told herself that as they flew the hundreds of miles to Miami, and she actually believed it by the time the plane touched down to pick up more passengers. But then they took off again and he made another bathroom trip, and the way he looked at her sparked the thought all over again.
Maybe he was telling the truth.
Maybe fate had orchestrated this chance meeting. Maybe they’d been thrown together so that their unspent lust for one another could be rekindled. At least her own would be rekindled. He hadn’t carried a torch for her back then, so his lusty fire would have just ignited at the sight of her. Maybe he’d realized what he’d been missing all these years and he would do any and everything to make it up to her.
Forget Mavoreen. Deanie was the seriously delusional one.
He was following her, checking up on her, plain and simple. Reason told her as much.
If only Rance didn’t keep stirring her doubt with his sexy-enough-to-be-a-sex-instructor grin.
Thankfully, the trip from Miami to Escapades Island was short. The Fasten Seat Belt light stayed on the entire time so Rance stayed in his seat. And Deanie managed to shake the whole attraction/fate theory.
“We have exactly twenty-two minutes before we take off for Eden,” the flight attendant announced once they’d rolled to a stop at the main gate at the Escapades airport. “Until then, everyone is free to move around the cabin.”
Uh, oh.
“This is where I get off,” Savannah declared as she gathered her purse and pushed to her feet. “Nice meeting you and happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Thanks. You know,” Deanie unfastened her seat belt and pushed to her feet, “I really need to stretch my legs. I’ll walk you out.” She followed Savannah down the aisle and up the terminal gate.
She wasn’t going to be a sitting duck for Rance and her own crazy fantasies.
And if he follows you?
She didn’t chance a glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t risking even more eye contact if he was following her. She said goodbye to Savannah once they reached the gate and headed into the small but busy terminal that serviced all flights to and from Escapades Island. She passed a newsstand and a bagel cart before she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
He was following her, all right, and she knew just how to prove it and kill the maybe’s once and for all.
An instructor?
“My aunt Fanny,” she muttered to herself as she picked up her steps and rounded a corner.
She pulled open a small door to her left and disappeared into the dark interior. Groping for the light switch, she held her hand in position and waited. A few seconds later, the doorknob trembled.
Metal hinges creaked and a shaft of light peaked into the dark interior. She inched to the left, deeper into the darkness and waited for the door to swing wider. The light grew brighter and a large, unmistakable form stepped inside.
3
“I KNEW IT!” She flipped on the switch and light flooded the small room. “You are following me.”
“I am not.” Rance frowned.
“Oh really? You’re standing in an airport storage closet.”
“So are you,” he retorted. “Maybe you’re the one following me.”
“Excuse me? I was here first,” she reminded him. “My brothers sent you here to spy on me, didn’t they?”
His mouth thinned as if he were about to deny it. “Actually, they sent me to talk some sense into you,” he finally said after a long moment.
She’d known the truth, but having it confirmed bothered her a lot more than she expected. Her chest tightened. She blinked against the sudden burning behind her eyes. “So all of that instructor stuff was just a bunch of BS?”
“They are always looking for qualified instructors according to their Web site.”
“But you’re not one of the chosen few.”
“I could be. If I wanted to be.”
“I should have known.” Hello? You did know.
She just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Deep down, she’d wanted to think that maybe Fate had finally smiled on her. Maybe all those years of dreaming hadn’t been wasted. Maybe it had just been poor timing.
And now the time was right and he’d followed her because he’d wanted to.
Wrong.
“Look, I’m sorry I lied to you, but it was for a good cause. Clay is worried about you and I promised him I would stick close and keep an eye out. I was afraid you would have walked off the plane back in San Antonio if I didn’t give you a convincing story.”
“I would have.”
“Which means it really was convincing.”
“Then.” She narrowed her gaze. “But now that I really think about it, I can see major holes.”
His mouth tightened into a frown. “It’s the tightest story I’ve ever heard.”
“Not really. I know you have a reputation back home, but it takes more than just a little backseat action to make a Camp E.D.E.N. instructor.”
“A little?” He arched an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, so a lot. But that’s small town stuff, which is always overexaggerated. Not to mention, that was years ago. You could have been celibate since then for all anyone knows. Which brings us to huge, gaping hole number one—you don’t have any solid references behind you.”
“I haven’t been celibate.”
“Says you.”
“And the press,” he reminded her.
“Everybody knows the media can blow things out of proportion. Last year Irma Sue Sinclair bought a push-up bra on a shopping trip to Austin. Two days later, the “About Town” column reported that she’d not only had her boobs done, but splurged on a tummy tuck and liposuction to boot.”
“That’s small-town gossip, not news.”
“You’re telling me that piece I saw on Inside Edition—the one with you eating a banana split off some centerfold’s belly—was news?”
“It was for charity.”
“It was for publicity. Look, I know you think you’ve maintained your reputation by ingesting all that whipped cream, but—”
“—and cherries.”
“—and cherries,” she added, ignoring the sudden vision that popped into her head of a very well-placed cherry and a certain tall, dark and handsome man trying to retrieve it with his mouth. “But just because you know your way around a seductive dessert, doesn’t make you an expert when it comes to sex.”
“Trust me.” His gaze glittered gold fire and she became acutely aware of the small size of the closet and his close proximity. “I’m fully qualified in that department.”
“That’s what you say. But talking the talk doesn’t make you a real expert. It takes moves. Skill. Action.” His frown deepened and she added, “If I were Camp E.D.E.N.’s owner, I would have only the most experienced instructors working for me. As a paying student, I expect a certain level of expertise.”
“And you don’t think I’ve reached that level?”
And then some. She shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. Camp E.D.E.N. needs teachers who can put their money where their mouth is… What