Lead Me On (5 page)

"What a crazy night," Linda Lovejoy said. "Wasn't it crazy?"

"It was that," Scott's deep voice answered. "But right now, I think we need to move this little party upstairs."

"Oh no, not yet. Let's dance. Come on, don't you want to dance with me in the moonlight?"

"Actually, what I really want to do is get you into bed."

"I just bet you do." Throaty laughter floated on the night air, followed by silence.

Allison lay perfectly still, trying not to picture what was going on right outside. Unfortunately she could imagine it all too clearly: the two of them locked in a passionate embrace. What would it feel like to be kissed by Scott Lawrence? To run her hands freely over his hard body. To have his hands move up her back so he could bury his fingers in her hair, or down to cup her bottom and hold her tightly to him ...

Dr. Lovejoy murmured something low and hungry sounding, and Allison felt her insides stir.

"Another time, perhaps," Scott said. "Let's get you upstairs and into bed?"

"I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna go skinny-dipping."

"Up we go." Shoes scraped on the stone steps. "Whoa, let's wait until we get upstairs before you undress, okay?"

"Okay."

She heard the opening and closing of the front door, the light tapping of Linda's shoes, the heavier thud of Scott's boots, then the sounds faded. Would they go to his room, or hers?

Images flashed through Allison's mind of naked bodies moving together on tangled sheets. She rolled to the side, pressing her thighs together to ease the aching in her loins. But the fantasies still came—Scott's hands on her own bare skin, his mouth moving over her breasts. Her hands touching every inch of him she could reach. She'd tried so hard to squelch such thoughts, to not think about sex, but there were times the act was so vivid in her mind she felt as if it were actually happening.

Did men honestly think she never had such thoughts? Never felt her insides turn hot and liquid as she imagined the feel of a man thrusting deep inside her? She would have to be abnormal to never think about it. Did they really believe her so pure of mind she'd be affronted if they mentioned such things in her presence? Or, heaven forbid, asked her to participate?

She was not pure of mind at all. She thought about sex a lot, yearned for it to the point of physically aching. But she'd never sought to relieve that yearning, because she'd feared the greater pain of a broken heart. She knew too well how it felt to lose someone she loved, or to trust and have that trust destroyed. She would rather do without love completely than ever risk that kind of devastation again.

But what if Scott and Adrian were right? What if a woman could detach herself emotionally to satisfy her physical longings for the sheer pleasure of it? What if she could ease the constant ache to feel a man's touch, without risking her heart?

She lay in the dark, considering the idea, and imagining herself upstairs in Scott Lawrence's bed.

Gawd, Scott thought, thirty-two years old and already an old man. Lying on the beach towel, flat on his back, he didn't even care that the sun was burning through his eyelids in a red haze. If he lay there long enough, maybe the heat would burn away his hangover and the memory of last night

The hangover was mild, barely even noticeable now that he'd guzzled some coffee from the upstairs sideboard and taken a dip in the cove. Unfortunately he'd missed breakfast, but probably couldn't have faced Allison anyway after his rudeness yesterday. As for the memories ... He scrunched his face in an effort to block them. Sometimes he thought life should be like writing, so you could go back and edit a scene that didn't work the way you'd hoped. Or, better yet, delete the scene completely.

One of the first things he'd rewrite was everything he'd said to Allison when she'd come to his room. He'd spent half the evening distracted by thoughts of whether or not to apologize. He owed her one, no doubt, but in order to give it to her, he'd have to talk to her. Just the thought of being in the same room with her made his pulse pound, so not a good idea.

"Hey, there," someone called.

He snapped his head up, fearing it was Allison. Instead he saw Linda Lovejoy in a swimsuit cover-up coming down the azalea-lined path that led from the inn to the private cove. He stifled a groan. As much as he didn't want to see Allison, he wanted to see this woman even less, but for entirely different reasons.

Physically, Dr. Lovejoy was attractive enough, but as long as he was rewriting yesterday, the second thing he'd edit out were the tattooed dragons that covered the woman's upper back and shoulders. He'd seen enough of them last night when she'd removed the jacket to her spaghetti-strap dress.

"So, how's the water?" she asked when she reached him.

"Wet." He frowned as she spread a towel next to his. "I'm surprised to see you up before noon."

"Vacations are too short to waste time sleeping in."

He squinted against the sunlight while she tossed aside the cover-up, revealing a tiny, leopard-skin string bikini. "No ill effects from last night?" he asked as she started applying suntan oil to her arms, stomach, and legs.

"I never get hangovers."

He dropped his head back with a groan. It should be illegal for someone to drink as much as she had and not suffer the next day. He hadn't had anywhere near as much, and he'd awoken with a splitting head to add to his nagging guilt over his rudeness to Allison. At least the headache had subsided. Perhaps the guilt would too. In time.

"Wasn't that a great club last night?" Linda said. "There's just something about disco music."

He nearly snorted as he remembered the retro bar they'd gone to, complete with mirrored ball over the dance floor, flashing colored lights, and dry ice. "Personally, I had enough of the Bee Gees the first time around."

"You aren't old enough to have been clubbing back then."

No, but you probably are.

When he'd first seen her yesterday, he'd thought she was about his age, maybe a couple years older. But the more he'd studied the hardness around her eyes and mouth, the more years he'd added to his guess.

"Do my back?" she asked.

With a sigh, he sat up and took the bottle of oil from her. She stretched out on her stomach and he stared in disbelief. The dragons and wicked-looking fairies didn't just cover her upper back. They covered her entire back. "Aren't you worried the sun will fade all that ink?"

"Not enough to avoid the sun." She laughed at him over her shoulder. "Aren't they great? The artist really did a fabulous job."

If you say so. He poured oil in his palm and started rubbing it in. It wasn't that he objected to all tattoos. In fact, he'd seen some that were very sexy. But a whole back covered with fairies who appeared to be ... He peered closer. "What the hell?"

She smiled at him again, her eyes hooded with sexual knowledge. "What do you think?"

He stared at the ink fairies who seemed to be practicing some very kinky S and M bondage on the dragons. "Are they doing what I think they're doing?"

"Ever try it?"

"Bondage? No." He may have thought about it from a curiosity standpoint, but he'd never seriously considered trying it—even in the wildest days of his misspent youth.

She shrugged and laid her head down on her forearms.

He finished oiling up her back, and returned to his own beach towel with his back to the sun. The next time his agent suggested he take a vacation, he'd shoot the man. Nothing that had happened so far was remotely relaxing. Not returning to a place that stirred up old memories. Not his instant attraction to a woman who was entirely too innocent for him. And definitely not his night on the town with Dr. Strangelove.

"You know," she murmured, as if already sleepy from the effects of the sun. "It was very sweet of you to play the gentleman last night, but it really wasn't necessary."

Oh yes it was.

He wasn't about to break a two-year stretch of celibacy with a woman who was slobbering drunk. "Don't mention it."

He tried to listen to the lapping of the water and enjoy the breeze against his skin. Maybe if he didn't say anything, the woman beside him would fall asleep.

"So," she said. "Have you ever wanted to try it?"

"Try what?"

"Letting a woman tie you up?"

"No." Something like that required way too much trust from both partners for his comfort zone.

"Okay, no tying you to the bedposts, but how about ... spanking?"

He opened one eye. "Giving or receiving?" Not that either appealed to him.

She smiled slowly. "Receiving."

"Okay, I'm out of here." He stood, gathering his towel and shirt.

"Hey," she called as he picked up his Top-Siders and headed for the inn. "I didn't mean to scare you off."

"You didn't." She'd turned him off. The whole trip had been a mistake. He might as well pack up his computer and head back to the French Quarter. At least he expected the women there to be weird.

First, though, he'd apologize to Allison. If he was leaving, there wasn't any reason not to see her since she'd soon be too far away to tempt him. He'd just have to get through a few minutes without grabbing her and kissing her so hard and deep they both went weak in the knees.

He stepped into the cool relief of the central hall, and stood for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The inn was quiet, since the other guests were apparently out sightseeing. Should he seek Allison out now, or wait until he'd showered? Since the morning was fairly cool, and he hadn't been down at the beach long, he was presentable. He might as well get it over with.

A noise to his left drew him into the gift shop, where sunlight drifted through the lace curtains. A colorful array of knickknacks and books filled the built-in shelves while porcelain teapots sat on a small linen-covered table. The smell of scented candles and those bags of leaves and twigs women seemed to like filled the air. Inhaling, he recognized the scent as Allison. It wasn't perfume she wore, but the fragrance of her shop that surrounded her.

Turning, he saw a table displaying dolls with delicately painted faces and frilly dresses. He picked up one with curly black hair and bright blue eyes. How like Allison to sell dolls and tea sets.

"In the market for a doll?"

Ah, that voice. A tingle of arousal raced down his spine as he turned to face her. She stood in the corner with an armload of books and filtered light shining off her hair. She gave him a mildly challenging look.

He glanced back at the doll in his hands. "I have a niece who'll expect a gift when I return to New Orleans." Except Chloe would snort in disgust if he gave her something so "girly."

He set the doll down as Allison turned her back to him to shelve the books, her movements jerky with anger.

"Rory took a few phone messages for you this morning," she said. "But don't worry, I've already tossed them in the trash for you."

"Thank you." He moved toward her, cautiously, since she reminded him of a kitten ready to hiss and spit at the household dog. If he got too close, he'd probably get his nose scratched. "Look, I, um, need to let you know I'm checking out early."

"How early?" Startled, Alli whirled to face him. With the lawsuit pending, they couldn't afford to lose the month's rent he would bring. All thought of money faded,

though, when she saw him at such close range. The fantasies of last night returned in a warm rush.

"Today, actually."

"But ... why?" The unbuttoned black shirt left his stomach and chest exposed: a remarkable chest, with swirls of black hair that tapered downward, dividing his hard stomach. She squelched thoughts of touching him and forced her gaze back to his face. "Is it something we've done?"

"No, of course not. I'm just ..." He made a restless gesture with his arms that caused his shirt to gape even more. "I'm not finding this trip as relaxing as I'd hoped."

She glanced at the window, toward the beach where Dr. Lovejoy had headed mere moments ago. Anger returned with the memories of how he'd shunned her for another woman, how she'd lain awake listening as they'd kissed in the moonlight outside her window. Then his words sank in, and she wondered if she'd been mistaken. Maybe the two of them hadn't slept together last night. Confusion and relief struggled to break through the hurt. "Are you saying you're leaving because one of our guests wouldn't ..."

"Wouldn't what?" He raised a brow.

"Nothing." She clamped her lips together. She would not add mortification to the other emotions battling inside her.

He studied her face, then laughed. Actually laughed, the toad! "If you're thinking I'm leaving because Linda wouldn't put out for me, you're wrong."

"Oh." So they had been together! "I see."

"See what?"

"That you— That—" She tried to hold her anger back, but after his rudeness yesterday, she saw no reason to mince words. "That you got what you came for, so there's no point in staying. Well, we have a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy, so we'll have to charge you for tonight whether you stay or not."

He narrowed his eyes. "For what it's worth, I didn't 'get what I came for.' "

"But you just said she didn't turn you down."

"She didn't. Unfortunately, I seem to have developed an annoying quirk in the last few years where I have to at least like a woman before I go to bed with her."

"I see." The yo-yo emotions, spinning from jealousy to relief, left her dizzy.

"Look, before I pack, I um ..." He seemed suddenly unsure of where to put his hands and wound up resting them on his hips while he stared at his feet. Oh God. The shirt gaped wide, showing his trim waist above the black swim trunks. "I want to apologize for yesterday. I had no right to talk to you the way I did. It's obvious you're a woman who isn't used to being spoken to so bluntly. If I offended you in any way, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." She clutched the books to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them.

He tipped his head. "But you're still angry."

"Yes." She swallowed hard. Hating him for being so attractive. Hating herself for wanting him so badly. "Because you have no idea how greatly you offended me."

His gaze dropped back to the floor. "I don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry."

"But you're apologizing for the wrong reason!" she snapped. His head came up and she wanted to slug him. "You stood there yesterday and told me you came to Galveston looking for a woman to ... to—"