Last Vamp Standing (35 page)

She couldn’t change that now. All she could do was hope for the best and enjoy herself. Perhaps if she did a really good job of making them happy, they’d forgive her if they did find out.

Damn it all, what was wrong with her? The only way they could learn of her deception was to talk to Captain Joe, and they had no way of doing that. She picked up her pace until she fairly skipped up the last few steps.

When she arrived inside the hotel, they were both waiting for her, luggage on the floor between them. Neither beach bums nor captains of industry now, they wore casual clothes—lightweight shirts and slacks. No matter how they dressed, they were mighty fine to look at. Now maybe she’d have the chance to feel Jon’s long arms around her and burrow into the firm planes of Wolf’s chest.

Jon bent to grab the handle of his suitcase. “Ferry waiting?”

“Uh, no.”
Think, think.
She needed a story when all her current thoughts came through X-rated. “There was an emergency on another island. High-risk pregnancy. She had to get to the mainland in case she needed a hospital in the next couple of days.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“You mean the ferry left without us?” Jon asked.

“It never came,” she answered. “I got a message on my cell phone.”

“We’re stranded?” Wolf asked.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “There’s no time to get another boat out here in front of the storm.”

“And none likely to come soon after the storm, either,” Wolf said.

“I’m sorry.”

Neither of them gave much of a clue as to how they felt about being stuck here. They couldn’t be happy about missing their business engagements or they would have volunteered to stay. They didn’t convey any skepticism about her story, either. But neither of them was dancing with joy, either.

“Look at it this way . . . I’ll get to show you that the resort can weather even a mild hurricane,” she said. “I think you’ll be impressed.”

“What about electricity?” Wolf asked.

“We have a generator and solar power,” she said. “We were getting ready to open, so there’s plenty of food and a well-stocked bar and wine cabinets.”

“And a restaurant kitchen to play around in.” Jon finally gave a clue to some emotion as the light of competitive mischief entered his eyes. “My partner here claims he knows how to use a chef’s knife. What do you bet he’s blowing smoke?”

Wolf heaved a sigh. “You never give it a rest, do you?”

Christie almost matched his sigh with one of her own, out of relief. If they were upset with her, they weren’t showing it.

“We’ll see who can really cook,” Wolf said.

“That we will,” Jon answered. That might be innocent enough except for the way they were both staring at her. With any luck, they’d all three be cooking by that evening.

“D
o you buy her story?”

Jon pulled his head from the restaurant freezer long enough to glance at his friend and partner. Wolf stood on the other side of the butcher-block worktable, an open beer in his hand.

“Ms. Lovejoy’s?” he said.

“She’s the only ‘her’ around here,” Wolf answered.

“What makes you think she lied?”

Wolf lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It just seemed strange. One minute, we were all ready to go. The next, there was a mysterious cell phone message.”

Jon thought back. He’d been too busy concentrating on how the top of her sundress stretched over her breasts to notice much of anything else. But she might have avoided their eye contact. Bad liars did that. Wolf had a great sense for people. He might be on to something.

“Do you really care if she’s telling the truth?” Jon asked.

“Don’t you?”

“I guess.” Although he hadn’t managed to push his fantasies of Ms. Christie Lovejoy naked completely to the back of his mind, the state-of-the-art professional kitchen made for a pleasant diversion from the constant state of semi-arousal he’d endured since noticing how she moved—as if she were dancing with a man who really turned her on. Gleaming stainless steel appliances, more sauté pans than he could ever hope to dirty, and a six-burner gas stove with enough BTUs to fire up hell itself. All that could entertain him until he could watch her face when he first sank his cock into her.

“We’re getting a free vacation in a gorgeous location,” he said. “Don’t overanalyze it.”

Wolf took a drink of his beer while he considered that. “It’s a matter of principle. Deception like that rubs me the wrong way.”

Jon studied Wolf for a minute. “Why are you twisting yourself into knots about this? We won’t even be dealing with her after we leave here.”

“I like my lovers to be honest with me.”

Jon laughed. “Dream on, pal. She’s mine.”

Wolf’s eyes widened. “You want to make a bet on that?”

“Why not? Although I hate having to beat you.”

“You won’t. I’ll fuck her first,” Wolf said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, if I were you.”

“Well, what do you know? We’re competing for a woman,” Wolf said. “We’ve never done that before.”

“First time for everything.” Jon studied the contents of the freezer again. On one shelf, he found packages labeled “pork ribs,” and on another, individually wrapped game hens. On the last he hit pay dirt. A box that read “Strip Steaks, USDA Prime.” He pulled it out and set it on the worktable. “I give you our dinner.”

“Anyone can cook a good piece of beef,” Wolf said.

“I’m talking steak Diane,” he said. “I’ll feed her dinner and then eat her pussy for dessert.”

“Have you told her that?”

“Not in so many words.” He opened the box to find steaks sealed in airtight plastic pouches. Beautifully marbled, they were not only prime but really first class. He removed three and returned the rest to the freezer.

“Have you said anything to her on the subject at all?” Wolf asked from behind him.

Jon shut the door and leaned against it. “I don’t have to talk. Hell, I could tell within a minute of meeting her, she was the type of woman who likes to fuck.”

“Every woman likes to fuck if her partner takes the time to turn her on.”

Jon laughed. “Bragging much?”

“Reality.” Wolf drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. “And as much as you like to pretend you’re an asshole, deep down you’re too nice to be selfish about sex.”

“I have a surprise for you, partner. Deep down inside I’m actually a very shallow guy.”

Wolf rolled his eyes. “Bullshit.”

The man knew Jon too well to fall for his I-don’t-give-a-damn persona. They’d shared everything since college, including tips on how to make a woman’s body hum like a finely tuned instrument. He couldn’t hide the fact that he took pride in satisfying his partners any more than he could deny Wolf did the same.

“You know, we’ve never had the same taste in women before,” he said.

“I like curves,” Wolf said. “You like thinner women.”

“Not true. I don’t care much about body types. I want a woman who isn’t afraid to come on strong—one who lets me know from the get-go that she’s hot, willing, and available.”

Wolf rested his hip against the worktable and remained silent for a moment. “You’re right. You always did go for the uninhibited type.”

“Women on the plump side tend to be shy about their bodies. It’s a crime, if you ask me.”

“So, Christie Lovejoy has my perfect body and your perfect personality.”

“And you’re going to lose her to me,” Jon said.

Wolf laughed. Let him. Jon had pegged Christie Lovejoy as his perfect bedmate the moment he’d set eyes on her. Even at their first meeting, when the three of them had kept everything strictly business, she’d walked with a swing of her hips that said “fuck me now.” And her mouth . . . watching her eat was an exercise in sexual frustration. She savored everything, taking her food slowly and deliberately. From there, he could so easily imagine her lips around the tip of his cock as she closed her dark eyes with pleasure. He’d hold the sable hair back from her face so he could watch her sucking and licking and . . .

Well, great. He’d given himself a full hard-on just thinking about her. Wolf was probably in the same state. She’d tried to take a good look at both of them and had glanced away, biting her lip, when he caught her at it. Unless he’d misjudged her interest, he’d satisfy her curiosity about his cock soon. Maybe tonight. He needed only to get her alone for a while, and she and his boner would become well acquainted, indeed.

“Say, Jon . . .” Wolf said.

That got his attention. Wolf almost never used his name but usually addressed him as “hey you”—when he wasn’t calling him “asshole” or something equally affectionate. “Say, Jon” meant something worth listening to would follow.

“Wolf,” he answered.

“Have you ever done anything, um, unusual in bed?”

“You mean, like kink?”

The wheels turned in his partner’s head for a moment. “Yeah, that. And maybe . . . sex in groups.”

Jon’s mind immediately went back to one particular summer when his girlfriend’s college roommate missed a plane and ended up spending the night with them. “I almost had a threesome with Roz and Sue.”

“Almost?”

“Roz said it was okay, but she gave off some strange vibes. I called it off.”

“But never one woman and another man.”

“Not so far, but you know my slogan: ‘Never say never.’ Are you bringing this up for the reason I think you’re bringing this up?” He didn’t have to say her name. The two of them were trapped on an island with a woman they both wanted.

“Maybe I am,” Wolf said.

“Then remember my other slogan: ‘If it feels good, do it.’ ”

“That sounds like you.”

Wolf started opening drawers and checking out the contents. Conversation over. The fact that he’d brought it up was revealing enough. His mind was going in new directions, and now Jon’s was, too. Fascinating.

“How are you going to handle missing Komura?” Jon asked.

“He won’t like it,” Wolf said. “He has to have hands-on attention or he feels snubbed.”

“You’ll have to buy him flowers and kiss and make up.”

Wolf stopped in the act of pulling a knife from the block that held it. “How about your contract negotiations?”

“I guess Howard can handle it.”

“He won’t get a deal as good as you can,” Wolf said.

“It’s time he learned to try.”

Wolf inspected a twelve-inch chef’s knife and humphed in admiration. “If Christie Lovejoy is keeping us here under false pretenses, she’s showing a bad lack of ethics.”

“Or she’s showing us that she needs to get laid.”

Wolf rolled that around in his mind for a bit. Jon knew what Wolf was like when he sorted things out. He had a good head for business and for life in general.

“While I sympathize, I don’t approve,” Wolf said finally. “It’s not only dishonest as far as business is concerned. Keeping us here for sex is personal, too.”

“Up close and personal,” Jon said. “Just the way I like it.”

“Don’t you take anything seriously?”

“Orgasms,” he answered. “I take orgasms very seriously.”

“So you’re going to sleep with her no matter what.”

Jon chuckled. “I don’t know about you, partner, but my plans for her don’t include a lot of sleep.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Wolf said.

“And you’re going to turn her down if you don’t like her ethics?” Jon asked. “Give me a break.”

“No, of course not.” Wolf blew out a frustrated breath. “But if I find out she’s been lying, I might extract my pound of flesh.”

“Well my pound of flesh is hot and hard and ready for some fun.”

An Excerpt from

by Sabrina Darby

WANTED:

A beautiful young woman—preferably one with no connections, who won’t ask too many questions—to spend two weeks in the North of England with an obstinate, aloof, and utterly handsome man.

Must love dogs, fixing up crumbling castles, and gorgeous and complicated war heroes who may or may not be hiding hearts of gold under their gruff exteriors.

Must not, under any circumstances, fall in love . . .

Simpering misses need not apply.

March 1816

Dear Cousin,

I still despair of ever seeing my Georgie matched. There is one thing unchanged about my son, and that is that nothing his mother says can make him see reason. As a result, I’ve taken your advice and have placed an advertisement in the paper. I can hear you now in my mind, claiming that you were teasing and never intended me to realize such an action. However, I am at my wits’ end and thus have undertaken a diabolical scheme. As I am not entirely certain my son is comfortable with ladies, I thought perhaps to test the waters, so to speak, by finding him a mistress.

Yours,

Mary

T
he last time Angelina Whitcombe had been this far north, it had been the end of summer, when the loveliness of the rolling green earth of the Dales was at its finest and the river sparkled in the sunlight.

Now, it was spring, and snow still clung stubbornly to shady corners, and mist lingered over the faded road dotted with rocks and fallen trees. Thankfully, she’d prepared for every eventuality of weather. After all, everything she owned was packed into the trunk, back at the inn. It had been a bit of a shock to see twenty-two years of life fold down into a space four feet by two feet.

Through the canopy of branches she glimpsed a sight of grey.
The tower. Finally
.

And it wasn’t all that far away.

She picked her way around yet another large fallen tree branch. The winds had ravaged the area, and no one cared enough about this overgrown road to clear it. But once upon a time, people must have traversed it daily, otherwise no one would have thought this area important enough to build a castle.

To build the now-ruined tower house in which Mrs. Martin claimed her scarred and diffident war hero son had hidden himself away. It seemed fitting enough for a gothic novel: ruined castle, ruined man.