didn’t realize she was smiling until she heard Walker murmur, “I know. Makes you tingle all over, doesn’t it?”
The last thing she wanted to discuss with Walker was any part of her body tingling. With a nervous hand, she twisted a curly lock of hair around her ear.
The path dipped sharply and they came upon an exquisite cabin. It was made of wood and painted a mellow tangerine, except for the carved white adornments that graced the small porch, doors and windows, and ran around the edge of the roofing like spider webs.
Wood thudded dully under their feet as they climbed the three steps leading to the entrance. Declan withdrew a key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock. He eased the door open and preceded them into the cabin, flicking on lights as he did so.
He led them through the sitting area toward the farthest bedroom and flooded it with light. Its walls were a soothing shade of avocado set off by white jalousies. A large painting hung on one wall, an oil rendition of a dark-skinned woman, completely naked, rising out of a tropical stream, water dripping from her long, woolly hair. Water rose just to her pubis, seeming to caress her there, like a cool, intimate hand. The thick-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes were half closed, and her smile spoke of the pleasures of swimming naked. It was the most erotic painting Dakota had ever seen. She tore her eyes away.
She was vaguely aware of the other furniture. The rest of her mind was swamped by the image of the big, luxurious bed.
“This is the master bedroom.…” Declan was saying.
The king-size bed was covered with a cheerful quilt. It was strewn with huge pillows and stood high off the floor.
“Bathroom’s over there,” he continued.
The bed stood firmly on polished brass legs. The mattress was thick. Bouncy, she guessed. Strong. She caught sight of what was on the bedside table. Other hotels kept a copy of the Bible next to the bed. Rapture had a leather-bound copy of the Kama Sutra. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m sure you two will be very comfortable here.” Declan set Dakota’s bag down against a wall.
She sputtered, trying to drag her gaze—and her thoughts—away from that big, big bed and the ancient Indian instruction manual lying beside it. “Oh, but we…”
Walker still held on to his bag. Unruffled by the insinuation, he said calmly, “Dakota can take this one.”
Her ears pricked up at his use of her first name. Just to avoid tossing a buck into Declan’s jar?
He continued. “I’ll be fine in the room next door.” He cocked his head at her, as though amused by her discomfort, and gave her half a wink.
Declan’s bushy brows flicked upward for a fraction of a second and then, with a nod toward Dakota, he followed Walker. She stood with her back to the door, surveying the room, thoughts tumbling.
Chapter 3
The men exchanged muffled goodbyes and there was the sound of the front door closing. Then, a presence in the doorway. She spun around.
Trent stood just a few feet before her, hands on hips, contemplating. The forced intimacy of shared quarters made it hard for her to breathe.
“Traveling’s a real bitch,” he finally said, sounding sympathetic. “You must be tired.”
She was way too keyed up to be tired. “I’m…fine, thank you.” She was carefully polite: as tense as the situation was, she couldn’t forget she was here due only to his kindness.
“Good. Why don’t we take twenty to freshen up? Then we can head out to the dining room and see what they’re offering.”
Eat. With him?
Her hesitation was just shy of being damn rude.
“Hey,” he said reasonably, with that same easy smile that made him as much of a star as his singers, “if the Pilgrims and the Indians could call a truce long enough to eat…”
She could have countered with a sharp rejoinder about smallpox-infected blankets, but good manners forced her simply to nod in mute, weary gratitude.
He accepted her concession with the satisfaction of a man used to winning. “Twenty minutes, then.” He headed back to his room.
* * *
“Anything you don’t eat?” Trent asked as he studied the menu. All around them, guests were already dining in the gorgeously decorated hall. The meals were included in the price of the stay, so most of the hotel guests stayed on the grounds for dinner. The vaulted ceiling was bright white, and the glow from small lamps on each table danced along its surface like a light show.
Dakota sat in the comfortable polished teak chair, several degrees cooler now that she’d showered and changed into a light linen sleeveless dress with a square-cut neckline. She could have sworn for a second that, upon first seeing her, Trent’s eyes had lingered briefly at her bare collarbone before sliding downward and away, but she could be mistaken.
The air was filled with the dizzying scent of hot food, an opulent blend of roasted meats, baked yams and potatoes, and vegetables drizzled with olive oil. A sharp pang of hunger stabbed at her, reminding her it had been hours since she’d had anything.
“I’m not normally fussy, but I hope the soup of the day isn’t goat liver or something weird like that.” She was startled to find her sense of humor hadn’t abandoned her.
In response, the rigid squareness of his shoulders softened a little, letting her know she wasn’t the only one anxious over their arrangements. “Well, they cater to Americans and Europeans, so I’m sure they’ll have something less exotic for the guests. And I think that soup you’re talking about is called mannish water. It’s Jamaican, not Tobagonian.”
“Well, if I ever go there, I’m not having any.” She ran her finger around the top of her water glass, glad for something to focus on. Anything to keep her eyes off him.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He seemed as relieved as she was to have something safe to talk about. As if food could be a safe topic in a place like Rapture. From what she’d seen so far, she’d be grateful if the coconut mousse wasn’t molded in the shape of a penis.
As for her sense of adventure? She was having dinner in the least likely of places with the least likely of people. This was enough adventure for her.
At the next table, a movement caught her eye. A long-haired young man with deep blue eyes reached across the table to his companion, a champagne flute in his hand, and slowly drew the chilled glass over her left nipple. The woman laughed, and her physical reaction to the icy contact was instantly obvious as the small, hardened bump poked through the thin satin of her blouse. That simple gesture was so outrageously erotic that Dakota sucked in a lungful of air, shocked at herself for watching.
She exhaled through pursed lips, commanding her body to be still. Many dangers lurked in this place. One night, she reminded herself. It’s just for one night.
She could tell Trent was studying her reaction. The low light made long feathery shadows of his lashes. She noticed for the first time that a tiny mole perched near the corner of his lower lip. On a woman, it would
