be on that white sand, to smell that orgasmic scent. Even the breeze was something new. Slightly moist, a little salty, it lifted her hair and skimmed every available bare spot.
It would feel luscious to be nude here. To feel it all over.
A shadow on the table made her jump, and she turned to find Alex with a tray. She removed plates, napkins, forks, drinks. Then he put the tray away and came to sit next to her.
“This looks incredible,” she said, pulling her plate close.
He grabbed one of his tacos and bit into it with gusto.
She grinned and took a bite of her own. When she’d swallowed, she said, “Ambrosial.”
He nodded, but was too busy eating to respond.
Which was just fine. Sitting in the warm air, listening to distant metal drums, feeling the breeze and eating fantastic fish tacos, she felt something inside downshift.
She might not jump him in the next ten minutes or so, but that whole four-hour wait was beginning to feel a mite excessive.
3
“OH, ALEX. IT’S…”
He grinned as he drove their cart to a clearing that overlooked their beach, one he’d scoped out before she’d gotten there. Her reaction was exactly how he’d pictured it. Better. Her hand had gone to her chest—flat palm just under the sweet spot on her neck. It was a nice hand. No jewelry. Her short nails were neat and painted the palest pink.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, scanning the magnificent vista.
“Wait till you see inside.”
She turned to him again. “You were thinking about relocating?”
“View now. Questions later.”
“Promise?” she said.
“There’s a phone but you don’t have to use it. There’s no TV. And I don’t think we can fill five whole days with scuba diving, so yeah. I promise.”
“I plan to be unbelievably intrusive. Rudely so,” she said.
“As long as we’re talking quid pro quo,” he said, thinking of all kinds of questions he’d like to ask her.
“Hmm.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked.
She put her hand on his arm. “You must stop that immediately.”
“What?”
“Asking me about the worst that can happen. I know it works for you. You say it, and in your head, the worst can’t possibly happen, because you’ve said the magic words. But they’re not magic for me. I do think about the worst, and I don’t just go for a quick visit. I linger. I buy new drapes.”
“Okay. Consider it done.” He’d never thought about that phrase, although he knew he used it often. For him, it was a pressure release. More of a saying than a practice. But clearly, for Meg it meant a lot more.
“Really?” she asked, her brows raising in surprise.
He nodded. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, and that’s the truth, too.”
She laughed.
“Now what?” he said.
“What I just said. What you just said.”
“That was funny?” Alex asked, sounding surprised.
“No. I don’t do that,” Meg stated.
“Talk?”
“No. Put it out there. Not until I know someone really well, and most of the time not even then. But we’ve been together for two hours, and I said what I meant. And,” she said, leaning toward him, widening those beautiful eyes, “nothing horrible happened.”
He looked at her so long he almost crashed into a palm tree. But once they were steady on the path again, he nodded. “You know what?”
“What?” she asked.
“This is gonna be interesting.”
THE BUNGALOW WAS something out of a dream. Thatched roof, wooden steps leading up to a balcony. The ocean as pure and clear as if it had just been made.
With the scented breeze nudging her hair, teasing her skin, she let Alex tackle her big suitcase while she grabbed her small one. Her sandals clicked on the boardwalk as she stared down into the water, watching a little something dart behind a slightly bigger something.
When she stepped up onto the balcony, she was torn between seeing what treats lay inside and just standing there breathless with wonder.
It was the brush of his hand on the small of her back that made her decision, and after a shiver of sheer happiness, she went the rest of the way inside.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
His chuckle, rumbling, deep, was the perfect first sound in this perfect paradise. Shiny, geometric patterns of wood made up the floor and the walls. The staircase to the loft was made of thicker wood, like flattened tree branches. Windows opened to the ocean, to the white sand.
Then there was the bed. It was right out of a Humphrey Bogart movie, complete with white mosquito netting and lush white pillows on top of an obscenely thick comforter. The couch, a rattan affair with thick blue cushions, looked inviting and comfy, and everything, everything smelled of the sea.
“You like?” he asked.
She turned. Alex stood with his arms across his chest, like the inventor of the wheel. His dark brows lifted and his teasing lips blossomed into a full-out, take-no-prisoners grin. She couldn’t grin any harder herself. Her cheeks actually ached from the attempt. “It’s heaven.”
He rose up on the balls of his feet. “Damn straight.”
How could she resist? He couldn’t even stay on the ground, he was so pleased. She walked right up to him, looked into eyes that were dark blue, not brown, and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “It’s hard to believe it’s real.”
“Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s still New Year’s Eve and we’re still drunk.”
“That would explain so much,” Meg said, leaning in. And then her lips met his. Softly. Learning. Slightly parted.
His breath snuck inside, and it was sweet and a little minty. She felt his hand slip to her waist, but there was no pressure, just contact.
She moved closer, parting her lips. He followed her lead, not forcing anything. Until she licked his bottom lip. Then he pulled her tight against him, from breast to thigh, and the kiss went from sweet to hot in one blazing second.
Meg froze. Just…froze.
Alex,
