The Trouble With Paradise

Close enough so she could see that although his mouth wasn’t smiling, his eyes were, a phenomenon that did something to her, something that definitely hadn’t happened when Andy had smiled at her, or any of the other men.

Not that she wanted to think about what that meant.

“One thing,” he said, lifting a hand to the wood above her head, then leaned in even closer. His long, lean, rangy form surrounded her now, his every exhale brushing the hair at her temple. He had a scar that bisected his left eyebrow, and her finger inexplicably itched to touch it.

He apparently itched to touch, too, because he stroked a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

“What?” she asked, sounding as if she’d just run a mile. Uphill, in the snow.

“The Meet and Greet is in the salon.” His gaze dropped over her body before meeting hers. “You might want to change one more time before you go.”

“What?” Was that her voice, all soft and whispery and very Marilyn Monroe-like? It couldn’t be. She cleared her throat. “Why?”

“Because if you’re going to go commando, Cherie, you need a thicker skirt. Something not quite so… sheer.”

Oh, God. She felt her mouth fall open, felt the heat once again claim her face. He could see through her skirt. “Um-”

A hint of a smile bloomed into a full-blown one, and holy cow. If she’d been attracted to him, the pure heat from that smile, the heat that said he knew exactly how to make a woman melt into a boneless heap at his feet, might have knocked her right off her feet. Good thing she wasn’t attracted to him. Much. “Um-”

“You say that a lot.” He shifted just a little closer. “Do I make you nervous, Dorie?”

She managed to snap her mouth shut. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He didn’t make her nervous. Not compared to, say, every other man on this yacht. At least with him, she could swallow past her own tongue!

But he did make her… frustrated. Annoyed.

Hot.

As if he knew, he laughed softly and stroked a finger over one of her burning ears.

And just like that, her nipples got happy. Her thighs trembled. What was happening here? Besides a train wreck waiting to happen. “Good-bye, Doctor.”

His lips quirked. “Good-bye, Dorie.” He turned to the door, then turned back. “You know, you didn’t strike me as the commando type.”

“Maybe it’s laundry day.”

“On the first day of your vacation?”

She caved like a cheap suitcase. “I wasn’t finished changing.”

“Ah.” The look he gave her was smug, as if he knew her, knew her type.

“Hey, maybe I go without all the time.”

He full out grinned. “Do you?”

He didn’t believe her, and she pretended not to care. “Yes.”

At that, he laughed, and after he left, she didn’t move for a long breath. She was being cool. Cool as a cucumber. That only lasted so long; after a minute, when she was sure he wasn’t coming back, she raced to her suitcase and pulled on a slip.

But not underwear, damn it. No way. She had a point to prove.

And a life to start living.

A new application of lip gloss and one self pep talk later, Dorie limped her way out of her stateroom. Out of necessity, she wore flip-flops instead of the heeled sandals, but was still commando. Climbing up a spiral staircase, she found herself at the bow of the ship, all by herself, looking at the last sliver of sun as it sank beneath the horizon.

Very by herself.

Leaning against the railing, into the wind, giving herself a little Titanic moment, she wondered at the odd sense of loneliness. Probably if she had Leo DiCaprio standing behind her, she wouldn’t feel so alone.

Actually, it didn’t have to be Leo. She’d have settled for Baseball Cutie Andy. She bet he never made a fool out of himself in front of a woman. He was always sweet, kind, and loyal. She let herself go with the fantasy for a moment but since her tongue swelled in his presence, she had to be real. Tongue swelling could really pose a problem on, say, their honeymoon.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement. Unbelievably, Andy stood there, hands in the pockets of his very expensive linen pants, his equally expensive shirt billowing in the wind. Catching her eye, he smiled, and right on cue, her tongue began to swell.

Damn.

“Hey,” he drawled, his eyes filled with an easy-going good humor and a huge dose of dazzling sex appeal. “How about it. You ready?”

Ready? If he meant for that Titanic moment she’d just been fantasizing about, where she would face the setting sun and spread her arms and let him support her from behind as they sailed off into the sunset, then you betcha.

Maybe they’d go to his room, where he’d slowly strip her out of her clothes, or maybe not so slowly. He’d ravish her, giving her what she hadn’t gotten in way too long…

“It’s already started.”

Yep, her engine was started, too.

“There’s food.”

“Food?” Was she missing something, because-

“Looks amazing. They went all out for the Meet and Greet.”

“Oh.” Yes, definitely missing something. Her brain. “The Meet and Greet.”

He cocked his head. “What did you think I was talking about?”

Wild sex. “Nothing.” Best not to respond, she decided. Instead, she turned and tipped her face up and studied the spectacular puffy cumulus clouds chasing after the nearly gone sun-

Andy pulled her around to face him. “Did you think I meant something… sexual?”

Oh, God. Why couldn’t he just ignore her? She closed her eyes. “Listen, I’m-” Stupid. Socially challenged. Inept. Pick one. “Really in need of food, apparently.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Women often get all tongue-tied around celebrities. It’s okay, I’m just human.”

Well, human was good. She hadn’t understood that he was a celebrity, but she couldn’t mention that because he’d just put his hands on her hips and was looking the part of the Baseball Stud, and he stepped even closer, and then her heart was attempting a half gainer right out of her chest. She closed her eyes to enjoy the moment, but her tongue filled her entire mouth. If he kissed her now, she’d suffocate. So would he. She’d go to jail for accidentally causing the death of a national treasure. “Andy, I-” She opened her eyes, startled to see that someone had just come up on the deck as well, and was standing right behind Andy.

Dr. Christian Montague.

Tall, Dark, and French Attitude arched a brow, managing to convey buckets of cynicism in that one small gesture. So who was misunderstanding who? his sarcastic gaze asked.

“Excuse me,” she said, pulling free of Andy. “But I really think I need that food. Now.” She walked-limped-past both men, hoping she still had a shred of dignity left.

Andy followed right behind her. “I thought it was your right ankle,” he said in that slow, southern voice that was just dreamy enough to make her sigh.

“It is.” She didn’t look to see if Christian followed her as well.

“But you’re hobbling on both legs,” Andy said.

Damn splinter! “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very! Listen, tell me there’s chocolate at this event.”