in L.A. that she was attracted to him, especially after seeing that one picture. But she’d had no idea she’d want him this much.
Everything from his voice to the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled hit her where it counted. Yeah, it probably didn’t help that she hadn’t had sex since the Ice Age, but that wasn’t the only thing going on.
The problem was that she had no clue what to do. Should she just pounce on him? Get the booty out of the way up front, and hope the spark built? While it was a fine idea, she wasn’t sure she could do it. It wasn’t her style. Not that she had an actual style, but boinking after an hour and a half wasn’t close. So how long was long enough? Four hours? Five?
Of course, if she counted all the online time they’d shared, she’d actually known him a year, which by anyone’s standards was more than enough time.
It just didn’t feel like a year.
If they’d said the exact same words to each other over a computer, she’d have been relaxed and cool as a cucumber. In person, not so much.
She wanted that comfort level back, and something told her it wasn’t going to happen in bed. It needed to happen when they were talking, going about the day. Then the bedroom thing would happen naturally. At least, that was her present theory. She reserved the right to change her mind whenever.
She turned back around. He’d be here soon, bearing food and drink, which was good. More talk had to be a step in the right direction.
In the meantime, she could look at the gorgeous view. The ocean wasn’t very far away. She had no sense of distance or direction, so she couldn’t say exactly how far, just that she could walk it in about five minutes. Alex had scored them a table right on the edge of the deck. She could almost forget that every other table was occupied with couples. Couples who touched. A lot. Kissing was also high on the agenda, with groping tailing by a hair.
It made her discomfort with Alex more acute, and looking at the ocean the best alternative.
God, it was stunning. She’d only seen pictures, and none of those had even hinted at how it would feel to actually be on that white sand, to smell that orgasmic scent. Even the breeze was something new. Slightly moist, a little salty, it lifted her hair and skimmed every available bare spot.
It would feel luscious to be nude here. To feel it all over.
A shadow on the table made her jump, and she turned to find Alex with a tray. She removed plates, napkins, forks, drinks. Then he put the tray away and came to sit next to her.
“This looks incredible,” she said, pulling her plate close.
He grabbed one of his tacos and bit into it with gusto.
She grinned and took a bite of her own. When she’d swallowed, she said, “Ambrosial.”
He nodded, but was too busy eating to respond.
Which was just fine. Sitting in the warm air, listening to distant metal drums, feeling the breeze and eating fantastic fish tacos, she felt something inside downshift.
She might not jump him in the next ten minutes or so, but that whole four-hour wait was beginning to feel a mite excessive.
3
“OH, ALEX. IT’S…”
He grinned as he drove their cart to a clearing that overlooked their beach, one he’d scoped out before she’d gotten there. Her reaction was exactly how he’d pictured it. Better. Her hand had gone to her chest—flat palm just under the sweet spot on her neck. It was a nice hand. No jewelry. Her short nails were neat and painted the palest pink.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, scanning the magnificent vista.
“Wait till you see inside.”
She turned to him again. “You were thinking about relocating?”
“View now. Questions later.”
“Promise?” she said.
“There’s a phone but you don’t have to use it. There’s no TV. And I don’t think we can fill five whole days with scuba diving, so yeah. I promise.”
“I plan to be unbelievably intrusive. Rudely so,” she said.
“As long as we’re talking quid pro quo,” he said, thinking of all kinds of questions he’d like to ask her.
“Hmm.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked.
She put her hand on his arm. “You must stop that immediately.”
“What?”
“Asking me about the worst that can happen. I know it works for you. You say it, and in your head, the worst can’t possibly happen, because you’ve said the magic words. But they’re not magic for me. I do think about the worst, and I don’t just go for a quick visit. I linger. I buy new drapes.”
“Okay. Consider it done.” He’d never thought about that phrase, although he knew he used it often. For him, it was a pressure release. More of a saying than a practice. But clearly, for Meg it meant a lot more.
“Really?” she asked, her brows raising in surprise.
He nodded. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, and that’s the truth, too.”
She laughed.
“Now what?” he said.
“What I just said. What you just said.”
“That was funny?” Alex asked, sounding surprised.
“No. I don’t do that,” Meg stated.
“Talk?”
“No. Put it out there. Not until I know someone really well, and most of the time not even then. But we’ve been together for two hours, and I said what I meant. And,” she said, leaning toward him, widening those beautiful eyes, “nothing horrible happened.”
He looked at her so long he almost crashed into a palm tree. But once they were steady on the path again, he nodded. “You know what?”
“What?” she asked.
“This is gonna be interesting.”
THE BUNGALOW WAS something out of a dream. Thatched roof, wooden steps leading up to a balcony. The ocean as pure and clear as if it had just been made.
With the scented breeze nudging her hair, teasing her skin, she let Alex tackle her big suitcase while she grabbed her small one. Her sandals clicked on the boardwalk as she stared down into the water, watching a little something dart behind a slightly bigger something.
When she stepped up onto the balcony, she was torn between seeing what treats lay inside and just standing there breathless with wonder.
It was the brush of his hand on the small of her back that made her decision, and after a shiver of sheer happiness, she went the rest of the way inside.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
His chuckle, rumbling, deep, was the perfect first sound in this perfect paradise. Shiny, geometric patterns of wood made up the floor and the walls. The staircase to the loft was made of thicker wood, like flattened tree branches. Windows opened to the ocean, to the white sand.
Then there was the bed. It was right out of a Humphrey Bogart movie, complete with white mosquito netting and lush white pillows on top of an obscenely thick comforter. The couch, a rattan affair with thick blue cushions, looked inviting and comfy, and everything, everything smelled of the sea.
“You like?” he asked.
She turned. Alex stood with his arms across his chest, like the inventor of the wheel. His dark brows lifted and his teasing lips blossomed into a full-out, take-no-prisoners grin. She couldn’t grin any harder herself. Her cheeks