Wicked Heat. Kelli Ireland
neck were visible and appeared rigid. And despite her sunglasses, there were faint lines that radiated from the corner of each eye. Lines that clearly represented both stress and worry.
He was about to speak, to restart the banter they’d shared on the plane, but she turned away, reaching in to her bag and retrieving a travel pack of ibuprofen. She ripped the package open, retrieved two pills and tossed them into her mouth. Without water available, she struggled to get them down but managed.
What could be so bad a woman lands in paradise and has to take something for a headache? And why am I obsessing? I have my own issues with this godforsaken trip.
Still...
The gentleman’s code Liam lived by demanded he do something to distract her. Leaning toward her, he said, “My travel agent assured me the resort was a guaranteed headache-free zone.”
The woman whipped her entire upper body toward him, eyes wide as she pushed at a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her chignon. Recognition dawned, and her eyes warmed. “You,” she said, smiling.
“And you as well.”
“What are you doing...” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“You have impeccable taste in locale as well as accommodation.” He nodded at the driver as the man wove between slower moving traffic as if the ten-seat bus were an IndyCar, their route Le Mans. “The Royal Crescent is a lush resort. If you didn’t reserve a cabana over the water, you should consider upgrading.”
“I actually have a room in the resort proper.” When he said nothing, only watched her, she shrugged. “It suits my needs.”
“Sometimes simply meeting one’s needs should be abandoned in favor of obtaining one’s desires, don’t you think?”
She stared at an indeterminate point over his shoulder, tapping her forefinger against her lower lip as she considered his question. It was only seconds before she shifted her gaze to meet his. The wicked gleam in those impossibly green eyes told him she’d give as well as she got. “Actually, no. I’m of the opinion that a woman shouldn’t leave desire on her wish list. A smart woman places her desires, whatever...whomever...they might be, near the very top of her list of necessities. Wouldn’t you agree?” She arched a dark brow, the wordless gesture a direct challenge.
He had intended to bait her. Clearly, she knew it. What Liam had never expected, though, was that she’d take the bait. The image of reeling her in had his heart beating a bit faster, breath coming a bit shorter. He liked it, liked her, and found himself hungering for the thrill of the chase.
He traced his fingers over the tanned skin on her shoulder.
She drew in a deep breath.
He smiled, knowing full well that the look he gave her was leonine. How often had he been accused of letting that particular look loose in both boardroom and bedroom when he discovered exactly what he wanted? Today, this second, what he wanted was this woman.
“Touché,” he murmured, shifting slightly to accommodate his rising desire.
She laughed then, the sound as sultry and evocative in its richness and depth as the first sip of the finest scotch rolling across the palate. Her laughter whipped through him, muddying his thoughts and fogging his awareness of everything but her.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“So I am.”
The woman’s brows rose slightly. “So...stop?”
“I will.”
“When?”
Liam lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. “When I’m done looking.”
Turning in her seat, she glanced out the window. “The scenery is beautiful.”
“It certainly is,” Liam murmured. She twisted back around and drew a breath, certainly to deliver a sharp rebuttal, but Liam wasn’t looking at her—he was staring at the lush jungle landscape outside.
The faint flush that spread across her exposed décolletage and crept up her neck was quite adorable, though he doubted she’d agree with his assessment. In his experience, few women were keen on being considered cute, and those that favored the more juvenile assessment weren’t the type he desired. But this woman—with her singular focus, quick wit and physical appeal—was exactly the type to pique his interests.
With her staying at the same resort, their paths were certain to cross.
Liam smiled.
Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be such a chore after all.
THE DRIVER SPED up to the resort’s elegant porte cochere and stopped with enough force that the van bounced back and forth on its shocks like a child’s rocking horse. When Ella could convince herself they had truly stopped, she mentally logged the travel time in case the wedding guests wanted to know...or take a cab. She peeled her fingers from her armrests. Her muscles suffered mild rigor as she attempted to move toward the open door. That meant she had to accept the hand offered to help her down. Only it wasn’t the driver. Her fellow passenger, the stranger she found all too alluring, had quickly and quietly exited and then, quite unexpectedly, rounded the shuttle and waited by her door. She paused.
He waited.
Chastising herself for hesitating, she took his hand and stepped out of the vehicle. After all, the gesture was nothing but a courtesy. Yes, he’d clearly been flirting earlier, but it had been innocent. Or innocent enough. The problem was that she’d wanted to flirt back. And flirty banter led to things she’d forbidden herself this trip, things like a tryst that could call her professionalism into question. It was just...
She glanced at him and found him staring at her unabashedly.
Damn it.
She turned her back on him, reaffirming her decision to avoid personal entertainment. Men like him were few and far between, and thank God for it. He was the exact type of distraction she couldn’t afford. Not on this trip. Not when her future hinged on the success of this job.
Stepping forward, she returned the doorman’s smile as he ushered her into the air-conditioned lobby. “Welcome to the Royal Crescent. Your luggage has been tagged. Once you’ve checked in, a valet will deliver your bags to your room.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Ella sighed as cool air swept over her bare arms and legs. Thank God for air-conditioning.
The resort seemed classy and sophisticated, giving an impression of subtle but irrefutable wealth and luxuries both small and large. A gentleman wearing all white and bearing a tray of champagne approached, offering her a glass. A single strawberry churned up bubbles as it gently bounced about the glass bottom.
She sipped and sighed again. Chilled to perfection, the dry bite was ideal with the fruit’s sweet tartness.
This place was going to be the perfect backdrop for the wedding Ella had planned.
Scanning the lobby, her gaze landed on the concierge desk and the three people staffing it. The obvious leader of the group, a uniformed man who appeared to be in his fifties, rose and headed her way with a grin. He stopped and said something in the ear of the waiter bearing the champagne. The younger man nodded and stepped to Ella’s left, proffering a glass to the person behind her, a person she didn’t need to see in order to identify.
Heat—his heat—spread across her back and chased away the air’s artificial chill. Her muscles, finally relaxing after the harried trip, became fluid, languid even. The urge to close the distance between them, to move back into what she knew was a solid torso, to feel the strength in the hands and arms that had effectively pinned her to her