Exotic Nights

She narrowed her eyes, unsure of his meaning.

He lifted his hands, spread his fingers as he shrugged loosely. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re drunk. Far from it.’ His smile flashed, and it was all wicked. ‘But the more you drink, the duller your senses become and I wouldn’t want you to lose any sensation. Not tonight.’

‘I’m going to need my senses?’ She was mesmerised.

‘All of them.’

OK.

He inclined his head to the large bi-folding doors that opened out to the deck. A small jazz ensemble was playing. She hadn’t even noticed them set up. Too focused on her companion—the most casual customer in the place yet the one who commanded all her attention.

‘Dance with me.’ He stood. ‘We can see how well we move together. Make sure we’ve got it right for the big day tomorrow.’

Why did she take everything he said and think he was really meaning something else?

He grinned, seeming to understand her problem exactly, and silently telling her that she was absolutely right. He held out his hand.

For a split second she looked at it. The broad palm, the long fingers, the invitation. The instant she placed her hand on top, he locked it into his. There was no going back now.

They walked out the doors together, to the part of the deck by the band where people were dancing. The waves were gently washing the beach. The evening was warm and for Bella the night seemed to exude magic.

‘I like this old music,’ he muttered, curling one arm around her waist while holding her hand to his chest with the other. ‘Made for my kind of dancing.’

‘Your kind?’

‘Where you actually touch.’ His hand was wide and firm across the small of her back as he pulled her towards him, and she went to him because she couldn’t not. Because in reality she wanted to get closer still. Her head barely reached above his shoulders, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t focus much further than on the material right in front of her anyway, and on the inviting, warm strength beneath it.

His fingers feathered over her back, skin to skin. She trembled at the sensation, nearly stumbled with the need that rose deep within her. She masked the craziness of her response with some sarcasm. ‘I said yes to dancing, not having your hands up my shirt.’

‘I thought up your shirt might be quite good.’ His low reply in her ear made her need heighten to almost painful intensity.

Good was an understatement. He pressed her that little bit closer, so her breasts were only a millimetre from the hard wall that was his chest. Not quite close enough to touch, but she could almost, almost feel him and her nipples were tight.

She dragged in a burning breath. ‘Owen, I—’

‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Your family is watching.’

He danced her away from the others and into the farthest corner of the deck, where the darkness of night lurked, encroaching on the lights and loud conviviality of the restaurant. Gently he swayed them both to the languid music, talking to her in low tones, telling her just to dance with him. Was it one song, was it three, or five? Time seemed suspended. He muttered her name, his breath stirring her hair, then nothing. And as she moved to his lead she fell deeper into his web.

When the band took a break, she took a moment in the bathroom to try to recover her aplomb—cooling her wrists under the rush of water from the cold tap. She shouldn’t have had those shots. She’d barely drunk a drop since, but she felt giddy. And as she looked at her reflection—at her large eyes, and the heightened colour in her cheeks and lips—she knew she didn’t want to recover her aplomb at all. She wanted to follow this madness to its natural conclusion. Nothing else seemed to matter any more—nothing but being with Owen. Just for while she was on this fantasy island.

She stepped out of the bathroom and saw him straighten from where he’d been leaning against the wall, eyes trained on her door. She walked over to meet him, but her path was intercepted by Vita, her sister.

‘Bella, where have you been all night? More to the point, who is that guy you’re dancing with?’ Vita looked astounded.

‘Owen is an old friend.’

‘How old?’ The disbelief on her sister’s face was mortifying.

‘Well, not that old.’ Bella looked up to where he stood now looming large and close, right behind Vita, his eyes keen. She just kept slim control of her voice and the hysterical giggle out of it. ‘You were born what, about thirty years ago, weren’t you?’

‘Somewhere thereabouts.’ He took the last couple of steps so he stood beside her, circling his arm around her waist as naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Then he smiled at her, a glowing, deeply intimate smile that had Bella blinking as much as Vita. His fingers pressed her slightly closer to him and inside she shook. He held her even more firmly.

When he turned his head to Vita, the smile lost its intimacy but was no less potent. ‘You must be Bella’s sister, the beautiful bride. Congratulations.’

Vita blinked and took more than a second to recover her manners. ‘Thank you … er … Owen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow? You’re more than welcome.’