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Tamara felt every cell in her body cease functioning at the admission. How awful must it have been? The things he must have seen. Long months spent away from family and all he held dear in a hostile land where no one could be trusted. No wonder a Hawaiian hammock had been his happy place. “Did it help?”
He half shrugged, half smiled. “Sometimes.”
She half smiled back. “Good.”
For a long moment their gazes meshed and neither of them moved or said a word. Tamara was relieved when he sat back and reached for the remote. “To help create a Hawaiian theme I’ve enlisted a little help,” he said. The opening credits to Blue Hawaii filled the screen. “My mother is an Elvis fanatic.”
Tamara laughed as cheesy hula music filled the cabin. It felt good to break the tension. Hell, it felt good to breathe again. Luke joined her. “Pretty good eighth date, huh?” he asked. “Not many guys would take you on an island holiday without you putting out first.”
Tamara smiled as she looked at him. “Mind-blowing,” she said. “You did good.”
“Of course I could also throw in a tropical massage to really set the mood.”
Tamara’s belly tightened at the low suggestion. She didn’t even want to think about what kind of mood would be set if she agreed to that kind of intimacy. Alone in the cabin. His hands on her. Touching. Rubbing. Kneading.
Definitely not tropical. More like incendiary.
“I think Elvis is enough.” Her voice had turned husky at the mere suggestion of physical contact, and she cleared it.
He shrugged. “Okay…the offer’s there if you change your mind.”
Tamara dragged her gaze away from the temptation she saw in his and hoped like hell she wouldn’t change her mind in the next five hours.
After Blue Hawaii ended, they spent a couple hours eating more Pop-Tarts, channel surfing through the celebrations around the world, and watching the reports from Times Square, trying to spot Georgia in the crowd. Just before eleven, their luck ran out and they lost power. It wasn’t surprising. Luke had been fretting it would go out sooner or later given the couple of flickers they’d already had during the course of the evening and the way the wind was really howling again.
He stoked the fire until it glowed a little brighter, like it belonged in the pages of a romance novel. Tamara felt her hormones flare in response as she became aware they were very, very alone. Marking time. Waiting for a ball to drop in a place that might as well have been a million miles away.
“What shall we do now?” she asked, casting around for something, anything, to fill the time. She wasn’t ready to kiss him yet—that wasn’t their deal even if he had gone above and beyond transporting her to a tropical island for their eighth date—and she didn’t want him to suggest that the power going out was another act of God. A sign.
“Well, there’s always that massage…”
She folded her arms. “Not going to happen, Sergeant.”
He shoved his hands on his hips. “Strip poker?”
Tamara sucked in a breath as her pulse gave a wild leap. But his laughing eyes set her mind at ease. “Very funny.”
“You think I jest?” he murmured. “We used to play strip poker all the time when I was in college. It’s perfect for this kind of weather.”
Tamara decided the only way to handle him was to treat him like a naughty toddler and not indulge him. “Nice try. What else did you play?”
He quirked an eyebrow, and it emphasized his beautiful cheekbones and that sexy cleft. Desire burst like Pop Rocks down deep and low. “Strip Scrabble?”
She had to admit, he did deadpan better than anyone she knew. She crossed her arms across her chest because that’s what she would have done for one of her gorgeous little students who was trying to put one over on her. Also, it hid her nipples. Despite the warmth enveloping her in a big warm hug, they were reacting scandalously to his charm and the slow inexorable loom of the kiss. And she didn’t have layers on her side this time.
“There is no such thing.”
“Sure there is.” He strode to the old-fashioned chest situated under the window beside the front door. “I’ll teach you. It’s super easy.”
She watched the back view while he searched through the chest—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and tight buns. He may have been clothed, but she already had him naked in her head. How was one kiss ever going to be enough?
“Ah-hah!” he announced, turning and waving the box in the air. “Strip Scrabble.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He looked so eager, so sure she was just going to give in to what he wanted because he was cute and no doubt used to getting his own way. “Looks like regular old Scrabble to me.”
“It’s just a rules variation.”
Such a gross understatement delivered with such unfaltering charm caused
