he’d back her up right to the ladder. She reached out for the closest rung, when Phillip grabbed her wrist. Steph yanked it away
and turned on him, livid and ready for war. He was close enough
that she could see the sweat glistening on his new tattoo.
“Don’t—”she started, but his hand was in her hair, and with
a rough tug, he pulled her face up to his. His eyes held her captive, and she tried to pull away from him, but he shook his head and tightened his grip near the nape of her neck. As his face
inched toward hers, alarms clanged in her mind. She tried to tell him to stop, but her voice box seemed to be out of order. She
sucked in a breath as she felt his other hand grasp her cheek pos-sessively. His mouth claimed hers and slowly grazed, teasing
and taunting her. Finally, his lips rested firmly in place, and he nibbled her bottom lip.
“Phillip.” His name was all she managed before her hands
raked through his hair pulling his mouth down hard onto hers.
She felt her body slam back into the warm steel of the ladder as his tongue forced its way between her teeth, lapping at hers. She 95
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
pressed back into him, standing up on her tip toes. She needed to get closer to him somehow, aching to close any infinitesimal distance still existing between them. She’d missed his salty taste so badly it hurt. His hands were on her ass, and he effortlessly lifted her off her feet. She cinched her legs instinctively around his
waist. His hand released its vice like grip on her hair and tugged on the string at her neck. The pink material of her bikini fell
away and she felt his fingertips—calloused from hours of play-
ing guitar—gently pinch her nipple. Phillip growled, and the vi-
brations of it sent a shockwave of desire shooting throughout her entire body. That growl of his always did her in. He used to
growl like that in her ear when they were out in public, and she’d instantly be wet and ready to go.
Steph clung to him, desperate to have him inside her. She
feverishly ground against him, and her arousal spiked as she felt his hand slip into the back of her bikini bottom and squeeze her ass. She moaned desperately against his tongue.
Suddenly she felt him remove his hands from her. His
mouth vanished from hers, and he was pushing her thighs
downward off of him. Steph stumbled, nearly falling to the sand.
She blinked slowly, dazed by the sudden disconnect. Gasping for
breath and shaking violently, she searched his face for an explanation. His features were rigid and emotionless. He stepped back from her and cocked his head to one side.
“Now do you remember why you got mixed up with me?”
He turned and swept his sunglasses up off of the ground. Then
he vanished through the opening of the crevasse.
Steph felt her knees give way, and she slid down the wall.
Lust and anger overwhelmed her. She was too confused by their
interaction to know whether to scream or burst into tears. The
sound of voices from above snapped her out of her dazed state,
and she scrambled to get her top tied just in time to see an old woman in flip flops and a muumuu appear on the ladder.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you ready to come up?” Madame
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RAGE
Muumuu called down to her.
“Yeah.” She heard the trembling in her voice and hated
Phillip for it. She snatched up her backpack.
“Come on up. I’ll wait!” the woman replied. Stephanie
fiercely stepped forward. She discovered she wasn’t afraid to
climb the ladder anymore. What had seemed like a dangerous
proposition before was now a welcome escape.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Steph waved to Cheyenne as the boat chugged away from
the beach. Though she couldn’t see her face from her vantage
point on the cliff, she knew Cheyenne was wearing a worried
scowl and probably popping a piece of nicotine gum in her
mouth. Steph had called her ten minutes before to say she was
staying behind for more photos and would find her way back to
the hotel. It wasn’t completely a lie; she did need more time at the beach. Mostly the thought of even looking at Phillip was un-bearable.
Cheyenne had started asking questions (damn journalists
and their inquiring minds), but Steph had cut her off.
“Just leave it alone, Cheyenne.”
“Steph. What the hell is going on?”
“I need some time alone.”
She’d spent an hour photographing the beach and kicking
herself for being such a little tramp. Her lips felt swollen and bruised from the intensity of their kisses. Remembering the ferocious way they used to greet each when they were still together, she felt like someone was squeezing her heart.
Desperate to get her mind off of Phillip, she joined
MuuMuu Mamma and her ancient husband Jorge on a trail hike
over to the next beach, Baia dos Porcos. MuuMuu was kind
enough to lend her a wide brimmed hat so that she wouldn’t end
up looking like a rock lobster by the end of the afternoon. She
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phoned her pousada and left a message at the desk for Cheyenne
that she’d be back later that night. That was when she decided to turn off her sat phone. She could not have a discussion with
Christopher—not right now. The guilt of her actions with Phillip and the way in which she’d willingly thrown caution to the wind
was eating at her. She kicked herself, waffling between feelings of shame and confusion. She simply wanted to put the entire
matter out of her head. What she really needed was retail therapy and a healthy serving of booze. She had absolutely no desire to
see or speak to anyone that reminded her of Phillip, which in-
cluded all of Fury and Cheyenne by association.
After two hours at the second beach, she’d exhausted her
supply of sunscreen and insect repellant. She was convinced this beach was the more beautiful of the two. The dramatic rock formations were far more stunning, and its rough, natural rugged-
ness appealed more to her then the traditional white sands of the
