“I don’t want a massage,” she said, picking up her pace when he fell into step beside her.
“Okay.” He would have enjoyed giving her one, though. Her basic black bikini had double strings holding the sides together over her hips. One hard tug would be all it took to untie the strings and let the scraps of fabric pool around her ankles... “So tell me what you do want.”
5
WHATEVER GAME GRAY was playing, he needed to find a different playmate. Did he take the hint, though? Of course not. The man was impossibly used to getting his own way. He tucked his hands in those ridiculous white linen pants and sauntered along beside her. He had no business looking so good in those pants.
Then to add insult to injury, he’d asked what she wanted.
She wished she knew.
“We’re not having sex,” she said, ignoring the frisson of disappointment in her southern regions. Her body was used to not having sex of any kind on a regular basis.
He blinked, but otherwise showed no other reaction. He had gorgeous lashes, thick and dark, the kind of lush her girlfriends wielded a mascara brush to get and more proof that life wasn’t fair. Although, since she got to recover from her breakup on a tropical island, she was in no position to complain. Sitting on her couch mainlining Ben and Jerry’s wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fun.
“I didn’t realize sex was an option,” he said finally, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.
Great. Not only had she almost propositioned him yesterday and failed then, but she was failing now, as well. Hooking up should have been simple. She said: “Do you want to have sex?” And then he said “My place or yours?” or even just “Yes, please” and they did it and she had the orgasm she needed so desperately. Instead, one of them was screwing this up and it appeared to be her.
“I’m going back to my bungalow.” She needed flirting lessons. Or an intervention. Hookup time was over.
“Uh-huh. And where am I in this picture?” His shoulder brushed against hers.
“Not invited,” she snapped. Did he need her to draw him a map? She wanted to be alone. Alternatively, he could relocate to Antarctica and put her out of her misery. This was why dating a doctor had made so much sense. They both had crazy schedules and no time. If you wanted to have sex, you penciled it in on the calendar and there was no misunderstanding about what was happening and when.
Except that Harlan had misunderstood her, the unwelcome voice in her head said gleefully.
“Because I’d really like for sex to be an option,” he said in that deep voice of his. “I’d really, really like it.”
She jerked in a breath. And, of course, she had to look down so she could see exactly how much he liked it. Which was plenty, judging by the enormous ridge filling out the front of his pants, but he didn’t seem embarrassed by his predicament. He should have looked silly in those linen pants with a hard-on, but he was a big, tough, sexy guy...who was turned on by her.
“Tell me a fantasy,” he said gruffly, his gaze fierce.
She wasn’t a storyteller—she was a fish out of water. Expensive resorts weren’t really her thing, although she liked pretending she was a sophisticated world traveler who could handle whatever the island threw at her. But that was a game. In reality, she had no idea how things worked here. For instance, the poolside misting thing made no sense to her. Why would you want to lie around on a lounger and allow some random stranger to squirt you with Evian water when there was a perfectly good pool not three feet away? And fantasy sex was even more unfathomable.
“Laney.” How did he manage to make even her name sound so sexy? He stared at her, focused and intense. She had the sudden feeling that he could describe every piece of clothing she was wearing, the contents of her beach bag and how she’d done her hair. He didn’t miss anything. “Help me out here.”
She opened her mouth to say something. Surely it would have been witty or memorable. Something scintillating, if the vacation sex gods were smiling down on her. But before she could get the words out, he was helping himself. He backed her into a palm, his strong fingers tilting her face up toward his. So, okay. That worked for her.
“I’m going to kiss you soon.” His words were a statement of intent and not a request. Her body sure noticed the difference. She’d always avoided the dominant type, going for guys who were smart and polished. On their occasional free nights, Harlan had taken her to wine bars and dancing, to opera benefits and restaurant launches. Gray wasn’t taking her anywhere. Not only was he bossy and domineering, but he knew it, too, and he wasn’t making any excuses for it. She shouldn’t have been so turned on by it, but...she was.