All Hands Below (23 page)

Flashing neon lights, a catchy dance beat followed by movement beyond the glass coaxed a passing glance from him. He turned his head, and the sight that greeted him made him stop, and stare.

Golden-sugar hair rippled down the scantily clad back of a woman, stopping just short of a delectable peach of an ass, now giving the crowd an outrageous shake inside the bottoms of a tiger print, one-piece swimsuit. Harry grinned, impressed by this bold marketing strategy.

Captivated, he watched her strut her sleek, endless legs to a naughty stream of lyrics thumping from a speaker propped against the shop’s entrance.

His gaze slid down her incredibly sexy body whose shapely curves promised sizzling nights on cool, silk sheets. As she moved, barefoot in real sand, her ass shimmied in a way that made his tongue tingle for a taste of the juicy flesh hidden inside the clingy fabric.

Sunglasses propped on her head swept her glossy brown hair away from her features.

The better to see your face, my pretty.

She caught his stare on her second sweep across the stage. Harry watched her, intrigued. The feminine outline of her face framed lovely features, with eyebrows that winged above wide-spaced eyes whose color he couldn’t immediately define.

As his gaze zoomed in on her mouth, he imagined driving his tongue between those soft lips, certain they’d taste good, too. She blinked, the pace of her dancing thrown off several beats by his bold male assessment.

Harry winked.

Startled, she dropped her bottle of suntan oil.

The rush of pink flooding her cheeks charmed him, along with the awkward pause in her leggy stride.

He stepped forward and pointed to the bottle poking up from the shallow layer of sand. “Aren’t you going to pick that up, sweetheart?” he asked through the window, his smile daring her to bend over.

She bit her lip, shook her head, and toed the bottle off to the side. As she hurried off the stage, the men in the crowd groaned with disappointment.

A bare-chested, muscle-ripped male model in volcanic-colored board shorts and black rubber flip-flops—a boogie board slung under his arm—sauntered up to take her place.

As the women in the crowd stampeded for an up-close and personal look, Harry stepped inside the boutique.

Chapter Two

Four and half months later…

“Teeny Bikini Swimwear. Jacey speaking.”

The words barely left Jacinta Carr’s mouth when the testy voice of a creditor cut right through the line to demand past due payments on several accounts.

“I’m sorry the check I sent bounced.” Jacey lowered her voice to a discreet pitch. “I took a hit for five hundred dollars in bad checks this month alone. I know that’s not your problem, but—”

“Miss Carr,” the creditor snipped, “we’re suspending your account today unless we receive payment in full…” Etcetera, etcetera.

Crap.
Jacey pulled in a calming breath, reminded them she’d sent in a partial payment as a gesture of good faith to pay what she owed, but her appeal went ignored.

“You will get your money,” she promised, and ended the call. From the stack of opened mail next to the cash register, she picked up yet another invoice that was stamped
Past Due
, and read the attached notice with pressed lips.

Her credit card issuing banks were on to her. She was using their convenience checks to make payments on her other cards. Now that she was considered a credit risk, they were hiking up their interest rates to what amounted to highway robbery. She barely kept up her interest payments as it were, but she’d managed, somehow. Now this?

She closed her eyes and exhaled a tense breath.
Don’t worry, Gram-Gram.
A lump of anxiety curdled in her throat.
If I lose the store, I lose the store, but I will always take care of you.

The lease on her store’s retail space was also due to expire in a couple of months. Jacey had to tough it out a little longer. She didn’t need her building manager suing her for back rent, on top of everything else.

And then there was Harry. Hot, sexy Harry who, with one wicked look at her, had put her heart in lockdown and threw away the key.

She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, seeing her fiancé’s teasing gray eyes in her mind, her lips longing for the burn of his dangerous kisses. Her body craved his skilled touch. A touch she wouldn’t be able to hold at bay for much longer.

Her hope of bringing something to their marriage, other than a pile of debt, she feared, wasn’t going to happen, either.

There was also the matter of her grandmother. Jacey’s shoulders drooped. She was paying for the best care money could buy, but her grandmother wasn’t getting better.

Bills were mounting and, while Harry’s willingness to buy her financial freedom was tempting, she wouldn’t take a dime from him. Not that she thought he would stick around once he found out—in her ex-fiancé’s words—about the “baggage” she carried around with her. Or when he found out exactly how she paid the bills.

She picked up the phone, dialed his office line and, when he didn’t answer, she left a message. She ached to hear his deep, whiskey-smooth voice. It was a voice she could happily drown in, a voice that did things to her body that would shock a phone sex expert.

She called his cell, and when he didn’t pick up, she hung up, realizing she’d taken for granted his accessibility.

They needed to talk. There were things he needed to know. Things she couldn’t seem to find the strength to tell him. He’d smile that beguiling smile of his, touch his lips to hers, stroke her arm, brush her bangs from her forehead, and any will to resist would abandon ship.

All she’d think about from that point on was peeling Harry’s clothes off and giving him a tongue bath.

But…no, no, and no. No tongue baths until she told him what he should have known
before
she accepted his proposal of marriage
and
his ring.

Jacey stared at the two-carat diamond on her finger. It flashed with striking green fire, and hid a mysterious amber-colored heart. The stone drew such admiration that it scared her to admit it was the real deal. But Harrison Allandt would never settle for anything less.

That meant when the time came to tell him a few truths, she could very well lose him.

Not something she was ready for. Especially after she’d already strayed into the danger zone with him. The memory of their last dinner date—how he’d made her come using his words, the sensual thrust of his fingers easing up into her pussy—brought fresh, fiery heat to her cheeks.

They’d dined
al fresco
at the Ugly Orange, a local eatery surrounded by Hawaiian orange trees in fragrant bloom, at a private table covered with a long white tablecloth.

Over dessert—a slice of caramel drizzled, baked red-banana pie—Harry had leaned in close to her, to lick away a golden strand of liquid sugar that had dribbled from the fork, and down her chin.

He’d been as subtle as a torpedo blast about what he wanted to do to her in that booth, too. “My fingers are dying to play with your clit,
mon amour
. Please…”

She didn’t shy from his hand skimming up her thigh and she parted her legs, wide…wider to grant him access to her steamy core. His heated breath fluttered down the length of her neck. She’d gasped in shocked delight as his finger flicked aside the shield of her panties, and slid between the smooth sex lips surrounding her pulsating clit.

His fingertip stroked up one moist fold of her labia, isolated her clitoris and slid around that rosy jewel in maddening circles that drenched his finger. First one, then another finger swept in just as he snaked kisses up her neck, lightly flashing his tongue along the shell of her ear…

Jacey’s lips parted. She closed her eyes. Lust breached her limbs, weakened with memories of his expert fingers whose flicks and strokes had had their exquisite way with her.

She blew out a recovering breath now, anxious for a distraction from the sensations flooding her body. A shipment of goods had arrived earlier, and she desperately needed a respite from the fiery flashback that wet her panties and beaded her nipples.

On her way to the stock room, she didn’t expect to run into the object of her desire. His six-foot one-inch muscled frame lounged against a garment rack with the ease of someone who’d been there a while.

“Harry!” She blinked, her heart hopping aimlessly around in her chest.

How long had he been standing there? How much of her conversation had he heard?

Though his sensual lips curved with a pleasant enough smile, his velvety gray eyes lacked their easy sparkle that always made her feel welcome. Hectically good-looking, his cotton twill slacks in eggshell white, and open-necked camp shirt the faded black of a sun-baked beach pebble flaunted his dark looks and powerful physique.

“Hello, Sin.” Harry greeted her by a fragment of her name that lit a pink flame in her cheeks and sent nervous shivers trailing down her spine.

“Why do you call me that?” she whispered, her stomach twisting in dread.

“Why not? It’s what I wish for. Nights of sin, with you.”

His gaze prowled along her body in a lazy study. The warning flares shooting across her mind went ignored in favor of the sexy itch invading her body’s secret places.

Covered from head to toe in her sapphire-blue, stretch-lace top and a matching sarong skirt that touched her ankles, her nipples crested inside her bra, aching to be objects of his desire.

Her clit pulsed against the crotch of her panty, demanding some much needed attention, too.

His gaze drifted to her eyes. “Long day, hmm?”

She nodded, unsure how much he’d heard, or what he might be thinking.

“I’ve come to take you to dinner, Jacinta. Steak and lobster.”

“Oh.” She backed up against the counter, excitement tensing up her thigh muscles as he stepped closer.

His cologne, a blend of oriental woods, suede and jasmine, combined with his rampant sexual energy, created a dynamic cocktail that lit her senses and coaxed her pussy into gushing, soppy wetness. She wanted to kiss him. Bite him. And God help her, fuck him.

He cocked a brow. “Oh?”

“I-I’d love that, Harry. Can we make it a late dinner…?”

“I was hoping, just this once, that you’d close up shop early, perhaps?” He drew her against him, tipped her face up and lowered his lips.

She welcomed the hungry probe of his tongue into her mouth with a fierce lick of hers. When his thumb sought out and found her nipple through her top, she didn’t jump back. He pinched it, rolled it between his fingers, tugged gently on it, urged on by the heated sounds that whispered from her lips.

“I’m wearing you down, aren’t I?” he murmured against her lips.

Her fingers clawed into his hair. She responded with a breathless “mmm,” granting him permission to carry on.

The slit of her skirt fell away as she spread her legs so he could fit himself,
jam
his lower body, in between her thighs.

With lazy ease, he bent her back against the sales counter and cradled her body in his arms. “You smell like mountain flowers, and guava, and honey…”

As his lips grazed her neck, she felt the thrust of his cock lengthen against her pelvis.

“Harry, someone could walk in any second,” she cautioned, then kissed his mouth, sucked on his lower lip, and reached down to grab his ass.

“I see how worried you are.” He flipped up her skirt and slid his fingers inside her panties. She gasped. Pummeled by delicious sensations, she stared up at him, her breaths coming out in ragged shots.

“So,” he murmured, his fingers swimming in her pussy petals, slippery with her body’s juices drenching her panties. “I haven’t misread any signals at all.”

The doorway sensors chimed.

He groaned, pulling his hand and body away as Jacey wriggled from his embrace.

“Hi! Hope I’m not interrupting?” quizzed a female voice.

“Hello! Come on in,” Jacey invited, then turned to him. ”I’m sorry, Harry,” she mouthed the apology before rushing over to assist her customer.

****

While Jacey helped the petite redhead pick out several bikini styles, Harry lounged against the sales counter and plotted to pick up where they’d left off once she finished with this customer. Suddenly, another customer walked in.

“Mother hell,” he swore under his breath.

Then in strolled yet another customer. All hope of getting her back in his arms anytime soon took a sudden nosedive.

He shrugged back his impatience, half tempted to buy out her merchandise just to be the center of her attention.

Nearly five months without any white-hot fucking, he had to admit, might be fraying his nerves. But the moment he saw her dancing in her store window, Harry wanted her in his life, and no one else. He’d waited this long to feel her body flame at his touch. What was another hour? Another day?

“Do you think this top is too small?”

The redhead stepped out of a dressing room and approached him, fiddling with the triangles of a stretchy tie-died fabric bursting with explosions of turquoise and red.

Rosy areolas flashed him as she tugged the bikini-top around a pair of rebellious breasts.

He looked away, only to find Jacey frowning at them.

“Sweetheart,” he held her gaze, even as it occurred to him that another woman openly finding him attractive just might be a good thing for her to see. “She has a question about size…”

By the time the redhead paid for her purchases, Jacey’s eyes sparked jealous green fire. He liked it, liked seeing her ruffled. It made him feel needed by his beautiful, and elusive, girlfriend.

Irked she might be, in no way did he invite
that.
It still didn’t stop him from hoping that her customer’s bold come-on would convince her to do something about their physical relationship. Or rather
lack
of it.