Separate Cabins

’t have to see them. She knew what he was imagining because she could visualize the scene, too, and the sensation of his hands moving over her whole body, not just her arm. A churning started in the pit of her stomach and swirled outward.

“But I knew if I touched you”—his gaze flicked to her eyes and looked deeply inside their black orifices—“I wouldn’t be able to stop. Instead I had to lie there and pretend it didn’t faze me to watch you spread oil all over your skin.”

She dropped her gaze, unwilling to comment. It was disturbing to look back on the scene yesterday on the beach and know what he was thinking and feeling at the time.

“And I’ve made you angry this morning,” Gard continued on a firmer note. “I never claimed to be without flaws, but damnit, I want to spend the day with you. Do you want to spend the day with me? And answer me honestly.”

When she met his gaze, she had the feeling she was a hostile witness being cross-examined by a ruthless attorney and sworn to an oath of truth. Discounting all her petty resentments, Rachel knew what her answer was.

“Yes.” She reluctantly forced it out. “Do you always ask such leading questions?”

Some of the hardness went out of his features with the easing of an inner tension. There was even the glint of a smile around his eyes.

“A good lawyer will always lead the conversation in the direction he wants it to go, whether in contract negotiations or court testimony,” he admitted. “Unfortunately you objected to the way I was leading.”

“But my objection was eventually overruled,” Rachel murmured, relenting now that the outcome was known and she had a clearer understanding of why it had happened.

“And you aren’t going to appeal the decision?” His mouth quirked.

“Would you listen?” Her voice was falling to a whisper. She wasn’t even sure if she knew what they were talking about as his mouth came closer and closer.

It brushed over her tender lips, gently at first, then with increasing warmth until he was sensually absorbing them. His tongue traced their swollen outline and licked away the soreness. Rachel twisted in the seat and arched closer to him, sliding her hands around his neck and spreading her fingers into his hair.

The quarters of the car were too restricting, forcing positions that were too awkward. Breathing heavily, Gard pulled away from her to sit back in the seat. He sent her a dryly amused look.

“It’s impossible but every time I get into this with you, the surroundings go from bad to worse,” he declared. “Last time it was the dubious comfort of a single bed. Now it’s a car seat.”

Her laughter was soft; the fire he had ignited was still glowing warm inside her. As he started the car’s motor she settled into her own seat.

“You never did tell me where we’re going,” she reminded him after he had pulled onto the road again.

“Believe it or not”—he turned his head to slide her a look—“I’m taking you to paradise.”

“Promises, promises,” Rachel teased with a mock sigh.

“You’ll see,” Gard murmured complacently.

When she looked out the window, she was amazed to notice how clear and bright the sky was. The steep mountains were verdantly green and lush. Below, the ocean rolled against them in blue waves capped with white foam. Afterward her gaze was drawn back to a silent study of Gard. There were flaws, but none that really mattered.

Chapter Eight

They followed the paved road for several more twisting miles before Gard turned onto a short dirt road that led to a parking lot. Rachel read the sign, proclaiming the place as Chico’s Paradise.

“I told you I was taking you to paradise,” he reminded her as he braked the car to a stop alongside another.

“What is it?” Rachel climbed out of the parked car. The ground seemed to fall away in front of it, but she could see the roof of a building below . . . several buildings loosely connected, as it turned out. “A restaurant?”

“Among other things,” Gard said, being deliberately close-mouthed when he joined her.

Absently Rachel noticed that he was carrying her beach bag, but since they were high in the mountains and some distance from the ocean, she presumed he had brought it rather than leave it in the car where it might possibly be stolen. The lush foliage grew densely around the entrance path, leading down to the buildings. It was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast.

Gard took her hand and led the way. The first adobe building they passed housed a gift and souvenir shop. Then the path widened into a small courtyard with a fountain and a statue of a naked boy. To the right a woman was making flour tortillas in an open shed area.

It appeared to Rachel that the path dead-ended into an open-air restaurant, but Gard led her through it to a series of stone steps that went down. There was a tangling riot of red bushes that looked to be some relation to the poinciana.

A second later she caught the sound of tumbling, rushing water. She looked in the direction of it. Through the flame-red leaves she saw the cascading waterfall tumbling over stone beds and creating varying levels of rock pools. When she turned her widened eyes to Gard, he was smiling.

“I told you I was taking you to paradise,” he murmured softly and offered her the beach bag. “The changing rooms are down here if you want to slip into your swimsuit.”