Slippery When Wet. Kristin Hardy
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She scowled at the tiny figures on the shore. Maybe he’d tired of teasing her by now and would leave her in peace. She thought of the spark of mischief in those green eyes and shook her head. She should be so lucky.
Diving under the water like a seal, she came up with her hair wet and slicked back. It was a shame. The more she thought about the idea of cutting loose for a totally meaningless and completely decadent vacation fling, the more it appealed to her. If Dev Carson had been just another guest at the resort, she’d have given very serious thought to jumping his bones. Granted, her bones-jumping skills were rusty, but there had been a time when she’d been able to reel in any man she set her cap for. She still had the equipment, she had no doubt she could do it again. She just needed to get back the mindset.
Somehow, though, none of the other men she’d seen around the resort had made quite the impression on her that Dev did. If only he weren’t focused on their little contretemps.
Taylor rolled over to float lazily on her back, staring at the small white puffs of cloud in the sky overhead. She couldn’t do anything more about the situation than she already had. Ignore him and relax, that was the thing to do. This was her long overdue vacation. No way was she going to waste another precious minute of it worrying about work-related stuff. For the next seven days, duty and responsibility didn’t exist. Indulging herself was the only rule.
That, and finding herself a decadent summer lover.
DUSK WAS PURPLING TO evening as Taylor strolled up the winding jungle trail that led from her room to the restaurant. Stone lanterns dotting the side of the path cast a soft, peach glow over the flagstones, illuminating the nodding blossoms on plantings by the trail. Out in the dim space under the trees, a bird whistled softly. The skirt of her hot pink minidress swished against her thighs. With every step, she felt the years slough away, bringing her closer to the carefree, happy-go-lucky chance-taker she had once been.
She’d begun to relax fractionally that afternoon after she returned to her lounger to find Dev Carson nowhere in sight. The little prick of disappointment she’d felt, she’d suppressed ruthlessly. No mixing business and pleasure, she told herself sternly. Having a fling would be wonderful. Having a fling with Dev Carson would be the dumbest thing she could do.
But he was gone, and hopefully that was the end of it. She ignored the tiny voice in her head—miniscule, really—that whined about the rarity of six-pack abs. He was gone and she was glad. Now she could relax and take it easy. After all, in a resort of nearly a thousand people, she might go days without seeing him again.
But she’d kept her top on the rest of the afternoon, just in case.
The path leveled and broadened and changed into polished golden terrazzo that led along the edge of the open-air restaurant. In a region where the air was warm and silky, even in winter, walls were superfluous. The only thing necessary was the thatched roof that hung down at the edges and soared to a peak in the center, blocking out the occasional cloudbursts. Long ponds patrolled by orange and white koi separated the walkway from the dining area, where a fringe of dried palm fronds overhung the edge of the roof. One side of the restaurant looked out on a broad waterfall that cascaded over rocks, the chatter of the droplets soothing in her ears.
Taylor walked up to the hostess stand at the entrance. “Hola, señorita,” smiled a compact, dark-eyed man, with a badge that said Raoul. “You wish for dinner?” he asked.
“Si, gracias,” Taylor replied. “Un asiento, por favor.”
“Ah.” His eyes lit. “Habla Español?”
Taylor laughed and held her forefinger and thumb half an inch apart. “Un poquito, un poquito,” she said, shaking her hand ruefully.
Raoul picked up a menu and led her to the side of the restaurant near the waterfall where a stream of droplets fell musically into the catch basin. The paddles of overhead fans stirred the air. Candles flickered on the tables and soft Latin guitar played over the sound system. It was exquisite. She wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Except for the fact that the table Raoul was leading her toward was already occupied by Dev Carson.
He stood up as Raoul stopped at the table, and pulled out a chair for her. “Gracias, amigo,” he said, nodding to Raoul.
“De nada,” Raoul murmured with a wink and disappeared.
Taylor looked at Dev and he looked steadily back. Behind him, the drops of the backlit waterfall chattered. His tan was dark against the white linen of his shirt. His eyes glimmered with something like anticipation, and had something in her stomach chittering like the waterfall.
“Hot-pink suits you.”
Taylor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting her system steady. “Mr. Carson,” she began.
“Dev,” he corrected.
“So you keep telling me. Look, I know you weren’t happy with the way things worked out at the travel agency, and I sympathize with that. I sympathize with the fact that you might still be annoyed. But I’m on vacation. You made your point this afternoon. I’d be happy to listen to anything else you have to say—next week, in my office. While I’m here, I’m off the clock. Buenos noches.” She moved to turn away.
He took a step and was at her side. “Don’t go. Have dinner with me.”
She blinked at him.
“Just dinner. I’m not going to give you a bad time. I swear,” he said, holding up his hands, palms toward her. “Baltimore never happened. Pffffttt.” At her suspicious look, he went back to his seat. “Look, I’ve been down here for three weeks. I’ve gotten certified for scuba and dived half a dozen reefs, some of them twice. I’ve parasailed. I’ve been to see the ruins. I’ve taken a catamaran around the island. I’ve made friends with all the staff. It would be nice for a change to talk to someone who wasn’t paid to be friendly to me.”
A quick frisson of sympathy whisked through her. Taylor sat down slowly. “Somehow, I have a feeling that the only time you dine alone is when you want to.”
“I haven’t exactly been in the mood for company, at least I wasn’t at first. I’ve been…mellowing over the past week,” he decided.
Somehow, mellow wouldn’t have been the word she would have chosen. True, he lounged in the chair across from her, but it was with the watchful indolence of some beast that could spring on its prey without warning. And she had the uneasy feeling that despite his assurances, his prey just might be her.
The waiter stopped by to take their drink orders. Dev eyed her as she asked for a beer. “You’re in Mexico,” he said. “Why not a shot of tequila?”
She looked at him for a moment. Six-pack abs, the voice whispered. “Why not? A shot please,” she asked the waiter.
“Herradura, por favor,” Dev added, “y dos cervezas.”
“What’s Herradura?” Taylor asked suspiciously as the waiter left.
“Top quality tequila, the kind that you don’t need salt and a lime to get down. You can sip this stuff,” he added, nodding at the bottle that the waiter was bringing their way.
“A connoisseur?” she asked, raising a brow.
He shrugged. “Three weeks in Mexico will teach you a thing or two if you’re prepared to listen instead of talk.”
Somehow she could see that about him, a certain quiet watchfulness that absorbed the world around him. The waiter set the shot glasses on the table and poured the amber liquid, then nodded and left.
Dev picked up his glass. “Here’s to vacations.”
“To vacations,” she echoed and took a sip of the tequila. To her surprise, it flowed down smooth and warm, though with a fiendish little kick at the end. Savoring the flavor, she glanced up to see Dev watching her.
“Like it?”
She