Tango in Paradise (4 page)

“No, of course not. Miguel has worked for me for a long time, almost since we started. He places a lot of importance on his job. He takes pride in it, but he can be a bit …”

“Overeager?” The corner of his mouth curved again.

“Just a little. He was only trying to do his job, but I apologize if he bothered you.” She paused, then took a small breath before continuing. “Everything is okay, though? Your bags, I mean. Nothing damaged?”

“Are you asking me as the resort owner making sure her guest is happy, or as the lady who needs a
certain equipment in one piece for some personal reason?”

April had the good grace to flush. She hadn’t thought she’d been so obvious. Matching wits with a fatigued Jack Tango yesterday had been challenging enough. She began to wonder if anything got by those piercing eyes that missed nothing—and noticed everything.

She thought of the blurry tack sheets under her place mat. The wedding ceremony was to take place in less than ten hours. She had nothing left to lose. April took a sip of her tea and carefully replaced the cup before chancing a direct look. “Both.”

Jack’s neutral expression eased back into a grin as he nodded. “Bravo,
señorita
. With me, honesty will get you where flattery never will. But my answer stays the same.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious why I’d ask a favor of a guest?” April watched him closely, but the only outward response she could interpret as interest were the dilating pupils of his eyes. “Would you at least hear me out?”

“I didn’t remain conscious for too long after you left my bungalow yesterday, but what lucid time I had left was spent wondering how a slight thing like you managed a resort this size.” He paused for a long moment. “I think you just gave me my answer. You wear the opposition down.”

April struggled to keep her smile in place.
Was that his version of a “yes”? Oh well, she thought, bracing herself. No guts, no photographer. “I couldn’t help but notice your equipment yesterday.”

“Yes, I noticed that, too.”

Her confidence faltered as her strategy took a direct hit. A grin that was far from polite creased his handsome face. She fought the flame creeping into her cheeks at his obvious interpretation and bulled ahead. “You are a professional?”

“One of the best.” His grin widened, exposing two even rows of gleaming white teeth that only a fool wouldn’t consider predatory.

Well, April thought, she may have been a fool once, but never again. It had been the sort of lesson she wasn’t likely to forget. And running this resort wasn’t a picnic either. She could certainly handle one sexy, rough-around-the-edges photographer. “You do get paid for taking pictures, don’t you?” she reiterated evenly.

“Have you reconsidered my offer then?” he countered, neatly sidestepping the issue again. “If you’re worried about my fees, don’t. The photos I take of you will fall under the heading of pleasure, not business.”

His confidence where she was concerned irked her even farther. “I’m afraid that just isn’t possible,” she stated politely, then quickly backpedaled as his smile faded again. The Cove needed his help and
she couldn’t risk the fiasco that was certain to occur if she failed to get him to agree. Just because he’d apparently taken on a personal agenda in the matter was no reason to give up.

Even if the agenda’s only item seemed to be her.

“I’m certain you’ll be able to find someone here at the resort who’ll be more than willing to—”

“I didn’t ask someone else, I asked you.” He spoke softly, but the underlying element of steel made it clear he’d been insulted. “Not because you were the first woman I ran into when I arrived. Not because you run the resort. And not for some kind of damn trade.” He stopped abruptly, then averted his gaze. He picked up his fork, trying to balance the long handle on his finger. He studied the seesawing piece of silver as if it would somehow divine an answer to whatever he was privately debating.

Before she could comment, he pinned her with his gaze.

“I’ve changed my mind about that last part.”

April tried to ignore the intensity he injected into such a simple phrase and focus on its meaning. “In what way?”

“It’s very simple. I’ll do whatever you want, within reason, if you’ll pose for me.”

“You don’t even know what I want!” She didn’t try to hide her surprise at his sudden turnaround.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can’t imagine the
CEO of a major resort asking a guest to do something illegal. And it can’t be kinky, since you turn ten shades of crimson at even the slightest innuendo of anything sexual.” He flashed a quick grin when she did it again. “So, do we have a deal?”

April’s mouth had dropped open after his first sentence and it took a moment before she was able to snap it shut. She worked hard on making her mouth curve into her best resort-owner smile. “You’re right, it’s nothing illegal,” she said in a voice that was still a shade too strained to be nonchalant. Refusing to even comment on the rest of his statement, she went on. “It won’t take more than a couple of hours away from your vacation. Which, by the way, I’m fully prepared to pick up the tab for in return for your help.”

“As I said before, I don’t want your money.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, do you want?” Her voice was even, betraying none of the emotions roiling inside.

“One hour of your time for every one I give to you.”

Her disappointment was swift and surprisingly deep. Her fault, she thought. She shouldn’t have expected him to be different. He’d learn, as others had, that she didn’t barter herself for business.

Then again, April sensed that if she pushed much further on the issue of her reluctance to be photographed, she’d have an entirely new problem
to deal with. For whatever reason, she’d managed to intrigue Jack Tango. And the very last thing she needed was for someone with camera equipment and an incredible power of observation to focus either of those things on her private life. She couldn’t risk the Cove’s reputation on the chance that he wouldn’t find anything out.

Besides, she thought, he’d said one hour of her time for every one of his. He hadn’t specified she had to spend hers posing. “It’s a deal. On one condition.” Jack looked honestly surprised at her answer. Good. She enjoyed having the upper hand for a change.

“Which is?”

“That I give my return hours as it suits my schedule. I’m going to need your help this evening, but I’m afraid I won’t have much, if any, free time over the next few days.”

Jack nodded, then looked up as the waiter approached with their meals. “Since I’m going to be here for a couple of weeks, I imagine we’ll have plenty of time to work out your … payment.”

Several minutes passed while Jack ate his eggs and April tried to digest his interpretation of “payment.” Jack had more success with his meal.

“Are you going to eat the rest of your toast, or turn it into more bird feed?”

April looked down at her plate to find one half of her slice of toast shredded into little bits. She’d
managed to take a whole bite out of the other half. Pushing her plate away, she picked up her tea and took a sip, wondering why she was always the one searching for control when they were together.

“If you’re done with that, may I?” He gestured to her plate. “I missed a few meals along with the sleep.”

“Help yourself. I can call the waiter so you can—” She broke off as he picked up her slice of toast and turned it, sinking his teeth into the same spot she had.

His gaze met hers over the crusty edge as he took another bite. She sat there, transfixed as he polished off the crispy slice, one tantalizing bite at a time. She’d deny it to anyone who asked, but Jack Tango turned the simple act of eating toast into an erotic event. If he licked the butter off his fingers, she swore she’d dump the entire pot of tea in his lap.

“No need for a waiter,” he said finally, thankfully using the linen napkin to wipe his hands. “I’ll admit to having a big appetite, but sometimes it just takes something small and tasty to satisfy it.”

While she was busy trying to decide if there was a hidden meaning in that statement, he dropped the real bomb.

“As for our deal, I don’t care when you put in your time. But I do mean to collect,
mi cielo
. And my services don’t come cheap.”

April stared hard at Jack, her defenses instantly back on full alert. Somehow, in the space of a day, Jack Tango had breached walls she’d spent ten years building. Maybe she’d been a fool all along and just hadn’t been tested.

More probably it was his unwitting use of the Spanish endearment she’d thought never to hear again.

Mi cielo
. My sky.

She ignored the swift pain of unforgotten memories. There was no way he could have known how much hearing those words would hurt. Just the same, the memory served to insure that whatever it was about him that triggered such a strong attraction would have to stop. Right here. Right now. No amount of spontaneous physical combustion was worth that kind of risk.

“I’m certain we can come to an agreement.” She placed her napkin on her empty place mat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I know you must be starving, so please let me send Antonio back over. Our menu is a bit eclectic, but I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like. Our chef is French, but he prides himself on his adaptability.” Her nerves were making her ramble. She stopped, quickly gathered her clipboard and cellular phone, and stood.

“Pride is a big thing around here.” His voice was steady, with no discernible inflection to reveal his mood.

She risked one last look at him. “I think that’s one concept we both understand.”

“And I think we understand a whole lot more than that.”

April took a second too long to react and he reached for her wrist before she could move away. She stilled, looked down at her wrist imprisoned in his gentle, but firm grip, then stared directly at him. “Let go of me, please.”

He immediately complied. “I’m sorry, no offense intended.” His tone was sincere. “I just wondered if, before you ran off, you’d like to end the suspense and tell me what it is I just agreed to do?”

April’s face heated. She felt like an overly sensitive idiot. “Of course.”

Jack leaned across the table and slid the forgotten tack sheets out from under her place mat. “Would it have anything to do with these?”

She nodded mutely, but Jack didn’t notice. He was already flipping through them.

“Terrible. A complete waste of good film,” he muttered.

“You make taking poor pictures sound like a crime. I know they’re bad, but—”

“Unless these are pictures of the Headless Horseman at a family reunion, they’re the worst things I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at her, disgust showing plainly on his face. “Please, tell me you didn’t shoot these.”

April couldn’t help it. Her lips twitched into a dry smile. “Why? Do you have some criteria about only working for someone who can handle a camera as well as you? Wouldn’t that make you a bit dispensable?”

Given his track record, she’d fully expected a sarcastic response. Instead he looked as if his entire body had just been interred in a deep freeze. His shoulders tensed and his fingers gripped the glossy photos for a never-ending second before they slowly flexed, allowing the sheets to drop back onto the table. She watched the rigid line of his back slowly relax and the tendons in his neck smooth. Apparently she’d hit a major nerve. Well, turnabout was fair play, she thought, although she gained no satisfaction from it.

“I’m sorry. Really. I was kidding.”

“I know you were.” He sighed, then tilted his head back to look up at her, a shadow of his usually dry smile curving his lips. “It’s just ironic that the reason I’m here is to prove exactly that.”

“Exactly what?”

“That I’m dispensable.”

THREE

“You may kiss the bride.”

Jack waited as the groom lifted the bride’s veil. He released the shutter just as the young man gazed into the eyes of his wife for the first time, capturing for eternity the private look of love and trust that passed between them in that special moment.

When the newlyweds continued kissing, cheers and a smattering of applause broke out from the guests.

Irritated for some reason, Jack wondered if the couple planned on breathing sometime in the near future, or if they were just giving a new meaning to the vow “till death do us part.” He ran off a few shots, then quickly moved to get several more of the young couple as they walked down the narrow
white rug that had been rolled across the east lawn in honor of the occasion.

He packed his equipment and headed for the large mass of floral arrangements that served as an altar. “Jack Tango shooting a wedding,” he grumbled, thinking that being dispensable might not always be a bad thing. Thank God Franklin hadn’t witnessed this. After years in friendly competition, Franklin would give his right lung to see his Pulitzer prize-winning colleague and close friend reduced to using his talents for assembling a debutante’s wedding album. Jack had never been one to flaunt his achievements, but anyone familiar with his work would have to agree this was a bit like asking Paul Prudhomme to put together a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Overkill.