“Thank you,” he said, instead. Because it turned out that was what he meant.
He felt her smile against his skin. “You’re one hell of a rebound guy.”
Ouch. So maybe he wasn’t so amazing, after all. Maybe he was just fantasy fodder, the guy who could bring her dreams to life temporarily. Feeling hurt was stupid. He should let it go.
“Who was he?” Nope. Apparently, he was holding on with both hands.
“Who was who?” Her drowsy mumble wasn’t encouraging. Laney was clearly no night owl. He had no idea how she’d made it through med school—likely on sheer determination. That fit the Laney he was coming to know.
“The first guy.”
He waited for her to say something. Her fingers played with his dog tags, brushing against his skin. The pale band of skin he’d noticed on her ring finger during their first massage was getting steadily harder to see as the Caribbean sun turned her skin a rich golden brown.
“Harlan was my fiancé,” she said finally.
“Past tense?” Had to be, though. She wasn’t the kind of woman to cheat, and she’d come to Fantasy Island minus a ring.
“This was supposed to be our honeymoon.” Her voice sounded wistful. “He cheated on me. I caught him with a nurse, having sex on a gurney. Guess he had fantasies of his own.”
White-hot fury lashed through him. He could make a few calls, round up a SEAL unit to go after Harlan. Instead, he tightened his arm carefully around her. “He’s an idiot.”
“I know that. Now.” Amusement colored her voice. “And truly, it was better to find out before we got married. It’s just—”
He wasn’t good at this talking thing. He was probably supposed to make sympathetic noises or curse the guy out. Instead, he petted her hair, smoothing his hand over strands that were even silkier than the ties he’d used to bind her in place. Little pieces stuck up, tickling his nose when he leaned down.
“But what?” He made a sound, low and rough, but it wasn’t right, either. He sounded as if he had a mutant-sized frog in his throat. She didn’t seem to mind, though, because she kept right on talking.
“But apparently, I wasn’t his fantasy. I just wasn’t...enough. Or right. He didn’t even give me the chance. I thought we were friends and partners, as well as lovers. And I had that wrong, too.”
“You’re right for me.” He waited for the urge to leave to hit him, but it was AWOL. Still, he didn’t have a damn clue what he was doing here. Pleasing her body, bringing her to orgasm—those were things he was good at. He also knew how to write a rent check and pay the electric, but otherwise he was a relationship virgin. If she wanted anything more from him, she’d got the wrong man.
* * *
GRAY’S HEART BEAT out a rock-steady rhythm beneath her cheek. She figured he’d face down any number of crises with the same calm. For a moment she let her imagination place him in various ridiculous scenarios. Stampeding elephants, a zombie invasion, the Colombian Navy storming the beach on Fantasy Island...
It was easier than imagining this thing they had going anywhere further than bed. She had no complaints about their chemistry. The sex had been amazing and erotic and also scary as hell because he hadn’t let her hold anything back. She’d been open to him in every way possible and open meant vulnerable. And that vulnerability definitely meant she should stop asking him questions. Eventually, she’d get an answer she didn’t like because he clearly wasn’t into sharing how he felt. Possibly because he didn’t feel anything remotely Hallmark-like for her. They’d had hot vacation sex, and she shouldn’t overthink things.
And yet...
Yeah. She was doing a lot of thinking.
She wanted to get to know him. Not just his body or what got him off. She already recognized the way his breathing got harsher and faster when he was close to coming, the way he fisted the sheets and the hungry edge to the way he touched her. He drove her crazy, turned her on and gave her the best sex of her life. She’d be an idiot to complain about that.
On the other hand, she was feeling emotionally bare and she hated that. She shifted his dog tags through her fingers, turning the metal so she could read it in the dim light. JACKSON GRAY R. A blank line and then his social security number and blood type. NORELPREF. Somehow, the lack of information didn’t surprise her.
“What’s the R for?”
He tugged lightly on her hair. “Would you believe Radcliff?”
“It doesn’t sound as if I should.”
“Rafe? Remus? Rochester?”
“Be serious. Is your middle name really a national secret?”