Taking It All Off

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Let’s just say my idea of what’s romantic doesn’t necessarily coincide with the hearts-and-flowers schmaltz that’s marketed as such.” He cut his eyes to her. “What about you? Underneath that stern exterior, do you harbor secret longings for pink cupids, red roses and tear-jerking love ballads?”

A laugh escaped her before she quite knew what was happening. His pleased grin sent a rush of warmth through her. She shook her head, still chuckling. “Cupids and ballads I can do without. But what woman doesn’t like roses?”

The yacht had docked and was tying off, so she picked up her suitcase and followed the other couples toward it. Jake strode after her. “Roses are so predictable,” he said. “I thought you’d have more imagination.”

She started to tell him she’d be happy with any flowers any man took the trouble to send her, but thought better of it. She’d had little experience with romance in her life, but he didn’t need to know that.

A Captain Davies welcomed them aboard the Free-bird. “Our travel time to La Paloma is about twenty minutes, so sit back and make yourselves comfortable,” he said.

Glynna settled onto a cushioned bench in the bow and Jake sat beside her, his hip almost touching hers. She wanted to move over, but they were sandwiched between pairs of cuddling newlyweds, so she settled for avoiding looking at him, focusing instead on the white-capped waves scudding toward them. The wind had picked up, and she was forced to twist her hair to one side and hold it back to keep it from whipping into her eyes.

The motor started and the yacht eased out of the slip, then turned and headed across the bay. Glynna gasped as the boat rose and fell in the rough seas. Waves slapped against the hull and spray arched back over the bow, splashing her feet.

Her stomach rolled with the boat, and she wondered if skipping breakfast had been such a good idea. Then again, if she’d eaten, would she feel even worse?

She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, determined not to embarrass herself by being seasick in front of Jake and all these strangers.

“Don’t close your eyes.” His voice was soft in her ear as he took her hand in his.

Her eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t close your eyes. It’ll only make things worse.”

She pulled her hand from his and smoothed it down her knee. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. You’re a sickly gray color and you’re sweating.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her forward. “Focus on the horizon, not the waves. That will help.”

She did as he suggested, though her stomach still threatened to betray her.

“You never answered me about the roses,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Are they really your favorite?”

She blinked at this sudden change of subject and tried to think. “Dahlias,” she said after a moment. “I like dahlias.”

“Why do you like them?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head in annoyance. “What does it matter?”

“There must be a reason. Think.”

She tried to concentrate on the question and not on her queasy stomach or the tossing boat or the slapping waves. “My mother grew them,” she said after a moment. “I can remember her making arrangements of them. Even then I liked the bright colors. They’re…exotic. A little wild.”

He was silent for so long, she wondered if he’d heard her. She looked back at him and found him studying her, the corners of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. “Exotic. I can see there’s more to you than I expected.”

She started to ask what he meant by that, but the engines shut off and seconds later, they bumped against the dock. He stood and offered her his hand. “There. You made it. Once you’re back on land, you’ll feel fine.”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Already, her stomach felt more settled. As his hand at her back guided her toward the front of the boat, understanding dawned. She stopped and turned to him. “All those questions about flowers—they were just to distract me, weren’t they?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes not thinking about sea-sickness helps.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, surprised and pleased to see this softer, gentler side of him. Maybe there was more to Jake than the sarcastic bad boy he played so well.

“You have a nice smile,” he said. “You should use it more often.”

Was he flirting with her? She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. She pulled her hand from his, the old awkwardness returning. “I…I guess we’d better get off of here.”

Laughing and talking, the other couples headed down a shell path toward a lattice-shaded building marked Reception, leaving Jake and Glynna alone. A tall, thin African-American woman with razor-cut hair and a figure-hugging white pantsuit stepped forward and greeted them. “You must be Jake and Glynna,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Marcie Phillips, director of marketing here at La Paloma. Welcome. We’re so glad you could join us for our grand opening.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing your operation here.” Glynna looked around them at the palm-shaded palapas, the rows of colorful sailboats lined up opposite a beach volleyball court and the marble-trimmed swimming pool ringed by lounge chairs filled with sunning couples. “This is quite a setup.”

“I’ve left press kits in your cottage, and of course, I’m available to answer any questions you might have while you’re here.”

She instructed them to leave their bags on the dock for the porter to bring later, and set off down a path. “I’ve put you in one of our deluxe cottages,” she said. “All of our accommodations are right on the beach and feature private whirlpool tubs and shaded verandas.”

Glynna hurried to keep up with Marcie’s brisk pace. “Excuse me,” she said. “Did you say one cottage?”

Marcie scarcely slowed down. “Of course. It’s designed as the perfect couple’s getaway. Each has a king-size bed, plus a well-appointed sitting room with a stereo, DVD player—”

“But there are two of us.” Glynna put a hand on Marcie’s arm, stopping her. “We’ll need two cottages.”

Marcie looked from Glynna to Jake, frown lines deepening on her forehead. “I thought you understood. This is a couples-only resort. I’m sure I made that quite clear to your editor.”

Glynna struggled to keep her voice even. “Jake and I aren’t a couple.”

Marcie shook her head. “We’re completely booked for our grand opening. This is the only cottage we have available.”

Glynna looked at Jake. He’d helped her out on the boat. Would he help her now? He raised one eyebrow. “I can share if she can. After all, we’re both adults, and it’s only for a weekend.”

Glynna’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. Spend the weekend with sarcastic, sharp-tongued and dangerously sexy Jake Dawson? They’d drive each other crazy within a matter of hours.

“That would be wonderful.” Marcie looked relieved. She smiled at Glynna. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

She looked up and found Jake’s eyes on her. “What do you say?” he asked. “Or are you worried I’ll tarnish your virtue?”

Now he’d done it. She had to agree or she’d look like a prude. She held her head up and adopted what she hoped was an air of indifference. “It doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to Jake. We’ll both be busy working most of the time anyway.”

“Great. Your cottage is right over here.” Marcie started down the path again, and led them to the last in a row of six. The square whitewashed building had blue shutters, porches on three sides and abundant heart and dove gingerbread trim. “How romantic,” Jake leaned forward and growled into Glynna’s ear, the rough timbre of his voice sending a jolt through her.

After giving them a brief tour of the three rooms that made up the cottage, Marcie finally left them alone. The porter appeared seconds later and deposited their luggage just inside the door.

Glynna carried her suitcase into the bedroom. Jake followed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t lay a finger on you. You’re not really my type.”

She flinched at the remark. Not that she was interested in a man like Jake, but did he have to make a point of telling her she was undesirable?

She opened her suitcase and took out her makeup bag. “I’ll take the bed. You can have the sofa.”

She started toward the bathroom, but he intercepted her. “No way. I’m a foot taller than you. You take the sofa.”

She glared at him, noting not only how tall he was, but how broad his shoulders and chest were. “All right. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Good.” He walked over to the bed and stripped off his shirt in one smooth movement.

She stared, her mouth going dry at the sight of his broad, muscular back. “Wh…what are you doing?” she asked.

“This is the beach. I’m going to change into my swimsuit.” He glanced at her. “I suggest you do the same unless you want to really stick out.”

He headed for the bathroom, leaving her alone. She opened her suitcase again and took out her most conservative swimsuit—a modest tankini with high-cut legs that suddenly seemed incredibly revealing.

She glanced at the closed bathroom door. Should she change now, or wait until the bathroom was free? What if Jake walked out while she was still undressing?

With trembling fingers, she reached for the zipper on her dress. What if he did walk out and find her half-dressed? Would he think her so undesirable then?

She hurriedly stripped and donned the swimsuit, then hung the sundress in the closet and deposited her dirty clothes in a side pocket of her suitcase. The last thing she wanted was to leave her underwear around for Jake to find.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he had a beach towel over one shoulder. He scarcely glanced at her, but went to his bag and took out a digital camera. “I’m going to take a few preliminary shots.”

He left without saying goodbye. Glynna stared after him, then sank onto the end of the bed. With Jake gone, the cottage felt too quiet and still. She stared at the painting across from the bed. It depicted a couple walking hand in hand into the sunset. The romantic image mocked her. When was the last time she’d had anything approaching romance in her life? Where was the man who was going to sweep her off her feet and make her forget about work and her father and all the stress in her life?

The men she usually met were either business associates of her father, whom she’d known since she was a toddler, or society playboys whose idea of romance was an expensive dinner at a trendy restaurant, followed by discreet and polite sex. Where were the men who could bring excitement and adventure into her dull existence?

Men like Jake Dawson. The thought sent a tremor through her. Maybe spending the weekend in this cottage with him wasn’t such a smart idea. The very fact that he was so different from every other guy she knew acted as a kind of aphrodisiac. How else to explain her sudden attraction to a man who was so clearly not right for her?

She hugged her arms across her chest and frowned at the happy couple in the picture. If Jake knew what she was thinking about him, he’d probably tell her she was out of her mind. “Imagine that,” she said out loud. “Something he and I could agree on.”

JAKE HAD TO GET out of the cottage before he did something he knew he’d regret. He must have been out of his mind to think he could spend a weekend in close quarters with the ice princess.

Not that she was as cold as he’d thought. In fact, he suspected a hot woman lurked just below the surface. Those were exactly the sort of suspicions he knew would land him in trouble.

The best thing to do, he told himself, was to concentrate on work. Looking at the world through the lens of a camera had given him the perspective to deal with problems in the past. And it had given him goals and hopes and dreams that went beyond the oil fields and cow pastures he’d grown up in. All he had to do was keep looking through that lens, keep taking his pictures, and he’d end up where he wanted to be, in New York, seeing his work on gallery walls and in expensive coffee-table books. He still had a lot to do to get there, and he couldn’t let a woman like Glynna McCormick mess with his head and distract him from his goals.

He took some shots of the line of cottages, the flower-filled gardens and the shady palapas. Later he’d view these pictures and decide which scenes and angles would be worth pursuing with his large-format Sinar. He photographed couples lounging by the pool, laughing together on the volleyball court and embracing in the surf. The cynic in him wondered if everyone was really as happy and in love as they looked.

The couple in the ocean parted and began walking down the beach. Jake approached them and introduced himself as a photographer for Texas Style. “We’re doing a story on the resort and I just took your picture,” he said. “Could I ask you a few questions?”

The woman smiled. “We’re going to be in a magazine?”

“I can’t promise anything, but maybe.” He dug in his pocket for the pencil stub and scratch pad he always carried. “Your names?”

“Rich and Emily Spencer,” the man said. He was young, midtwenties, with already thinning brown hair and a crooked nose.

“What brings you to La Paloma?” Jake asked.

“We’re on our honeymoon.” Emily leaned closer to Rich. “Isn’t this the most fabulous place?”

“Uh-huh.” His attention was distracted by a woman who was walking down the beach toward them. She moved with feline grace along the edge of the waves, her long dark hair blown back over one shoulder, the sun illuminating her skin with a golden glow.

“Do you know her?” Rich asked, following Jake’s gaze.

He nodded. “She’s the writer I’m working with on this piece.”

“Lucky you,” Rich said, earning a fierce look from Emily.

“Yeah,” Jake mumbled. “I’m lucky all right. Just one lucky dog.”

GLYNNA TOLD HERSELF she should be interviewing happy couples, talking to the staff or at least reading through the press kit Marcie had left for her. Instead, the sun and surf had induced an unfamiliar languidness. She strolled the beach, savoring the heat of the sun on her skin and the caress of water against her ankles, inhaling the coconut perfume of suntan lotion and admiring the florescent colors of flowers spilling from planters throughout the grounds. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stopped long enough to enjoy such simple things.

Not that she could totally relax. She still had the article to write, and she still had to deal with Jake. The thought of him sent a rush of envy through her. For all she pretended to disapprove of him, she wished she could borrow a little of his don’t-give-a-damn attitude. She’d held back her own feelings so long, it had become second nature to her. Her father didn’t condone “un-seemly” behavior. He had taught her that to be a lady and a professional meant remaining cool and unaffected in any situation.

Too late she’d discovered such behavior also meant you often stood alone, unapproachable.

She stopped as she neared a row of beach lounge chairs. A couple shared one chair, their bodies entwined. They looked into one another’s eyes, then kissed. They couldn’t stop touching each other. She clasped her arms across her chest, staggered by a fierce longing for someone to hold her that way.

As she turned to walk down the beach once more, a heated sensation crept over her, like a warm caress. She looked up and found Jake standing a little way up the beach with a young couple.

His eyes met hers and awareness arced between them, their bodies acknowledging an attraction their minds didn’t want to admit. Her first instinct was to turn away, but she fought that and held his gaze. He raised one eyebrow, questioning. She continued to look at him, silently daring him to come to her, to court these dangerous feelings and see what would happen next.

3

JAKE WAS THE FIRST to look away. He turned as if to walk in the opposite direction, but Glynna hurried after him. “Jake, wait up,” she called. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He stopped and let her catch up with him, his expression unreadable as he looked out at the ocean. “What have you been doing?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“I took a few establishing shots of the grounds. Saw some good possibilities for illustrations for the article.” He turned to stare at the resort spread out along the shore. “This is sure some place. It has a spa, a sauna, four hot tubs, two swimming pools, a gym, four restaurants, two bars and a karaoke club.” He shook his head. “Every luxury money can buy.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

He looked at her at last, the warmth gone from his eyes. “I don’t have anything against money. I just object to the attitude so many wealthy people have that because they have bucks, they deserve special treatment.”

“Is that why you don’t like me? Because you think I’m some rich bitch?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

She curled her fingers against her palm as she fought the urge to slap him. Not because his remark had offended her, but because he was so annoyingly contrary. Just when she was working up a good head of righteous indignation or anger, he would disarm her by saying something nice. “I never know what to think of you,” she said truthfully.

“And I never know what you’re thinking.” He held out his hand. “What say we call a truce? We’re here in this man-made paradise for the weekend. Why not make the best of it?”

She slipped her hand into his, a curious lightness overtaking her at his touch. She nodded. “You’re right. And I…I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I’m just…a little tense, I guess.” She looked around them, at the sugar-white beach and the aquamarine ocean, the lacy palm trees and the lounging couples. The sun warmed her skin, melting away the tension. Her real life seemed very far away. “Being here has made me realize how much I need to relax.”

He continued to hold her hand long after she would have pulled away. “I know just what you need.” He strode across the sand, pulling her along with him.

“Wait!” She stumbled, hurrying to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

“To the bar. We’ll have you relaxed in no time.”

WHY HADN’T HE noticed before what a great smile she had? Jake sat on a bar stool next to Glynna, watching as she twirled the miniature paper parasol in her glass of rum punch. She had small, even white teeth and full, pink lips. Luscious lips, made for kissing.

He straightened and blinked. Where the hell had that thought come from? He looked down and discovered his own glass was empty. He shoved it across the bar. He’d better slow down, if his mind was taking off in wild directions like that.

She shifted to sit with her back to the bar, facing out toward the ocean. The bar itself was open to the elements on three sides, so that the sea breeze brought the smell of salt and suntan oil and the shouts and cheers from the volleyball game to them. “To think I didn’t want to come here,” she said.

“Why didn’t you want to come?” he asked. Not that he’d jumped at the chance to take the assignment. He had too many other irons in the fire to spend a weekend at the beach.

“I don’t usually write fluff pieces like this.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “And I have so much work to catch up on, and errands and…stuff.” She laughed. “Meaningless stuff.” She sipped her drink, making long slurping sounds as she drained it. She giggled. “And I thought it wouldn’t be fun.”

He told himself he shouldn’t laugh, but he couldn’t hold back the chuckles. This was a different Glynna McCormick than he’d ever seen. Away from the office and out of those severe suits she always wore, she was softer, funnier…and sexy as hell.

He was a fool for agreeing to spend the weekend with her without putting his hands on her. His gaze moved over the curve of her breasts at the neckline of the swimsuit top, to the smooth triangle of thigh showing at the slit of her sarong. She was a woman made for touching, and he was a man not used to denying himself.

If he wasn’t already crazy, he was liable to be half-insane before the weekend was over. Maybe he should sleep on the beach….

“Tell me about the nude photos.”

The question startled him from his musings. He stared at her. “What nude photos?”

She laughed. “The ones that fell out of your bag at the office the other day.” She leaned toward him. “Are you freelancing for Playboy or something?”

He coughed. “Yeah, right. If Playboy was knocking on my door, I wouldn’t need this gig.”

“Then what were they for?”

He shifted on the bar stool, picked up his empty glass and set it down again. “It’s for a show at a gallery downtown. A series of photos of artistic nudes.”

“You mean a gallery showing of just your photos?”

He nodded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a big gallery, but if the work sells well, it could lead to bigger things.”

“I doubt very many photographers get their own showings. I’m impressed.” She opened and closed the parasol, sliding it in and out of her fingers. “It was a beautiful photo. Who was the model?”

“The wife of a friend of mine. He came with her to the shoot and I agreed to give them prints in lieu of a modeling fee.” He shrugged. “You do what you have to when you’re paying your dues.”

“And what are you paying your dues for? I mean, where do you want to go with this?”

“I’d like to go on to exhibit nationally. To be represented in New York, be one of the top names in art photography.”

“You have the talent. I guess all you need now is luck.” Her voice was breathy, wistful.

He leaned toward her. “What about you? Do you do other writing besides your work for the magazine?”

She shrugged. “I have some investigative pieces I’m working on. But I’m so busy I don’t really have time to devote to them.”

“If you could do anything, be anything, what would it be?”

“I’d like to go to New York to write for a major magazine there.”

“Then why don’t you do it? What’s stopping you?”

She frowned, and traced her finger through the condensation on the side of her glass. “My father…”

He put his hand on her arm. Her skin was cool and smooth. She looked at him, but didn’t move away. “Are you going to let him run your life forever?”

She did jerk away from him then. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not blind. I see the way you jump every time he says hop.” He sat back and reached for his glass, wishing it weren’t empty. “You’re a grown woman. Why not act like it?”

“Go to hell, and take your opinions with you.” She shoved off the bar stool and stalked away, swaying only slightly when she stepped out onto the sand.

Cursing under his breath, he turned from the sight of her and signaled the bartender for another drink. Now he’d done it. Just when he thought they were connecting. Though why should he care? He and Glynna were from two different worlds. His father and grandfather had been oil-field roughnecks who spent their time off in Telephone Road ice houses, drinking beer and playing pool while Glynna’s family sat behind desks in clean suits all day, then drank cocktails and munched hors d’oeuvres around the swimming pool in the evenings. She’d had her career gift-wrapped for her the day she graduated from some upper-crust college. She didn’t know what it meant to struggle to prove yourself. So why should her opinion of him matter at all?

GLYNNA DRESSED for dinner, but all she really wanted was to take three ibuprofen and crawl under the covers until morning. Why, oh why had she drunk those two rum punches? The sun hadn’t even set and already it felt like the morning after.

But her head wasn’t the only thing that hurt her. Jake’s words had wounded like a dart in her flesh, all the more painful because she knew they were true. Of course she had been letting her father run her life. Anyone would see that on the surface. But did they understand he was all she had? It had been just the two of them since her mother died when she was nine. He’d discouraged relationships with men, even talked her into living at home until two years ago, when she’d insisted on her own place.