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Raising her arms to gather her hair in a messy bun, Cassidy gave her amnesiac lover a coy look and her most evocative French to inquire if he saw anything he liked.
“Oh,oui,madame. Beaucoup,” he agreed with unfettered appreciation, but didn’t move from his spot, content to ponder her underthings and the treasures they barely concealed.
Cassidy took her time selecting a pair of jeans and a flirty off-the-shoulder top, giving him plenty of opportunity to admire the view. It was a challenge hiding the grin that threatened to burst across her face. Everything else about him and their relationship was so radically different that the possibility he might show any sexual interest in her hadn’t even crossed her mind. Yet, there it was. She could feel the primal heat of his gaze raking over her body.
“Where are we going?” he asked as she considered an all-out seduction.
She sighed, slipped into a random pair of shoes that were sturdy enough for what she had in mind, and grabbed her purse along with a light jacket. “You’ll see. C’mon.”
In the garage, she ignored her own new Mercedes coupe and walked up to Dominique’s BMW motorcycle. The thing looked like it was flying, just sitting there. Tricked out by a previous owner with more ego than sense, the low-slung, pitch-black bike could move at two-hundred-plus miles per hour. Amazingly, it wasn’t the bike that had killed the guy—a player in South Florida’s drug trade—but the vampire who claimed it. Dominique had used it to carry him far and fast when hunting meant making bodies. While he had killed no one in years, he still preferred the bike as a convenient mode of transportation.
“Want to ride?”
Dominique scoffed. “You are joking. I have never been on one of these things.”
“Fine. I’ll drive,” she said with forced confidence. Dominique had taught her how to ride, and she had a license issued by the state of Florida. But this machine was a whole lot less menacing at night, when Dominique was there to keep control of it with his supernatural reflexes. Now, during the day, driving it with her mere mortal skills felt like asking for trouble, but if there was a chance of reaching him, she’d risk it.
Of course, having him climb up behind her and feeling his hands steal around her waist was also worth a few risks. The embrace felt more sensual than practical, as if he had been looking for an excuse to touch her. It was all she could do to collect her scattering wits and ease the bike on its way.
The five-mile trip took fifteen minutes. After the first five, Cassidy relaxed enough to enjoy what was a glorious morning. A late-season cool front had brought what was sure to be the last dry air for months, leaving the sun to blaze diamond-bright in a sapphire sky.
All that, and Dominique was with her. If not for his amnesia, she would be the happiest girl on the planet.
“This does not look like an airport,” he observed after she had parked and they pulled off their helmets. When he squinted against the light, she handed him the wraparound sunglasses she wore and retrieved a more stylish secondary pair from her purse.
“Nope. It’s the Beach Tiki.” She pushed the glasses onto her nose. “It’s one of your favorite places to catch a bite,” she added, and grinned at her personal joke. The blood supply here was always varied and plentiful and often steeped in the relaxed hormones of vacationers who spent their days playing in the surf and their nights partying.
“Another breakfast?”
“If you want.” She paused a beat. He didn’t react. “Though I was thinking we might go for a walk.”
“To an airport?”
Her smile grew rueful. “In a way.”
On the beach, miles of sand stretched north and south, and to the east, blue-black waters foamed under a stiff wind. Only a handful of people dotted the sand, and the distance disappeared into the thick mists kicked up by the rolling waves.
Cassidy hunched her shoulders against the salty gusts, which were stronger than she had expected. Dominique didn’t appear to notice. As she knew he would, he became absorbed in the view of the churning water, his hands tucked into the pockets of his half-zipped jacket. With the wind in his raven hair and the sun on his chiseled features, plus the mirrored, futuristic sunglasses, he looked like something straight out of a glossy fashion magazine—even a movie star. Admiring eyes turned their way from the Beach Tiki’s back deck.
“This is nothing like Saint-Barthélemy.”
“I know,” she agreed, strolling away from the gawkers. “Tell me about it.”
Not that he could tell her anything she didn’t already know, but that wasn’t the point. He talked. Slowly at first, then more freely as he got lost in memories of the life she knew he mourned. The warmth of his island home, the peace, the love of family and friends. He spoke as though it were all still real, as though long-dead loved ones still lived. With every word, her sorrow grew, but she smiled and was glad for the oversize sunglasses hiding her eyes.
After a while, he asked about her past, and she told him about her life in Colorado, all the grief she had left behind there, and how some of it had followed her here in the guise of her father. Her father, who now lived in Fort Lauderdale, where he managed a string of car dealerships belonging to his latest wife, the widow of a friend—the friend Dominique had accidentally scared to death with his beast. That last bit, she didn’t mention.
“But you live very well now,” Dominique said when she fell silent. “Did you win the lottery?”
“You could say that. I fell in love.”
“Ah, of course.” He nodded. “Jackson.”
“What?”
“The man with his own plane. It makes sense. The house is his,non?” He gave her a long look. “As are you?”
She stopped, feeling hit over the head. “No. I’m nothis.Where would you get that idea?”
