Slippery When Wet. Kristin Hardy
“So if you’re not going to dance on the tables, what are you going to do?”
She moved her glass meditatively in a little circle on the table. “I don’t know, probably as little as possible. I haven’t had a break in almost five years. I keep catching myself starting to think about work and I have to remind myself to let it go.”
“It takes a couple of days, at least it did for me. Especially if you’re down here with no distractions.”
“When was the last time you had a vacation?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever really had one,” he said thoughtfully. “Not like this, anyway.”
“Relaxation makes you live longer.”
“So does being able to afford groceries.” He shrugged. “I’ve mostly been running my own business for the past ten years. It takes over your life. I’m sure you can relate.”
“What do you do?”
“Ah, ah, ah.” He shook his finger at her. “Baltimore doesn’t exist, remember? No talking about the real world and definitely no talking about work.” His eyes lingered on her as the waiter set their beers on the table. Dev reached out to take his glass, held it up. “Here’s to being off the clock.”
The clink of glass rang in the warm evening air.
“So you said you’re going to do as little as possible. What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “Lie on the beach, sleep in, read books.” She didn’t figure adding wild sex to that list would be wise, although she was suddenly certain he’d be happy to volunteer. And as the tequila flowed through her veins, she was beginning to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. In fact, if his current mood held, Dev Carson might be just what the doctor ordered. “I figure I’ll just relax for a week. Maybe dance a little, flirt a little. I’m on vacation, after all.”
“So you are. Well, it is an all-inclusive resort. I think flirtations are part of the list of services. Did I mention,” he asked casually, “that Raoul considers me an honorary local?”
She looked at him consideringly. “Can I take that to mean you’re offering to be of service?”
He sat up and leaned forward. “Oh, service is the name of my game, Ms. DeWitt. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
It was ridiculous to start a flirtation with someone from home, she thought. Baltimore doesn’t exist, the words played through her head. Isn’t that what vacations are for? Maybe. And maybe it was time to let the old Taylor come out to play.
HE’D NEVER SEEN A WOMAN GO into ecstasy over mango cheesecake before, Dev reflected as he watched Taylor eat her dessert. Her tongue flicked out to catch a crumb of crust, and his pulse bumped for a moment.
It had been doing that a lot in the past couple of hours.
Dev Carson considered himself smart, tough, ambitious and focused. When he decided to go after something—or someone—he was usually successful. What he wanted, he got.
And he wanted Taylor DeWitt in the worst way. At first, it had been a game: embarrass her a little, have some fun flirting. Somehow over the course of the day and evening, she’d become an unendurable temptation, a prospect of pleasure that drummed through his mind.
Watching her eat had been a revelation. Unlike most women, she didn’t pick at her food but dug in with enthusiasm and little hums of satisfaction. She sampled every exotic dish offered at the show-cooking buffet, experiencing it with an exquisite pleasure that had him imagining what she would look like in the throes of orgasm. After he’d taken her there.
Taylor pushed her plate away. “That was fabulous.”
“You looked like you were enjoying it.”
“Especially since someone else is doing the cooking and cleaning. But I’m stuffed. If I don’t move soon, you’re going to have to carry me to my room.”
Now that was a prospect with some possibilities, he thought. “Just say the word.”
Taylor laughed. “I think I can walk for now, I just need to be encouraged a bit.”
Dev rose and held out his hand. “I can help with that.”
The sultry strains of Latin music floated into the night sky as they approached the open-air theater area. Soft light filtered down onto the dance floor, where couples swayed to the slow, hypnotic beat from the band.
Dev took her hand. “Dance with me?”
Taylor lifted a brow. “Fred, I thought you’d never ask.”
“You laugh, but prepare to be amazed and humbled.”
“Another one of the things you’ve picked up since you’ve been here?”
“I like to consider myself a multifaceted individual.”
He led her down the steps and onto the polished wood floor. Taylor looked at the couples nestled together. Anticipation sent a sharp thrill through her, then he swept her in toward him, unexpectedly close.
She’d expected the classic clinch and shuffle of the high school slow dance, but he surprised her, capturing one of her hands in his and pressing his other against the small of her back. The heat spread through the thin silk of her dress, making her catch her breath.
Making her melt against him.
“I don’t know how to dance like this,” she said unsteadily, clutching at his shoulder with her free hand. His hard, rounded shoulder. “I only ever learned to shuffle around.”
“It’s a rumba,” he murmured in her ear, “a standard box step. Just hold on and follow me.”
The guitar moaned low and soft over the clicking tropical rhythm of a hollow woodblock. An exotic woman dressed in fiery red stepped up to the microphone and began to croon in Spanish, a passionate tale of what Taylor figured was no doubt doomed lovers.
Moving in time with Dev’s body was immensely seductive. She felt the muscles of his thighs flex against hers. She looked up and found her gaze snared by his, the green shadowed in the dim lighting. He brought their clasped hands in close to their bodies, pressing her against him. The call of the guitar drifted up into the sky.
THEY STROLLED DOWN the shadowed path that wound through the jungle toward the beach. Dev tangled his fingers with Taylor’s. “I couldn’t believe it when I first got down here,” he murmured. “I thought I’d walked into another world. Home was gone.” It hadn’t been quite as easy as that, if he was honest. It had taken days in the hot sun, hours of swimming with the schools of bright fish in the tranquil blue depths of the reefs to erase the memory of finding his fiancée with another man. No matter that he’d known deep down they were a bad match, the betrayal had scored his pride. To smooth it over, he’d flirted with a couple of the beach babes but something had felt wrong each time. Each time, he’d ducked out with a simple kiss good-night.
Somehow, he didn’t see himself doing that with Taylor.
They followed the trail out of the lush plantings to circle around the edge of the pool, now glowing pale turquoise. At this hour, the area was deserted, the guests all up at the theater area dancing and watching the show. They had the beach to themselves.
A vivid red hibiscus blossom, fallen from its bush, lay on the pavement. Dev stopped to pick it up. Turning to Taylor, he tucked it behind her ear. “Now you look like an island girl.”
“You’re the one who looks like an islander, with that tan and the batik and the shells…”
He fingered them. “The clerk at the hotel store threw them in when I bought my trunks.”
“I don’t have to ask if she was a she,” Taylor said dryly.
“She was indeed, and also about sixteen. Not my style.”
“You’re