the vista beyond and caught her breath.
Ahead of her, curving palm trees framed the view of an ocean that stretched out an impossible shade of aqua, darkening to indigo on the horizon. A white catamaran with a sail banded in turquoise, blue-green, and magenta glided over the waves. Palm-thatched palapas dotted the beach like giant parasols, guests stretched out beneath them on sun couches. And the waves whispered.
She couldn’t stop the smile.
For two weeks, she’d been hopping from island to island, resort to resort, sometimes three or four properties in a day. Every night, she was somewhere different, never anywhere long enough to unpack, let alone relax. It hadn’t been about relaxing, though. It had been about work. Admittedly, work she enjoyed, but work nevertheless.
This, though, this was her time. Seven precious days to herself, to sleep in until noon, to read, to lie on the beach. To do absolutely nothing that she didn’t want to do. She picked up her straw bag and started down the broad beach.
The sand was hot on her feet, the sun warmed her shoulders and made her glad of her dark glasses. As she walked past the sun worshippers, she relaxed to hear the mix of languages. No Texas twangs or Southern drawls or nasal Yankee accents talking about PTA meetings and yesterday’s big game here. The mix of French, Italian, German, and Spanish danced into her ears. Perhaps they were talking about the banal, but with the musical flow of syllables, it hardly mattered. The English she heard was from other shores—British, Australian, New Zealander. Americans were outside the norm here.
Which was probably just as well, considering the fact that most of the European and South American women matter-of-factly dropped top when they hit the beach. Taylor set her straw bag in the shade of a palapa, pulling over a sun couch. A beautiful Hispanic woman walked toward her, breasts standing out proud and high and completely bare. Taylor smiled to think how the vice president of the Rotary Club and his wife would have reacted to the sight. Probably just as well that she’d booked them to Fort Lauderdale.
She untied her sarong and spread her towel out on the lounger. For a moment, she stared at it, then she moved it back out into the sun. Just for a little while, she’d give herself the luxury of baking in the heat, before she yielded to reason and shifted into the shade.
Lying back on her couch, she sighed in pure bliss, listening to the soft rush of the waves, the breeze whispering through the palm fronds of the palapa. Reaching into her bag, she rummaged for the bottle of sunblock. With her brown eyes, she was the rare blonde who took to the sun readily, but it still paid to be careful in the tropics. She’d seen the lobster-red tourists and didn’t want to be one.
She spread sunblock along her legs, idly watching a pair of topless women walking up the beach. What must it feel like to have the sun warm your bare breasts, skin that hadn’t felt the caress of the sun in years, if ever?
It was a surprisingly enticing notion, she thought as she smoothed the coconut-scented lotion along her arms. Intriguing.
Tempting.
A woman on a sun couch nearby chattered something in what sounded like Italian to her male companion and turned to lie on her back. He made a pretend grab for one of her breasts and she batted his hands away laughingly.
Like night and day compared to what she’d known, Taylor thought, remembering her ex-husband Bennett, who’d had a positive aversion to sexually assertive women.
At least when the woman in question was his wife.
Taylor shook her head as she spread sunblock on her neck and chest. The past was the past. She wasn’t the woman he’d cheated on, the demoralized mouse that he’d bullied into submission anymore. She’d ignored Bennett’s rants and forced through the divorce. So what if marriage was just one more thing she hadn’t finished? She’d been so focused on living down her family reputation as a quitter that she’d stayed in the marriage long after she’d realized it was toxic. Some things weren’t meant to be finished. It was just as well that she’d gotten on with her life.
But had she? Taylor set the bottle in the sand. Until Bennett, she’d been quick to have a good time, quick to be outrageous. Before she’d quit college to marry him, those were the qualities—her sexiness, her wildness—that had drawn him. Then it had all come to a screeching halt. Since the divorce, since she’d gotten free of him, she’d rebuilt her self-esteem. She’d thrown herself into work and made a success of herself. It gave her pride. On the other hand, it had also taken all of her time and energy, leaving none for her private life.
No more, she thought in a sudden surge of recklessness. It was time to do something outrageous, time to live life like the old Taylor. After all, she was on vacation.
The Italian woman gave a magnificent roar of laughter, propping herself up on her elbows and giving her mane of hair a shake. Taylor lay back and closed her eyes. How Bennett would have hated the very idea of women sitting topless on a beach, though that wouldn’t have stopped him from leering. And the very idea of Taylor doing anything so brazen, well, it would have given him a stroke.
A rush of daring whisked through her. Taylor’s eyes opened and a slow smile spread across her face. Why shouldn’t she? It wasn’t as if anyone knew her here. She was thousands of miles from home. Going topless here was hardly outré—it was accepted. And wouldn’t it feel marvelous, she thought as the sun soaked into her bones. Wouldn’t it be amazing to be so free?
Before she could change her mind, she sat up and reached back to unhook her bikini top, shrugging so that the shoulder straps fell down to dangle against her arms. She took a deep breath, for courage. And then it was off and her breasts were swaying free.
The skies didn’t part with lightning to strike her. The nattily attired resort security guard didn’t swoop down in agitation. Basically, no one noticed.
Except her.
It was the breeze that surprised her most of all, the feel of air whispering lightly over skin unaccustomed to its touch. She felt wonderfully decadent and yet somehow at ease. The sun was like a warm kiss, making her laugh even as she resisted the urge to glance down to see if her nipples were hard. No one would notice if they were, she reminded herself, there were plenty of others around to look at. Closing her eyes, she lay back and basked in the heat.
Moments later, visions of sunburn and melanoma chasing through her head, she groped for the bottle of sunblock. Skin that hadn’t seen the sun since she’d been a toddler—if even then—needed all the protection it could get. Leaning back on one elbow, she used the other hand to rub the lotion into her breast. She wouldn’t feel bashful about touching herself, she told herself sternly. It was skin like any other on her body. She just needed to protect it, that was all. And yet the feel of her lotion-slicked palm rubbing over her nipple sent a surprising jolt through her system, making her yearn for more.
Now there was a sad statement on her nonexistent love live, if just putting sunblock on her breasts could turn her on. Of course, there really hadn’t been anyone since Bennett. She’d focused on everything but her needs for far too long, Taylor realized suddenly.
Closing her eyes and settling back, she relaxed. What a person could do with a lover in the tropics. The sunlight shone red-orange through her lids. How would it be to have a man’s hand stroking the sunblock on her body slowly, teasingly, the delicious friction of skin against skin bringing her to arousal? Her imagination painted them naked on a deserted beach, immersed in the feel of each other’s bodies. Alone but for sun and sand, they reached for abandonment and beyond. His hand slid down over her breasts, across her belly, touching her the way she hadn’t been touched in so long. The caress
