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He studied his tea, swiveling the cup on the saucer. She thought he was about to say something, but he looked up without a smile. “No. My time with you is my slice of vacation. And I want you to enjoy yours. Go have some fun.”
“Are you telling me not to worry my pretty head about you?” She pulled up her bikini bottom and he let her.
“It is a pretty head.”
“But not an empty one, I feel compelled to point out.”
He clamped strong hands on her nearly naked ass and held her there, nipping one nipple, then the other, taking her breath away. “Let’s stick to this.”
December 27
Third Day of Christmas
Three French Hens
It irritated her briefly, but she let it go. After all, she’d made the choice to be more or less anonymous. And Miguel was right—this was her time to relax and not be stressed. She certainly didn’t need to worry about someone else’s problems.
Still, when she went out to the patio café for dinner—since, amazingly enough, she hadn’t eaten much at tea after all—she looked around for him, or any business group that could be his.
Instead it was all vacationers, many of them sunburned, most of them drunk, in couples, fours and raucous groups. For the first time on the vacation, she felt a little lonely. Not that she hadn’t eaten in restaurants by herself many times—that featured in nearly every business trip she took. No, if she hadn’t met Miguel on the plane, the odds were good she would have spent the night and changed her flight to go home the next day.
She’d half formed that plan in her head, which would likely have led to disastrous drunk-dialing of Greg once she’d hit the States again. No matter how much she’d looked forward to this beach holiday, they weren’t that much fun to do by yourself. And, despite this very wild fling, she’d never been one to contemplate picking up a guy for a vacation romance.
She sipped her champagne with a smile that felt smug, even to herself. That had turned out to be a brilliant plan. He was right—she had been tense. Now she so wasn’t.
Taking the remainder of the bottle, she went to sit on her balcony, watch the moon and contemplate what three things he might come up with the next day.
* * *
She arrived at his door—after discovering her room key now granted her elevator access to the penthouse—a few minutes after eight. Wearing her bikini and heels, along with the cover-up that covered nothing, she followed a server out to the rooftop deck. Miguel sat at the same table, talking on his cell phone, while a Japanese man sipped coffee next to him.
She paused, surprised by the company, but Miguel spotted her and hung up immediately. He rose to greet her, taking her hands with a reassuring squeeze and kissing her on the cheek.
“Tilda, I’d like you to meet Mr. Miramoto, one of my esteemed colleagues.
Mr. Miramoto, Tilda Campbell—a special friend of mine.”
Miramoto bowed, formal and correct. “You look ready for the beach, Ms. Campbell.”
“Yes.” She resisted the urge to pull the edges of the cover-up together. “I’m sorry you gentlemen can’t join me. It’s a beautiful day.”
“Every day in Cozumel is beautiful, is that not true, Señor D’Oro? Everyone longs to have a piece of paradise for their very own.” Miramoto looked pleased with himself while Miguel threw him an irritated glance behind his back, reading something off his phone. Unperturbed, Miramoto drained his coffee cup and bowed to her again. “Enjoy your day, Ms. Campbell. I’ll see you soon, D’Oro.”
“Trouble?” Tilda couldn’t help asking, as soon as Miramoto left, all her business senses twitching at the subtext.
“Not for you.” Miguel tossed the phone aside and patted his lap. She sat, looping her hands behind his neck so she could toy with the damp curls there. He smelled of aftershave and spicy soap. “And you are a breath of fresh air. Did you do anything fun last night?”
“Besides an unusual game of strip High Tea?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It was kind of downhill after that.”
“I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He nuzzled her neck, nipping and kissing his way down while she sighed at the instantly rising heat. Brushing away one side of the bikini top, he sucked her taut nipple into his mouth, sending her to full boil.
“The server,” she whispered.
“Knows better than to come out here, now that you’ve arrived,” he muttered, his mouth full of her breast. “Unless it would turn you on to have him watch?”
“No!” she protested, though the thought did send an excited thrill straight to her groin.
“Not yet then.” He pushed the cover-up off her shoulder. “You’re wearing too many clothes. Take everything off. Except the shoes.”
