Body Contact (15 page)

“I thought of that. But it could have been given to me by Juanita or someone else who feels sorry for Dawn. The question is—does she want to help us, or is she trying to score brownie points with Reynard?”

“You're sure it's a woman?”

“Who else would be in the spa?”

“A maintenance man?” he asked innocently.

She nodded, thinking that the same guy who had been to their villa could have been wiring the spa for sound, too. Or checking the equipment, since the place was probably already wired up.

Jack transferred his attention from her jaw to the column of her throat, and the hazy thought flitted through
her brain that the neck was as erotically sensitive an area as you could find.

She closed her eyes and arched for him, giving him better access, her thighs turning to jelly as he aroused her.

She forgot about guards and microphones. Now there was only Jack, touching her, kissing her, stirring her senses.

She couldn't hold back a small moan as his fingers lightly skimmed the outlines of her nipples that must be clearly visible through the knit fabric of her designer T-shirt.

She could hear Jack's breath rushing in and out of his lungs—hear her own labored breathing. And she wondered if he was planning to lift her up and fit her body to his. She could kick off her shorts and panties. And she wouldn't even have to take off his pants. Just open them in the front and free his penis. As the thought took her, she remembered how that part of him had felt in her hand last night. So hard. So hot. So blatantly male. No wonder the term penis envy had been invented by guys. They'd think of the male organ in those terms.

Her terms were different. She didn't want one dangling between her legs or standing out like a flagpole off her body when she was aroused. She wanted this one inside her, filling her, rubbing against her hot, sensitized female flesh.

That was the only thought in her mind as she cupped her hand over the bulge behind his fly, stroking and pressing.

She felt his whole body tighten. Blindly, her fingers found his belt buckle, began to slip leather through metal.

“Don't,” he growled, bringing her back to reality, even though it was perfectly obvious that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Don't,” he repeated. “I'm not going to put on a sex
show for the guards. Let's find a better place to make love.”

Her lids blinked open, and she stared at him. His green eyes were dark and dilated, yet she could almost watch the struggle going on in their depths. The struggle between desire and business.

Her hands dropped away from his buckle. Then, finding her own voice, she answered, “Right.”

They both stood in the screen of protective greenery, fighting the needs and desires that seemed to leap and crackle between them like heat lightning every time they let their guard down.

“Come on,” he finally said, picking up the blanket she hadn't realized he'd dropped and leading her back through the branches.

It felt strange to walk when her knees were weak and every step made the crotch of her shorts rub uncomfortably against her aroused sex. She tugged the fabric down, trying to ease the pressure, and saw Jack catch the movement. She gave him a little shrug, her only consolation being that he was obviously in as bad shape as she was. If her shorts were rubbing her the wrong way, what must the fabric of his slacks feel like pressing against his erection? Another good reason why she wouldn't want to be a man, she thought.

The insanity of their predicament hit them at the same time.

“Hot and bothered in paradise,” he muttered, then laughed.

Her own laugh helped break some of the tension.

His fingers tightened on hers as he led her farther down the path, both of them scanning the underbrush as they pretended to look for a place where they might be alone.

Only now Maddy couldn't stop herself from wondering
if they were still pretending. If they found a suitable spot, would they take advantage of it?

She abandoned that thought when they came around a curve. Ahead was a break in the trees, and she could see a stone building about fifty yards farther on. Surprisingly close, she thought. Yet the jungle foliage had hidden it from view.

The walls were dark and forbidding, and one feature was the prominent tower jutting from a far corner like a phallic symbol.

A high stone wall enclosed the structure. And the windows she could see above it were barred. As they came closer, she saw that the entrance to the compound was blocked by an iron gate.

She craned her neck upward, her gaze sweeping the window. Did she see a flash of movement behind one of the curtains, she wondered. Or was that just her imagination working overtime?

“Ooo, this place looks neat,” she murmured. “Like something out of an adventure movie.”

“Yeah. It doesn't look like anyone's around. That wall should block out prying eyes. Let's see if we can find some privacy in the courtyard,” Jack suggested.

He and Maddy quickened their pace and reached the gate. This time he didn't try the lock, but headed for a smaller door in the wall. Before they reached it, two guards materialized from the interior. Both had faces as harsh and unyielding as the stone walls behind them. Both had taken their machine guns off their shoulders and held them pointed downward.

Maddy felt the hairs on her arms stir. This place might look like a fantasy movie location, but the guards meant business. If they decided to shoot her and Jack, nobody would know about it. The two of them would simply disappear into unmarked graves in the jungle. And none of
the other guests would protest for fear that they'd jeopardize their own safety.

On the other hand, she was sure that one guest—Don Fowler—would be ecstatic because he'd know that his chief rival had been eliminated.

Thinking of the drug dealer made a terrifying thought leap into her mind. Suppose it was Fowler who had sent these guys, decked out like Reynard's troops. Swallowing, she told herself that was nonsense. Fowler didn't have a private army here. She was just reacting to the men and the guns and the isolated setting.

Beside her, Jack cleared his throat. “Is there some problem?” he asked in a voice so smooth that you could spread it on a dinner roll.

“Sorry, sir, this is a restricted area,” one of the guards replied, his tone more deferential than she might have expected, given the machine guns.

Jack eyed the weapons. “We didn't mean to trespass. Is that Reynard's prison compound?”

“It's off-limits, sir,” the guard repeated without giving away any information.

Jack shifted the blanket draped over his arm. “Yeah, all right. We were just looking for a nice romantic spot.”

“Not here.”

“Okay. Sure. Come on, baby, let's go back to our villa.” He loosened her death grip on his fingers, then slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side.

Glad of the support, she exhaled a small breath. When he turned her in the opposite direction, she went willingly.

Still, she couldn't stop her mind from picturing a hail of bullets or her body from bracing for the impact. And it wasn't until they'd rounded a curve in the trail that she felt herself relax.

The guards and their machine guns had had a temporarily dampening effect on her ardor, she realized.

Jack slid her a sidewise look as they headed toward their villa, and she suspected his thoughts were paralleling hers.

“So much for a private clearing in the jungle,” he growled.

“This place does have its frustrations.”

“Yeah, that reminds me. I forgot to tell you. We've got another reception tonight at the main house.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open as she gave him a tight nod.

“I'm going to cool off with a little solitary walk. Why don't you rest up? Then we can get ready for the evening.”

She might have objected, but she knew that time alone to cool off wasn't such a bad idea.

 

M
ADDY KEPT HER ARMS
slightly bent and her hands lightly at her sides, ignoring the impulse to fold them protectively across her chest. She'd already worn her most modest dress to the party last night, if you could use the term for any of her evening wear. But she couldn't show up in the same thing two nights in a row—not with this crowd where all the guys were competing to show how much they'd spent on their ladies' outfits. So this evening, she was forced to choose one of her other dresses. This one was a clingy black number that was longer than her thigh-skimmer of the night before. But it would have been impossible to walk in the narrow skirt without side slits. And the slits ran up both sides, showing flashes of her legs from ankle to upper thigh with every step she took. The bodice was even more disturbing, with a neckline that plummeted almost to her navel, barely covering the sides of her breasts on its way down.

And the strands of gold beads that went with the outfit only accentuated her feeling of undress.

Lucky Jack, she thought. The tuxedo didn't leave any of his important parts hanging out.

She cut him a look as they strolled up the path to the main house. He might appear to be relaxed, but she'd come to recognize the small signs of tension that he exhibited. There was the set of his shoulders. The tightness around his jaw. Even the hands thrust into his pockets. With anyone else, that might be a relaxed gesture. But not with Jack. It meant he was reminding himself not to slug anyone.

Of course, she could put the tension down to sexual frustration. She was feeling a pretty heavy dose of that herself—after all the kisses and caresses they'd exchanged that afternoon. But there had been nothing they could do about it. Nothing but move carefully around each other as they got ready for another stimulating evening in the panther's den.

Yet she was very sure sexual frustration wasn't the only thing that had set Jack on edge. Their failure to locate Dawn had to be a major factor in his mood. And there was something else, too. Something he wasn't telling her. Something dark and dangerous. She needed to know what it was, and why he had chosen to keep quiet.

So what was his motivation? Was he trying to protect her? Or had he come to some kind of agreement with Reynard, the terms of which he wasn't prepared to share with her?

She stopped thinking about Jack as she spotted Reynard near the door. He'd been looking out into the darkness as though impatient. And now his face broke into a smile of welcome as she and her escort stepped forward.

“My dear.” He greeted her first, reaching out to clasp her shoulders.

The gesture was so much more bold than any he had used before, that she was instantly on guard.

Still, he drew back quickly, flooding her with relief. When he looked to his right, a woman who had been talking to Arnold Ving and Cynthia politely detached herself and glided toward them.

Maddy had a moment to register Ving's disappointment. Then her attention was switched to the woman as she tried to see her the way a man would. She was tall and slender, but with curves in all the right places. Her dress wasn't quite as low cut as Maddy's. But it gave a tantalizing view of breasts that rode high and proud without benefit of a bra. And her skirt was short enough to show off her tanned legs. In fact, her skin looked tanned all over—making Maddy wonder if she sunbathed in the nude. Probably the guys were wondering the same thing.

The woman's face was drop-dead beautiful. She could have been a movie star, Maddy thought. Only she was apparently living here on Orchid Island, at Oliver Reynard's beck and call. Maddy hoped she was well paid for her services.

She came up to Reynard, linked her arm with his and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Calista, I'd like you to meet Jack and Maddy. Jack, Maddy, this is Calista, one of my favorite companions.”

She smiled at them, a secret smile, her eyes roaming over their bodies—her interest in Maddy as frankly sexual as her interest in Jack.

She held out her slender hand to him first. He would have been rude to refuse the gesture. As his flesh touched hers, Maddy saw the woman sweep her thumb sensually along his palm, her long nail grazing his flesh before breaking the contact.

Jack gave her a small nod, even as Calista reached toward Maddy. Again there was no polite way to refuse the
gesture, and again the thumb swept over flesh, offering an unmistakable and disturbing sexual invitation. Even more disturbing was the way Reynard was watching the exchange—with obvious enjoyment and keen interest—as though he was eager to see more.

Maddy pulled her hand back, cutting off the impulse to wipe her palm against her skirt. Despite Calista's beauty, or perhaps because of it, the woman gave her the creeps.

And Reynard's next words didn't help. “I'm hoping we can all become better friends,” he said in an oily voice designed to convey the offer of intimate activities.

Over my dead body, Maddy thought, then considered the phrasing. What if her life depended on getting to know this woman better? What if Dawn's life depended on it?

She dredged up a smile. “If that's what Jack wants.”

“Very good, my dear.” Reynard's gaze dropped to her cleavage as he spoke. “I like a woman who understands where her priorities lie.”

You wish,
Maddy thought as they chatted for a few more minutes. Relief washed over her when Reynard went off to talk to some of his other guests, taking Calista with him.

But she was on edge most of the evening, especially when Reynard called Jack over for a private conversation, and Calista came gliding back to make small talk.

“How are you enjoying your stay here on Orchid Island?” she asked.

“Oh, very much.”

“We try to give our guests an experience that would be impossible on the mainland.”

“We?”

“Yes. Oliver and I.”

Maddy hadn't known he was part of a couple. Was it true, she wondered, or was Calista overstating her role here?