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‘I could show you the town,’ he added. ‘Nassau’s a cool city.’
‘But I don’t have anything to wear,’ she said, still trying to weigh her options.
This wasn’t a big deal. After the enforced intimacy of the boat, the intensity of emotion brought on by the storm, not to mention the lack of sleep and the stresses and strains of what had happened so long ago still hanging between them, why shouldn’t he suggest one more night of fun? After all, they’d had precious little fun in their acquaintance. She had to take this at face value. Not read more into it than was actually there.
‘You’re not going to need much,’ he said, his smile loaded with sensual promise. ‘I was kidding about showing you around. We probably won’t get out of the suite.’
She laughed, the wicked look in his eyes going some way to relieve the tension. ‘What happens to The Sea Witch once you’ve gone back to Manhattan?’ She glanced back at the boat, feeling a little melancholy at the thought of leaving it.
He nodded towards the young man still standing on the dock. ‘Joe’s my delivery skipper—he’ll take it back to Boston.’
His hand cupped the back of her neck, sending sensation zinging all over her body.
‘Now, quit stalling—do we have a deal or don’t we?’
She swallowed heavily, her heart thudding against her throat
. She could say no. She probably should say no. But having his gaze searching her face, his expression tense as he waited for her answer... She knew she didn’t want to say no.
The man was intoxicating...like a dangerously addictive drug. She needed to be careful—conscious of all the emotions that had tripped her up in the past—but she was a stronger, wiser woman now, not a seventeen-year-old girl. And while she was riding the high had there ever been anything more exhilarating?
He tugged her into his arms, his lips inches from hers, the fire in his eyes incendiary. ‘Say yes, Red. You know you want to.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
His lips covered hers and she let the leap of arousal mask the idiotic burst of optimism telling her that this might be more than she’d hoped it could be.
* * *
‘Slow down, Dane. I’m stuffed. I don’t want to burst the seams on this dress.’
Xanthe tried to sound stern as Dane clasped her hand and led her past the quaint, brightly coloured storefronts of Nassau’s downtown area. The colonnades and verandas announced the island city’s colonial heritage, while SUVs vied for space on the tourist-choked streets with horse-drawn carriages.
After four days on the yacht, the four-course meal in the luxurious surroundings of a Michelin-starred restaurant had been sensational, but the truth was she’d barely managed to swallow a bite. The potent hunger in his eyes every time he looked at her had turned her insides to mush.
She’d been riding a wave of endorphins since their bargain on the boat—but was determined not to let his invitation get the better of her. Then something had shifted when he had appeared in their enormous suite at the resort on Paradise Island looking breathtakingly handsome in a dark evening suit and told her he was taking her out on a date.
After all the sex they’d shared the suggestion shouldn’t have seemed so sweet. So intimate. So overwhelming. But somehow it had.
‘And you bursting out of your dress is supposed to be a problem?’
His eyes dipped to the hem of the designer dress she’d picked from the array of garments he’d had sent up to their suite. The incendiary gaze seared the skin of her thighs, already warmed by the Caribbean night.
‘It is on a public street,’ she shot back, struggling to quell the erratic beat of her heart.
The evening had been a revelation in some ways—Dane had played the gentleman with remarkable ease—but it had been only more disturbing in others.
Because getting a glimpse into his life now, and seeing the level of luxury he could afford, had only made her more aware of how far he’d come. He’d always been tenacious and determined, but she couldn’t help her fierce wave of pride at the thought of how hard he’d worked to leave that boy behind and escape the miserable poverty of his childhood.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by the exclusiveness of the five-star resort hotel on Paradise Island, or by the lavish bungalow that looked out onto a private white sand beach and the sleek black power boat he’d piloted to take them into Nassau—especially after seeing the penthouse apartment Dane owned in Manhattan—but, like Nassau itself, which was a heady mix of old world elegance, new world commerce and Caribbean laissez-faire, Dane seemed like a complex contradiction.
His animal magnetism was not dimmed in the slightest by this new layer of wealth and sophistication. Even in an elegant tuxedo, the raw, rugged masculinity of the man still shone through. The tailored jacket stretched tight over wide shoulders now, as he led her back towards the dock where the speedboat was moored.
‘I’ve always thought clothes are overrated,’ he teased, helping her into the boat. ‘Especially on you.’
He shrugged off the jacket and dumped it in the back of the boat, then tugged off the tie, too, and stuffed it into the pocket of his suit trousers.
‘I don’t care how damn fancy that restaurant is,’ he said, and the vehemence in his tone was surprising. ‘Nothing’s worth getting trussed-up like a chicken for.’
