Freefall (21 page)

She wasn't going to try to seduce him, as Titania had suggested. She'd already gone that route and failed in the attempt. Not just once, but twice.

"But there's no point in not letting the man see what he turned down," she decided as she went upstairs to the bathroom, started the water running in the tub, then threw in a handful of a light floral springtime scent that had a tang of lemon to spice it up.

Which was precisely what she intended to do with her life.

Although she'd shaved her legs that morning, she did so again, thinking that if she was going to stay here on Swann Island, she should probably pay a visit to the Shores Spa and allow some sadist to attack her with hot wax.

And wow, wasn't that something to look forward to?

She smoothed lotion all over her body, then, although she usually dashed through her makeup, took the time to line both her eyes and her lips.

If she were to be honest, she would have to admit that all the people who'd been telling her she was too pale were right.

But that wasn't a problem tonight.

A flush left from the warm bath, highlighted by sexual expectation, had added a soft rose hue to her cheeks.

She thought about curling her hair, then remembered she didn't own any hot rollers. Which was just as well, because she feared if she tried, she could end up with big hair like Misty.

Which is definitely
not
the look you're going for
.

Unfortunately, the scant wardrobe she'd brought home from Italy didn't offer many choices. The black suit would be perfect if she were on her way to either a board meeting or yet another funeral.

Jeans were too casual. Besides, the ones she'd bought after the bombing had skinny legs, which meant they could be a bitch to get out of without her looking like a not-so-graceful snake shedding its skin.

A friend—the concierge of the Paradiso Angeli, who'd shared an apartment across town with one of the desk clerks—had dug into her own closet and donated a long, flowing dress in deep shades of burgundy and red, with an off-the-shoulder top that brought to mind gypsies dancing around campfires.

The look worked perfectly on the dark-eyed, ebony-haired Italian woman, but Sabrina feared she would never be able to pull it off without feeling as if she were on her way to a costume party.

And then she saw it. A slip of a dress that Eve Bouvier had talked her into trying on in a small designer boutique on the Via Vigna Nuova. The short baby-doll dress had spaghetti straps that bared her shoulders, and the kaleidoscope of bright Pucci print colors somehow managed to make her look—and, more importantly, feel—sexy and carefree. Almost frivolous.

Exactly like the type of woman who would impulsively seduce a man.

Because the dress called for them, she slipped on a pair of skyscraper-high sling-back turquoise sandals that the clerk—who turned out to be from across the Alps in Grenoble and was dripping with French sangfroid—had insisted she must buy to go with the dress.

Sabrina took a quick spin in front of the mirror.

Licked her lips, which she'd tinted a pink shade lighter than Misty's bubblegum, and skimmed a palm over her hips.

"Zach Tremayne, eat your heart out."

Satisfied with her transformation, Sabrina ran down the stairs and out of Swannsea before she could change her mind.

The man watched her race out of the house, down the steps, and across the drive. Her skimpy dress and fuck-me shoes—how did women manage to walk in those damn things, let alone run?—announced her intentions as clearly as if she had a flashing neon sign over her head.

He watched the car back out of the carriage house, then tear down the drive through the arched canopy of oaks.

He'd pulled his black gimme cap low over his face to shield it from reflecting moonlight; he would have preferred face camouflage, but that would have been hard to explain if someone saw him driving through town or, worse yet, if he got stopped by a cop for some reason. Especially with everyone so jumpy, looking out for a serial killer.

As he made his way to the car he'd backed into a stand of tupelos alongside the highway, he was willing to bet the farm that she was on her way to Tremayne's. Which, being even more isolated than this place, could provide a perfect opportunity to get them alone together.

The idea of making the former SEAL watch his lover die a slow, painful death was appealing. It also would be, the man decided, his grim smile flashing momentarily, the perfect last vision for Zach Tremayne to take with him to hell.

Sabrina stopped at the market and picked up a bottle of champagne, deftly dodging Sissy's attempts to learn what, exactly, she might be celebrating. No way was she going to allow the woman who considered herself Swarm Island's very own Paul Revere to spread the word that Miss Lucie's granddaughter was off to Zach's house. At night. With alcohol.

Headlights shone in her rearview mirror as she headed toward the beach, momentarily blinding her. She reached up and tilted it slightly to cut the glare.

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, tracking Zach down proved a breeze.

She'd taken out her BlackBerry while driving to the village, and, since he'd gotten a South Carolina driver's license when he moved back to the island, Google had kicked up the address of his house in five-point-three seconds.

With that information in hand, the GPS in her rental car obligingly provided not only a map but voice directions as well.

The house, set on one of the few isolated stretches of beach left on the island, was an old planter's style, made of cypress planks and set on piers to allow for the ebb and flow of the water beneath it.

She could hear the radio through the open windows—Toby Keith was claiming that while he might not be as good as he once was, he was as good
once
as he ever was.

Champagne in hand, Sabrina climbed the steps and, since there didn't seem to be a doorbell, knocked on the door, trying to look more casual than she felt, in case he checked her out through the peephole.

Inside the house, the radio went silent.

A moment later, she could hear the three heavy locks being unfastened.

Then the door opened and there he was, backlit by the living-room light, looking beyond scrumptious in a snug gray T-shirt and another pair of jeans as raggedy as the ones he'd worn while fixing Swannsea's roof.

His feet were bare. And, heaven help her, as sexy as the rest of him.

If he was at all surprised to see her standing on his porch, he didn't show it. Merely glanced at the heavy green bottle in her hand and asked, "Are we celebrating something?"

"I hope so." Her breathless voice was as unfamiliar as the wild and reckless feelings hammering away at her.

They stood that way, Zach looking down at her, Sabrina looking up at him, for what seemed forever.

Finally, he moved aside. "Why don't you come on in, then?"

"Okay."

Wasn't that brilliantly sexy repartée?

The front room turned out to be a living room/kitchen combination. The only furniture was an oversized guy couch, a TV, and a table that looked as if it had been rescued from a Salvation Army Dumpster.

"Nice place," she lied. In truth, it was depressing.

"It belongs to my dad. He bought the property and house as a rental retirement investment a long time ago before prices skyrocketed."

"Well, that was certainly thinking ahead."

So, where's the bedroom?

No! That was way too Misty Man-eater.

Besides, Sabrina reminded herself, she hadn't come here to have sex with Zach. While she honestly wanted to celebrate her life-altering decision, she also intended to make him regret not having followed up on that hot kiss this morning.

So what she needed was a clever, sexy line that would have him thinking of her not as some perfect paragon of purity, or a too-easily-spooked terrorist victim, but a hot chick who could rock his big bad SEAL world.

"Line's back," she said. That was
so
not it.

"That's good." His eyes were dark and focused on hers in a way that suggested he wasn't any more interested in this conversation than she was.

"He voted thumbs-up."

"More good news. So, the reason you've come bearing French bubbly is to launch the new project?"

"It seemed like a good idea."

"It's a great idea." He took the bottle from her hand, went around the counter, and with his eyes still on hers, tore off the foil covering the cork. "Construction projects are always a challenge."

"I realize that."

"I figured you would. Given what Lucie said about all the work you were overseeing at that hotel in Florence." He took two water glasses down from the open shelf. "Sorry. I don't have any flutes."

"Those are fine." Sabrina chastised herself for not having thought of that. Of course, as it was turning out, she hadn't really thought through this make-the-man-grovel plan, either.

See what happens when you don't plan ahead?

"There's also the fact that this project comes with an additional built-in challenge."

Holding the bottle in one hand, he began slowly turning the cork with the other. Watching him, imagining those dark hands creating havoc on every inch of her naked body, was enough to make the muscles in Sabrina's belly quiver.

"Oh?"

"I've never had any problem separating lust from work before," he said conversationally. The cork eased out with a tiny whispered hiss and a trail of white vapor. "Of course, in the interest of full disclosure, lust was never an issue working with a SEAL team. And there aren't that many women working construction, even these days. At least none whose bones I've wanted to jump."

"You had your chance," she reminded him. Great. Now she sounded petulant.

"You know what they say about timing." Golden bubbles rose as he poured the champagne into the glasses. "It wasn't right this morning."

"And it is now?"

"Probably not. But I spent the day thinking."

"About me?" Could this get any worse? Now she sounded like a needy high school freshman hoping the quarterback would ask her to the prom.

"About you. And me. And us together."

"And?"

"And I decided that although you and I've got a history between us, we don't really know one another."

Sabrina jerked a bare shoulder. "And I'm supposed to believe you've never slept with a woman you didn't know?"

"No. I've been known to tumble into some strange beds on occasion. But again, we're back to that situation of having to work together."

"So." Tamping down her pique, asking herself why she'd bothered wasting her time coming here tonight, she snatched up one of the glasses of champagne and took a long sip, narrowing her eyes as she met his gaze over the heavy glass rim. "What you're saying is you want me. But you're going to regretfully resist temptation."

"No." The dark heat in his eyes gilded with a glint of laughter as he took the glass from her hand and deliberately replaced it on the counter, "What I'm saying is that the solution, as I see it, is to get to know one another really, really quickly."

He closed the small gap between them. Skimmed a finger over her shoulder, leaving a trail of heat. "Beginning now."

His light caress moved down her arm until he'd linked their hands together and brought them to his lips. "So, New York, if you're still in the mood for seduction—and given the way you're dressed, I have to sorta suspect you are—I sure as hell won't stop you."

"I wanted to make you crawl." She trembled—both her voice and her body—as he brushed his firmly cut mouth across her knuckles.

"I can do that."

She laughed a little at his easy, obliging tone. Then went up on her toes, brushed a light kiss against his lips and was rewarded when he slanted his head and deepened it, not enough to wrest away control but to let her know he was fully engaged with the program.

Encouraged, she slipped her fingers beneath his T-shirt and ran her hands around to his back, pressing into his flesh, delighting in the steely strength of muscle.

"I love your body." She trailed her hands down his sides, around to his chest.

"It's all yours." The male need in his ragged tone was echoed in the galloping beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

She'd had only a sip of champagne, but she was already intoxicated with the exquisite power she found herself able to wield over this man she suspected was not accustomed to surrendering control.

"But you're wearing too many clothes." She caught hold of the bottom of the T-shirt and pulled it up over his chest.

He helped her pull the shirt over his head, but when he reached out to skim a finger along the top edge of her dress, she stepped away.

"Not yet."

She could tell it wasn't his first choice, but he nevertheless dropped his hands to his sides.

She splayed her hands over his bared chest. When she pressed an openmouthed kiss against that dark flesh, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Even as she was aching for him to take her, here and now, Sabrina forced herself to keep the pace slow.

She skimmed her lips up his chest, over his broad shoulders, then lingered at his throat, where she imagined she could taste the heat of his pulse, before moving up to his mouth again. Her tongue tangled with his, playing a little game of thrust and parry.

"Sabrina." He moaned her name, part oath, part prayer. "For God's sake, let's at least move this to the bedroom, so I don't end up taking you on the table."

She laughed at that idea, which didn't sound so bad. "In case you've forgotten,
I'm
the one taking
you
."

She touched a fingertip to her tongue and trailed it down his burning-hot chest, amazed it didn't sizzle. "But I'm willing to change venues. For now, anyway."

She linked her fingers with his. "So lead the way."