Bird of Paradise (11 page)

“Hero?”

“I'm fine, thank you,” she finally said, tearing her
gaze from him and looking down at the cat in her lap. The gecko,
minus its party wear, was clinging to the cat's huge side. She
stroked around it, shuddering with the memory of the beastly thing
riding her head. “Jesus just knocked the breath from me. You've
been swimming?”

“Yes, you should have come with us, it was great.”
He stared down at her for a moment, a smile flirting with the
corners of his mouth. “Did we interrupt your meditation or
something?”

Really, if her heart beat any
faster, she was going to pass out. She had to get a grip on
herself, such a reaction was foolish and completely ridiculous. She
tried to force herself to calm down as she purposely avoided
looking at the bulge in his Speedos; heaven knew
that
wouldn't do anything
toward keeping her calm. And she was nowhere near calm with were
the hundreds of questions zipping through her mind: Was he going to
sit with her? Had he left the swimming party because he missed her?
Had he used his cat as a flimsy excuse to stop by and see her?
Could it be that he left all those tanned, fit, attractive women
just so he could be with her?

Had she completely lost her mind?

“No, it's nothing like that, I was just sitting here
enjoying the evening. It's so lovely here, I almost can't believe
it's real—the flowers and the ocean and everything. But the moon is
so bright, and it's finally cooling down enough, so I thought I'd
sit outside and soak in the local color. I can see why people come
here for their honeymoons; it's very romantic. And peaceful.”

He bent over to scoop up the cat from her lap, his
fingers brushing her bare arm, sending little streaks of heat
rippling up her flesh. “That it is. Well, I won't disturb your
peace any longer. Good night.”

With a flash of his teeth, he turned and strode off
into the shadows of the croquet lawn. She stared after him with her
mouth hanging open. He didn't want to stay and talk to her? He
hadn't left the swimming party to be with her? He hadn't set up a
broken leash as an excuse to stop by?

“Hell,” she swore, still staring into the inky
blackness that had swallowed him up. “I didn't even get to admire
his bum when he left!”

Tears started in the corners of her eyes at the
rejection, but she blinked them back before they had a chance to
start. “Don't be stupid, of course you mean nothing to him, and you
want it that way. He's a sex fiend, remember, and sex fiends are
after only one thing. They are not interested in stable, long-term
meaningful relationships. They just want steamy, wild, hot jungle
sex, and you don't do that, so stop imagining what steamy, wild,
hot jungle sex would be like with him and thank your lucky stars
that you don't have to worry about a sex fiend pestering you.”

She sat lecturing herself for a good ten minutes,
going over again her reasons for being there, his obvious many
faults, and several excellent points regarding why a liaison with
him—in the form of steamy, wild, hot jungle sex—would be a very bad
thing.

It didn't do any good. She still felt like crying.
What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she put him from her mind?
Why was her silly heart so caught up in him when he was the epitome
of everything she disliked in a man?

“And what's wrong with wanting steamy, wild, hot
jungle sex?” she asked aloud, throwing a handful of grass blades
into the wind.

“Is that a trick question?” a deep voice asked from
behind her. Her heart did a few somersaults in hearing it. Adam
strolled over to her, now clad in a pair of black trousers and a
thin linen shirt that caressed his torso like a lover's hands. “Are
there multiple choice answers? Because honestly, I don't think
there's anything wrong with wanting steamy jungle sex. Do you?”

He sat down on the grass next to her, his long legs
crossed at the ankle as he leaned back against the bench.

She stared at him. He came back?

“I left Jesus locked in the cabana as punishment for
his bad manners. You're right; it is beautiful here. And peaceful,
too. Very peaceful.”

He came back? To sit with her?

“What I'm amazed at is how the scent of the flowers
dominates despite the sea air.” He breathed in deeply, his eyes
closing to appreciate the perfumed air better.

He came back to sit with
her?
Why
had he
come back to sit with her?

“Not that there's anything wrong with sea air. I
like that too. I'm from a small town in the mountains of
California, and I don't often get to the ocean.”

He came back! Surely that meant something!

Adam glanced at her, suddenly looking a bit
uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, am I intruding on your quiet time? I'll
leave if you like.”

Eeek! He was going to leave!

“No, please don't!” she said
hurriedly, trying to gather her scattered wits, scolding herself
for being rendered so hen-witted by a mere man. Except he wasn't
a
mere
anything
. “I'd like for you to stay.
That is to say, you're welcome to sit here. With me. I was…erm…I
was just sitting here. Not doing anything, just sitting. So you're
welcome to sit, too. Here. With me.”

Lord, what an idiot she sounded. She wouldn't be
surprised if he left, but he didn't. He smiled. That smile ought to
be bottled and sold, she mused to herself when she couldn't help
but smile back at him. It was better than pheromones.

“Would you be adverse to doing a favor for me?”

She looked startled at his request.
Adam cleared his throat nervously. “It has nothing to do with
our
arrangement
.”

“Oh?” Now she looked relieved.

He swallowed back his nervousness. The worst she
could do was to say no. How bad could a little rejection be? His
mind went to the scene a few months before when Brittany stormed
out of their apartment.

It could be very bad.

“What is the favor?”

The moonlight glinted on her auburn curls, making
them a glossy silver and black. His fingers itched to run through
those soft curls, to clutch them and hold her head in a position
where he could plunder that sweet mouth until he could plunder no
more. Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back from thoughts of
plundering, damning his lack of self-control. He had seen the
startled look in her eye a few minutes back when she saw the
reaction he had to her nearness. He had hoped getting into less
obvious clothing would help the situation, but he was painfully
aware that it hadn't. He was aroused and hard and hot and he wanted
her like he'd never wanted anyone.

“Adam? The favor?”

“Eh? Oh, the favor.” He was mad, he was a lunatic,
he was crazed and deranged for wanting to torment himself in this
manner, but he had to ask her. She was smart, she was witty, she
was everything every woman should be. Well, true, the blackmailing
aspect to their relationship wasn't particularly desirable, but
since he secretly approved of her plan to arrange for a date each
day, that was a minor matter. Besides, there was no one else on the
island whose opinion he was interested in, no one else he trusted
to give him the truth.

Yeah, right, and pigs could fly. What was the use in
lying to himself? He wanted her, pure and simple. “Would you be
willing, purely for scientific reasons, to kiss me?”

Her mouth dropped open a bit before
she snapped it shut. “You want me to kiss you? For
scientific
reasons?”

“I realize it's a strange request, but I do have a
reason for it.” Such as, she was an island of beauty and
intelligence in a sea of bimbos. “My girlfriend left me a couple of
months ago, and…well, we'd been together for a long time, so I
haven't had an opportunity to kiss a lot of other women, and since
she said I was a lousy lover, I thought maybe if you'd let me kiss
you, you could evaluate me.”

“Evaluate you?” She looked a bit stunned about the
eyes, but he didn't think she was offended by the request. At
least, he hoped she wasn't offended. She was obviously already of
the opinion that he was a lust-crazed slobbering mound of
testosterone thanks to that stupid Monday Marsh catch phrase. Damn,
he wished he could tell her the truth about himself. He hated lying
to her, even if it was indirectly. “You want me to evaluate how you
kiss?”

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he didn't
want her to tell him he had terrible kissing skills. Maybe it would
destroy him to know that he couldn't stir any passion in her.
“Er…that's the idea,” he said hesitantly. “I thought maybe you
could tell me if Brittany was right, or if she was just getting in
a parting shot before she left.”

“But…you're a sex therapist. Why would anyone say an
expert in sex was a poor lover?”

Well, she had him there. He looked at her sitting
next to him, all innocent and beautiful and smart and he knew he
couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her any longer. Hell, she
already knew he was a cat smuggler, how much worse could it be to
find out he was a private detective?

“That would be because I'm not really a sex
therapist.”

“You're not?”

He shook his head. “I'm not Monday Marsh. My name is
Adam Fuller. I'm a private investigator. A detective,” he said when
he saw the question in her eyes. “I was hired to come to Mystique
and pretend to be one of the contestants.”

A puzzled frown settled between her
brows “You were
hired
to be a contestant? But . . . everyone acts as if they know
who you are. I mean, who you are pretending to be.” She waved her
hand about. “That whole nipple thing.”

He sighed. “It's horrible, isn't
it? My client, the man who hired me, paid off the real Monday Marsh
so I could take his place.
Turns out Marsh
has agoraphobia or is terribly shy, or something along those lines.
His producer was forcing him to do the show as a publicity stunt,
so he leaped at the chance to get out of it when my client
approached him. Gar bribed a couple of producers as well.
I had no idea who I was supposed to impersonate
until I was on the plane here, but I can tell you this—I will have
my revenge on Gar one way or another.”

“Gar?”

“My friend. The one who hired me.”

“Oh.” Her fingers pleated the soft
cotton of her skirt where it lay on her thigh.
“But won't people be able to tell that you aren't this Marsh
person?”

Adam's brows drew together in a faint frown. “I
worried about that too, but no one has said anything so far. I
guess hearing someone speak in person is different enough from the
radio that people are willing to accept any variations.”

“What exactly were you hired to do here?”

He gave her a wry smile. “I can't tell you.
Confidential.”

“Would it have anything to do with Sally
Simmons?”

He said nothing.

She nodded. “I see.” She played with her dress for a
moment longer. “Why are you telling me this? I'm already
blackmailing you because of your cat, why would you tell me
something else to put yourself in my power?”

Why indeed?
“I trust you,” he shrugged. “You know the worst about me now
anyway. It's certainly not illegal to be a private
investigator.”

“No, but I imagine the Eden people wouldn't be happy
to know what you've done.”

“Are you kidding? They'd love it. They'd save my
denouement for the final episode. Anything to drive up ratings.” He
covered her hand with his. “The truth is, Hero, I'm a terrible
liar. I couldn't think of kissing you knowing there were untruths
between us.”

Her eyes grew huge. “Untruths?”

He nodded. “I couldn't do that to you. I respect you
too much.” He gave as short laugh. “Ironic, isn't it, that we only
met this morning? And here I am babbling on about respecting you
and—” His gaze dropped to her lips— “kissing you. For purely
scientific reasons, as I said before. My hope is, of course, that
you won't reveal this secret any more than Jesus's, but I feel I
can trust you. You have a quality of honesty about you that I
greatly admire.”

“Honesty?” she repeated, her eyes worried as she
gnawed on her lower lip. “You think I'm honest?”

“I'm not often wrong about people,” he said with a
teasing smile. “So now that you know the worst of me, what about
it? Will you rate me?”

She blinked her big grey eyes at him a couple of
times while she thought over what he had said. “All right.”

Hope—amongst other things—rose. “You're sure you
wouldn't mind?” he asked, damning himself for giving her an out,
but unwilling to force her into doing anything.

Her eyes were silver in the moonlight, warm silver
with tiny black imperfections that caught him and held him
fast.

“No, I don't mind.” She smiled, a little worriedly,
but still it was a smile. “I have always believed in furthering the
knowledge of science.”

Slowly, Adam,
he told himself,
don't pounce on her.
Give her the respect she's due. Go slowly. Don't scare her. And for
God's sake, don't let her see the desperation in your
eyes!

“Right, then.”

“Right,” she said, her eyes dropping modestly. God,
but he wanted to touch her, to taste her, to taste all of her. He
bit down the sharp edge of his desire, and leaned toward her, his
hands fisted into the grass to keep from grabbing her and pulling
her under him.

Her breath was sweet on his lips, soft and warm and
inviting. Her eyes were silver disks so beautiful it almost hurt to
look into them. The soft floral scent of her skin merged with the
heavier perfume of the night blooming flowers, causing little
pinpricks of heat to form on his skin, then sink inward and head
straight for his groin. His lips touched hers, teased them,
withdrew, then returned to tease them again. Her eyes closed as he
tasted her lips, nibbling gently on her lower lip until, with a
moan that went deep into his chest, she opened her mouth for
him.