Tropical storm Mark’s trajectory over the island had proved to be a blessing in disguise.
“Seems like fate that we’ll be in the same place this week. I hope you’ll be able to give me a few minutes of your time.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Cara ended the call and sat there, dazed, for a moment. Then she leaped to her feet.
Keith. She had to tell him.
She couldn’t wait to see that killer smile bloom when she announced the news. Oh, sure, the deal with Ever After could fall through, but still. Someone with real clout in the wedding industry praised her designs and wanted to meet with her. As a potential business partner.
The meeting alone made Cara Chandler-Harris Designs real in a way that she hadn’t experienced yet. Up until now, it had almost felt like a hobby that happened to net her some cash and afforded her a fun way to do it. But Ever After Boutiques was the big time, exactly the kind of attention she’d hoped to attract by participating in the expo.
Keith would congratulate her and say he was proud. Then he’d tell her it was sexy that she’d made a career out of her design business.
Laughing like a loon, she dashed through the pool area, nearly running smack into Meredith.
“Whoa.” Her sister put up her hands, tottering back on her stilettos until she regained her balance. “Where’s the fire?”
“Oh, I have the best news.” Breathless, she started to skirt Meredith, hoping Keith was still in his office. Okay, that was probably not a very good locale for a conversation, actually...
“Well?” With a cheeky grin, Meredith jammed a hand on her hip. And waited.
Eyes wide, Cara stared at her. “Well, what?”
“Don’t make me beg. What is it?”
It finally dawned on her. Meredith thought Cara had been looking for her to share the news. “Oh. I was actually on my way—”
She swallowed the rest before she admitted out loud that she’d wanted to share this triumph with Keith first. Before her sister, who was also her best friend. And her assistant. “Never mind.”
“Never mind you’re not going to tell me? That’s not fair. You got me all excited for nothing.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal,” she lied. The last thing she wanted was to hurt her sister’s feelings. “I just got word of a potential proposition for my dresses that I need to discuss with Keith. Because he offered to advise me on my business plan.”
That last part may have come out a little too rushed, but it was true. And it was better than admitting she’d never even once thought of telling Meredith.
“Uh-huh.” A knowing light glinted in Meredith’s gaze. “You’ve got it bad, sister.”
The joy of having someone who could read her so well. Cara sighed. “I do not.”
That was such a lie she couldn’t even keep a straight face as she delivered it.
As wake-up calls went, it was not pleasant. When exactly had she fallen off the sex-and-nothing-else wagon?
Well, she should climb back on, stat.
Hooking arms with Meredith, she reversed course and returned with her sister to their room, chatting up the call with Nick Anderson. Keith would never find out she’d accidentally started thinking of him as someone to share things with.
She deliberately stayed away from Keith the rest of the day. Fortuitous, since she made significant progress on the critical tasks for the fashion show in two days. She also got a lot of practice at squelching the ache inside that she feared meant she missed Keith.
At nine o’clock, the expected text message from the man in question arrived, inviting her to his room. Period. No further explanation, as if he knew she’d come running when he called.
Yeah, so he was correct and sticking her tongue out at the phone didn’t make the fact that she’d been sitting here yearning to see him any less true.
Cara borrowed Meredith’s bikini, which roughly resembled three postage stamps attached with string, figuring she wouldn’t have it on longer than about five minutes, and belted a trench coat over it.
* * *
Keith tossed his head back against the fiberglass edge of the hot tub, eyes closed as he struggled to drag oxygen into his starved lungs. Cara splashed to her own recovery spot a few feet away, likely as depleted as he was.
The value of high-powered water jets and a daring spirit could not be exaggerated.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “I didn’t really think you’d go for that last suggestion.”
“That’ll teach you to bluff,” she said, her voice low and seductive with a ragged edge that spoke to how vigorously she’d proved that particular point.
“I wasn’t bluffing. Just really, really hopeful.” And he’d been really, really rewarded.
More splashing alerted him that Cara was on the move. He forced an eye open to glimpse her climbing out of the hot tub. “Where are you going? We just got started.”
Why was she always so eager to disappear? Was his company that objectionable when he wasn’t naked?
She chuckled. “I think twice was enough for tonight. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Wait.” He captured her hand before she could take another step and lost his train of thought for a moment. Water rolled from her bare body, running from her hair in long trails down her torso. One drop hung from a pert nipple, begging for his tongue, and he hardened all over again.
Simply looking at her hurt, way down on the inside where it couldn’t be salved.
He should let her leave. The expo would begin in the morning and Regent executives would be on the property before nine. Everything had to go off without a hitch, and his attention to the minutest detail couldn’t be more critical.
“Stay and have a drink instead. One glass of wine. You’ll sleep better, I promise.”
Don’t leave. Not this time. If he could only put his finger on why it mattered so much to him, he’d sure sleep a lot better.
“That’s not what we’re doing here. Right?” A line appeared between her eyebrows as she pulled her hand from his. “That’s what you said. No pressure, no relationship.”
“Oh, come on.” He flashed a quick grin, though it was a little forced. Somehow her constant and immediate exits seemed to be driven from a mixed-up view of his expectations. “No pressure isn’t the same as no conversation. We can hang out and talk. That’s part of what’s making sex so great between us, don’t you think? All the nonnaked time we’ve had thus far?”
In what world did it make sense that he was arguing with her about staying for a drink instead of trying to sweet-talk her clothes off? But here they were, in the alternate universe of Grace Bay, where Cara eagerly bared her body—which he fully appreciated—but balked at anything else.
“I do like your wine.” Indecision rippled across her expression. “One drink?”
“Or two. Who’s counting?”
“I don’t have any clothes.”
As if that was a good argument against it. But his still-scrambled brain couldn’t latch on to a good enough argument for it.
Stay. Because you want to. Because you want more.
But what if he reached out and she slammed him down? Or worse, thought “more” was code for a white picket fence and another diamond ring?
A drink was all he could reasonably offer until...what? He had no idea, but he did know he couldn’t let her go this time.
Muscles protesting, he climbed to his feet and exited the hot tub to wrap her in a giant towel before she could flee again. “Let me dry you off and you can borrow a shirt. Stop being difficult and relax.”
She stood still while he swiped her radiant skin with the terry cloth, but contrary to what he’d expected, she didn’t avert her eyes. Oh no, she watched him unashamedly, gaze fastened squarely on the erection he couldn’t hide.
He should have gotten dressed first, obviously, if he really meant to have a drink, but this was one test of wills he did not intend to lose.
Finally, he got her dry and clad in one of his white button-downs, which did not decrease her attractiveness quotient in the slightest. But he bit his tongue, donned his own clothes and poured her a glass of wine.
One glance at his phone was enough—twenty text messages and an ungodly number of emails. Pointedly, he switched it off. What could ten more minutes of being incommunicado hurt?
She swallowed a hefty third of her wine as if intending to set the record for fastest drink between lovers.
Or she was trying to dull her senses to make it easier to spend time with him?
“I don’t know how to do this,” she blurted out before he’d even gotten comfortably settled next to her on the love seat.
He contemplated whether he should pretend to misunderstand or deflect with a joke. The climate felt precarious, as if he’d frighten her away if he messed up and said the wrong thing. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not sure either.”
Nothing about this rekindled affair felt the same as it had the first time. Or as he’d expected it to be the second time. He’d spent his adulthood fending off money-grubbing women who cared only about the lavish lifestyle he could provide them, and somewhere along the way forgot that some people actually got something out of relationships. Companionship, maybe.
“Why does it have to be so hard?” Her fingers gripped the stem of her wineglass in what looked like a fair attempt to break it in half. “I can’t find the middle ground. This is supposed to be an unemotional pleasure romp, right?”