Bermuda Nights - The Boxed Set (10 page)

I glowed with contented delight as we walked up out of the water. “These have been the best two days of my life,” I vowed, sighing. “I never would have thought snorkeling would be so much fun.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Oh? Is it only the time in the water that has you enjoying these past few days?”

The look in his eyes made me flush with heat. His lips were right there, so ready for kissing, and I had to turn away. There were more people here today, scattered on blankets on the beach, and I couldn’t get him into even more trouble than I already had.

He chuckled, then walked up to the small bar area. He called over to the elderly black woman behind the counter. “Hey there, Suzie. Did Rico drop off that cooler for me?”

She drew a small, soft-sided blue cooler up and put it on the counter. She added a large beach towel to it. “Sure did, Evan. You two have fun.”

He took both and guided me over to the left, to a quieter section of the beach. He laid out the navy blue towel, and in a moment we were sitting on it, facing each other.

His voice was warm. “I hope you like peanut butter and jelly.”

I laughed. “Sure. I suppose it’s one of those comfort food things I never grew out of.”

He pulled out a pair of small bottles of Champagne, and with a quick twist both of them were open. Then he laid out a pair of small white plastic plates, and onto each he placed a wheat-bread sandwich, neatly cut at the diagonal.

He raised his bottle to me, and I took mine up. He clinked the edge of the glass against mine. “To patience.”

I smiled, nodding. “To patience.”

The bubbly was lovely – cool, fresh, with a hint of peach flavor. I smiled and took a bite of my sandwich.

Wow.

I looked up at him in surprise. “This is amazing!”

He grinned, taking a bite of his own. “A local woman makes them. She picks the blueberries fresh from her own back yard, all organic. She grinds her own peanut butter. She even bakes her own bread.”

I savored the flavors in my mouth. “This is better than some of the dishes at my parents’ favorite restaurant!”

The shine in his eyes dimmed, and he looked down at his bottle for a moment. His voice became low. “Amanda, I know things are all confused right now. I can’t treat you the way you deserve. If you can just wait for me, until I get through this tour and am back in Boston –”

I leant forward, putting my hand on his. “God, Evan, I don’t care about any of that. I’ve heard you play. You’re a talented musician. I’m sure once you get back on your feet, and come home, that something will work out.”

His eyes seemed shadowed. “I know it looks bad for me. But I swear, this will all make sense when I come home to you. I’m not one of those wastrels who will crash on your couch and dig through your fridge. I’ll be able to treat you right.”

I squeezed his hand. “You already do, Evan. I’ve seen your work ethic with the band, with how you give every gig your full attention and effort. You don’t cut out on gigs early, and you’d play encores all night if they wanted it. You help the waiters clear tables. It’s clear the staff adore you.” I smiled at him. “We’ll make it work. I know we will.”

He gave a wry smile. “I wish I’d met you a few years ago. There’s this restaurant in Boston I would have taken you to, to celebrate our first date. It’s a special place. Locke-Ober. It’s around the corner from the state house, and their steaks …” He let out a breath. “Stunning. But they shut down.”

I nodded. “And I could have taken you to see the Nutcracker at the Wang Theater. It’s a breathtaking venue, with elegant gold scrollwork. You could just imagine men in tuxes and women in long, golden gowns moving their way to their seats. And, best of all, it’s right around the corner from Jacob Wirth’s – an authentic German restaurant.”

He grinned. “I guess that was a tradition of yours, around the holidays?”

“It was, indeed. It was all just perfect. I’d wait the entire performance for the Arabian dance. The sensual, flowing music …” A sigh eased out of me. “It was just right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why’d it stop?”

I shrugged. “I think the Wang wanted something more modern and flashy than the Nutcracker, and kicked out the Boston Ballet. I know I was heartbroken that year, and every year since then I miss it.”

His eyes held mine. “I should be done and settled just before Christmas. Maybe we could see them, wherever they are now?”

My heart lifted. “Really? You’d go with me? They’re at the Boston Opera House now. I just couldn’t bring myself to go, but if you were to come along …”

He nodded. “Absolutely. Jacob Wirth’s and then the Nutcracker. And there’ll be snow falling. A traditional New England white Christmas.”

I looked into his eyes, and time fell away.

At last he gathered up the remnants of our meal, bringing the cooler and towel over to the woman at the booth. “Thanks so much, Suzie,” he smiled at her, handing over a ten with the items. “Get yourself a jar of that jam for yourself.”

She smiled a grin which was missing a few teeth but was full of good will. “You two take care, now.”

My steps slowed as we rounded the last corner and the ship came into view before us. Our moments together were constricting, narrowing, and it seemed if only we could turn around, that we could reverse time, snatch more seconds in each other’s arms.

We reached the wishing arch, and he paused, turning to look at me.

My throat grew tight, and I nervously glanced around. “We shouldn’t …”

His gaze swept down me, his voice thickening. “I shouldn’t have let us come this far as it is,” he countered roughly. His shoulders flexed as if he were struggling with internal voices. “What’s one more …”

He drew me in, our lips met, and I melted into him, my body coming alight. Only one thought rang in my head, taking over all others.

I would wait forever.

At last he pulled back, looking down at me, his body wavering as if he would draw me in again. Then he exhaled and turned, setting us in motion again.

“You are magnetic,” he murmured. “You are made of witchcraft and moondust.”

“And you,” I countered, sliding my hand along his bare skin at his back, “You are rippling muscle and the fingers of a god.”

He grinned at that. “Then you might enjoy what I have in store for you.”

Wild hope leapt in my chest. “I thought this afternoon was it, until you came home to Boston?”

His eyes held mine, vibrant with desire. “There’s still a few more hours left in the afternoon.”

Heat blossomed in my breasts, settled down deep within my sex, and my heart hammered.

He guided me through customs, then security, then we got into the elevator, taking it to the top. My brows raised in curiosity as we reached the doors to the spa area of the ship.

“I have a friend who works in here,” he murmured as we walked past the front desk. “He’s letting me borrow his room. Turns out his afternoon client wanted a more … intimate setting for a massage.”

He pushed open the door.

The room was elegantly decorated in muted cornflower blue and lavender. Soft music was playing in sweeping chords. The gentle fragrance of rose drifted through the air. LED candles flickered from a number of surfaces.

I sighed. “Oh, Evan, it’s beautiful.”

Evan closed the door behind us and turned the lock. Then he waved at the massage table. His voice took on a slightly formal tone, as if I were a client, and he was simply here to provide my booked hour-long massage time. “Please, miss, if you would remove all your garments and lie face-down on the massage table, we can get started. I’ll turn my back as you get ready.”

He turned and, as indicated, stared placidly at the wall.

My body flushed with heat. I’d gotten massages over the years, but never from a masseuse who looked quite like this. And never in a situation where …

My sex grew moist just at the thought, and I quickly stripped out of my clothes, piling them on the chair in the corner. I climbed onto the table and put my face into the cushioned ring at the far end. My hair draped down around the edges, creating a curtain which hid the room from view.

His fingers pressed, warm, firm, against the muscles in my upper back. “And now we’ll begin with …” He paused, then pressed again, as if testing the muscle. His voice lost some of its distant formality, merging into surprise. “Good God, Amanda, your trapezius muscles are amazing!”

I grinned, flexing them for him. “The butterfly stroke,” I informed him. “Does wonders for your upper arms and back.”

“You’re not kidding,” he murmured, pressing his fingers along the length in a probing manner. Then he coughed and his tone regained its smooth tone. “I shall endeavor to remove some of these knots from your nicely toned muscles, miss.”

My mouth was in a wide grin. “You do so, and you might get a nice tip when we’re through.”

I could feel his chuckle shimmer in his fingers. “Well, perhaps we’ll try this …”

His fingers slid, pressed in deep, and a delicious ache plummeted through me, digging right through my core. My breasts firmed against the cool sheets. I groaned at the sensation.

His voice had a light lilt to it. “Was that too hard, miss?”

“Oh, no, no,” I moaned. “That was just right.”

“Hmmm, maybe you would then like …”

His thumbs dug into that sweet spot right in the core of my trapezius, where the aches always seemed to develop, and I was in agonized pleasure, wanting it to go on forever. My moan was even deeper.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “Let it all out. These rooms are fairly well soundproofed.” His voice gained a lightness, as if he were grinning. “They have to – they offer Rolfing sessions here. Those can be fairly … noisy.”

He sunk his fingers along my spine, and I gave up on holding in the moans. It seemed everywhere he touched soaked in his presence as if it had craved him for years.

Down … down … his fingers reached my ass and traced around the curves, the light touch sending my entire body into a shimmering tingle. I wanted him everywhere at once. My thoughts lost their coherency, and I was simply adrift in a sea of sensation, an ocean of desire, and his hands were my guiding star.

The fingers moved to my foot, and I had never dreamed that pressure on my inner arch could cause such intense pleasure. I was lucky I was lying flat on the massage table, for I doubted any limb could hold me upright. He worked his way up my calf, to that tender place behind my knee, and now my moans were coming with each breath, were the soundtrack to his every move. The background music, the scent of rose, the flickering candles, all of it faded into the background. There were only his fingers. Only his hands, only …

He slid his hand along my hip, easing the fingers around to my stomach, and my groan grew louder. His other hand pushed in beneath my chest, moving to cup my breast. His fingers brushed against my hard nipple, and the ache in me grew to encompass the world.

His body pressed against me, and I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the richness of his scent, and I soaked it in. His hand at my breast pressed and rolled my nipple, while the other at my hip slid … traced … pressed …

His finger found my clit.

I pressed my hips down hard against the finger, craving it with all of my being, and his other hand squeezed hard on my nipple. I was beyond words. The cry from me was primal, echoing from my deepest reservoirs.

His finger in my sex slid through the thick moisture there, gently strumming a rhythm which echoed the beat of my heart.