Volcano (23 page)

She nodded and flipped on a switch. She hadn't sat down but stood fiddling with the wires as if prepared to bolt at the first alarm. Finally, she looked up at him.

Charlie had forgotten he'd removed his shirt until he saw her eyes widen. If his ego were in full gear, he'd almost believe he saw appreciation behind those long lashes before they lowered. He guessed they'd spent most of their more private moments in darkness, so she probably hadn't seen much of him. With Penelope, he couldn't tell if he scared her half to death or if she really liked what she saw. At least, with her height, she didn't make him feel like a randy bull beside a terrified heifer. He balled his shirt up in his fist and headed for the shower, out of the electrically charged air between them.

“You've just lost your friend, your business is in danger of going under, and you spent the day fixing up a shack in a backwater town that could offer you no more than a good meal. Maybe they've got reason to trust you.”

Charlie stopped as if he'd hit a brick wall. He didn't turn around this time. He didn't trust himself or what he heard in her voice. “What else was I supposed to do? You're the computer dynamo. They provided you with what you needed. I just kept busy.”

In the world he knew, women expected men to hammer and nail. And in the world Penelope hailed from, women thought men who hammered and nailed were little better than trained apes. He wasn't sure where she was going with this.

“Have it your way. I told Beth I'd meet her in a chat room at seven. I'd better sign on.”

He didn't hear coldness in her voice. Charlie supposed that was a step in the right direction. He strode briskly to the shower before she could divert him again. He didn't know what the hell a “chat” room was, but the immense amount of information she'd generated impressed him enough to want to be there when she got back from cyberspace.

After a shower and shave, Charlie returned to the main room, wearing the thick bathrobe the resort provided. A dim bedside light revealed plump empty pillows and no shiny spill of black hair. He panicked until he sought the desk and saw the shadow of the laptop. She wouldn't leave without her computer.

Odd how hope could soar when everything was against him. If he had an ounce of sense, he'd be afraid something had happened to his efficient comrade-in-arms. Instead, he strode to the draperies and checked the Jacuzzi.

And smiled. She was there, head and neck resting on a pool pillow, pale arms floating beneath the bubbling water in complete relaxation. He'd packed her swimsuit and knew better than to expect anything revealing, but still, he liked the looks of this setting.

Carrying the wine and two glasses outside, he set them on a poolside table and poured. “What did your sister find out?” he asked, leaning over to hand her one.

Charlie's heart nearly leapt through his skin when he saw her look up at him with shadowed eyes. Maybe he'd better put his trunks on. Originally, he'd planned on getting dressed and going out again, but finding her out here had given him different ideas. Her look of wariness and hope, now combined with a tantalizing glimpse of sexual awareness as her gaze flitted to his chest, captivated him. Carefully, he dropped to the pool's edge and dunked his legs into the warm water.

“Raul was alive two days ago,” she stated flatly.

Her words slapped him more forcefully than her hand could. “Alive? That's impossible. There were vines over that body....” Adrenaline triggered his heart into pounding erratically. “How does she know?”

The pool lights illuminated Penelope's face from below, hiding her eyes, but he could hear the wariness in her voice.

“Raul called your office and warned you not to come to St. Lucia, according to your secretary. I assume your secretary would recognize his voice?”

“Sherry?” Charlie tried to think, but exultation pounded through his veins. Sherry had no reason to lie, probably didn't have the brains to lie. That meant that the body in the jungle was not his best friend. Raul might still be alive. Why had he disappeared without contacting him? Remembering Tammy, he fought his suspicions.

“Sherry's been with us a year. She's an airhead, but she ought to know his voice.” He forced his thoughts along more sensible channels. “What about Tamara? Have they found her?”

“She checked in, says she's fine; she's looking for Raul. John couldn't trace the call. She was very reluctant to say anything to him.” Penelope pushed the pillow away and sat up straight. “If Raul is alive, who does that body belong to? And is Jacobsen really dangerous, then? Maybe some homeless person just burned the hut down. Maybe there's nothing going on here at all. Maybe Raul is the crook.”

Penelope's movement drew Charlie's attention back to the pool. He didn't want to think about Raul being a crook. He wanted to focus on the way the water churned Penelope's curves into a wavering illusion in the pool light. The red strips that were her modest two-piece suit beneath the bubbling water taunted him.

Her suggestions needled, but he brushed the pinpricks aside. He had to believe Tammy and Raul were safe. The relief made him a little light-headed. He could afford to relax a little, revamp his plans, go after Jacobsen in a more organized manner. In the morning.

Without replying, Charlie unbelted the robe and slid into the silky warmth of the water.

He didn't give her time to gasp. He did what had worked so well earlier. He caught her by surprise and kissed her.

Oh, God, she tasted wonderful. Her tongue tasted of mellow chardonnay and her breath carried the scent of mint. The sweetness combined with the delectable moisture of her eager response drained all the blood straight from Charlie's head to his groin and he nearly passed out. Her fingers glided over his skin and every hair shot up with the electricity of the contact.

Groaning, he slid his hands around her bare back and settled her firmly in his lap. She stiffened at the contact with his arousal, but he lifted her higher and continued his explorations of her mouth. Gradually, she relaxed enough to wrap her arms around his neck and accept the pleasure of their joined lips.

Charlie luxuriated in the ease of their mating, the hungry kisses, the silken touches beneath the water, the desire bubbling as hot and powerful as the whirlpool around them. Penelope clung and melted as thoroughly as he did.

Until he hooked his fingers in her swimsuit top and freed her breasts.

She didn't exactly freeze, but she pulled back, fighting the stroke of his hand.

“Charlie, we have nothing in common,” she whispered into his ear.

“Probably not,” he agreed. He would have agreed with a bullfrog right now. His hand held the most delicious curve of pillowed softness he'd ever known. Not too large, not too small, just enough to fill his palm. Her soft moan as he stroked her fed his need. He couldn't have released her if his life depended on it. So he agreed with her. She was probably right. She usually was.

“I don't do this anymore,” she murmured against his ear as his hand kneaded her breast and plucked her nipple. “It's not profitable without commitment.”

“This isn't about profit. This is about us.” Ignoring her absurd argument, Charlie reached for the last scrap of material between them.

She nearly leapt out of his arms as his fingers slid beneath the spandex and touched her where she boiled as hot and furious as the volcano that had formed this island.

So much for argument. He drew off her swimsuit bottom, and she kicked it adrift as her frantic kisses covered his chest.

Penelope floated in his arms. Water slid down their chests, bubbled around their thighs, pumped into the air pockets where flesh rubbed flesh. Charlie held her so his arousal merely teased, and frustration steamed through her. She had about as much control as the volcano.

Penelope clawed at Charlie's shoulders, caught his lip with her teeth, thrust her tongue into the heat of his mouth, but still he wouldn't lower her. Instead, he raised her higher until his teeth nibbled at her nipple, and she cried out.

She'd never lost her head before. Never. But she was losing it now. She writhed in his hold, pressing her breast deeper into his mouth but not succeeding in reaching the part of him she needed most. She dug her fingers into his hair, slid her tongue into his ear, bit his earlobe until he shivered as much as she did, but still, his strength held her captive.

“Charlie!” she heard herself pleading. She never pleaded. She didn't like sex. She didn't want this. But parts of her throbbed as they never had before, and she knew of no other relief.

“We have nothing in common,” he reminded her, kissing the corner of her mouth as his hand played havoc where his lips had been just moments before.

Her breasts ached beyond belief, but her lower parts ached more. “Charlie, don't do this,” she whispered.

“Don't do what?” His hand slid down, parting her lower lips. “This?”

“Oh, God, Charlie, please,” she moaned, hating herself for moaning, but she couldn't stop now. She was too close to shattering. He was too close to prevent it. She slid her hands down his chest, wrapped her fingers in the hair there, and urged her hips closer to his.

“Please what, pretty Penny? Tell me. I don't want to do the wrong thing. Remember, we have nothing in common.”

She would kill him. When this was all over, she would shove a knife between his ribs. But it wasn't knives she wanted shoved right now. Prying one hand between them, she sought his arousal.

Now he was the one groaning. Good. Two could play this game.

Except he was so
big
. He surged and bucked against her, and she lost him as she grabbed for balance. Her fingers dug into his wide shoulders as she suddenly started sliding downward.

“Penny!” he groaned in sheer agony. “I didn't come prepared for this.”

He tried to haul her away, but she wasn't having any of it. Kneeling over him now, she could feel the thrust of his arousal where he'd opened her and left her empty. One more stroke …

The primal cry ripping from Charlie's throat as Penelope thrust downward echoed her own cry as his thickness filled her.

She tried to back away, but it was far too late. Charlie's big hands caught her hips, steadied her, easing her downward as he shifted upward. In one sudden surge, he parted her completely, until he was so firmly embedded, there was no knowing beginning or end.

“Charlie,” she whispered as he began to move, but she had nothing to say. Their bodies said it all.

He touched her in places she'd never been touched, aroused her in ways she'd never known possible. His hands were everywhere, stroking, urging, caressing, demanding until she was insane with need for more, to feel the same inside as out. He rocked with her, gently at first, letting her adjust until the frenzy within them grew too great. His fingers dug into her hips then, holding her, guiding her as he took over the pace.

Penelope swallowed her screams as she lost control. Charlie pounded her with as much force as the nails he'd driven earlier that day, but she knew no pain, only a devastating ride toward the edge of no return. She dangled on the peak, clutching at thin air, gasping for breath, until Charlie slid his hand between them and pushed her over the edge.

He fell with her. She felt him fall, felt him hanging on to her, calling her name, riding with her as they tumbled, weightless, into the depths. Penelope clung to him all the way down, sheltered in his embrace.

For the first time in her life, all the parts of her came together as one whole woman.

***

Charlie figured he could sleep for a week, just float off on this cloud of water, wrapped in silken flesh, more contented than he'd ever dreamed possible. Penelope had wiped out his mind, erased his will, reduced him to sensitive nerve endings and nothing more.

He registered every creamy curve, every satin tendril plastered against his shoulders and arms as her soft weight rested against him. Her heart beat in time with his where her breasts pressed into his chest. No one could convince him that they weren't made for each other. No one. Ever. Not while his mind boiled with the liquid fire of their lovemaking.

Gradually, reason returned. They'd have to climb out of the pool or risk boiling like lobsters. With huge effort, Charlie located his feet and the bottom of the pool and heaved upward, carrying Penelope with him.

She stirred against him but didn't protest as he locked her legs over his arm and pulled her free of the water. The balmy night air caressed their overheated skin, and he was glad he hadn't bothered with the air-conditioning. The shock would have woken them too abruptly. He leaned over and caught the terry robe with his fingertips. She pulled it around her as he carried her the few steps into their room. He liked shielding her in his arms like this, taking care of her. That scared him. This woman of steel didn't need his or any other man's protection. But tonight, she'd been all soft femininity in his arms. He could handle that.

Charlie wanted to collapse in the bed beside her as he laid Penelope on the sheets, wrapped in terry cloth, but his mind was clicking again.

He heard her murmured protest as he wandered off in search of a towel instead of climbing in beside her. That wasn't all he hunted for. He needed the wallet he had given her. Besides his credit cards and identification, it contained the only packages of protection he possessed. He hadn't exactly come to St. Lucia with sex in mind.