Total Package. Cait London
maybe Danya really only needed to have sex to make him see that life was worth living.
But not with her. She stopped, jerked her hand away from his, and plopped down on a log. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute—”
Danya loomed above her, the sleeping bag propped over his shoulder. “Problem?”
“I just want to get something straight. No sex. No way. Not with me. You’ve got to promise to think of me as a friend, a buddy, not a woman.” She patted a driftwood log. “Sit.”
“I do not think of you as just a woman,” Danya said slowly, thoughtfully, with that touch of foreign formality.
He eased down to the log and studied her, his face all angles in the mist and eery moonlight. “Good. Just keep thinking of me as your buddy and we’ll be fine. Men usually think of me that way and I’m used to talking straight with them, no female chatter for me. Do you have a sexual problem? Because if you do, I can’t help you there.”
Was he trying not to smile? “Not that I know of.”
“What’s your sexual history? I’m just asking because I don’t want to be jumped by some guy with stored up—some guy needing relief. I mean, have you done it since your wife—you know?”
“A few times. But I didn’t find what my wife and I had and I needed that to feel complete.”
“No offense, but you understand why I need to be careful.”
“You have my word that I will not touch you—like that. But it is nice to listen to you talk. If you would stay with me, it would fill the hours.”
She eyed him and could find no humor in that hard face. “Are you saying that I talk too much? Because I’m just trying to help you, after all.”
“I am saying that I would be pleased if you would share my home tonight.” Again, his formality caused Sidney to be uneasy. But then, she’d met a few European males and though this guy was born in the U.S., sometimes family traditions carried over; he probably even spoke Russian. She’d noticed that same formality in Mikhail Stepanov, and a slight disdain for the models hovering around him.
“I’m not having sex with you—just getting that straight upfront. Been there, done that, with Mr. Rabbit, and it wasn’t fun. What happened to these other women you’ve had?”
Danya looked out to the black waves. “Correction—a couple of women, each for a brief time. It seems that I am a good matchmaker. Through me, they met someone more suitable than myself.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. So you were dumped. Danya, you can’t think of yourself as a life’s loser just because you were dumped.”
“That is good advice. I’m tired and my cabin is just a little bit farther. Do you want to go on, or back to the resort?”
Sidney yawned and thought of the primping models waiting to give her facials, pluck her eyebrows, share intimate girl-talk and discuss silly fashions. “If I could pull up a piece of your floor for my sleeping bag, I’d be grateful.”
He nodded and stood. Exhausted now, Sidney yawned again and looked down at the big hand extended to help her to her feet.
Bulldog wouldn’t like her accepting help, but since this guy needed lots of touching to get him through the night, what did it matter?
In her lifetime, Sidney had had to make quick decisions and always trusted her judgment. Now it told her that she could trust this man. He needed companionship for the night and she needed rest.
It would all work out, she decided as she walked with him to his cabin.
And then her artistic photographer’s mind added an enticing thought—he was gorgeous and just maybe she could get some really good shots, a portrait in black and white would really emphasize that rugged face.
That long lean body wasn’t that bad, either, she decided, and it would be perfect for some excellent shots, maybe for magazine ads. She might even be a factor in changing his life, in starting him in new successful directions, in giving him a new and beautiful slant on life.
Hey, when opportunity raised its beautiful, profitable head, who was she to deny it?
Two
Sidney Blakely fascinated Danya; every sensual molecule in his body had fastened onto that small curvaceous body.
He really should feel guilty—after all, if he hadn’t been enjoying her so much, he would have worked harder to correct her “jumper” image of him. But the need to explore Sidney Blakely more was too irresistible to ignore.
She had absolutely no idea how appealing she was, nor how she had aroused him…he concluded as she mounted the steps to the cabin ahead of him.
His hands ached to cup her bottom, to feel that softness, as the scent of her tightened every muscle in his body. The immediate need to stake his claim on this woman surprised him.
She was not wearing any underclothing.
On the cabin porch, she looked around to see the wind chimes made of spoons, and a delicate fingertip reached to toy with them. A woman who had lived with men, communicated on their no-nonsense level, Sidney liked to keep her options open. “I could sleep right here, listening to the ocean.”
He wanted her in his bed—now. “It will rain soon. You’ll keep drier inside, and you could sleep in—if you’re not shooting tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sounds so good. I’ve been missing sleep.”
He understood perfectly; Sidney had come to Kamakani’s grave site to discuss her ill-fated love for “Mr. Rabbit.”
Danya thought of making slow, soft love to her, of waking up to her and moving into her, and his body tightened painfully. After all these years of emptiness, why this special woman? Why tonight?
Inside the cabin, Sidney looked around at the Spartan furnishings—the big solid Stepanov bed and dresser, a plain table and two chairs, a kitchenette. She walked to the tiny bathroom and peeked inside. “Great,” she stated approvingly.
“Sid?” Danya unfurled her sleeping bag and placed it against a corner of the room. He could see her plainly now, the practical short hair cut. Her eyes were dark brown and large, almost like a fawn’s, her lashes sweeping shadows down that pale soft skin. She wore no cosmetics, and he ached to taste that slender throat, to nibble on those small ears.
His body knew it had been years since he’d made love to a woman, awakening now to the twin peaks of her breasts, nudging the heavy sweatshirt.
“Yeah?” She was stretching and yawning and Danya ached to hold that small shapely body tight against him. She rotated her head and bent to touch her toes several times and the cargo pants tightened over her curved backside.
He ached to be inside, filling her—
“I thought you might like this.” He reached down to a laundry basket on the floor and pulled out a folded T-shirt, tossing it to her.
Sidney came close to study the framed picture on the dresser, a young Danya and his bride, just after their wedding. “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching to touch his back and when she looked up at him, her eyes spoke more than words. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, very beautiful. A treasure of the heart. I will keep her always there,” he said solemnly, meaning it.
“That’s beautiful, Danya. But you’ve got to live your life. If I go to sleep, you won’t do anything rash, will you?”
He shook his head. “I’m too tired. Emotions, you know. I don’t suppose you could—no…I won’t ask.”
Danya almost felt guilty—but not quite as Sidney’s expressive eyes filled with him. “What, Danya?”
“Could I hold you?”
Instantly