Girl Gear 3: Bound to Happen (9 page)

But even more, what she was in the mood for was being held in his arms, being touched tenderly, being gently, lovingly seduced. And that wasn't what she was supposed to be in the mood for at all. She was supposed to be wanting a wild, hedonistic fling, and here she was thinking warm and fuzzy.

She dropped her forehead to rest on his chest, where the hair tickled her nose and his heart beat like a bass guitar playing rhythm and blues. The mood was all wrong for her seduction.

This wasn't the time alone that she'd wanted to have. They'd verbally revisited too much of the past, complicating an already complicated situation that she wanted to let go.

Leaving a tiny brush of her lips over Ray's breastbone, she stepped away from his touch and out of his reach. His brows were dark slashes over eyes now glittering with arousal.

She mustered her resolve. "I think I want to go in to bed. I feel like a voyeur and I don't like it."

As she walked away, Ray called a soft warning to her back. "We're not done here,
Sydney
."

She paused. "For tonight, we are." Casting a sultry glance over her shoulder, she met his gaze. Oh, how he made it hard to go. "But tomorrow's another day."

ONCE SYDNEY LEFT
the room, Lauren waited less than five minutes before hopping off the bed and heading to the set of suites on the other side of the villa's second floor. She wasn't sure that what she was doing was smart, but it was what she had to do.

As much as she hated giving the other woman any credit, Poe was right. Lauren would never have another chance like the one offered over the next few days to discover exactly where she stood with Anton.

Neither one of them had any appointments to keep or errands to run or the excuse of work to keep them busy. This was the perfect time to settle their relationship once and for all.

And it obviously was still a relationship of sorts, or they wouldn't be so sensitive to each other, so moody, so emotional and defensive. Poe was right about that, too. Poe seemed to be right about a lot of things, Lauren found herself grudgingly forced to admit. A grudge she needed to let go of, based on misconceptions as it was. And she would. But not yet. Not when Poe's attraction to Anton remained a sore spot.

Her hand on Anton's doorknob, Lauren took a deep breath and turned it, truly surprised not to find the room locked up tight. She didn't know why she was nervous. She knew this man better than she'd ever known any man, and he knew her better than any man had ever known her.

It was that knowing that upped the stakes, the realization of how fragile this moment might become if she didn't step carefully, if she didn't choose the right words, if she didn't resist retaliation for the barbs she was sure he would throw. The fact that he'd taken himself off to bed with a bottle was proof enough of his hurt.

But he was not innocent in this lovers' game they played. She would own up to her failings. She would not take responsibility for the wrongs he had to acknowledge.

The door opened freely, quietly, into the room of the same neutral tropical pastels that defined the villa's color scheme. Anton wore the same shorts of khaki denim he'd had on at dinner, but now his torso was bare but for a dusting of light-blond hair. He lay on the bed farthest from the door, both pillows behind his head, as well as the one arm he'd crooked back.

His other hand held the decanter balanced on the flat of his abs. It was a little less than the half-full it had been when he'd taken it from the table. He hadn't had much to drink, after all, which, Lauren hoped, meant he was sober enough, receptive enough, to talk.

Though the door was already opened, she knocked. "Do you mind if I come in?"

He stared at her with eyes that were clear and sober. "If I say no, are you going to go away?"

For a moment she considered leaving, but it hit her that staying was actually the easiest course to take. She came into the room and closed the door behind her. "Actually, no. I don't think I want to go. At least not just yet."

He gave a careless shrug with one shoulder. "All right. Say what you have to say."

"And then get the hell out?" she asked.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She knew from his face she'd guessed right. But knowing he didn't want her there actually goaded her to stay. He wasn't the only one with a hard head.

And since his hard head was a big part of their problem, this seemed the perfect time to soften him up. And didn't she know better than anyone how to soften him up?

She made her way to the other bed, Doug's bed, scooted into the center and sat, legs crossed, facing him. She wore a soft cotton, melon-colored tank top that was really the top to her pajamas. The bottoms were the same brushed cotton in a Winnie-the-Pooh print, the set a birthday gift from Macy and nothing like Lauren's usual nightwear.

She wondered if Anton even noticed. It had been a long time since he had seen her wearing anything in bed. She wondered, too—

"What are you still doing up?" Anton frowned. "I figured after that performance with Jess and Poe earlier, you would've been standing in line for the next dare, since the game was all about sex."

Lauren lifted a brow. Why did he have to have such a problem with her sexuality? She thought he'd have been thrilled with her assertive nature, but for some reason he'd always counted it a strike against her. "Actually, the party broke up after you left. Everyone but
Sydney
is in the hot tub on the sundeck."

"So why are you here, instead of there? You want to fuck or something?" He watched her reaction carefully, no doubt expecting shock.

Masking her pain was much more difficult. "I might. But I thought maybe we could talk first."

He pulled the stopper from the decanter, set it on the bedside table and reached for his glass. He did it all while keeping his gaze steadily focused on her face. "You want we should talk about fucking?"

This time Lauren had to bite her tongue. "Why don't we start with talking about feelings?"

"Sure. Why not." He tossed back the bourbon he'd poured, wiped his mouth with the back of the hand holding the empty glass. "I feel … like fucking."

Lauren blinked, blinked again, working to hold back her rising temper. Anger wouldn't get her anywhere and would only serve to give Anton the upper hand. She was determined to take Poe's advice, to go for it, to find out once and for all if this relationship had a chance to be saved.

And if she wanted to succeed, she had to hold both her temper and her tongue. "That's the liquor talking, not you. The Anton I know is kind and smart and honest."

She let that sink in a minute, though his blue eyes remained unreadable and she wasn't sure she'd reached him on the level she'd hoped. "You've been pretty quiet today. I thought that since we're going to be here for a week and a half and will probably be seeing a lot of each other, we should talk about being friends. Or at least about getting along as best we can for the rest of our vacation."

When he didn't say anything, when he only continued to unblinkingly stare, she battled the horrifying sting of tears. In panic, she reached for the tank top's hem. "But hey, if all you want is sex, we can do that, instead."

She'd lifted her top only enough to bare an inch or two of her belly when he said, "Lauren, stop."

She froze, waiting.

He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, moving the decanter of whiskey to the bedside table shared by the two beds. With his knees spread wide, his hands flat on the comforter on either side of his hips, Anton stared at the floor as if searching for words.

Slowly she smoothed the soft cotton of her top back into place. Sitting here, watching him struggle for what he wanted to say, waiting for him to find the composure he sought, her confusion and hurt melted away. Unshielded at last, her heart swelled to near bursting.

It was so simple, really. She loved him. She had always loved him. But if she had to let him go, she would. She'd come to understand herself much better during their recent time apart. And she knew she would rather remain friends than ever lose complete contact.

When he looked up, his eyes were turbulent. "I would love to sleep with you, Lauren. More than anything. But I know this isn't the time. And I apologize for being crass. I'm frustrated and I don't need to take it out on you.

"Things have been … rough. I haven't done well—" he gestured with one hand "—dealing with all this stuff going on between us. I never thought it would hit me as hard as it has. Or in the ways and the places."

Lauren hadn't known her heart could contain more emotion. She scrambled off the other bed and up onto Anton's, kneeling at his back and wrapping her arms around his chest. His skin was warm, his body so comfortingly solid. "We can always be friends. No matter what else happens, I'd like to think we will always be there for each other the way friends should be."

She nuzzled his ear with her cheek, closing her eyes as she remembered his scent, his taste, the feel of his hands on her body, his body in her body. She didn't want to lose those memories, and another part of her longed to create more, new experiences to treasure, even if she had to share them with less intimacy than before.

He reached up with one hand and covered both of hers lying flat on his chest. "I could use a friend right now. I can't stand my own company anymore. Spend the night with me, Lauren."

Her heart lurched.

"Just to sleep," he added, as if fearing she'd turn him down otherwise. Silly man.

"To sleep, perchance to dream?" She felt him smile, felt the muscles in his cheek and jaw move, felt the brush of his day-old beard on her face.

"If I'm lucky, yes. With you in my arms, any dreams I have should be
damn
sweet." Anton pushed to his feet, turned and pulled down the comforter and the sheet. "Hop in, Shakespeare."

Lauren scrambled beneath, rolling onto her side as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He switched off the bedside lamp and plunged the room into darkness, a darkness that eased as her eyes adjusted and the light from the full moon filtered in through the room's open window.

Anton pulled her close, spooning behind her, settling their bodies into the comfortably familiar position. Neither one of them spoke another word, as if the connection they needed could only be made through the intimacy of their heartbeats sharing the same rhythm, their muscles relaxing in trust, their breaths slowing and deepening.

A soothing blanket of peace stole over their bruised souls and the two friends slept.

And slowly they began to heal.

4

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R
AY MADE HIS WAY
to the kitchen the next morning before the housekeeper, Auralie Duarte, arrived from the servants' quarters located in the center of the island. The arrangement afforded her and her husband, as well as Nolan's guests, privacy when the couple's service was needed on Coconut Caye.

Ray hadn't slept well and needed coffee, a lot of coffee, strong, and in a bad way. He wasn't sure that caffeine was going to be enough to get him over the funk of not getting the rest he needed or the funk of not getting what he needed from
Sydney
.

And he wasn't talking about sex.

If getting her into bed had been his primary goal when he'd stepped out onto the balcony last night, he didn't have a doubt that he'd be even more sleep-deprived this morning than he was. He'd also be a helluva lot more relaxed—but then hindsight
was
twenty-twenty.

Having found the supply of fresh coffee beans and the grinder, he went in search of the coffeemaker Auralie hadn't yet pulled from storage. He found it in the back of a lower cabinet, pulled it out and cleaned the thermal carafe.

He hated grinding the beans, certain the noise would wake the four sleeping beauties sprawled across the sectional sofa in the villa's main room. But a man had to do what a man had to do, and he poured the beans into the grinder's chute.

With no walls dividing the structure's first floor, he supposed Doug and Jess, Kinsey and Poe were asking to be disturbed by falling asleep here, instead of upstairs in their respective bedrooms. He'd been the first last night to leave the hot tab; the others had obviously stayed and partied, though at least half of the party had moved from the deck on the roof of the villa to the veranda wrapped around the structure's first floor.