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“Big, bad Heath is afraid of flying?” she said almost to herself, smiling at the notion.
Grey squeezed her rump before she climbed down the stairs.
“He heard that.”
Her veins thrummed as she descended the stairs, strode into the small airport and went through the long line at customs, where a group of armed soldiers inspected their baggage.
A frowning young man with a weapon slung around his shoulder rifled through her bags—his hands were all over her bras, her thongs, to the point that she was beginning to feel violated—while the three of them stood statuelike across the table and watched. Grey was simmering with impatience.
Heath bent to her ear.“I think Grey has a mind to strangle that man,” he muttered.
“Watch a man putting his hands on your woman’s panties and see how you feel,” Grey said, his words belying the coolness with which he spoke them.
When the man glanced up, Toni smiled brightly and tried to pretend they weren’t discussing him. Or the fact he wore no gloves while he messed with her clothes.
Lifting a hand to smooth away Grey’s frown, she rose on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his jaw. “I can always not wear them. I know you like that.”
Like that? She knew for a fact he loved that.
When a second man came over to “aid” in the inspection, the entire process became ridiculously intrusive and began to annoy her. Grey finally stepped forward, his voice authoritative. “Are we done here?”
The men tucked her red La Perla back into the suitcase with a grave nod, and Grey zippered it up. He snatched her hand, linked their fingers, and together they made their way through the rustic halls of the airport, each hauling his or her own suitcase.
“Cat, I’ll get that.”
Before she could protest, Heath, carrying only a small travel duffel around his shoulder, grasped the handle of her suitcase and hauled it on. She smiled, wondering why the gesture seemed . . . so nice. “Thank you.Why did you call me Cat?”
She was in such a sexually deprived state, his drug-induced drawl had the effect of a vibrator on her. “I’ll have you purring like one.”
The airport was a small one-story building, noisy and crowded with tourists. The scent of food and sweat permeated the air. To one side of the hall, an array of colorful Mexican tiendas displayed T-shirts and dolls and sombreros. The other side was occupied by revision tables, waiting areas, flight check- in, but the area was so limited in tables and chairs that people were actually scattered on the floor as though at a picnic.
As they pulled their suitcases down a long ramp, Grey’s housekeeper, Señor Gonzalez, a kindly brown- eyed man with laugh lines around his mouth, waited next to a shiny black Lincoln Navigator. All of Grey’s cars were black, something Toni didn’t get; she’d learned from experience that the tiniest scratch was always most visible on those. She’d given a few to his Porsche that fairly screamed “Toni was here.”
While the men flung the suitcases in the trunk, she hovered nearby.
The heat pounded atop her head, but a hushed breeze played with her hair. Not a sharp Chicago breeze, but a flimsy one that made the nearby palm trees gently sway. She could smell the ocean in the air and couldn’t resist dragging in a good lungful before she slid into the back of the car.
Heath rode up front with the reed-thin Mexican; Grey and Toni in the back. Grey slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her across the slippery leather. He flattened her cheek to his chest.“Stay right here with me.”
He was so infuriatingly sexy. She’d been so sure he wouldn’t last at his play. So certain he’d lose at his own game and take her one evening, one morning. He hadn’t.The man’s will was iron, and now she was steeling herself to punish him. A little. If she could manage.
They rode for thirty minutes through desert landscape dotted with cacti, a landscape that looked lonely and barren and beautiful.
Once they reached the picturesque small town of San José, the scenery changed, with the endless blue of the ocean visible to their left.
Grey and Señor Gonzalez had a bit of a language issue—neither spoke the other’s—so they didn’t communicate through the entire ride. Heath occasionally spoke to him in Spanish, but his voice was still thick. She assumed he was still groggy. It was kind of adorable.
His T-shirt stretched taut over the roundness of his shoulders, and his glossy black hair looked played-with. During the ride, he ran a heavy, tired hand through it, and she suppressed the urge to reach out and do the same.
This weekend, they were both hers.
The car climbed up a narrow road.They passed gates and long stretches of manicured gardens, and then the house came
into view. White and grand, it sat atop the rocky cliff, with sweeping terraces and massive archways, surrounded by lush green palm trees. Up the wide steps and inside the sunny foyer, they were greeted by an array of fresh flowers Señor Gonzalez had set atop the central round table.The tall windows in every room had been opened to let in the breeze, and the marble floors shone like mirrors.
Grey showed Heath to the guest room before following Toni to theirs. Their room at the Cabo house was three times bigger than their bedroom at Toni’s.
A fluffy lime green rug covered the floor, while the walls were cheerfully decorated with two rows of framed beach drawings. A plush duvet was spread across the bed, an assortment of soft- hued pillows propped on the massive oak headboard.The glass door windows covering one wall opened to a sprawling terrace that boasted a variety of teak furniture and a perfect view of the Sea of Cortez.
