Page 19 of Tropical Inferno

“Huh?” He wasn’t sure what she meant.

“You promised me Garrett is your real name, but it’s not Garrett Raven, so who am I having sex with tonight? Garrett Raven, who doesn’t exist, or Garrett X, who’s supposedly a jerk that’s going to hurt me.”

He swallowed, letting his fingers trail down her face and onto her shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to say because there was no easy answer to that. Garrett Raven didn’t exist—it was a name he used so people couldn’t find him when he stayed at hotels—but Hawk Hawkins meant nothing to her. “I’m just Garrett,” he whispered. “Who I am the rest of the time doesn’t matter for two more days.”

“Why won’t you tell me? Whatever you did, I won’t judge you. It won’t change anything.”

He laughed but it was without humor. “Honey, what if I told you I’d killed someone? What if I said that in a fit of rage, I stabbed my stepfather and the police were looking for me. How would you feel?”

“I wouldn’t believe it,” she responded automatically. “I don’t know what kind of man you are to the outside world, but I already know who you are in here.” She touched his chest. “The man who threw himself on top of a stranger while bullets were flying isn’t a cold-blooded killer. The man who offered to leave his super expensive room because the broke woman he so kindly offered to share it with was uncomfortable doesn’t have an ugly soul. The tattooed man with a mohawk who understands why a secretary from Toronto needs to compete in a triathlon isn’t evil. That guy isn’t my Garrett. I don’t believe it—I won’t.”

He closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms, willing himself not to let his beautiful sea nymph dig her way from under his skin—where she was already firmly settled—and work her way straight into his heart. “Baby, if circumstances were different, I’d take you home with me and never let you go.”

“Where’s home?” she whispered against his ear. “Tell me where you’d take me.”

“One of my homes is in L.A.,” he whispered back. “I don’t live in it right now because, like I told you, I’m in limbo, but I own it. It’s rented until June, and then they’re moving, so that’s where we’d go. You’d love L.A. It’s near the beach and we could swim every morning, bike in the afternoons and run late in the day when it’s not so hot. I’d make love to you on my California king with all the windows open, moving inside of you in time to the waves crashing onto the shore. We’d run marathons together and invite friends over for dinner on the wrap-around deck. Then I’d give you two perfect little baby mechanics to take care of for me while I was out making a living, but I’d come home and love all three of you so hard you’d forget about the times I had to be away for work.”

10

She stared up at him in awe, her eyes wide and a little watery. She traced a finger along his perfectly chiseled chin and up around his cheekbones. She let her hand linger on his face, never breaking his gaze, as she studied his full lips and the faint stubble that had started to grow in. Without a word, she rose to her knees and straddled him, lifting her dress so it floated around their legs. He let one hand drift around to cup her backside but he was otherwise still, watching her movements as she touched every inch of his face, his throat, the side of his head. She used her fingernails to scrape against the grain of the closely cropped hair along both sides, so the short pieces brushed against the pads of her fingers. It was soft and she couldn’t resist moving up to the long hair that went down the middle of his skull. This piece was long, probably four or five inches, and he’d slicked it back tonight so that it looked almost like a regular haircut.

She dug her fingers in it, rubbing until the gel he’d used gave up its hold and a piece fell over his forehead. Then she lowered her face to his and kissed him. When he tried to move she shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “Let me love you. Let me love you so hard you forget about what terrible thing you did and only remember Garrett—my Garrett.”

He moaned as he let his head fall back. She was trailing her lips across his Adam’s apple, lightly nipping the skin at his throat, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt. She paused, needing to focus on the buttonholes so she could get to that wonderful skin beneath. Finally, his shirt was open and she placed her palm on his warm, rippled stomach. Without thinking, she bent her head so she could run her lips across it. She let her tongue glide across his skin, the salty taste making her want more.

“Baby…” His voice was hoarse with longing, the erection tenting his slacks belying his reluctance to let her stay in control.

“Not yet.” She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and indulged in the first fantasy she’d had about him: Exploring every one of his tattoos with her tongue. She wanted to—needed to—and wouldn’t stop until she had. “How many are there?”

“Tats?” he looked surprised. “Uh, seventeen?”

She laughed. “You don’t know?”

“There’s a few so I stopped counting.”

“Where are the ones I can’t see?”

“Won’t it be more fun for you to discover them on your own?”

She smiled. “Get undressed.”

He smiled back and gently pushed her off to the side so he could slide off his slacks. Standing there in his boxers, he held out his hand to her. “The first time isn’t going to be on the couch.”

She got to her feet and he hauled her against his chest.

“Take off the dress,” he whispered.

“I’m supposed to be in charge,” she whispered back.

“You are. But if I have to be in my undies, so do you.”

She flushed but slowly pulled the dress up over her head. He took it from her and paused to hold it against his face, inhaling deeply. “I love how you smell.”

“My dress probably smells like deodorant and salt water.”

“And you,” he murmured, letting the silky black fabric drop to the ground. “You smell yummy, like a tropical cocktail with coconut.”

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