“Especially,” he’d added, “if he could see how pretty it looks on you.”
And then he had kissed her again.
Swallowing hard, Savannah set the flower on the sink and stepped into the shower. The cool water did very little to reduce the heat that last kiss had left smoldering in her.
KIT FELT GREAT as he sauntered across the resort compound toward his cottage, where he intended to take a shower and then make a few calls that he’d been putting off for the past couple of days. He would only be killing time until he could be with Savannah again, he thought with a surge of eagerness that he found both wryly amusing and a bit unnerving.
What, exactly, was going on between the two of them?’ What was it she made him feel? Whatever it was, it was powerful. Incredible. Like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Something in her eyes got to him in a way that no one ever had before. There was a sweetness…almostan innocence…in their brilliant blue depths that contrasted intriguingly with the air of maturity and hard-earned experience that she projected at times. He was fascinated by the way she changed so mercurially from cautious to reckless, from a bit shy to delightfully bold, from guarded to stunningly passionate.
Everything about her fascinated him. And he couldn’t wait to learn even more.
He let himself into his cottage and pulled his slightly sticky T-shirt over his head, tossing it over a wicker chair. The cottage was clean, welcoming, and impeccably furnished. Only the best would do for Rafe Dancer’s guests, Kit thought with a smile.
Rafe certainly had it made these days. A home in paradise, a staff of loyal employees who waited on him hand and foot, a beautiful, intelligent wife, and a cute, healthy kid. A big change from when Kit had first met him eight years ago, while doing research for his first novel.
Rafe had been with the Drug Enforcement Agency then. Kit had found Rafe to be a hard, stem, dangerous man who rarely smiled. A loner. And yet, Kit had liked him. They’d become casual friends during the weeks they’d worked together, and had kept in touch sporadically since. When Rafe had left the DEA to open this resort, Kit had been given a standing invitation to visit. This was the second time he’d taken Rafe up on the offer.
He hadn’t enjoyed himself nearly this much the last time. Savannah hadn’t been here then.
Kit thought of the quizzical look in Rafe’s eyes when he’d found Kit kissing Savannah. He was tempted to go look up his friend and ask him if this was the way Rafe had felt when he’d first met T.J. Harris, the hottempered, smart-mouthed reporter Rafe had rescued and then married.
But something stopped him. Kit wasn’t quite ready to talk about Savannah yet, not even to Rafe. After all, what could he say? That he’d spotted the woman sitting on a beach, and hadn’t been able to look away from her since? That he had danced with her and felt as if he’d finally found the partner he’d been searching for all his life? That he’d fallen damned hard for her, even before learning her last name?
No. He couldn’t say any of that now. He wanted to wait, spend more time with her, find out if these feelings were really as special as they seemed.
And yet he couldn’t help thinking that Rafe would understand. After more than three years, Rafe was still visibly in love with his wife, and proudly devoted to their young son. He was content in a way that he had not been when Kit first met him.
And if that could happen for Rafe Dancer, it could happen for anyone. Even him.
SAVANNAH HUNG UP the telephone harder than she’d intended, making it jingle in objection. She could still hear the echoes of her mother’s cool voice. Although everything at home was fine, Savannah’s mother still disapproved of Savannah’s decision to take this vacation. Words like “irresponsible” and “selfish” had marked her conversation, along with questions like, “What if something goes wrong here while you’re off lying in the sun and pampering yourself? How can you enjoy yourself when you’re so far from your family?”
Seething with resentment at the unfairness of her mother’s accusations, Savannah brushed her hair with rapid, choppy strokes.
“Selfish,” she muttered. “Irresponsible. I can’t believe she would talk to me that way.”
Savannah had become a pattern card of responsibility. For the past thirteen years she had worked and struggled and taken care of everyone but herself. While she didn’t begrudge the things she’d done for her family, and would never regret having her children, she couldn’t help missing the carefree, youthful years she’d lost She refused to feel guilty for taking a few days to relax and have fun, especially since she hadn’t been needed at home this week, despite her mother’s innuendos to the contrary.
She didn’t even want to think about what her mother would have said if she’d seen Savannah plastered intimately all over a man who was still a virtual stranger to her.
She looked into the mirror as she applied her lipstick, involuntarily taking note of the fine lines just developing at the corners of her eyes. She thought of her approaching thirtieth birthday. Though objectively she knew she was still young, thirty suddenly seemed old. Maybe because she’d had to give up her childhood so abruptly, had been forced into the responsibilities of adulthood before she’d been quite ready to take them on.
She wasn’t unhappy in her life—far from it, she assured herself as she glanced at the silver-framed photograph of the twins on her nightstand. It was only this approaching birthday that had her down, she decided.
From what she’d heard, most women found their thirtieth birthday unsettling.
All she was asking was one last carefree night before she returned to the stressful, but usually rewarding, routines of her life back home. A lighthearted, private farewell to her twenties. And what could be better than to share it with a charming, utterly gorgeous man who made her feel young, beautiful…and desirable.
A couple of taps on her door made her look quickly into the mirror for one last ch
eck of her appearance. She’d left her hair down, soft and loose around her shoulders, which were bare beneath the narrow straps of her cream-colored dress. The rather low-cut garment fit smoothly across her full bust, skimmed .her waist and hips, then flared into a flirty, floating hem just above her knees.
One more night, she promised the two smiling faces in the nightstand photograph. That’s all I’m asking.
And then she hurried across the room and opened the door. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that Kit had chosen to wear exquisitely tailored pale gray slacks and a loose-fitting ice-blue shirt that draped softly over his well-proportioned shoulders and chest. He looked almost too good to be real.
“I’ve brought you something,” he murmured, holding out his hand.