Tropical Wounded Wolf (Shifting Sands Resort 2)

Neal couldn’t let her leave like that, and caught her after only a few steps for a passionate kiss. The blouse that had been barely staying together slipped off one shoulder at last. Her mouth was hungry under his, salty and tantalizing. Neal kissed her mouth and down her neck to that deliciously tempting bare shoulder, then went back to her lips for one final kiss before setting her back from him firmly.

“Later, then,” he agreed, and he walked away with a rare smile at his mouth.

That was a proper goodbye.

Chapter Thirteen

Mary got to the bar just before last call.

There were only a few guests left—a determinedly drunk elderly man with a thick Russian accent, and a cold blonde in high heels and little else. They both took Neal’s last call as gospel and grumbled back to their cottages after downing unusual choices (he had something with an umbrella, and she had a vodka, straight). Spanish music played quietly from a tinny stereo behind the bar.

Mary took a shy seat at the counter.

“I just have to wash up a few glasses and wipe down the tables,” Neal said.

“It’s no problem,” Mary said, and it occurred to her that for the first time, his explanation had sounded more like a statement than an apology. She smiled, and the memory of his goodbye kiss made her squirm on her stool.

It was certainly no hardship watching him clear up. He scrubbed the tables with more vigor than skill, and the resort issue khaki shorts and polo shirt did nothing to hide the incredible physique beneath. Mary caught herself staring at his ass as he bent over to scrub a stubborn spot, and had to look away before he turned back, blushing like a schoolgirl.

He toweled off the last clean glasses and put them away before he turned off the radio and flipped off the bar lights, plunging them into relative darkness.

Mary gave a little squeak of fear. “It’s dark,” she said, as he came around the bar to her. In the darkn

ess, he was a little frightening, big and looming and featureless.

“I’ll protect you,” he offered, and his voice reassured her.

“I’d like that,” Mary breathed.

Then he was gathering her into his arms for a kiss in greeting, and it was every bit as breathtaking as his goodbye kiss had been.

“It’s starting to rain,” she said, when she could again. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness.

“Are you made of sugar?” Neal teased her.

Mary laughed. “No, but I am a little cold!”

“The pool is warm,” Neal suggested.

“I didn’t wear my swimsuit!” Mary protested.

“The resort is clothing optional,” Neal pointed out. “Besides, I’m sure your underwear is less revealing than most of the bikinis I’ve seen here.”

Mary sputtered. “Oh, I couldn’t… it’s… I could never…”

“Never say never,” Neal persuaded.

Mary found herself drawn to the steps into the pool, flanked by the waterfalls. Running water and insects were the only sound outside of her own heartbeat that she could hear; the resort was otherwise quiet, and anyone sensible was tucked into their beds, safe from the drizzling rain.

She let Neal pull off her shirt, enjoying the sharp intake he gave at the sight of her lacy bra, holding her breasts snugly. She shimmied out of her own shorts, while Neal shed his own clothing down to briefs that did nothing to hide the impressive bulge of his cock.

“Sure you want me to stop?” he asked, putting a finger into his waistband teasingly.

Mary was quite sure she didn’t, but she wasn’t ready to admit that. “This is a terrible idea,” she said, giggling like a misbehaving child. They crept down the grand steps to the water, and Neal pulled her down into the pool before she could balk.

Compared to the chilly night air and cool rain, the pool was warm and welcoming, and it glowed with blue orbs of lights underneath the surface. The effect as a whole was eerie and alien, and Mary felt deliciously not herself. Neal’s hand was firm in her own and when he tugged her closer, she glided to him willingly.

Her legs tangled around him and she pulled him close to kiss, unwittingly nearly dragging them under as they forgot about treading water in the passion of the moment.