front of him. He jotted a few notes, mostly impressions of the Senator and April and the conversation between them that had precipitated his intervention.

He paused in his writing, tapping the pencil
against the paper. His instincts were running on fall alert. The problem was that where April was concerned, he wasn’t sure if his instincts were journalistic, or protective. Either way, he added another item to the mental to-do list he’d started the second April had left the bungalow.

One of those items was to find out what sort of communication equipment the resort had. He wanted to do some preliminary checking on the Senator.

But the first item on his list was making sure he was penciled into April’s schedule as soon as possible. She hadn’t been gone ten minutes and he already missed her.

“
Señor
Jack took care of it.” April chanted the phrase for what had to be the twelfth time that morning. She was beginning to think it was the new resort slogan. The pattern had become alarmingly clear over the past forty-eight hours, and April ground her teeth in frustration.

“Is no problem,
sí
?” Antonio looked worried.

“No, no problem,” April reassured him, holding in her sigh until Antonio flashed a smile and turned back to the other tables. After all, it wasn’t the maitre d’s fault if one of the guests, namely Jack, decided to take it upon himself to soothe the ruffled feathers of a fellow, or rather female, guest who’d
become outraged when Antonio had inadvertently dumped an entire platter of freshly cut pineapple on her lap. Poor Antonio had probably been distracted by the same generous cleavage that had prompted Jack to come to the rescue.