Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) (2 page)
Read Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) Online
Authors: Jeffe Kennedy
Dedication
To David, my partner in Caribbean hijinks. We totally need to find a place like this!
Many thanks to Angela James, for including my story in this collection, for her excellent editing and for her infinite patience.
Thanks to all the folks on Twitter who gamely tried to help me think up the right nickname for Tilda:
Special thanks to sister Carina author
@NicoleLuiken
, who came up with “Roo.”
December 24
Christmas Eve
“Could I have another margarita, please?”
Tilda called the request out to the flight attendant’s back as she bustled past—and kept charging on. One more small annoyance to chalk up to the disaster this vacation had become.
“I don’t think she heard you,” the man across the aisle said in a conspiratorial tone. “Want me to tackle her for you?”
“That’s okay.” She glumly sucked the dregs of the last margarita from the melting ice in the plastic cup. “Not like I really need another.”
“Hey—it’s Christmas Eve and you’re headed to Cozumel. Have some fun!” His lips twisted in a wry smile, warm brown eyes gleaming with intelligence. In his slightly disheveled but well-tailored suit he didn’t look like a guy heading to Mexico for sun and fun. And she did not need to be checking him out.
“Yeah, merry merry, happy happy,” she muttered and tried to focus on her eReader. Even though she’d upped the font size, the words blurred. At least she got to be in the aisle seat with an empty middle between her and the woman snoozing by the window. If Greg hadn’t bailed on her—spectacularly, abysmally and at the last minute, of course—she’d be sandwiched in that middle seat right now.
Small blessings.
“Are you traveling alone?” across-the-aisle guy asked.
“No. Meeting up with some girlfriends at the airport,” she lied through her teeth. Smart American women didn’t travel to Mexico by themselves, did they? Of course, a smarter woman would have paid attention to the warning signs. Greg had never been a particularly emotive guy, but after they’d decided not to meet each other’s families over Thanksgiving, spend that holiday apart and then escape to Cozumel for a non-traditional Christmas, he became even more remote.
Nothing to do with those Facebook photos of him cozied up to his high school sweetheart when he was back home for Thanksgiving. No siree. And the fact that he’d waited until Tilda was at the airport, with her suitcase already checked, to call and say he couldn’t disappoint his mother, but to have fun in Mexico without him—that was the cherry topper of insult to her sundae of injury.
The words blurred more and she blinked furiously to stop the tears.
He does not deserve to have you cry over him!
Especially since she hadn’t even been all that crazy about him, she admitted to herself. She’d settled, because he was better than most and now
he’d
dumped
her
. Damn her ego smarted. More—she dreaded plunging into the whole finding a suitable date thing. Yet again.
A plastic cup with a freshly salted rim inserted itself on her tray table. The guy across the aisle gave her a little salute and a wry twist of his full lips. He had five o’clock shadow coming in, like he’d gone straight from all-day meetings to the airport. “You looked like you needed it.”
“Thanks.” And to her horror, she sniffled. Snatching the square cocktail napkin, she turned away and wiped her nose, with as much poise and dignity as she could muster. She slid her eyes over. He was still half-cocked in his seat, leaning on his elbow, watching her. “I’m sorry. I’m really not fit for flirting right now.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” He toasted her with his own drink, a large gold ring flashing on his right hand. “I thought we were commiserating. Here we are, both stuck on an airplane on Christmas Eve. I was shooting for not being miserable.”
She laughed, a little creaky still, and returned the toast, letting the cheap tequila and too-sweet mix clear her sinuses.
“So, why are you miserable—going home for Christmas and dreading family drama?”
“No.” He raised his eyes to the overhead vent, adjusted it. “They’re over in Spain right now. I’ve been called in to deal with a crisis at a resort our family owns.”
“Flying from Philadelphia, you’re the closest one?”
He snorted and ran a hand through his wiry curls in an expression of both frustration and unhappiness. A hint of salt and pepper at his temples gave him a distinguished air. So unfair that men get better looking as they get older. “I’m in corporate law, so when the family has a legal problem, they send for me—no matter what other plans I might have.”
“Oh.” She grimaced in sympathy. “Bet you had some kind of romantic Christmas planned, huh? Little ski house in Vermont or something.”
He raised his brows and pursed his lips, contemplating the thought. “No—but that sounds nice. Actually, though I complain, I did not have plans. See some friends, that’s all. But I was looking forward to the down time. Go to the movies, read some books. Now I have to go fight with stubborn people because of my idiot cousin. Fft!” He blew the sound of disgust across his lower lip, teeth biting it lightly.
Maybe it was the tequila—surely this drink was stronger than her first one—but she suddenly wanted to bite that lip. She leaned her elbow on the armrest.
“I thought corporate lawyers live to fight with people.”
“Not me. I live to win. No apologies.” He produced a feral grin, dark eyes alight with amusement—and a spark of something more. “It’s all about setting up the conditions so my opponent doesn’t want to fight me.”
“But they already want to fight you.”
“Ah.” He wagged a finger at her. “My opponent only thinks that because she doesn’t yet see we can both have what we want. In the end she will yield up exactly what I determine, because I’ve cornered her so precisely, she has no other choice. If done correctly, the one path I leave open for her is the way I want her to go. And, by the time I’m done with her...” His stern expression promised something enticingly provocative. Her blood heated.
“What?” She breathed the question.
His voice dropped in timbre, his accent thickening. He leaned on his armrest, too, and their heads nearly met across the aisle. Those dark eyes drew her in, compelling and exciting.
“All parties are equally satisfied.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, sending a thrill through her.
“Are we still talking about corporate law?”
“What would you like for it to be about?”
The flight attendant bustled through, swinging hips demonstrating her irritation with them for blocking the aisle. Tilda sipped her margarita carefully, since it seemed to be going to her head. Still, giddy was far better than weepy.
“And you?” He inquired, cocking his head. “How do you earn a living?”
She sighed theatrically. “Sales. Boring, I know. But I’m good at it.”
“I bet you are—a savvy and beautiful woman can sell anything.”
“Ha! Yes, I just sashay in, flutter my lashes and I’m done for the quarter. I wish.”
“What do you sell?”
Ah, and here it was. Fastest way to kill a flirtation was to tell a guy you’re a CEO of a major firm. Besides, she was off the clock and happy to be that way for a while. The whole point of vacation was not to be that suit-clad woman in the corner office, if only for two weeks. Still, it was best to stick close to the truth, especially since she was a terrible liar. Batting her lashes, she pursed her lips in an air kiss. “Very sexy and exciting home medical equipment.”
He dropped his head back against the headrest and laughed.
She giggled along. “Sorry—yeah, I need a vacation, too.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Oro Beach Resort. It’s supposed to be the best.”
“It is, yes.” He winked at her. “It’s also my family’s resort.”
“No way!” Jeez, she sounded sixteen. Definitely the tequila.
He held out a well-manicured hand. “Miguel d’Oro, at your service.”
She shook it, using her practiced business shake—not too limp, not grasping. “Tilda Campbell.”
Tilting his head, he studied her. “You don’t look like a Tilda.”
She made a face. “Matilda. Which is the name of your grandmother. Tilda is a poor second-best choice.”
“My grandmother’s name is Sofia, actually.”
“Lucky her.”
“Why not Mattie?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?”
He chuckled. “No, I see your point. No family nicknames?”
“Not that I’m going to tell you.”
“Oh, come on. We’re friends now, yes?”
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and huffed out a breath. “Roo.”
“Roo.” He repeated it, rolling the word in his mouth, making it into a question.
“You know—Waltzing Matilda, Australia, kangaroos...”
“Roo. I like it.”
She shook her head at him. “I’m going to regret telling you that.”
“Does that mean I can see you again? Perhaps a late dinner at the hotel after we get in. Would your friends mind that?”
Her friends? She frowned. Oh, right! Her imaginary safety-net friends. Patti-Kay and Mary Sue-Ann. They’d be blonde identical twins from Mobile.
“Did you say they’re meeting you at the airport?”
“Oh right. I did say that.”
“There are no friends, are there?”
She groaned and thumped her head against the headrest. “No. I was supposed to be going with my asshole now-ex-boyfriend, but he dumped me right before the flight. How pitiful is that?”
“Sounds lucky for me.”
She rolled her head to look at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Perhaps I could entice you with an offer—one you won’t want to refuse.”
“From what you say, you’re talented at setting things up that way.”
“I am.” His smile slid into sexy. “A vacation rebound fling could be what you need. Think of it as one of the many rejuvenating spa experiences Oro Beach Resorts offers our guests.”
“With a personal touch from one of the original d’Oros?”
“Exactly.” He flashed that smile again, now decidedly sexual. “A vacation experience to fulfill your wildest fantasies. No strings attached. No one from home will ever know.”
It sounded good. It sounded damn good. And when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
“What’s in it for you?”
“Now it’s my turn to wonder if you’re seriously asking me that.” He caressed her with that sensual gaze. “My work is stressful and it’s good for me to have an...outlet to burn off steam when I can. You’re a beautiful woman and something tells me you might enjoy what I have to offer.”
“So, is this what you do? You get called in by the family to cool your heels at the resort, so you look for lonely female tourists on the plane to recruit for off-the-clock R&R?”
He sipped his own margarita, thoughtfully. “Actually, no. I’ve never done this before.” He raked a hand through his thick hair again and the tempered anger came through. “This situation is more personal than most. I’m already on edge, which will not help. It’s serendipitous that we sat next to each other on this flight. I think we are meant to scratch each other’s itches.” He caught and held her gaze with burning promise. “I feel confident in guaranteeing you complete satisfaction.”
She pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you cornering me?”
He let his gaze drop to her cleavage, met her eyes again. “Is it working?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Good,” he purred. “We’ll discuss terms over dinner.”
* * *
Since she’d already arranged for a car from the resort—and she needed to wait for her enormous checked suitcase plus deal with visitor Customs while Miguel breezed through the citizen line with his carry-on—they decided to meet at ten at the patio restaurant.
It didn’t give her tons of time to primp, but enough to rinse off, spray on some perfume, tweak her make-up and shimmy into a spaghetti-strap sundress. Already the air felt blessedly soft and warm. Amazing to have left Philly in shin-deep snow and be here in her fabulous balcony suite with bougainvillea spilling over the rail.
When she found Miguel at the patio restaurant, she saw he had changed also, out of his sharp lawyer’s suit and into an open shirt of muted blue and a sports jacket. He rose to greet her, kissing her on the cheek, and held her chair when she sat. A grave busboy poured her water from the bottle on the table and she peered at it, trying to read the label.
“Guaranteed clean,” Miguel reassured her. “Oro serves only bottled water, although we are on our own well, which we have tested weekly.”
“Only weekly?” She arched a brow.
“More stringent than U.S. legal standards.”
“I’m sure you’d know.”
“I do. Would you care for wine?”
“You know, I think I’ll stick with another margarita—don’t want to mix up my liquors.”
“I’ll do the same then.” He signaled the waiter, who produced two astonishingly large margaritas, decorated with limes and pineapple chunks marching up the pole of a gold foil umbrella. “Merry Christmas, Roo.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Merry Christmas, Mickey.”
“Call me that again and I’ll spank you.”
“Ooh, saucy.”
He didn’t smile back, but gave her a stern look that made her shiver. “Do you enjoy being spanked?”
She focused on her margarita. “I haven’t been spanked since I was a kid. That was not sexy.”
“The way I do it is.”
“I’m not sleeping with you tonight, if that’s what you’re thinking. We just met.” Now,
tomorrow
night...
“Sleeping with you is decidedly not what I have in mind. I intend for you to be awake and fully aware of everything I plan to do to you.”
That got her attention. That and the hot desire in his eyes. The warm night, the tropical flowers, the surf crashing right below—all conspired to make her throw caution to the Mexican breeze. This would be a hell of a vacation. Fuck Greg.
“Tell me more.” She nibbled on a slice of pineapple.
He nodded at the menu. “Decide what you want to eat and I will.”
She was starving. Eagerly she flipped through the menu. “I’m having the most fattening, decadent thing on here. Oh my god—lobster nachos? Score!”
“And here I thought you’d order the filet mignon.”
“Nope. I’m indulging. For the next two weeks it’s nothing but sin and fun for me.”
“That fits my plans well.”
“So, speak to me of these mysterious plans.”
“Tomorrow is the first day of Christmas.”
“Like in the song?”
“Yes,” his lips twitched in amusement. “Though it’s an old tradition. For each of the twelve days of Christmas, we will indulge in something...special.”