“I believe that’s the name of the hotel.” He seemed to be enjoying the shock in her voice. “Relax. It’s an adults-only resort. They’re all over the Caribbean: Hedonism, Sandals… It can’t be much different.”
“But why’d you pick this one?” she asked suspiciously. Maybe he was planning to take full advantage of all the delights available to a man of his stature at a festival like Jazz. She thought of the dizzy little groupie on the plane, with her diamond-studded tongue. Was Walker the kind of guy to choose the best of what was on offer at a concert and head back to his hotel to continue the party in private?
“By the time my assistant got around to booking, I didn’t have much to choose from. My travel agent said they had an opening, and I took it.” Then he reminded her, “It’s better than your alternative, correct?”
She conceded both his point and her rudeness. “Sorry. I’m very grateful—”
He cut her off. “So relax and enjoy it.” As he continued toward the entrance, his back turned to her, she heard him add, “You don’t have to swim in the nude pool if you don’t want to.”
“What?” she gasped, but all she got in reply was a soft, throaty chuckle.
At the end of a stone walkway they came upon a brightly lit building. Its doors were open, and the entrance was flanked by tall torches, their ends rammed into the ground. The air was filled with the scent of citronella.
As Walker began to climb the four or five steps leading to the entrance, Dakota lagged behind, overwhelmed by growing panic.
He sensed her reluctance and stopped abruptly, turning slightly to look back at her. Since he didn’t signal he was slowing down, she almost ran into him. His amusement at her discomfiture was all gone. He was just one step above, looking down into her face, his eyes searching hers for something. Maybe he found it, because he said, very gently, “Don’t worry.”
Instead of shooting back a skeptical response, she wet her lips and looked away. Nights were short on the islands, and things would look better in the morning. Plus, they weren’t exactly enemies; it wasn’t as if he’d sworn a blood oath to erase her and her kin from the earth. His business and her duty just weren’t in sync. It wasn’t personal.
Well, all right, it was a little personal. Like that evening at the album launch when he’d called her a bottom-feeding scavenger for ratting out his precious diva—and him. And she’d responded by decorating the front of his white shirt with a glass of ’03 Chilean red.
A movement in the doorway saved her from whatever he was going to say next. The apparition was enough to jolt all thoughts of Walker from her mind, and that was saying something.
The man standing in the glowing lamplight at the entrance was so tall that he dwarfed Walker, and his skin was so black he seemed to belong to the night, rather than simply inhabit it. Impeccably twisted dreadlocks cascaded from his head, a Medusa’s nest of snakes. He wore a tan suit made of a light fabric, with a cream-
colored shirt and a tie of deep garnet. He was so striking, so physically perfect, that Dakota almost believed he was supernatural. This was the Caribbean, after all. A place populated by the ghosts of African princes, forest deities and enchanted apparitions.
As they approached, onyx eyes gleamed behind thin glasses, and his dark face split in a welcoming smile. His large, perfect teeth all but glowed. “Mr. Walker! So good to meet you. Welcome to Tobago.” His deep voice floated on the wave of the graceful and enchanting accent they’d heard everywhere since they’d touched down.
Walker and the handsome devil clasped hands warmly, equally white grins on their faces. “Trent, please. And it’s good to be here.”
The big man turned his cave-dark eyes in Dakota’s direction. His grin grew even wider. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing a guest, Trent, but we’re perfectly happy to have her.” Then he addressed Dakota directly. “Welcome. I’m Dr. Declan Hayes, part owner of this establishment. But once you check in, there’s a penalty for using last names here at Rapture.” He cocked his head in the direction of the reception area. “We’ve got a clay jar in there, sort of like your American swear jar. If you call me Dr. Anything, you owe me a dollar. Deal?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Deal…Declan.” She threw a glance at Walker. Damned if she was calling him by his first name. She’d drop a buck in Declan’s jar every twenty minutes, if she had to.
Walker laughed, as if he knew what she was thinking. Then, realizing the introductions had been one-sided, said, “Declan, forgive my rudeness. This is Dakota Merrick. My…er…” He searched for several long seconds for a suitable description, and then finished up weakly “…colleague.”
Declan caught his hesitation—and misunderstood. He lowered his voice, his face somber, radiating trustworthiness. “Don’t worry, Trent, Dakota, here at Rapture, we’re extremely discreet. Rapture was built for lovers, and confidentiality is our top priority. We have a wide range of indulgences to offer, and I promise you you’ll be very happy together here.”
Dakota choked on a mouthful of shock. “But I…but we…we’re not…” She shot Walker an exasperated look.
Declan had already snatched up Dakota’s bag and was moving. “Follow me to your quarters. You were lucky enough to get one of the largest and most luxurious cabins. It’s the farthest from the communal areas, for enhanced privacy.” He twinkled back at Dakota. “And the outdoor Jacuzzi tub is completely screened off from the other cabins.”
Jacuzzi, Dakota huffed to herself. Adults only, built for lovers…
The two men fell into step, as though they were old friends. Dakota kept up with them, seething. She wanted to grab this sleek gorgeous apparition, spin him around and make it abundantly clear that she and Trent Walker were not, not, not here for an illicit liaison. It was an accident they were even together.
They passed through a side door and descended a few steps into a garden that Dakota could only describe as magical. Even through the thick soles of her shoes she could feel the springiness of the dense, spiky grass. Under soft outdoor lights, a chaotic array of bushes, flowers and trees slumbered. Flagstone paths twisted and twined, going off into arbitrary directions. Down each path, she could see a faint halo of light, leading her to believe that each one led to a cabin.
“The pool’s in that direction,” Declan volunteered.
The nude pool, she remembered.
“It’s right next to the spa, where you can enjoy a variety of services: hot-cupping, Swedish massage, Shiatsu, acupressure. My business partner, Anke, is in charge of that. My office is on the other end of the property, if you’d like to have an appointment.”
She just had to ask. “Appointment? For…?”
“Counseling. I started off as a general medical practitioner, but then went back to study psychiatry. Now I’m a sex and relationship therapist,” Declan answered calmly.
Sex and relationship therapist. Huh. She distracted herself from the incongruity of the situation by focusing on her surroundings. She wished desperately that it was still daylight so she could enjoy the sights as well as the smells. What a long way from Santa Amata, with its endless rain and slush. She was in the warm and wonderful Caribbean, so close to the sea she could hear it whisper in and whoosh out. The sky was so bright and clear
