The solution to keeping her plan on track was to get the jump on Lucas and draw him into a fantasy before he could totally mesmerize her as he had on his grandfather's island. Simple.
"What's wrong?"
She started, then turned. He was standing there studying her, and she felt the pull right down to where her toes curled in her sandals.
It was not going to be so simple.
"Tell me," he said, moving to the railing.
"Nothing. The room – everything – it's perfect."
"So perfect that you had to come out here to screw up your courage?" Taking her hand, he waited until she met his eyes.
"There's nothing wrong. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Sophie said you would be kind. But I didn't expect you to be sweet too."
"Sweet?"
The slightly disgruntled, slightly shocked look on his face made her smile. "It'll be our little secret. I won't tell a soul."
"Just tell me. What's wrong, Doc."
She shrugged. "I needed to come out here and think."
"Ah," he murmured, his forehead clearing. "Getting all your ducks lined up in a row?"
"Fear clears my mind. I know that might sound…" The rest of her sentence trailed off when he lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed the palm of her hand, then the veins at her wrist. For a moment, she couldn't say a thing. She was too busy absorbing the little waves of fire and ice that radiated up her arm. "You're trying to seduce me."
"You got me, Doc. I'm busted." He began to kiss her fingers one by one as if they were a delicacy he'd been waiting all day to sample. "I want to make up to you for what happened at the cabin."
She blinked and stared at him. "Why? I mean we both … I enjoyed it, really. It was my fault that I lost control."
"I lost control too, and I want to make it up to you."
"Wait." She pulled her hand away. "It's not necessary for you to make anything up. I don't think I've explained the essentials of my plan quite clearly enough. It's my job to seduce you."
He had her hand again, and she could feel a pull that went beyond the pressure of his fingers on hers.
"I'm not going to be able to create any fantasies if you keep distracting me," she continued weakly.
"What if I told you that I don't have any fantasies?" His eyes never left hers as he drew her fingers to his mouth. "I gave them up when I was a kid because I thought they were a waste of time. I much prefer reality. What I really want to do is to keep you in this suite and make love with you nonstop for the next three days."
The images that his statement conjured up nearly melted her knees again. And it didn't help one bit that he was touching her again, drawing one finger along her jawline, then down her neck to the hollow of her throat. She had to clear it to speak. "Sophie was right on the button when she bragged about your negotiating skills. You're trying to make me an offer I can't refuse."
His laugh erupted then, quick and infectious. The sound of it only added to the ribbons of heat spreading downward and upward from her center.
"I can never predict what you're going to say next. Maybe that's why you fascinate me, Doc."
She fascinated him? She'd never fascinated anyone in her life. It had to be the proposal she'd made him. Either that or he'd liked the island-girl fantasy. "I have some fantasies in mind that may fascinate you even more."
"I'd much rather spend some time with you, Doc. I've been wanting to touch you, really touch you, since you got off that plane yesterday morning. I don't know how much longer I can wait."
She felt her heart stutter.
"Why don't you come inside and let me show you?"
She was halfway to the door when she finally found the strength to dig in her heels. "Wait. Do you hear the way we're talking?"
"I know I'd like to stop talking."
"Just think about it. I said, 'I have some fantasies in mind for you.' You said, 'I want to touch you… Let me show you.' You see what that means, don't you?"
"We want each other?"
"More than that, we each want to be in charge. We're both control freaks, so to speak. Admit it. Don't you want to be in control when you're in a business deal?"
"You bet."
"And I am always in control in the lab. I have to be."
Lucas considered her for a minute. "What exactly are you saying, Doc?"
"We have a problem, and there's only one solution." She turned it over in her mind a few times, then said, "We'll have to take turns."
"Take turns?"
"Being in charge, calling the shots, whatever you want to call it. The first time we make love, I get to call the shots, create a fantasy, whatever I want. The next time, you're in charge. You can do whatever you want."
Lucas considered the idea for a moment. "How do you get to go first?"
She lifted her chin. "This whole thing was my idea. I flew all the way down here with the original proposition. And I just came up with a compromise so that two control freaks can work together. Clearly, I get to go first."
"How about we flip?" he asked, pulling a coin out of his pocket. Before she could agree or protest, the coin was spinning upward into the sunshine.
"Heads," she called as he snatched it out of the air. Holding her breath, she watched his fingers slowly open.
"Heads it is," Lucas said.
Mac beamed a triumphant smile at him. "I'm going to freshen up. I'll meet you down in the lounge in thirty minutes."
"The lounge?" His face looked as incredulous as when she'd called him sweet. "Why do we have to go to the lounge when we have a perfectly good suite?"
"My call. And the fantasy I have in mind requires a different setting."
*
She was driving him crazy. That much he knew. But now Lucas was beginning to suspect she was doing it on purpose. A glance at his watch told him that thirty minutes had lengthened into forty-five. No, forty-six.
Had he actually begun to count the minutes? He glanced around the spacious but crowded lounge. Three TV sets hung from the ceiling over the bar, each one offering a muted version of a different sporting event. Other than that, the decor was rain forest, with moss dangling from the walls and ceiling, and exotic-looking plants bursting out of clay pots. Water dribbled steadily over rocks behind his booth and shot up in bright, colorful spouts from a pool twenty feet to the left of his table.
Directly ahead, beyond a wall of glass, the dimness gave way to light. Though the midday sun beat down mercilessly on the water, a few swimmers still sought relief from the heat in the coolness of the lagoon. Most guests were inside, enjoying the benefits of air-conditioning.
There was no sign of Mac anywhere. He lifted his beer, drained it, and thought of the perfectly good champagne he'd abandoned in the suite… And of what they could be doing right now. After what had happened at the cabin – he still couldn't figure it out. He'd never before desired a woman with that kind of intensity. And he'd never made love to a woman with less finesse.
He wanted to give Mac romance. There was a definite air of innocence about her that made him want to seduce her slowly – with champagne, soft music. When the bellhop had given them that whirlwind tour of the suite, he'd pictured undressing her and making love with her on that large, smooth bed. Then he would have carried her to the Jacuzzi where they would have finished the rest of the champagne and then made love again. Very slowly.
But she'd decided he was a control freak. No one else he'd dated had ever complained.
But then Mac was unlike anyone else he'd ever wanted to make love to.
He tapped his fingers on the table. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring her here. If they'd stayed at the cabin, he wouldn't be sitting alone in a bar, nursing a beer. They could be lying right now on that narrow bed.
Leaning against the back of the booth, he allowed the image to slip into his mind – those smooth legs wrapping around him, drawing him closer, trapping him. Right now he could be pushing into her heat, withdrawing and pushing in again. Deeper. He could almost feel her wet, silk heat closing around him.
"If you're not waiting for someone…
Lucas's eyes shot open at the voice. It was Mac's. Perhaps a little huskier. But the blonde standing a few feet away from his table had to be a stranger: Still half caught up in the fantasy he'd fashioned in his mind, he blinked and tried to focus.
She wore a bright red skirt, barely the length of a dinner napkin. It fit her like a second skin and seemed to stop where her legs began. His throat went dry as his gaze moved down the length of them, then back up to where the skirt rode high on her thighs. Was she wearing anything beneath it?
"That outfit…" he began.
When she whirled in front of him, the skirt inched even higher.
"You like it?"
"Mac?" He dragged his gaze from the miraculous legs up her body to her… He could see her nipples through the stretchy fabric of the tank top – perfect little buds. With great effort he managed to focus on her face. Her blond hair looked mussed, as if some man had just run his hands through it several times. And her eyes – they were huge, heavy-lidded … and there was no mistaking that golden-brown color.
"Mac, what in hell are you doing?"
In a flash she had slid in beside him in the back of the booth. "Shh." She gave him a slow wink. "You're mistaken. I'm not Mac. I'm Sally. And you're…" She paused to slip a finger beneath the button of his polo shirt and flick it free of its hole. "You're John."