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Taking It All Off
Cindi Myers


A hedonistic couples-only resort and a shared cabin with bad-boy photographer Jake Dawson can end up only one way–hot, steamy and very sexy. But journalist Glynna McCormick is struggling to let go of her good-girl self long enough to indulge her secret, sensuous side. With Jake as the temptation, maybe she can throw caution to the wind…for this weekend only. After all, if she's going to write about romantic fantasies, she should at least uncover her own.Back in the real world, however, the chemistry between them won't go away. Neither Glynna nor Jake is looking for a committed relationship to distract them from their career ambitions. That leaves them with a no-strings, no-holds-barred affair that's sure to satisfy these urges. Too bad this kind of passion is something they can't walk away from…ever!







“I don’t know if I can expose myself this way.”

“I’ll make sure your face is covered, Glynna. Your eyes, anyway. No one will know,” Jake said. “Except you and me.”

She wished she could see what he was seeing now. She wasn’t some model—just an ordinary woman with a far from perfect figure. She was crazy to do this. “Jake, I—” She started to sit up.

“No. Lie still. You’re beautiful.” The shutter clicked, the auto-winder whirred. Once, twice, half a dozen times.

“Jake, please. This feels so strange.”

“Why? I’ve seen you naked before.”

“But you’ve never…stared at me like this. From across the room.” She shifted her hips, trying to get more comfortable, but the discomfort she felt was inside her, not in her surroundings. “I feel like I’m on display.”

“And I like what I see.”







Dear Reader,

Ah, summer vacation! The perfect chance to relax, have fun and try something new. When Glynna McCormick takes advantage of a weekend on a fantasy island to seduce wild man Jake Dawson, she discovers a whole new side of herself—and the man of her dreams.

While most of us don’t have quite that much excitement on our vacations, it is always nice to get away for a while. This book was inspired by my own once-in-a-lifetime trip to a romantic, couples-only resort in Jamaica. Not only did my husband and I have a fantastic time, but also we made friends with some other wonderful couples we still keep in touch with today.

Whether your vacation is a trip to Disneyland, a day at the beach or a relaxing afternoon in your own backyard, I hope you’ll find some time to rest and relax during the year…maybe with a good book, like this one!

I love to hear from readers. E-mail me at cindi@cindimyers.com or visit my Web site, www.CindiMyers.com.

Cindi Myers




Taking It All Off

Cindi Myers







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For the Tower Island Gang




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18




1


FROM NOW ON, we’re going to do things differently.

Sure we are, Glynna thought as she read through the memo from Gordon McCormick—aka her father—about his plans to revamp Texas Style, the biweekly magazine he’d overseen for the past twenty-five years. Glynna had no doubt the magazine would change—her dad had already hired a new managing editor and a new art director, determined to transform the ailing publication’s stodgy reputation and lagging sales. What wasn’t likely to be any different was her own role as staff drudge.

She looked at her cluttered desktop. How had she gotten so far away from her real love, writing? Sure, she still produced articles for the magazine, but those were squeezed in between the rest of the tasks her dad assigned her. And what about the other work she wanted to do—the hard-hitting investigative stories that could really launch her career to the top? She had half a dozen such pieces crammed into file folders on her desk, clamoring for time she didn’t have to give them.

She frowned at the thick folder on top of her in-box—reader surveys her father wanted her to summarize in a report. A report he would glance at once, then ignore. Contemplating that folder made her queasy.

Sucking in a deep breath, she picked up the file and dropped it in her trash can. She smiled at the sight of it balanced atop the fast-food wrappers and disposable coffee cups, relief stealing over her.

But the pleasure was short-lived, as her well-honed sense of obligation took over. What would her father say if he saw it?

Overwhelmed by guilt, she fished out the folder and put it back in her in-box. Having a conscience was a pain in the ass sometimes.

Her intercom buzzer sounded. “Glynna, can I see you in my office when you have a free minute?” Editor Stacy Southern’s pleasant voice brought a smile to Glynna’s lips. Here was one thing her dad had done that actually made Glynna’s life easier. Stacy was a great editor and a true gal pal. The two women had bonded the day Stacy had interviewed for the editor’s position. Glynna had found her in the ladies’ room, frantically trying to stop a run in her stockings.

One new pair of panty hose and two aspirin later, Stacy had the job and Glynna had a new best friend.

She leaned forward and punched the button for Stacy’s office. “I’ll be right over.” Any excuse to get away from that overflowing in-box for a while.

She headed toward Stacy’s office, turning the corner just as the stairway door burst open and a familiar figure in motorcycle leathers barely missed colliding with her. He jerked back just in time, though the saddlebag slung over his shoulder popped open, spilling manila envelopes across the floor at her feet.

“Hey, sorry.” Jake Dawson, staff photographer and unconventional thorn in her father’s side, reached out to steady her. “I didn’t expect anybody to be out here.”

She shrugged out of his grasp, the leather of his fingerless gloves dragging against the silk of her blouse. With the ends of his shoulder-length blond hair tangled by the wind and his jacket unzipped to reveal a Museum of Modern Art T-shirt, Jake stood out amidst the suited office workers like a cobra in a cage of pigeons. And he was about as dangerous, at least to her sense of well-being. He had the annoying ability to fluster her, in spite of her best efforts to remain cool. Maybe it was the unnerving way his steel-blue gaze met hers directly, as if daring her to hide anything from him. Or the obvious enjoyment he got from refusing to adhere to any accepted standard of corporate behavior.

Or maybe it was the heat that built within her whenever he was near, an unbidden flicker of desire that reminded her that she was a woman and Jake was a man with a capital M. A man she didn’t want anything to do with, despite the automatic way her body responded to him. Why was it she could control everything else about her life but the way this one man made her feel?

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” She hid her agitation by stooping and picking up a handful of the envelopes that had slipped from his bag. As she rose, one of them opened and a black and white photograph slid to the floor.

She stared at the photo, warmth flooding her face as she realized it was the image of a nude woman—a full-breasted, round-hipped woman seated in a chair, hair falling across her face, hiding her identity, while her spread-legged posture left nothing else to the imagination.

“Do you mind?” Jake eased the photo from her hand.

“Wh—what are you doing with those?” Glynna stepped back, struggling to remain calm, though her heart beat wildly and tension coiled between her thighs.

Jake glanced at the photo, a half smile on his lips. “Didn’t anyone tell you? We figured it would really increase the readership of Texas Style if we started including centerfolds.”

Typical Jake. He could never give a straight answer. Fine. She could play his game. “Uh-huh. And of course, you volunteered to do all the photography.”

“Of course.”

“And is that some of your work?” She nodded to the photograph, struggling not to stare at the arresting image. It was erotic, without being pornographic. Artistic, even. Not that she was an expert or anything….

“As a matter of fact, it is.” He slipped the photo back into the envelope and replaced it in his bag. When he looked at her again, his expression was teasing. “Maybe you’d care to pose for me sometime? Bet your dad would like that, huh?”

She stiffened, even as her nipples tightened at the thought of getting naked with Jake. “What does my father have to do with it? Not that I have any intention of �posing’ for you.”

He shrugged. “No surprise there. You’re daddy’s girl, after all.” His gaze traveled up her legs, across her torso, lingering on her breasts before meeting her eyes once more. “It’s a shame, really.”

He turned and sauntered down the hall, his boot heels making muffled thuds on the carpet.

Glynna stared after him. “What do you mean by that?” But she spoke too softly for him to hear her.

Not that she didn’t already have an idea of what his answer would be. Jake had made no secret of the fact that he thought she and her father were uptight, image-obsessed corporate clones “who wouldn’t know fun and sexy if it climbed up on the conference table and did a dance.” Or such had been his assessment at the last staff meeting he’d been forced to attend.

If he wasn’t such a brilliant photographer, her father would have fired him weeks ago. But brilliance—and advertiser and reader praise—could convince a publisher to overlook a lot.

On shaky legs, she continued down the corridor toward Stacy’s office. Jake was a gifted photographer. His work had won recognition from the Texas Press Association and he’d garnered awards in regional shows. So why was he taking pictures of naked women? Was the woman in the photo a model—or a girlfriend?

She frowned, ignoring the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. What difference did it make to her? No doubt Jake Dawson had a string of model-girlfriends eager to pose for him. Women who were as “fun and sexy” as Glynna wasn’t.

Pondering this disturbing thought, she knocked on Stacy’s open door.

“Glynna! Come in.” Smiling, Stacy turned from her computer to greet her friend. A thirty-something blonde with a reputation for making change happen, Stacy had been hired to turn things around at the ailing magazine. But already she and Gordon had butted heads over what direction Texas Style should take. Glynna figured the battle would be interesting, as long as she herself stayed out of the line of fire.

She settled in the chair in front of Stacy’s desk and slipped out of her high heels. “What’s up?”

“The usual Monday morning chaos.” Stacy nodded at the pile of paper in front of her. “Did you have a good weekend?”

Glynna shrugged. Her typical weekend was spent working on copy for the magazine, cleaning her condo and having Sunday dinner with her father. Nothing exciting there. “The usual.” Let Stacy make of that what she would.

Stacy arched one perfect brow. “No hot dates? Sexy men? Wild adventures?”

Glynna laughed out loud. “Since when does any of that apply to me?” When she did date, she favored conservative, bookish types. Not particularly thrilling, but the playing field wasn’t that broad in her social circle.

Stacy made a noncommittal noise and opened a file folder in front of her. “Was that Jake Dawson I heard in the hall just now?”

Glynna silently cursed the hot flush that rose to her face. “Yes.”

“Mmmm. Now there’s a sexy man for you. Gorgeous, smart, talented and a little crazy.” Stacy grinned. “You wouldn’t have a boring weekend with him.”

“I wouldn’t have any kind of weekend with him.” Glynna sat up straighter, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at the thought of a date with wild man Jake Dawson. “Honestly. He’s not my type and I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like you? Attractive, smart and talented. Sounds to me like the two of you have a lot in common.”

Glynna crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “You’ve been working too hard, Stace. You’re imagining things.” She leaned forward, eager to change the subject. “So what did you want to see me about?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love this.” Stacy riffled through the folder and pulled out a slick color brochure. “Take a look.”

Glynna glanced at the picture of a photogenic young couple clad in teeny, tiny swimsuits, lounging in the surf. What’s your romantic fantasy? the brochure asked.

She turned the page. An elaborate sandcastle-like structure sat on a beach where palm trees swayed and more young couples frolicked in the surf. “At La Paloma Resort, fantasies do come true,” she read from the brochure. “La Paloma? I’ve never heard of the place.” She slid the brochure back to Stacy. “Is it one of those Caribbean places for honeymooners?”

“You’re almost right. It’s a new couples-only resort on Paloma Island—off the coast of Galveston. The grand opening is this weekend, and we’ve been invited to send a reporter to cover it.”

“Why? I mean, I guess a new resort is nice, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing Texas Style usually covers.”

“Exactly. The old Texas Style would have had a one-paragraph blurb buried in the back of the magazine, behind an article on some oil baron’s redecorating project and a piece on downtown steak restaurants. Which explains why sales figures are plunging to the basement.” She picked up a hefty stack of computer printouts and shook them at Glynna. “If we want to attract more advertisers, we need to attract younger, hipper, sexier readers. And that means hipper, sexier articles.”

“But a new resort?”

“Not just a new resort. I’m thinking of a cover article with the theme �romantic fantasies.’ Something sexy and fun.”

Glynna shook her head. The typical Texas Style cover story focused on the upcoming opera season or the dismal state of oil futures or other topics deemed of interest to Houston’s Old Guard upper class. “My dad will never go for it.”

“Which is why I don’t intend to tell him until it’s too late to do anything about it.” Stacy leaned toward Glynna. “There’s not going to be a Texas Style magazine if we don’t do something drastic, and soon. The competition is killing us. But an article like this, done right, will get people talking about us. That kind of buzz translates into readers and ad dollars. Your father may balk at first, but he’ll thank me later.”

Glynna sighed. “You’re right. Dad is set in his ways, but he’s a good businessman. He won’t argue with results.”

“Great.” Stacy sat back, smiling. “Be at Pier Six at nine o’clock Friday morning. The resort’s yacht will transport you to La Paloma.”

“Yacht?” Glynna stood. “What are you talking about?”

“The grand opening? I told you they’ve invited a reporter to attend, to write about the resort.”

Glynna jumped to her feet. “But it doesn’t have to be me! Didn’t you say this was couples only? And I’m an investigative reporter. Romance isn’t my thing.”

“Then maybe it’s time you �investigated’ the topic.” Stacy set aside the computer printouts and leaned toward Glynna. “I’m taking a real risk here. This story has to be stellar if I’m going to pull this off. I need my best writer—and that’s you.”

“I’m flattered, but really…”

“No buts. I’ve already given them your name. Besides, I think you could use a little time off.” Stacy sat back and gave her a long look. “When was the last time you had a vacation?”

Glynna couldn’t meet her gaze. Her father rarely took time off, and she’d felt obligated to follow his example. She told herself she’d have time for vacations later, when she was further along in her career. Right now, she had too much work to do.

“This wouldn’t exactly be a vacation,” she said. “Not if I’m supposed to be reporting.”

“There’s no reason you can’t have fun, too.” Stacy shoved the brochure back across the desk. “This place has a private beach, gourmet restaurants, nightly entertainment, even a spa.” She smiled. “You can take a few days R & R and write a killer story. Besides, I know you don’t have anything else planned for this weekend.”

Glynna sighed. Stacy knew her too well. “All right. I’ll go. But you owe me.”

Stacy grinned. “You never know. After this weekend, you may feel like you owe me. After all, anything could happen in a romantic paradise.”

“I’m going to work, Stace. I’ll come home with a story, nothing else.”

Stacy laughed. “Then maybe you should try harder.”



JAKE’S BOOTS pounded against the carpet as he made his way toward art director Nick Castillo’s office. He’d been annoyed by Nick’s abrupt summons, and more annoyed still by his encounter just now with Glynna McCormick. Something about the woman always set him on edge.

For one thing, she was as uptight as her old man. He hadn’t missed the way her lips tightened in disapproval when she’d seen the photo. She was what—twenty-five? Twenty-six? Hadn’t she seen another woman naked before?

Had she seen a man naked? He couldn’t recall any office gossip about her dating, but he’d only been with the magazine a short time. He didn’t need any longer than that to have Glynna figured out. Her “don’t touch me” attitude probably kept most men far away. He knew the type—blue-blood princesses who thought they were better than everyone else. She needed a real man to rock her world. To show her what that sexy bod of hers was made for.

He shook off the thought as he turned down the hallway leading to Nick’s office. Why was he thinking about Glynna? He could care less if her world was rocked or not. He had more important things to think about, like getting ready for his first major gallery show.

Nick was barking orders into the phone when Jake poked his head around the door. The art director motioned him closer. “I know how much it costs and I don’t care!” Nick growled. “I’ll worry about the budget, you worry about doing what I want.”

Jake dropped his saddlebag on the floor, settled into the plush leather chair across from Nick’s desk and stretched his long legs out in front of him. As soon as the art director hung up the phone, he said, “What’s the big rush to get me down here this morning? I’ve got half a dozen more important things to do.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re the big-shot artiste. Don’t give me that bullshit.” Nick tented his fingers and grinned at Jake. “You won’t be so annoyed when you hear what I’ve cooked up for you.”

“Let me guess. You want me to shoot the Grand Champion Steer at the Stock Show? Isn’t that always a big deal here at Texas Style?”

Nick laughed. “Maybe in the past, but no more.” He leaned forward. “What would you think of an eight-page photo essay? Something edgy and artsy—right up your alley.”

Jake tempered the jitter of excitement that shot through him. “That’s pretty radical for this place. Did Stacy agree?”

“She doesn’t know yet. But I’ll talk her into it.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t know, Nick. Stacy isn’t one of your little girlfriends you can sweet-talk into anything.”

“No, but she’s smart.” Nick sat back, smiling slightly. “And beneath her hard-nosed facade, she’s still a woman.” His smile widened. “A damned attractive one, even if she isn’t my type. I’ll make her see that this is the kind of thing we need to move ahead of the competition.”

“What about McCormick?”

Nick frowned. “What about him? He said he wanted to revamp the publication. This is what it takes.”

Jake picked up his saddlebag and slung it over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you called me into your office for this crap. Next time, leave a message on my desk.”

“Wait. I do have something for you.” He tossed a brochure at him.

Jake caught the glossy flyer and stared at the young couple making out on the front. “La Paloma Resort? What do you want me to do with this?”

“It’s the cover story for the next issue. A luxury, couples-only resort on Paloma Island. I want you to go there this weekend and shoot the photos.”

Jake scanned the brochure copy, which promised sun, sand and sex. Except that if the place catered to couples, he wasn’t likely to find much of the third. Still, a few days lounging on the beach, aiming his camera at bikini-clad babes didn’t sound bad. “Who’s writing the story?”

“Who else? Ace reporter Glynna McCormick.”

He frowned. Just what he needed—a weekend surrounded by cooing honeymooners while he was saddled with the ice princess.

“What’s the matter? Don’t think you can handle a few days with the boss’s daughter?”

He tossed the brochure back on Nick’s desk. “You take care of Stacy. I’ll deal with Glynna.” He’d make sure she knew he expected her to stay out of his way. Once they laid out the ground rules, there’d be no trouble at all.




2


GLYNNA SET HER ALARM to go off an hour early Friday morning. While she filled a suitcase with swimsuits, sundresses and sandals, she returned three phone calls from business associates, and made dinner reservations for her father and a client at his favorite restaurant. Then she faxed the reservation information and some marketing projections he’d asked her to compile to his office, so they’d be waiting for him when he came in promptly at eight o’clock.

She was headed to her car when she remembered she was supposed to call the dry cleaners to ask them to deliver her father’s suits to his office. She started to turn around and head back upstairs to retrieve the number, then stopped herself. Her father was a grown man. It wouldn’t kill him to call about his own cleaning.

Buoyed by this minor rebellion, she drove ten miles over the speed limit and joined the crowd gathered at Pier Six in Galveston with two minutes to spare.

She stepped into the sea of hand-holding couples dressed in tropical prints and khaki and felt like the lone unicorn in line for the ark. “There you are,” said a familiar, masculine voice. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

She whirled and almost collided with Jake Dawson. Dressed in khaki shorts, a Shiner Bock beer T-shirt and sandals, his shaggy hair tousled by the ocean breeze, he might have been a frat boy on vacation. Only the scuffed leather camera bag slung over his shoulder hinted that he wasn’t your typical beachcomber. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

He hefted the bag. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to shoot you in a swimsuit.” His gaze took in the tailored sundress that left her shoulders and legs bare. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of the corporate uniform.” He grinned. “I like it.”

“As if I was really worried about your opinion,” she said, even as her cheeks warmed in a blush she told herself had nothing to do with his praise or the way his eyes continued to linger on her. She turned away from him, facing out over the bay. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair, bringing the scents of salt, fish and diesel fumes from the shrimp boats trawling in the distance. “Stacy didn’t tell me she’d assigned you to photograph this story.”

“She said she wanted the best. That would be me.”

His arrogance grated, but Glynna had to admit the truth in his words. She should have known Stacy would want their top photographer for this piece. Fine. They each had separate jobs to do. It wasn’t as if they’d be spending a lot of time together this weekend.

“Here’s the Queen Mary now.” Jake moved to stand beside her and nodded toward the large white yacht steaming toward them. He let out a low whistle. “Must be some money in this romantic fantasy business.”

“Do you have something against romance?” she asked.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Let’s just say my idea of what’s romantic doesn’t necessarily coincide with the hearts-and-flowers schmaltz that’s marketed as such.” He cut his eyes to her. “What about you? Underneath that stern exterior, do you harbor secret longings for pink cupids, red roses and tear-jerking love ballads?”

A laugh escaped her before she quite knew what was happening. His pleased grin sent a rush of warmth through her. She shook her head, still chuckling. “Cupids and ballads I can do without. But what woman doesn’t like roses?”

The yacht had docked and was tying off, so she picked up her suitcase and followed the other couples toward it. Jake strode after her. “Roses are so predictable,” he said. “I thought you’d have more imagination.”

She started to tell him she’d be happy with any flowers any man took the trouble to send her, but thought better of it. She’d had little experience with romance in her life, but he didn’t need to know that.

A Captain Davies welcomed them aboard the Free-bird. “Our travel time to La Paloma is about twenty minutes, so sit back and make yourselves comfortable,” he said.

Glynna settled onto a cushioned bench in the bow and Jake sat beside her, his hip almost touching hers. She wanted to move over, but they were sandwiched between pairs of cuddling newlyweds, so she settled for avoiding looking at him, focusing instead on the white-capped waves scudding toward them. The wind had picked up, and she was forced to twist her hair to one side and hold it back to keep it from whipping into her eyes.

The motor started and the yacht eased out of the slip, then turned and headed across the bay. Glynna gasped as the boat rose and fell in the rough seas. Waves slapped against the hull and spray arched back over the bow, splashing her feet.

Her stomach rolled with the boat, and she wondered if skipping breakfast had been such a good idea. Then again, if she’d eaten, would she feel even worse?

She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, determined not to embarrass herself by being seasick in front of Jake and all these strangers.

“Don’t close your eyes.” His voice was soft in her ear as he took her hand in his.

Her eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t close your eyes. It’ll only make things worse.”

She pulled her hand from his and smoothed it down her knee. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. You’re a sickly gray color and you’re sweating.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her forward. “Focus on the horizon, not the waves. That will help.”

She did as he suggested, though her stomach still threatened to betray her.

“You never answered me about the roses,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Are they really your favorite?”

She blinked at this sudden change of subject and tried to think. “Dahlias,” she said after a moment. “I like dahlias.”

“Why do you like them?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head in annoyance. “What does it matter?”

“There must be a reason. Think.”

She tried to concentrate on the question and not on her queasy stomach or the tossing boat or the slapping waves. “My mother grew them,” she said after a moment. “I can remember her making arrangements of them. Even then I liked the bright colors. They’re…exotic. A little wild.”

He was silent for so long, she wondered if he’d heard her. She looked back at him and found him studying her, the corners of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. “Exotic. I can see there’s more to you than I expected.”

She started to ask what he meant by that, but the engines shut off and seconds later, they bumped against the dock. He stood and offered her his hand. “There. You made it. Once you’re back on land, you’ll feel fine.”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Already, her stomach felt more settled. As his hand at her back guided her toward the front of the boat, understanding dawned. She stopped and turned to him. “All those questions about flowers—they were just to distract me, weren’t they?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes not thinking about sea-sickness helps.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, surprised and pleased to see this softer, gentler side of him. Maybe there was more to Jake than the sarcastic bad boy he played so well.

“You have a nice smile,” he said. “You should use it more often.”

Was he flirting with her? She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. She pulled her hand from his, the old awkwardness returning. “I…I guess we’d better get off of here.”

Laughing and talking, the other couples headed down a shell path toward a lattice-shaded building marked Reception, leaving Jake and Glynna alone. A tall, thin African-American woman with razor-cut hair and a figure-hugging white pantsuit stepped forward and greeted them. “You must be Jake and Glynna,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Marcie Phillips, director of marketing here at La Paloma. Welcome. We’re so glad you could join us for our grand opening.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing your operation here.” Glynna looked around them at the palm-shaded palapas, the rows of colorful sailboats lined up opposite a beach volleyball court and the marble-trimmed swimming pool ringed by lounge chairs filled with sunning couples. “This is quite a setup.”

“I’ve left press kits in your cottage, and of course, I’m available to answer any questions you might have while you’re here.”

She instructed them to leave their bags on the dock for the porter to bring later, and set off down a path. “I’ve put you in one of our deluxe cottages,” she said. “All of our accommodations are right on the beach and feature private whirlpool tubs and shaded verandas.”

Glynna hurried to keep up with Marcie’s brisk pace. “Excuse me,” she said. “Did you say one cottage?”

Marcie scarcely slowed down. “Of course. It’s designed as the perfect couple’s getaway. Each has a king-size bed, plus a well-appointed sitting room with a stereo, DVD player—”

“But there are two of us.” Glynna put a hand on Marcie’s arm, stopping her. “We’ll need two cottages.”

Marcie looked from Glynna to Jake, frown lines deepening on her forehead. “I thought you understood. This is a couples-only resort. I’m sure I made that quite clear to your editor.”

Glynna struggled to keep her voice even. “Jake and I aren’t a couple.”

Marcie shook her head. “We’re completely booked for our grand opening. This is the only cottage we have available.”

Glynna looked at Jake. He’d helped her out on the boat. Would he help her now? He raised one eyebrow. “I can share if she can. After all, we’re both adults, and it’s only for a weekend.”

Glynna’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. Spend the weekend with sarcastic, sharp-tongued and dangerously sexy Jake Dawson? They’d drive each other crazy within a matter of hours.

“That would be wonderful.” Marcie looked relieved. She smiled at Glynna. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

She looked up and found Jake’s eyes on her. “What do you say?” he asked. “Or are you worried I’ll tarnish your virtue?”

Now he’d done it. She had to agree or she’d look like a prude. She held her head up and adopted what she hoped was an air of indifference. “It doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to Jake. We’ll both be busy working most of the time anyway.”

“Great. Your cottage is right over here.” Marcie started down the path again, and led them to the last in a row of six. The square whitewashed building had blue shutters, porches on three sides and abundant heart and dove gingerbread trim. “How romantic,” Jake leaned forward and growled into Glynna’s ear, the rough timbre of his voice sending a jolt through her.

After giving them a brief tour of the three rooms that made up the cottage, Marcie finally left them alone. The porter appeared seconds later and deposited their luggage just inside the door.

Glynna carried her suitcase into the bedroom. Jake followed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t lay a finger on you. You’re not really my type.”

She flinched at the remark. Not that she was interested in a man like Jake, but did he have to make a point of telling her she was undesirable?

She opened her suitcase and took out her makeup bag. “I’ll take the bed. You can have the sofa.”

She started toward the bathroom, but he intercepted her. “No way. I’m a foot taller than you. You take the sofa.”

She glared at him, noting not only how tall he was, but how broad his shoulders and chest were. “All right. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Good.” He walked over to the bed and stripped off his shirt in one smooth movement.

She stared, her mouth going dry at the sight of his broad, muscular back. “Wh…what are you doing?” she asked.

“This is the beach. I’m going to change into my swimsuit.” He glanced at her. “I suggest you do the same unless you want to really stick out.”

He headed for the bathroom, leaving her alone. She opened her suitcase again and took out her most conservative swimsuit—a modest tankini with high-cut legs that suddenly seemed incredibly revealing.

She glanced at the closed bathroom door. Should she change now, or wait until the bathroom was free? What if Jake walked out while she was still undressing?

With trembling fingers, she reached for the zipper on her dress. What if he did walk out and find her half-dressed? Would he think her so undesirable then?

She hurriedly stripped and donned the swimsuit, then hung the sundress in the closet and deposited her dirty clothes in a side pocket of her suitcase. The last thing she wanted was to leave her underwear around for Jake to find.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he had a beach towel over one shoulder. He scarcely glanced at her, but went to his bag and took out a digital camera. “I’m going to take a few preliminary shots.”

He left without saying goodbye. Glynna stared after him, then sank onto the end of the bed. With Jake gone, the cottage felt too quiet and still. She stared at the painting across from the bed. It depicted a couple walking hand in hand into the sunset. The romantic image mocked her. When was the last time she’d had anything approaching romance in her life? Where was the man who was going to sweep her off her feet and make her forget about work and her father and all the stress in her life?

The men she usually met were either business associates of her father, whom she’d known since she was a toddler, or society playboys whose idea of romance was an expensive dinner at a trendy restaurant, followed by discreet and polite sex. Where were the men who could bring excitement and adventure into her dull existence?

Men like Jake Dawson. The thought sent a tremor through her. Maybe spending the weekend in this cottage with him wasn’t such a smart idea. The very fact that he was so different from every other guy she knew acted as a kind of aphrodisiac. How else to explain her sudden attraction to a man who was so clearly not right for her?

She hugged her arms across her chest and frowned at the happy couple in the picture. If Jake knew what she was thinking about him, he’d probably tell her she was out of her mind. “Imagine that,” she said out loud. “Something he and I could agree on.”



JAKE HAD TO GET out of the cottage before he did something he knew he’d regret. He must have been out of his mind to think he could spend a weekend in close quarters with the ice princess.

Not that she was as cold as he’d thought. In fact, he suspected a hot woman lurked just below the surface. Those were exactly the sort of suspicions he knew would land him in trouble.

The best thing to do, he told himself, was to concentrate on work. Looking at the world through the lens of a camera had given him the perspective to deal with problems in the past. And it had given him goals and hopes and dreams that went beyond the oil fields and cow pastures he’d grown up in. All he had to do was keep looking through that lens, keep taking his pictures, and he’d end up where he wanted to be, in New York, seeing his work on gallery walls and in expensive coffee-table books. He still had a lot to do to get there, and he couldn’t let a woman like Glynna McCormick mess with his head and distract him from his goals.

He took some shots of the line of cottages, the flower-filled gardens and the shady palapas. Later he’d view these pictures and decide which scenes and angles would be worth pursuing with his large-format Sinar. He photographed couples lounging by the pool, laughing together on the volleyball court and embracing in the surf. The cynic in him wondered if everyone was really as happy and in love as they looked.

The couple in the ocean parted and began walking down the beach. Jake approached them and introduced himself as a photographer for Texas Style. “We’re doing a story on the resort and I just took your picture,” he said. “Could I ask you a few questions?”

The woman smiled. “We’re going to be in a magazine?”

“I can’t promise anything, but maybe.” He dug in his pocket for the pencil stub and scratch pad he always carried. “Your names?”

“Rich and Emily Spencer,” the man said. He was young, midtwenties, with already thinning brown hair and a crooked nose.

“What brings you to La Paloma?” Jake asked.

“We’re on our honeymoon.” Emily leaned closer to Rich. “Isn’t this the most fabulous place?”

“Uh-huh.” His attention was distracted by a woman who was walking down the beach toward them. She moved with feline grace along the edge of the waves, her long dark hair blown back over one shoulder, the sun illuminating her skin with a golden glow.

“Do you know her?” Rich asked, following Jake’s gaze.

He nodded. “She’s the writer I’m working with on this piece.”

“Lucky you,” Rich said, earning a fierce look from Emily.

“Yeah,” Jake mumbled. “I’m lucky all right. Just one lucky dog.”



GLYNNA TOLD HERSELF she should be interviewing happy couples, talking to the staff or at least reading through the press kit Marcie had left for her. Instead, the sun and surf had induced an unfamiliar languidness. She strolled the beach, savoring the heat of the sun on her skin and the caress of water against her ankles, inhaling the coconut perfume of suntan lotion and admiring the florescent colors of flowers spilling from planters throughout the grounds. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stopped long enough to enjoy such simple things.

Not that she could totally relax. She still had the article to write, and she still had to deal with Jake. The thought of him sent a rush of envy through her. For all she pretended to disapprove of him, she wished she could borrow a little of his don’t-give-a-damn attitude. She’d held back her own feelings so long, it had become second nature to her. Her father didn’t condone “un-seemly” behavior. He had taught her that to be a lady and a professional meant remaining cool and unaffected in any situation.

Too late she’d discovered such behavior also meant you often stood alone, unapproachable.

She stopped as she neared a row of beach lounge chairs. A couple shared one chair, their bodies entwined. They looked into one another’s eyes, then kissed. They couldn’t stop touching each other. She clasped her arms across her chest, staggered by a fierce longing for someone to hold her that way.

As she turned to walk down the beach once more, a heated sensation crept over her, like a warm caress. She looked up and found Jake standing a little way up the beach with a young couple.

His eyes met hers and awareness arced between them, their bodies acknowledging an attraction their minds didn’t want to admit. Her first instinct was to turn away, but she fought that and held his gaze. He raised one eyebrow, questioning. She continued to look at him, silently daring him to come to her, to court these dangerous feelings and see what would happen next.




3


JAKE WAS THE FIRST to look away. He turned as if to walk in the opposite direction, but Glynna hurried after him. “Jake, wait up,” she called. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He stopped and let her catch up with him, his expression unreadable as he looked out at the ocean. “What have you been doing?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“I took a few establishing shots of the grounds. Saw some good possibilities for illustrations for the article.” He turned to stare at the resort spread out along the shore. “This is sure some place. It has a spa, a sauna, four hot tubs, two swimming pools, a gym, four restaurants, two bars and a karaoke club.” He shook his head. “Every luxury money can buy.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

He looked at her at last, the warmth gone from his eyes. “I don’t have anything against money. I just object to the attitude so many wealthy people have that because they have bucks, they deserve special treatment.”

“Is that why you don’t like me? Because you think I’m some rich bitch?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

She curled her fingers against her palm as she fought the urge to slap him. Not because his remark had offended her, but because he was so annoyingly contrary. Just when she was working up a good head of righteous indignation or anger, he would disarm her by saying something nice. “I never know what to think of you,” she said truthfully.

“And I never know what you’re thinking.” He held out his hand. “What say we call a truce? We’re here in this man-made paradise for the weekend. Why not make the best of it?”

She slipped her hand into his, a curious lightness overtaking her at his touch. She nodded. “You’re right. And I…I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I’m just…a little tense, I guess.” She looked around them, at the sugar-white beach and the aquamarine ocean, the lacy palm trees and the lounging couples. The sun warmed her skin, melting away the tension. Her real life seemed very far away. “Being here has made me realize how much I need to relax.”

He continued to hold her hand long after she would have pulled away. “I know just what you need.” He strode across the sand, pulling her along with him.

“Wait!” She stumbled, hurrying to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

“To the bar. We’ll have you relaxed in no time.”



WHY HADN’T HE noticed before what a great smile she had? Jake sat on a bar stool next to Glynna, watching as she twirled the miniature paper parasol in her glass of rum punch. She had small, even white teeth and full, pink lips. Luscious lips, made for kissing.

He straightened and blinked. Where the hell had that thought come from? He looked down and discovered his own glass was empty. He shoved it across the bar. He’d better slow down, if his mind was taking off in wild directions like that.

She shifted to sit with her back to the bar, facing out toward the ocean. The bar itself was open to the elements on three sides, so that the sea breeze brought the smell of salt and suntan oil and the shouts and cheers from the volleyball game to them. “To think I didn’t want to come here,” she said.

“Why didn’t you want to come?” he asked. Not that he’d jumped at the chance to take the assignment. He had too many other irons in the fire to spend a weekend at the beach.

“I don’t usually write fluff pieces like this.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “And I have so much work to catch up on, and errands and…stuff.” She laughed. “Meaningless stuff.” She sipped her drink, making long slurping sounds as she drained it. She giggled. “And I thought it wouldn’t be fun.”

He told himself he shouldn’t laugh, but he couldn’t hold back the chuckles. This was a different Glynna McCormick than he’d ever seen. Away from the office and out of those severe suits she always wore, she was softer, funnier…and sexy as hell.

He was a fool for agreeing to spend the weekend with her without putting his hands on her. His gaze moved over the curve of her breasts at the neckline of the swimsuit top, to the smooth triangle of thigh showing at the slit of her sarong. She was a woman made for touching, and he was a man not used to denying himself.

If he wasn’t already crazy, he was liable to be half-insane before the weekend was over. Maybe he should sleep on the beach….

“Tell me about the nude photos.”

The question startled him from his musings. He stared at her. “What nude photos?”

She laughed. “The ones that fell out of your bag at the office the other day.” She leaned toward him. “Are you freelancing for Playboy or something?”

He coughed. “Yeah, right. If Playboy was knocking on my door, I wouldn’t need this gig.”

“Then what were they for?”

He shifted on the bar stool, picked up his empty glass and set it down again. “It’s for a show at a gallery downtown. A series of photos of artistic nudes.”

“You mean a gallery showing of just your photos?”

He nodded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a big gallery, but if the work sells well, it could lead to bigger things.”

“I doubt very many photographers get their own showings. I’m impressed.” She opened and closed the parasol, sliding it in and out of her fingers. “It was a beautiful photo. Who was the model?”

“The wife of a friend of mine. He came with her to the shoot and I agreed to give them prints in lieu of a modeling fee.” He shrugged. “You do what you have to when you’re paying your dues.”

“And what are you paying your dues for? I mean, where do you want to go with this?”

“I’d like to go on to exhibit nationally. To be represented in New York, be one of the top names in art photography.”

“You have the talent. I guess all you need now is luck.” Her voice was breathy, wistful.

He leaned toward her. “What about you? Do you do other writing besides your work for the magazine?”

She shrugged. “I have some investigative pieces I’m working on. But I’m so busy I don’t really have time to devote to them.”

“If you could do anything, be anything, what would it be?”

“I’d like to go to New York to write for a major magazine there.”

“Then why don’t you do it? What’s stopping you?”

She frowned, and traced her finger through the condensation on the side of her glass. “My father…”

He put his hand on her arm. Her skin was cool and smooth. She looked at him, but didn’t move away. “Are you going to let him run your life forever?”

She did jerk away from him then. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not blind. I see the way you jump every time he says hop.” He sat back and reached for his glass, wishing it weren’t empty. “You’re a grown woman. Why not act like it?”

“Go to hell, and take your opinions with you.” She shoved off the bar stool and stalked away, swaying only slightly when she stepped out onto the sand.

Cursing under his breath, he turned from the sight of her and signaled the bartender for another drink. Now he’d done it. Just when he thought they were connecting. Though why should he care? He and Glynna were from two different worlds. His father and grandfather had been oil-field roughnecks who spent their time off in Telephone Road ice houses, drinking beer and playing pool while Glynna’s family sat behind desks in clean suits all day, then drank cocktails and munched hors d’oeuvres around the swimming pool in the evenings. She’d had her career gift-wrapped for her the day she graduated from some upper-crust college. She didn’t know what it meant to struggle to prove yourself. So why should her opinion of him matter at all?



GLYNNA DRESSED for dinner, but all she really wanted was to take three ibuprofen and crawl under the covers until morning. Why, oh why had she drunk those two rum punches? The sun hadn’t even set and already it felt like the morning after.

But her head wasn’t the only thing that hurt her. Jake’s words had wounded like a dart in her flesh, all the more painful because she knew they were true. Of course she had been letting her father run her life. Anyone would see that on the surface. But did they understand he was all she had? It had been just the two of them since her mother died when she was nine. He’d discouraged relationships with men, even talked her into living at home until two years ago, when she’d insisted on her own place.

So here she was, twenty-six and alone. She’d never done anything her father didn’t approve of. For a long time, that had worked for her. She’d made a life for herself, but maybe that wasn’t enough anymore.

And now here was Jake, offering opinions she hadn’t asked for and imposing all his rough edges on her nice smooth life. Her father disliked Jake, but Jake didn’t care. Where others quaked at Gordon McCormick’s rages, Jake stood up to him.

She sank onto the edge of the sofa, hands in her lap. There were times when she would have given almost anything for that kind of courage. Not just the backbone to go against her father, but the guts not to feel guilty about it afterwards.

Maybe this weekend was her chance to learn a few things from Jake. A shiver chased down her spine at the thought and she hugged her arms across her stomach, as if trying to hold in the excitement kindling within her.

But the thought had taken root in her and wouldn’t let go. No one she knew was on this island. Her father wasn’t here this weekend. But Jake was, so why not take advantage of that? Why not indulge in her own fantasies, romantic and otherwise?

Jake said she needed to be her own woman. So why not ask him to help her discover exactly what kind of woman she really was?



JAKE WAS SITTING at the bar when Glynna walked in. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway and it was as if the temperature in the room rose ten degrees. He tried to look away, to ignore her, but she drew his gaze, like a riptide pulling him under.

Still, he managed to turn his back to her as she drew near. He contemplated signaling the bartender for another beer just as she put her hand on his shoulder, freezing him. “Come walk with me,” she said, the soft murmur of her voice cutting through the bar chatter.

The last thing he needed right now was to go walking off into the darkness with her. He swivelled to face her. “Let’s stay here,” he said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

She glanced around the crowded bar, at the laughing couples with their sunburned faces and umbrella drinks. “No. I need to ask you something. In private.”

He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?

He shoved the glass aside, then let his gaze linger on her too long. She was wearing a little strapless dress made of some silky, clingy material, the hot pink-orange of a sunset. She crossed her arms, as if shielding herself from his gaze. “Why not?” she asked again.

“Because I’ve had a little too much to drink and you look way too good in that dress and I’m liable to do something that will get me slapped.”

Her laughter startled him. She reached out and took his hand. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

He didn’t resist, letting her lead him out of the bar, past the lighted swimming pool to the shadowy beach. At the edge of the sand, she slipped off her shoes and, picking up her sandals, took his hand and tugged him toward the edge of the water.

He slowed his pace to match hers, and studied her out of the corner of his eye. Moonlight—or the beers he’d had—softened her features, making her look younger, more vulnerable. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

She wrapped her hand more securely around his, but avoided looking at him, focusing instead on the ocean. “You might not know this, but I’ve always admired you.”

A single barking laugh escaped him. “You have a hell of a way of showing it.”

She glanced at him. “I guess I deserve that. But it’s true. I’m envious of the way you insist on doing things your way, no matter what other people say. You aren’t afraid of my father. There aren’t many men he can’t intimidate.”

“You’re right. I didn’t know you felt that way.” He stopped, and pulled her around to face him. “Why are you telling me now?”

She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. He recognized both determination and fear in her gaze. The fear surprised him. Why would a woman who had everything be afraid of anything? “I want to ask a favor of you this weekend.”

“What is that?”

She wet her lips, a provocative, sensuous gesture he felt all the way to his groin. “I want you to pretend that I’m not the Glynna McCormick you think you know. That I’m not Gordon’s daughter.”

He raised his hand and traced the soft line of her jaw. “Then who are you?”

She cradled her head against his hand. “I’m just a woman. A woman who’s tired of doing what everyone expects of me. I want to spend this weekend doing what I want, getting reacquainted with part of myself I’ve put second for too long.”

He stilled, holding his breath. “And what do you want?”

“This.” She stood on tiptoe, and put her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. Her lips were soft against his, the kiss tentative at first, then more assured.

He resisted for the briefest moment, stunned, before instinct and desire took over and he gathered her closer. He shaped her body to his as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to taste her fully. She made a breathy, mewling sound that ripped away the last shred of his reserve. He forgot everything but how much he wanted her. Here. Now.

He cupped her bottom, pressing her close against him, savoring her heat against his growing erection. She hooked one leg around him, her gauzy skirt falling back to reveal the pale beauty of her inner thigh. He slid his hand up that silky expanse of flesh, toward the burning center where he wanted to bury himself.

She nipped at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go back to the cottage,” she whispered.

The cottage. Like a cold wave splashing over them, the words reminded him of where they were. Why they were here. Who she was.

He pulled away from her, so suddenly that she almost fell. “This is insane,” he said.

“Yes, it’s insane.” She stared at him, out of breath. Flushed. Gorgeous. “That’s the whole point. I…I want us to spend this weekend doing all the things we can never do back home. Exploring those fantasies I’m supposed to be writing about.”

He took another step back, as if physical distance could break the spell she’d cast over him. “You mean you want us to have sex.”

She flushed more, but nodded. “Yes.”

“Why? Beyond the obvious reasons that we turn each other on?”

“I think…” She wet her lips again, almost sending him over the edge. “I think a weekend like this, totally indulging myself, will help me understand what it is I really want to do. I know this sounds crazy to someone like you, who’s always done exactly what you felt like, but I’ve been trying to make myself into the person I think I should be for so long I’m not sure I know anymore who I really am.”

“And you think a weekend screwing me will do it?” He was deliberately crude, hoping to shock them both back to their senses.

She flinched, but didn’t back down. “It’s the most radical thing I can think of, so yes.” She smiled. “And I think we’d both enjoy it, very much.”

Hell yes, he’d enjoy it. And it might even be fun to see the straitlaced ice princess thaw a little. “What happens when we get home?”

She held her hands up, fingers spread wide. “No strings. We go our own ways and no one knows this ever happened.”

A weekend of great sex with a gorgeous woman, no strings? “I’d be crazy to say no.”

“Then why don’t we get started?” She smiled and reached for his hand.

He took it and pulled her toward the path to the cottages, eager now. “It’s only fair to warn you.” He grinned at her. “I don’t intend to stop until the boat pulls up Sunday evening.”




4


BACK AT THE COTTAGE, Glynna busied herself lighting candles. The bravado that had led her to make her wild proposition was fading fast, now that she was alone with Jake in this intimate space.

The rustle of fabric against skin disturbed her thoughts. She whirled to see Jake pulling off his shirt. “Wh—what are you doing?” she stammered.

He unfastened the snap of his pants. “I don’t know about you, but I prefer to do these things naked.”

She clutched the matchbook so tightly it bent in two. “Yes, but…don’t you think we ought to talk first?”

“I thought we already talked.” He shoved his pants to the floor and stepped out of them. Now he was dressed only in tight black briefs that left little to the imagination. “Or are you having second thoughts?”

“No. Of course not.” She sat on the edge of the bed, her legs too wobbly to support her anymore. She glanced at him again. The candlelight burnished his broad shoulders and muscular thighs with gold, and glinted on the dusting of hair across his chest. His nipples were two small brown pebbles against his paler skin, his navel a perfect indentation in his flat stomach. He walked toward her, moving easily, comfortable in his skin, confident in his sexuality.

He stopped in front of her, the thick ridge of his erection almost at eye level, impossible to ignore. She swallowed, her face burning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at her. “I…I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The lines around his mouth tightened. “You’ve never had sex?”

She squeezed her hands into fists. “No. I mean yes, I’ve had sex. But not…not planned, like this. With someone I don’t know very well.” She looked toward the double doors leading to the veranda. Was it too late to run away, back to her lonely, safe apartment? But if she did that, things would never be different for her, would they? Her real self would still be trapped somewhere between the roles she played of obedient daughter and conscientious employee.

She raised her eyes to look at Jake again. He watched her, saying nothing, his face calm. Patient. But another emotion flickered in his eyes. Encouragement? For her?

She took a deep breath and went on. “You’ve had a lot of experience and I…I haven’t.”

“Are you afraid we won’t please each other?” He knelt before her, and put his hands on her thighs. The silk of her dress rustled beneath his fingers as he caressed her through the cloth. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Just relax. Do whatever feels good.”

He pushed the skirt up a few inches and bent to kiss her knee. “We’ll go slow at first. Get used to each other.”

His breath was hot, burning its way up her leg as he trailed kisses up the inside of her thigh from her knee to the lacy edge of her underwear. She felt as if she was melting from within, the tension coiling inside of her as his mouth drew closer and closer to the juncture of her thighs.

Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth closed over the thin silk of her panties. Need built within her, fierce and demanding. It had been so long….

“Do you like the way this makes you feel?” he asked, his mouth still pressed against the silk.

Her reply was more moan than speech, and she felt his lips curve into a smile.

“There’s so much more to enjoy,” he murmured. He pushed the dress up farther and kissed her stomach, his tongue tickling her navel before climbing the ladder of her ribs to her breasts. He ringed each mound with kisses, painting concentric circles with his tongue, drawing closer and closer to her taut, sensitive nipples.

“Nice.” Still kneeling before her, he stripped off her dress and settled his hands on her hips, drawing her closer, until she was straddling his torso, legs spread wide to embrace him, the wet silk of her panties the only barrier between them.

He flicked his tongue across her nipple, and she arched against him, gasping at the waves of desire that washed over her each time he touched her. He suckled first one breast, and then the other, until she was trembling with need, her throbbing sex straining against his pounding heart.

When he raised his head, she cried out and clung to him, but he gently pushed her away. “I’m not going to leave you,” he said. “But now it’s your turn to get better acquainted with me.”

He stood and stripped off his briefs. She stared at his erection, mesmerized by its frank eroticism. No one would call the male member beautiful, yet she couldn’t stop staring at it, the tension within her responding to each swaying movement as he walked toward her again.

“Move over so I can lie down beside you.”

She did so, hesitating only a moment before slipping out of her panties. She stretched out on the bed and turned to face him, wanting to wrap herself around him and demand he enter her, but holding back.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

His sleepy, seductive smile made her heart race. “Touch me,” he said. “Wherever you want to touch me.”

Hesitant, she put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm, the muscles firm beneath her palm. She trailed her fingers down his chest, her nails dragging at the golden hairs, coming to rest on one pebbled nipple.

She bent and kissed it, tongue flicking, lips devouring. He sucked in his breath, and squeezed her shoulder, silently urging her to keep going.

She transferred her attention to his other nipple. He smelled of musk and sweat and warm skin, and tasted slightly salty. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so close to anyone, and reveled in the contact.

He shifted, wrapping one leg around her and pulling her closer. The tip of his erection pressed against her, demanding entrance. She started to raise her leg to allow him access, then thought better of it and reached down to take him in her hand. He was hot and heavy and holding him like this made her want him all the more. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away. “We need a condom,” she whispered.

Without a word, he slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. She rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes, savoring the tension in every nerve. The breeze from the ceiling fan caressed her, puckering her nipples, cooling her sex.

She heard foil tearing and opened her eyes to watch Jake sheath himself with the condom. Then he lay beside her. She started to move into his arms, but he held her off. “Maybe we should talk some more,” he said, his eyes teasing her.

Laughing, she pushed him down onto his back and straddled him, then wrapped her hand around his shaft and squeezed. The glazed look that came into his eyes thrilled her. “Do you really want to talk?”

He grunted and caressed her hips. “Your body’s been talking to mine all day and I like what it’s been saying.”

She rose up on her knees and guided him into her, sighing as he filled her. She tightened around him and began to move, slowly at first, wanting to savor every delicious sensation radiating through her.

But need soon overtook her, and her movements became more urgent. He reached up to caress her breast, then slid his hand down to her clit. As he fondled and stroked, raw wanting overtook all caution. Bracing her hands on his chest, she rocked over him, each thrust hard and deep, withdrawing almost completely before driving down again.

Her climax was sudden and fierce, exploding within her and reverberating in waves. He followed with a low groan, thrusting up to meet her, shuddering with his release.

She collapsed against him, burying her head in the hollow of his shoulder, holding him tightly as she waited for the waves of sensation to gentle and still.

His hand on her back was heavy and reassuring. She smiled and snuggled closer. To think she had ever disliked him.

Still holding her, he rolled them over until they were on their sides, facing each other. She smiled at him. “That was pretty spectacular.”

He smoothed his hand along the dip of her waist. “I think you may have a talent for this.”

“I’m betting there’s still a few things you can teach me.”

“Something tells me you’ll be a good pupil.” He switched onto his back, away from her. She started to follow him, but resisted. It wouldn’t do to get too close. After all, they were only together for the weekend. She shouldn’t forget that.

The knowledge made her cold. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“I haven’t had dinner. I thought I’d grab something to eat.”

“We could order room service.” He reached over and stroked her hip. “Ever eat dinner off your lover’s body?”

The image the words evoked sent heat curling through her. She shook her head. “I’m going out.” She needed to get away from him for a while. To remind herself that this was only an experiment. Temporary. If she stayed with him right now it would be too easy to lose herself in him again. To pretend the feelings he’d kindled in her were real. The sort that lasted forever.

She went into the bathroom and washed off then dressed in shorts and a sleeveless blouse. No underwear, because she didn’t want to go back into the bedroom and feel Jake’s eyes on her as she searched. Going without felt sexy and decadent, but then, this was a night for that.

When she glanced in the mirror she was startled by the image that confronted of her. Her hair was mussed, her lips slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looked like a woman who was well and truly satisfied. If she had seen herself on the streets, she would have thought she was a woman in love.

But of course, that wasn’t the case at all. In lust, maybe, but there was a big difference.

She combed her hair and splashed water on her face, then took a deep breath and opened the door to the bedroom.

The bed was empty. Surprised, she looked around for Jake. The chair where he’d left his clothes was empty, and so was the rest of the cottage. Jake was gone.



JAKE JOGGED ALONG the beach, bare feet pounding against the sand in time to his furiously beating heart. He clenched his hands into fists and ran harder, head down, fighting anger and frustration. What had Glynna meant, walking out on him like that? Had she gotten what she wanted, and that was that? He knew men who acted like that, but a woman?

Could a woman really turn her feelings on and off like that? What had happened between them had been powerful. The kind of sex people fantasize about but rarely experience.

He slowed down, muscles protesting as his feet dragged in the sand. More likely, Glynna was scared. That was it. He doubted Ms. Glynna McCormick had screamed like that in bed with a man more than a few times in her life. If ever. Tonight he’d stripped her bare, both physically and emotionally. A woman like her was bound to be shook up after that.

He stood and looked out at the dark bay. Breakers thundered against the jetty to his left and the distant throb of music from the karaoke club drifted on the night breeze. Hell, he was shook up himself. When she’d taken him in her hand and turned her head away from his kiss, he’d felt something twist inside him, and he’d come dangerously close to pleading with her not to turn away. He’d been relieved to get up to go find a condom, buying time for him to get a hold of himself.

That was it, then. Glynna wasn’t dissatisfied with him. She was afraid. And wasn’t the whole idea of this weekend to help her get over that fear of her own ideas and emotions? She might have a natural talent for sex, but she needed Jake for the rest. He’d have to find a way to push her past her fear. And he’d be the one to benefit. At least this weekend.

He turned back up the beach, headed toward the grill, the only restaurant open at this late hour. She wasn’t going to run away from him so easily. The night was young and the weekend short. They had a lot to do. There was one pretty incredible woman inside Glynna, and he couldn’t wait to help discover her.



GLYNNA SAT at the grill, idly swirling a French fry through a pool of ketchup, wondering how she could go from feeling fantastic one moment and more alone and uncertain than ever the next.

Was Jake angry with her for leaving him so quickly after their lovemaking? Was that why he’d left? Was she wrong to have pulled away from him?

What did it matter what he thought? Why was she worrying about doing what he wanted her to do when the whole point of this weekend was supposed to be for her to discover what she wanted—really wanted.

Back there in the cottage, what she’d craved was to stay with him. She wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her close and then, after a while, to make love again. They’d go slowly this time, savoring each touch and response. She wanted to know that for that brief span of time at least, she could be anything, do anything, and no one would object.

Instead, she’d given in to guilt and fear and run away. Despite the incredible experience in Jake’s arms, nothing had really changed inside her.

“Is the food really that bad?”

She jumped as Jake reached around her and snagged a French fry from her plate. He chewed, a thoughtful look on his face. “Not bad. But cold.” He slid onto the stool beside her.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I went running on the beach.” He glanced at her. “I needed to get away and think.”

“Yeah.” She could understand that. “Me, too.” She pushed her plate away and took a sip from her glass of diet soda. “What did you decide?”

He swivelled to face her. “I’ve pretty much made it my policy to say what I think about things. Some people don’t like it, but they don’t have to worry about me lying to them, either.”

She eyed him warily. What was he getting at? “It’s one of the things I admire about you. So?”

He put his elbow on the counter and leaned toward her. “So you have to shoot straight with me, too. Why did you run out on me just now?”

Her stomach knotted. Talking about her feelings was not something she was good at. In fact, she avoided it whenever possible. “You know, I said I wanted to have sex with you. Not bare my soul.”

“You said you wanted to find out what kind of woman you really are.” He took her hand and laid it in his, palm up, as if he was about to tell her fortune. “Lesson number one—a lot of sex takes place inside a person’s head. And I want to know what’s going on in yours. Why did you run out?”

She tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers encircled her wrist, trapping her. His gaze on her was steady. Relentless. She was going to have to answer his question. She took a deep breath. “I think I was a little overwhelmed by what happened. It wasn’t what I expected.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I hope that means it was better than you expected.”

She nodded, one quick jerk of her head. “Oh, yeah. Better. And…different.”

With his forefinger, he traced her lifeline, coming to rest at her pulse. “It was pretty intense.” His eyes met hers again. “I can’t say that’s happened to me very often.”

“It’s never happened to me before. I…I don’t know what it means.”

“It could be that it’s been a while for both of us, and that intensified the experience. Or it could mean that we’re particularly well-matched, physically.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who would have guessed it?”

She flushed. “We aren’t that much alike, are we?”

“But maybe more than you give yourself credit for.”

His words startled her into smiling. “You can’t be serious. We’re nothing alike.”

He shrugged. “Think about it. We’re both driven. Ambitious. We don’t have patience with incompetence.”

She studied his long hair, faded T-shirt and baggy shorts. He was sexy in a just-rolled-out-of-bed way, but he was completely unlike any man she’d ever dated. She couldn’t imagine them being truly compatible. “We live completely different kinds of lives,” she said.

“I’m not likely to forget that.” His gaze took in her silk shirt and designer shorts. “But this weekend, none of that matters, does it?” He released her hand. “This weekend is about doing what feels good. About taking that intensity and running with it.” He stroked her cheek with one finger. “About learning to loosen up and let go.”

She nodded. “Yes.” At least for this weekend she had to stop listening to what her head told her to do, and pay more attention to her heart. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “So what now?”

He sat back and studied her. “I think I want to photograph you.”

She started to laugh, but the seriousness in his eyes stopped her. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to photograph you naked.”

The passion in his eyes warmed her, as did the blush that rose to her cheeks once more. “I don’t think—”

His hand on her thigh stopped her. “Don’t think about it now. We’ll talk later. Before the weekend is over.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Where are we going?” She slid off the stool and put her hand in his.

“Someplace where we can be alone.” He smiled down at her, mischief in his eyes. “Time for lesson number two.”




5


THEY WALKED along the beach, not speaking. Jake was lost in thought, scarcely aware of Glynna’s hand in his or the waves washing over their feet. The idea to photograph her had just come to him, but the more he thought about it, the more intrigued he was. She had a physical beauty that would translate well to film—the trick would be capturing both the outer hardness and inner vulnerability of her personality.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

Her question pulled him away from puzzling over lighting and setting and all the variables a good photograph entails, back to the woman herself. He glanced at her. The wind had tangled her hair and moonlight silvered her skin. How had he ever thought she was cold? “I’m not sure. But I’ll know it when I see it.” He’d decided earlier that a woman who was always so worried about what others thought of her—or at least what her father thought—needed to be challenged to flaunt convention. Now he had to figure out how to do that.

The music from the karaoke club was closer now. According to the resort brochure, after midnight it became a dance club, with an outdoor dance floor overlooking the ocean. “Let’s go to the club,” he said, heading in that direction.

She lagged behind. “I don’t want to dance.”

He grinned. “You’ll like this kind of dancing. I promise.”

Instead of leading her to the club directly, he took her to the beach below the dance patio. Stone steps led up to the patio itself, and a row of coconut palms lined the stone wall that separated it from the beach. If he remembered correctly… Yes, there it was. A hammock swung between two of the palms, just on the edge of the light spilling from the dance floor.

He led her to the hammock. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought this would be a nice place for a little private dancing.”

She looked up, a worried frown wrinkling her normally smooth brow. Music pounded overhead, mixed with laughter, the clink of glasses and the shuffling of dancing couples. “What do you mean?”

He pulled her into his arms, tight against his erection, so she’d have no doubt of his feelings. “Have you ever made love in a public place before?”

“No!”

She tried to pull away, but he held her close, studying her face to gauge her reaction to his words. “It can be very exciting.” He trailed one finger along her collarbone, down around the curve of her breast. Her lips parted and she let out a soft sigh. “Knowing that at any moment, you might be caught. Someone might hear you.” He kissed her neck and she arched against him. She smelled of vanilla and spice and herbal shampoo. “Someone might see you.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she murmured.

“Why not? It’s not all that public.” He raised his head and looked around them. “It’s relatively dark under here. No one can really see us. And the music’s loud. They won’t hear us. Unless you scream.” He nibbled her neck. “You like to scream when you come, don’t you? And I intend to make you come. Long and hard.”

“Jake, I…”

He pulled back enough to look her in the eye. “You said you wanted to find out about yourself. You do that by taking chances, by doing things you’ve never done before.”

She glanced over his shoulder, out onto the empty beach. “If anyone did see us, they wouldn’t know who we were, would they?”

“They’d think we were one more honeymoon couple, overcome by passion.” He raked his thumb over her nipple. It hardened at his touch.

“All right.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I’ll play.”

The knowledge that she’d overcome her natural reluctance stirred him. He kissed her, hard and deep, his tongue plunging and withdrawing in frank imitation of what he would do with her later. She responded with surprising ardor, pressing against him, her tongue teasing his. While his mouth made love to hers, he caressed her breasts. The silk of her shirt slid beneath his hand, heightening sensation. Her moan cut through him as he flicked his thumb across her distended nipples.

“Here. Sit down.” He nudged her back until she half sat, half fell into the hammock. It swung forward, bumping against him, and she wrapped her legs around him, bringing his erection flush between her spread legs.

Before he could move back, she reached down and shaped her hand to him. “I love it that you’re so hard already,” she said, the whispered words making him harder still.

Determined to maintain control of the situation, he pushed her hand away and took her shirt in both hands and shoved it up over her breasts. Her naked skin was pale in the dim light, her nipples small dark points. At the first touch of his lips on her, she cried out, then clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the cry. “That’s right,” he whispered against her breast. “Someone might hear us.”

She whimpered and ground against him. The friction was driving him mad and he reached down to unzip his shorts. Her hand on his stopped him. “Let me.”

He wanted to say no, that he was in charge of this “lesson,” but her eyes locked to his convinced him giving up this little bit of command would be worth it. With agonizing slowness, she lowered the zipper, letting her thumb trail the hard ridge of his cock. Dropping her gaze to his crotch, she pulled back his briefs, and touched the spot of wetness forming at the tip of his penis. He sucked in his breath as she took one finger and spread the moisture around the head. Her touch sent electric shocks of sensation through him, and he had to lock his knees to keep standing. If he wasn’t careful, this was all going to be over in a hurry.

Partly to distract her, and partly to distract himself, he slipped two fingers underneath the crotch of her shorts. She was wet and naked under there, the twin sensations loosening his control another notch. With a groan, he shoved her hand away from him, and buried his fingers in her slick heat. She gripped him, the muscles in her thighs tightening, her back flexing. “That feels so good,” she hissed. “Please don’t stop.”

“Baby, I don’t intend to stop.” He parted her folds with his thumb and began to stroke her, gently at first, then more firmly. His fingers found her G-spot and began to stroke there, as well. She coiled around him, tension building, and began to pant with breathy moans.

He looked at her. Her head was thrown back, her hair a wild tumble down her back. Her lips, still swollen from his kisses, were parted, her eyes closed, lacy lashes dark against her pale face. She was gorgeous in a way she’d never been before, wild and primal, unbound by inhibition or convention. The sight of her transformed by lust and need fed his own desire.

He lowered his head to her breast once more and had no sooner taken her in his mouth again before she exploded beneath him. Her muscles gripped him and she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out as she shook with the force of her climax. He threw both arms around her and held her close, rocking her, stroking her back.

After a while, her breathing slowed, and she eased back against the hammock and looked up at him. “How come sex has never been like this before?” she asked.

She sounded so astonished, he didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. “Maybe you haven’t been with the right guy,” he said.

Her gaze drifted down, to the open front of his shorts, and she smiled. “Now it’s your turn.” She sat up, feet dragging in the sand, and swung the hammock back and forth, bumping against his legs. “This could be interesting.”

He grasped her hips to still her. “I think you need to take your shorts off.”

He expected her to object, to protest she couldn’t get naked when they were practically in public, but eyes locked to his, she stripped the shorts off in one movement and dropped them in the sand. “Your turn,” she repeated.

He discarded shorts and briefs, though he felt a little silly with the breeze blowing across his naked butt. Anyone walking by would have no doubt about what was going on in the shadows when they spotted his pale cheeks glowing in the moonlight.

She reached around and cupped his bottom. “You have a very nice butt. I’ve noticed it before. Especially when you wear your motorcycle leathers.”

“Oh, so you’ve been lusting after me before now?” The thought pleased him.

“I may be a little repressed, but I’m not dead.”

“I don’t think you’re all that repressed, either.” He leaned forward, nudging the tip of his penis against her opening. He was anxious to be in her now.

She smiled up at him. “I guess I’m not, am I?” She pushed back with one foot, swinging out of his reach, then poised there, leaning toward him. “Something’s missing here.”

“Do you mean a condom? I’ve got one in my pocket.” He started to reach down for his shorts, but she stopped him, one hand wrapped around his cock.

“I was thinking we needed a little more…lubrication.” With that, she bent and took him into her mouth. He let out a low groan and clutched her shoulders as her lips and tongue wrapped around him. She licked and suckled, her touch light, then stronger, keeping him teetering on the edge. He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into her. Should he hold back, or let himself go?

She raised her head and through his glazed vision, he was aware of her smiling at him. “I think we’re ready for that condom now.”

She took the packet from his stiffened fingers and opened it. He almost lost it when she rolled the rubber on him, but somehow maintained control. Then she lay back and wrapped her thighs around him. “Let’s see how this hammock works.”

Sinking into her was sheer heaven. She tightened around him, hot and wet, and he thrust forward, rocking the hammock. With little effort, they fell into a steady rhythm of thrust and sway, a tantalizing dance in time to the music which throbbed overhead. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to sensation: the pulsing music, the smell of sand and saltwater and sex, the exquisite sensation of Glynna clenching him, holding and releasing him, desire building, as he thrust faster, deeper…




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