Cursing his weakness for Tara and his stupidity for craving her body and her company, he scanned the cabanas, beaches and tables. How hard could it be to find one curly-haired blonde on a small island with no roads and no exit other than the tender that had brought her over? Crescent Key had been named for its shape. KCL had posted different excursion sites in and around the island. If he followed the curve long enough he’d find Tara.
The hot sand seeped into his sandals and the sun toasted his bare back. He’d dressed in swim trunks—like a tourist—as camouflage, but it had been a long time since he’d been comfortable in such casual clothing. Five years, to be exact. He’d spent every day since leaving Miami trying to get Wayfarer Cruise Lines ahead of KCL.
Trying to beat Everett Kincaid at his own game.
A laugh stopped Rand in his tracks. Tara’s laugh. He pivoted and followed the sound around a tiki-hut bar and found her at an umbrella-covered table surrounded by a group of six guys. Twenty-somethings. Closer to her age than Rand’s thirty-five. Empty plates, beer bottles, drink cups and a couple of half-filled bowls of chips and salsa littered the picnic table.
The burn in his gut caught him off guard. Indigestion? Probably. He’d speak to the ship’s chef.
Or was he jealous? Couldn’t be. To be jealous he’d have to have feelings for Tara beyond the anger that festered inside him at her manipulativeness. Feelings beyond the respect for her work. Beyond lust for her body.
Her black bikini left her back almost completely bare.
“Tara.”
She startled at the bark of her name and twisted around on the bench seat. “Rand. Hi.”
Was that a guilty flush on her cheeks? Could she be auditioning potential lovers when she’d left his bed only hours ago?
He planted a hand on her shoulder and nodded to her male harem. “Gentlemen. Rand Kincaid. Kincaid Cruise Lines. I hope you don’t mind if I steal my assistant.”
It wasn’t a question.
He noted Tara’s widened eyes, and then one of the guys laughed and grinned at Tara. “You work for the cruise line? That explains all the questions.”
Tara’s shoulder shrugged beneath Rand’s hand. He looked down to see her nose—now sporting a fresh dusting of freckles—wrinkle. “Sorry for the secrecy. But it really is my first cruise, and I know very little about what’s out there. I appreciate you giving me your thoughts on the comparisons between KCL vacations and our competitors’.”
She tucked a pen into the spirals of a little pink notebook. Rand recalled Tara had always carried a notebook in her purse. She was a big fan of note taking. Had been even back when she’d worked for his father. A breeze ruffled the pages—pages filled with her small neat handwriting. Handwriting not formatted like addresses or phone numbers.
Working? She’d been working? Didn’t she realize each of these guys eyed her as if she were a tender and juicy filet mignon and they couldn’t wait to take a bite? And given the mouthwatering cl**vage he could see from his position above her, Rand couldn’t blame them.
She rose and gathered her belongings. He let his hand fall from her shoulder.
“I guess this means you’ll have to skip your first Jet Ski ride,” one of the guys said and scowled at Rand. “That sucks. She wanted to learn.”
Tara bit her lip, and disappointment flashed across her face. “I guess so. But I am supposed to be working. It was nice meeting you. Thanks again for your help.”
“Thanks for the drinks,” a blond guy replied. “Maybe we’ll see you at the luau tonight. Save a dance for me.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Joe.” Tara waved and looked questioningly at Rand.
He grasped her elbow and led her to the opposite side of the tiki hut from the devouring eyes of her fan club. “You were working?”
“Yes, and I have some really good info for you. But why did you blow your cover?”
Good question. He didn’t like the answer. He had been jealous. Dammit. More fool him. “You’ve never ridden a Jet Ski?”
“No.”
A smart man would head back to the ship and put some clothes on the woman. His gaze raked over her lightly tanned skin, savoring the swell of her br**sts in the bikini top, the curve of her waist and the dip of her navel above a tiny skirted bottom. And then there were her legs.
The rush of blood to his groin annoyed the hell out of him. He grabbed her hand and towed her behind him. “Let’s go.”
“The boat’s the other way.”
“Ship,” he corrected automatically. “But the Jet Skis are this way.”
“But—”
“You want lessons. You’ll get lessons. From me.” And he’d be damned if she’d be dancing with the frat boy later.
Eight
T he hard thighs clamped around Tara’s and the firm hands grasping her ribs just below her br**sts should have made her feel relaxed and comfortable. But they had the opposite effect.
She held her breath as the Jet Ski shot over the crest of a wave and splashed down again. Exhilaration made her pulse race, intensifying her other senses to the tang of salt on her lips, the warmth of the sun on her skin and the tease of wind in her hair. The vibration of the machine beneath her and the feel of the man behind her made her…well, hot in a way that the sea water spraying over her skin couldn’t cool.A horn sounded, signaling the end of their hour on the personal watercraft. Disappointment sagged through her. She wasn’t ready to go in, wasn’t ready to share the man or the machine with other people on the tiny island or go back to work. She could happily ride for hours longer in the aquamarine-blue water with Rand’s arms and legs wrapped around her.
As if he sensed her reluctance to return Rand transferred his hands from her torso to flank hers on the handlebars. She instantly missed the heat of his palms. He throttled them down and made a wide U-turn toward shore. She couldn’t believe he’d let her drive, but he’d insisted she learn.
She leaned back against him to catch her breath. Despite the life jackets separating their bodies, she couldn’t be more conscious of every hard, muscular inch of him behind her and the strong arms bracketing her.
“That was fun,” she shouted over the engine’s rumble as she tilted her head back onto his shoulder. “And we survived without Jaws coming up to eat us.”
“You’re not out of the water yet,” Rand growled in her ear, then sank his teeth into her neck in a love bite.
She squealed and squirmed then twisted on the wide, cushioned seat she straddled to look at Rand. The wicked grin on his tanned face made her breath hitch and her heart squeeze.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The one who played as hard as he worked.
Her laughter died and her smile wobbled. “Thank you. That was great.”
His smile faded and tension invaded his features. Her reflection stared back at her from his mirrored sunglasses, but she’d bet if she could see his eyes, she’d see the barriers drop back in place, as well. “You’re welcome.”
He guided the craft into the cove, where they would be anchored for the next group, and fell in line behind a dozen other riders.
She faced forward again and burrowed deeper into the arms surrounding her. “But you really blew your cover when you flashed your KCL ID and commandeered a ride when you weren’t registered for the excursion.”
He shrugged against her back. “The attendant probably won’t talk to anyone on the ship, but it doesn’t matter if he does. I’ve seen what I needed to see.”
Her breath snagged. Did that mean they’d leave the cruise early? She didn’t want to fly back to Miami from Nassau tomorrow. She wasn’t ready. She wanted her three nights. “Like what?”
“That’s strictly need-to-know information.”
She bristled. “We’re a team. You said so.”
“And KCL is an information sieve.”
“I’m not part of the gossip mill. I never was.”
An employee came forward to anchor their ride, temporarily stilling her protest. Rand climbed off and waded toward shore. Tara followed, collected her beach bag and towel and stomped after him. He led her to the closest bar and bought a couple of bottles of water using his cruise ID/charge card/room key.
Glancing longingly at an unoccupied hammock as they passed, Tara followed him toward an empty pair of lounge chairs tucked beneath a shade tree. She dumped her stuff beside the chair and sat. Maybe she could nap in a hammock later. The ship wouldn’t sail until after tonight’s luau. They had hours left on the island. Unless Rand had a helicopter swoop in and take them home. She knew Everett had sometimes done that because she’d arranged the flights.
She accepted the bottle he offered. “Rand, how can I help you if you keep me out of the loop?”
He glanced pointedly at the guests in nearby chairs. “You can help by remembering this is a confidential investigation.”
His abrupt tone made her hackles rise. She gritted her teeth and sipped her water. Trust. It all went back to trust—or the lack thereof. She hadn’t earned his. Yet. But she would.
She set her water aside and dug a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag. She’d been good about slathering it on, but her fair skin could only handle so much sun and most of the excursion activities were held out in the open. The cloudless cerulean skies might be good for business, but not for her pale complexion. Rand, on the other hand, had already darkened several shades.
The urge to press herself against his warm, tanned skin gnawed at her. “I don’t suppose I can talk you in to hula lessons later?”
“If you insist.” No smile accompanied his words. The fun, playful guy had vanished. Rand set his water on the table between them and rose. He snatched the lotion bottle out of her hands and made a circular motion with one finger. Tara turned her back. A shiver she couldn’t suppress rippled over her in anticipation of his hands on her skin.
Rand straddled the chaise behind her. His legs flanked hers as they had on the Jet Ski, but this time without touching. She regretted the scant distance.
She heard the snick of the cap, smelled the coconut-scented sunscreen and then his hands settled on her shoulders. The lotion was cool, but his hands quickly warmed the cream and her as he slicked it over her back, arms and shoulders.
His fingers dipped beneath the edge of her bikini bottom just above her buttocks and her breath stalled then quickened. He dragged a finger along the elastic. “You’re burning here.”
Her br**sts tightened and her core heated. She considered leaning back against his chest so he could reach her front, but the other sun-worshippers were too close. Instead, she gave in to the temptation to stroke his hot sun-baked, bare thighs. The wiry hairs tickled her palms and his muscles turned rock-hard beneath her hands.
He caught her wrists and returned her hands to her lap, then dropped the sunscreen bottle between her legs. Disappointment slid through her.
“You can do the rest.” His voice sounded huskier than usual.
She twisted to look at his face, but he rose and stalked back to his chair. He was always putting distance between them. However, the ridge in his trunks as he eased onto the lounger told her what she needed to know. Touching her hadn’t left him unaffected. Good.