All Over You (12 page)

She glanced around at the six other people who’d signed on for the beginner’s dive, but they all looked excited and not in the least bit worried about the fact that Doogie Howser’s younger brother was their instructor.

“I’ve been diving off Oahu for nearly twenty years and we’ve never had a serious incident. Scuba is very safe as long as you follow the golden rules — always listen to your dive leader, never leave your dive buddy and always,
always
go slowly to the surface. We won’t be going down deep enough for anyone to be at risk of the bends today, but it’s a good rule to learn early.”

Sean made eye contact with everyone to stress his words of warning and Grace saw with relief that there were crows feet radiating out from around his brown eyes. Not a teenager then. Given his comment about twenty years of experience, maybe he was even a sensible, experienced adult.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Mac leaned across and spoke in her ear.

“Relax. It’s supposed to be fun.”

She nodded, her determination to tough this out doubling. Squelching all her irrational fears into a corner, she concentrated intently on Sean’s instructions, learning how to equalize the pressure in her ears as she descended, how to signal that she was okay, how to signal that she was distressed and how to clear her mask should it fill with water. Sean passed out the tanks next and Grace soon found herself breathing in bottled oxygen and battling to keep her heart rate down.

When the boat’s chugging motors switched to an idle, she glanced up from inspecting the gauge on her tank and knew they had arrived. Smiling broadly, Sean distributed shorty wet suits.

“Okay, once we’re all kitted up, I’ll take you through the process of getting into the water,” he said brightly.

Grace wasted a full five minutes plaiting her hair out of the way before struggling into her wet suit. Black, stiff and unwieldy, it seemed to grab at the fabric of her bikini and she was feeling distinctly hot and bothered by the time she’d worked the suit up to her waist.

“Here,” Mac said from behind her. Before she knew it, he was guiding her arms into the suit and shifting the stiff rubber around to fit her frame. Despite the fact that his touch was impersonal and he never once made eye contact with her, Grace felt acutely self-conscious and overwhelmed by how close he was. When he grabbed the fabric above her breasts and gave it one last yank, she closed her eyes at the absurdity of the situation. In all her months of fantasizing about Mac, she’d never once imagined him adjusting her wet suit.

The hiss of the zipper running up her back and the increasing tightness around her chest told her he’d finished dressing her and she stepped away with what she hoped was a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” she said, trying not to stare at how broad his shoulders looked encased in black neoprene. She’d never been into kinky stuff, but he sure made rubber look good.

“Let’s get your tank on now, Grace,” Sean said, and she realized that everyone else was ready to go.

Color stained her cheeks and she fumbled the clasps as she shrugged into the webbed harness for her tank.

“Great. My advice is to wait until we’re in the water to secure your fins, so we’re all ready to go,” Sean said.

A lurch of fear shot through Grace’s body and adrenaline tingled in her fingertips. Vaguely she wondered why her fight-or-flight instincts had decided to kick in now — where had they been when she’d signed on for this stupid course back at the ticket desk?
That
had been the time to choose safety and comfort over fear and risk. Instead her pride had been in charge of the good ship Grace Wellington and she suspected it had abandoned ship in the last few seconds, leaving her prey to every neurotic urging of her overactive imagination.

Shuffling to the back of the pack, Grace loitered as long as she could. Finally, it was down to just Mac, Sean and herself. Both men looked at her expectantly. Grace took her courage in both hands and did what had to be done.

“I can’t do it,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

She could hardly look at Mac as she sank onto one of the bench seats lining the side of the boat. She hated failing at anything. A geyser of bad memories threatened to well up inside her and no matter how much she tried to push them away or scoff them out of existence, they persisted — coming home from school with her first
B
on a report card instead of the straight
A
s she’d always received. The shame of falling off the balance beam in the junior gymnastics final. The horror of flubbing her lines in the school play.

As a child, Grace had attended all her sisters’ beauty pageants, sitting in the audience with her mother. She’d watched Felicity and Serena and Hope wow the judges time after time. And she’d seen the pity in other mothers’ eyes when they’d caught sight of her with her beautiful sisters. Everyone felt sorry for the plain girl in such an attractive family. She’d told herself that she didn’t care and she had chosen to compete in other arenas — using her brain and her strong, healthy body. And she’d always set high benchmarks for herself — if she was doing something, she had to be the best.

It was the same with her writing. She didn’t do just one or two drafts of her scripts. She did four or five. She agonized, she labored, she sweated.

Scuba was the first time in a long time that Grace had admitted defeat. And it was hard not to feel like that big-nosed, wide-mouthed ugly sister sitting on the sidelines again.

Such old, old stuff. She hated that it still had power over her. Was it never possible to outgrow your demons?

She could hear Mac and Sean talking, then she heard the splash of someone hitting the water. Bracing herself for the inevitable pep talk from her tour guide, she was surprised when Mac kneeled in front of her and took her icy hands in his own.

“Okay, Grace, what’s up?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m scared rigid,” Grace said miserably. No point pretending at this point, right?

“Okay. Is this a phobic, I’m-going-to-need-therapy-and-sedation kind of fear or one of those things you might be able to conquer with a little push in the right direction?”

He asked so nicely, so kindly, so good-naturedly that she actually found herself considering his question.

“Maybe I just need a little push,” she admitted in a small voice.

Mac smiled. He was barely two feet away and the power of his charisma nearly drove her back in her seat.

“Okay. Good. What if I assure you that no matter what, I will not leave your side?” he suggested.

She considered the idea for a moment, then shook her head. “Not quite doing it for me,” she said reluctantly.

He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed gently. “What if I promise not to let go of your hand, then?” he offered.

Heat from his palm was radiating into her own cold fish of a hand and she wriggled a little. Her fear eased a notch as she looked into the stunning blue of Mac’s eyes. For a moment there was nothing in the world but the two of them — the rise and fall of the boat beneath them, the squawk of gulls overhead, the warmth of the sun beating down on their rubber-clad bodies all faded away to nothing as she got lost in his eyes.

“Want to give it a shot?” he asked.

She found herself nodding. Then standing. Then easing her way awkwardly down the metal ladder at the back of the boat into the surprisingly cool water. Mac handed her the fins and she worked them on as he joined her in the water. It was only when he was helping her adjust her mouthpiece that she realized that he was supremely confident for a first timer.

“You’ve done this before,” she guessed as Mac slid his own mouthpiece in.

He raised his eyebrows innocently, then indicated she should put her face beneath the water. Feeling a little conned, Grace did as instructed and was immediately lost in the underwater world. Her body seemed to sink of its own accord, but she was too busy staring at the darting fish and waving sea anemones and coral sculptures spread out beneath them to register it.

True to his word, Mac’s hand remained firm around hers as they kicked their way down toward the ocean floor. She knew from Sean’s talk on the boat that the floor of Hanauma Bay was actually the crater of an extinct volcano. Now she gazed reverently at the teeming microcosm the crater supported, all her nervousness forgotten as she marvelled at the hidden treasures of the sea. Just like in the photographs, the fish were bright neon streaks of yellow, pink, blue and orange. Mac pulled her closer to the coral formations nearby, pointing out the ebb and flow of the fronds of a pale-pink sea anemone as it pulsed in time with the underwater currents. A splash of orange caught her eye and she clutched at Mac’s arm and pointed excitedly at a stunning bright-orange and electric-blue fish. Mac’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at her, and Grace let go of the last faint traces of her nerves and gave herself over to the experience.

For nearly twenty minutes they combed the crater floor, being careful to always keep Sean and the rest of the group in sight. After a while, Sean made a point of contacting them briefly, indicating through sign language that only five more minutes remained of their dive. Grace was surprised to feel regret and she shot Mac a mournful look. He pulled a sad face to indicate his agreement, then his eyes widened as he caught sight of something over her shoulder. Immediately, her imagination went into overdrive, the theme music from
Jaws
sounding loud in her ears. Before she could succumb to full-fledged panic, however, Mac tugged her around and she saw that he’d been staring at a family of turtles. Bubbles erupted from her mouth as she gasped and she had to remind herself to inhale and exhale calmly.

Brown-and-green with speckled flippers and heads, the turtles were roughly the size of her looped arms. They were extraordinarily graceful beneath the water, a stark contrast to their slow and steady pace on land. Captivated, Grace paddled to maintain her place beside Mac and watch their antics. The rest of the dive group were likewise mesmerized, and Sean received more than one frustrated look when he signaled it was time to return to the boat.

Grace was filled with wonder as she clambered back onto the boat. She’d never imagined that something so perfect existed. Even though she had about a million observations she wanted to share, she found she was oddly loathe to talk. The rest of the group seemed to share the same feeling. Everyone peeled themselves out of their wet suits with the minimum of quiet conversation, then proceeded to bask in the heat and exchange wide smiles. Her plait dripping down her back and her face turned up to the sun, Grace felt more at peace than she had in a long time.

“Worth it?” Mac said near to her ear.

This time she didn’t start. He was sitting so close to her, his thigh and shoulder pressed alongside hers, that she’d felt him lean in.

“Yes,” she said simply, flashing him a smile. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it without you.”

He shook his head as though he disagreed, but he didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, he leaned back against the railing behind him and closed his eyes. For a second, she allowed herself the rare pleasure of watching him unobserved. The crisp curls on his chest were tightly coiled and darkened from the swim and she followed them down the muscled sculpture that was his stomach to the waistband of his board shorts. Resisting the temptation to get an eyeful of something that she had almost perfect sense-recall of, she continued her inspection down his legs to where they were crossed at his ankles.

He was delicious.

And, it turned out, kind.

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the rail beside him.

Later she could worry and fret over her growing feelings for this magnetically attractive man. For now, she wanted to enjoy the moment.

The comfortable haze of their dive extended to the drive to the hotel. As they collected their various belongings from the car, she mustered the energy to talk about work matters.

“The bay would look incredible on-screen,” she said as they entered the hotel foyer.

“Without a doubt. And Sean would be perfect — he just has to be himself,” Mac said.

“You’re right. I’ll make sure I write him in,” she said.

Their hands collided as they both reached for the elevator button. She pulled back, indicating Mac should do the honors. The bell pinged almost instantly and they stepped into the otherwise empty car.

Suddenly very self-conscious, Grace pressed the floor for her room and waited for him to do the same. The elevator whisked them speedily skyward and she kept her eyes glued to the floor indicator, oddly reluctant for their day to be over.

Her room was a floor below Mac’s and she turned to him with a smile as the doors opened.

“Again, thanks for today. It was…amazing,” she said, widening her eyes to indicate her sincerity.

“Yeah, it was.”

She stepped out. It felt wrong, walking away from him, but she didn’t know what else to do. The doors started to slide shut, and she acted on impulse, thrusting her arm out to stop the elevator departing. The doors bounced open and Mac eyed her steadily as she stepped into the car with him.

“Have dinner with me tonight?” she asked breathlessly.

He stared at her for a long, drawn-out beat. She waited for him to bring up the stupid rule she’d imposed on them.

“Yes.”

Something hot and molten unfurled in her belly at the look she saw in his eyes.

“I’ll meet you in the foyer at seven,” she said.

“Done.”

Stepping back, she let the doors close completely this time. A spring in her step, she headed for her room. She was having dinner with Mac. It was probably a bad idea — but right now it was what she wanted more than anything in the world.

M
AC WAITED FOR A FULL
twenty minutes past their agreed meeting time before admitting to himself that she wasn’t coming. She’d changed her mind. Probably once the buzz of the dive had worn off she remembered that she didn’t want or need a man in her life. She was probably in her room polishing her copies of
The Female Eunuch
and
The Beauty Myth.
Thoroughly pissed off, he strode across to the reception desk on the off-chance that Grace had been courteous enough to offer an excuse for her no-show.

“Yes, Mr. Harrison, we have a message for you,” the pretty woman behind the desk said. She smiled brilliantly and let him know with her eyes that he could have more than a message if he wanted. She had dark mahogany hair and sun-kissed skin, but he offered her nothing more than a slight smile as he took the envelope from her. He wasn’t interested in a one-night stand. Wasn’t that how he’d got into this situation in the first place, standing alone in the foyer of this hotel like a dork?

Tearing the envelope open, he narrowed his gaze as he read Grace’s short message.

Mac, Sorry about dinner, coming down with migraine.

Grace.

Migraine
his ass. At the very least she owed him honesty. What was wrong with saying dinner was a bad idea? Or that she wasn’t interested? She was the one who’d broken her own rule and asked him out, after all. It was just like last time when she’d denied their mutual desire to stick it to him. He was stalking toward the elevator bank before he could stop himself and within minutes he was knocking on her door, ready to let rip with a mouthful of home truths.

Except she didn’t answer. His lips thinned. She was hiding out. Probably hoping he’d just go away if she didn’t respond.

Not a chance.

Hand clenched, he rapped on the door. He didn’t appreciate being played for a fool. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he was perhaps a little irrationally angry over being stood up. It even occurred to him that she might really be sick. But four days’ worth of mounting sexual frustration was crowding to the front of his mind, begging for an outlet. What he really wanted was to have her again, but since that wasn’t in the cards, a damned good yell-fest was a nice alternative.

He was raising his hand to knock again when he heard the sound of someone fumbling on the other side of the door. Bracing his arms on either side of the door frame, he prepared himself to go in hard.

The door opened a crack, and he caught a glimpse of pale skin, sleep-mussed hair and an oversize hotel bathrobe.

“What is it?” Grace croaked. Her hotel room was in complete darkness and she shielded her scrunched-up eyes as though her life depended on it.

He bit back the diatribe on the tip of his tongue.

Either she’d suddenly acquired Meryl Streep’s acting talent or she really had a migraine

“You’ve got a migraine,” he said stupidly.

“Mac. I’m so sorry…” she mumbled. She opened the door wider, then reeled away from the bright light in the corridor. “Ugh. I have to lie down,” she said, disappearing into the darkness of the room.

Since she’d left her door open, he figured it was an invitation. Following her inside, he shut the door behind himself and blinked while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He could hear her stumbling into bed and he frowned as he made his way in that direction.

“Have you taken something?” he asked.

“Just some aspirin. I don’t have anything stronger on me — I haven’t had a migraine in years. I think it was all the stress today and the sun and maybe the chocolate I had when I got back to the room…” she muttered.

“Where’s your room key? I’ll go get you something stronger,” he said quietly.

She pointed a finger at her bedside table where a key-card glowed white against the dark wood.

“Five minutes, I’ll be back,” he assured her.

It took ten, mostly because the hotel pharmacist gave Mac a bunch of tips on how to relieve migraine symptoms in addition to his most kick-ass over-the-counter painkiller. Mac was armed to the hilt when he let himself back into her room.

“Okay, how are you doing?” he asked as he stopped by her bed. She’d tangled herself in her robe and the bedsheets and was lying with her fingers pressed to her temples.

“Not good,” she moaned.

“Okay, I got you some King Kong painkillers, lavender oil for your pillow and some aromatherapy massage oil,” he said as he lined his purchases up on her bedside table.

She thrust a hand out blindly. “Painkillers.”

He filled a tumbler with water and popped out two of the superdrugs for her. She sat up for the few seconds it took to wash them down, then flopped onto her pillows.

“The pharmacist said they should kick in in about twenty minutes.”

She grunted an acknowledgement. “This is so unfair. I haven’t had a migraine since I was in college.”

He felt helpless. Her face was creased with pain and he wanted to take it away for her.

“The pharmacist also said massage can be helpful,” he said.

She cracked an eye and looked at him. “The pharmacist, huh?”

“I swear it,” he said, holding his fingers up in classic Boy Scout mode. “You want to give it a go?”

She pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose for a beat, then nodded. “Okay. Anything if this damned thumping will stop.”

Sliding out of his shoes, Mac assessed the bed. “You need to lie in the middle more,” he instructed.

Grumbling, Grace wriggled on her stomach into the center of the mattress. He arranged a pillow for her face, then climbed onto the bed beside her. Straddling her torso, he reached for the thick collar of her bathrobe.

“This needs to come off,” he said. He tried to sound as impersonal as he could, like a doctor or a dentist. He figured he didn’t do a very good job because Grace turned her head to squint up at him again.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Come on. There’s not much under there I haven’t seen already. And you’re sick. What kind of a pervert takes advantage of a sick woman? Do you really think I’m that hard up?”

“You’re right. Sorry,” she said, levering herself up to tug her arms one at a time out of her robe. He forced himself to look away as soon as he realized she was completely naked beneath the robe, just in case he caught a glimpse of her full, creamy breasts and instantly proved himself wrong in the pervert stakes.

She resettled onto the pillows and he folded the top half of the robe down to expose her shoulders and most of her back. Reaching for the massage oil, he squeezed a generous amount onto his palms and let it warm there for a moment.

“Here we go,” he warned her quietly, just in case the oil still wasn’t warm enough. She shivered a little as he smoothed his hands across the velvety skin of her back. The fresh scent of lavender and rosemary filled the room.

Mac would be the first to admit that while he’d received more than his fair share of massages over the years, he was no expert at giving them. But he figured that all the time he’d put in on the other end of the equation had to give him some kind of insight into the technique.

He started by smoothing his palms up and down the whole of her back, being careful to avoid the swell of her breasts near her sides. He was only human, after all, and there was that pervert thing to consider.

The oil quickly warmed beneath his hands and he started to knead her muscles in earnest, beginning first with her shoulders and neck. She gave a low growl of relief as he found a hard knot of tension in one shoulder. Working it with his thumb until it loosened, he soothed the place again and again before moving on to the next tight spot. He worked his way slowly down her spine, lavishing attention on every part of her back.

Her skin was amazing, so clear and smooth with not a single blemish. Her vertebrae were delicate yet strong and he traced them with oil-slicked fingers. Splaying his hands wide, he dug his fingers in ever so slightly and began to work the larger muscles of her back in increasing circles.

It seemed only natural to peel the robe down as he reached the small of her back and her hips. Grabbing the bottle, he squeezed more oil onto his hands then smoothed it across her lower hips and backside.

She had the peachiest butt he’d ever seen — full and ripe and firm. Sliding his fingers around her hips, he dragged them back to the curves of her lower spine. She shifted slightly beneath him, and he moved his attention to her backside itself, kneading the rounded globe of each cheek in a rhythmic motion.

She felt so good, so sleek beneath him. Cupping her cheeks, he slid his palms up her sides, glorying in the line of her body as it raced in toward her waist, then out again as his hands slid up her rib cage. He realized he’d been wanting to do this ever since she’d first stood up from her chair in the conference room that first day. She had the kind of body men dreamed about — real breasts, real hips, soft curves, smooth skin.

Belatedly he realized that he was breathing heavily, and that his fingers were alternating between sliding around her hips to skim the sensitive skin of her belly and swooping down across her butt cheeks to skim the backs of her thighs.

Dragging his hands off her warm, welcoming flesh, he cleared his throat.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Headache’s almost gone,” she said. She sounded languorous, dreamy.

“Want me to keep going?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he could handle much more — he was already hard as a rock, his erection a rigid demand against the fly of his jeans. The whole doctor/dentist thing wasn’t really working for him. Probably having previously slept with his patient wasn’t such a great starting point.

“Yes, please,” she murmured into the pillow, wriggling her hips beneath him.

His erection twitched against the restraint of his clothing. Dear God — did he really have this much willpower?

There was only one place left to go. Moving farther down the bed, he peeled her robe down and reached for the oil bottle again. Jaw tense, he smoothed oil onto the backs of her thighs, behind her knees and down her calves to the soles of her feet. She sighed her approval and he rolled his eyes.

He was about ready to explode here. He was really kidding himself with this whole nurse Nightingale routine. She was naked, for Pete’s sake. Shiny with oil, smooth and soft and incredibly feminine. Every thought he’d had of soothing and relaxing her was now turned toward stimulating and teasing, and he had to force his hands to remain flat and calming as he slid them up her thighs until they touched the lower curve of her butt again. She shifted beneath him, lifting her hips slightly. He stilled, then deliberately repeated the motion, holding his breath this time as he let his fingers stray the barest half an inch toward the dark shadow between her inner thighs. She murmured her appreciation and again lifted her hips, almost as though she was inviting him to delve deeper, to slide his fingers all the way between her thighs to find the slick, hot folds of her sex.

“I think we’d better call it quits,” he grated, snatching his hands away from her before he acted on instinct and betrayed her trust.

She gave a mew of distress. “Don’t stop,” she said.

“Grace…I kind of have to,” he admitted ruefully.

She wriggled around until she could get an elbow beneath her body and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were heavy lidded and glittering, her cheekbones flushed.

“Don’t stop,” she repeated. Still he hesitated and she pulled herself higher in the bed, sliding her legs from beneath him. Flipping onto her back, her knees curled toward her chest, she held his eye very deliberately as she placed her feet flat on the sheets. Her knees tented in front of her, she slid her legs down either side of his kneeling body so that he was between her unashamedly wide-spread thighs.

“Don’t. Stop.”

He didn’t know where to look — at her magnificent breasts, their rosy peaks already pebbled with desire, or the part of her that she’d offered up so generously to his gaze.

“Grace.” He worshipped her, his oil-slicked hands sliding onto her thighs. She gasped as he raced them higher, stopping just short of touching her glistening heat.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, needing to hear her say it — wanting to hear her beg, if he was honest with himself.

“I want you to kiss me. I want you to suck me. I want you to tease me,” she whispered, her thighs shivering beneath his hands as she anticipated his touch.

Riding a wave of triumph, he lowered his head and gave her what they both wanted.

G
RACE CURLED HER FINGERS
into the bedsheets and hung on for dear life. Her migraine was a distant memory as she reveled in the hot, firm flick of Mac’s tongue between her thighs. She choked back a cry as he pulled her clitoris into his mouth, the gentle suction nearly sending her over the top.

He retreated. “Not yet, baby,” he murmured against her thighs.

Her hands fisted in the sheets again as he began tracing the outline of her inner lips with his fingertips while his tongue continued to tease her. Again and again he touched her and tension spiraled within her. It was too much, too hot, too wet, too wild.

He slid a finger inside her, then two.

“Oh Mac,” she cried, hips arching off the bed.

He picked up the pace, his tongue firm and knowing against her as he pushed her over the edge, his fingers sliding inside her as he ensured no secret spot remained untouched.

She came with a shudder, her head whipping from side to side, hips thrusting instinctively.

She was barely able to think again when she registered the dip in the mattress as he shifted his weight. She heard the hiss and rustle of clothing being ripped off, and she smiled to herself as she heard the crinkle of a foil packet. Exactly what she’d been thinking, wanting, needing.
Exactly
.

His weight settled over her and she reveled in the heat of his skin on hers. Then his erection was probing the soft wetness between her thighs and suddenly he was inside her.

“Oh
yesssss,
” she groaned low in her throat as his body pressed down over hers and he pumped into her again and again. Her hands found the hard muscles of his perfect butt and she gripped it tightly and urged him to go faster, harder, deeper. He was only too happy to oblige, shifting his weight higher in the bed so that the shaft of his erection ground against her already sensitized clitoris with every stroke. Quickly, she began to climb again. Lowering his head, Mac licked her breasts, tonguing her nipples so firmly the pleasure was almost pain.