Swept Away (17 page)
Authors: Toni Blake
Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #General, #Romance, #Contemporary
A week after Kat’s graduation
Ten years ago
Another half hour and she was free. At least for today. A summer job at her father’s gallery
had seemed like such a good idea before well, before graduation and what had happened with
Brock. Or what hadn’t happened with Brock. Now, she spent most of her time on the job
praying she wouldn’t run into him, and so far, she’d gotten amazingly lucky. She worked out
front; he worked in the back rooms, or was out running errands for her dad. But how long
could that last? How long could she escape facing him?
Even now, as she stood watching the last customer of the day leave through the plate-glass
door, her face warmed at the hideous memory of the seduction that wasn’t. It was hard enough
to believe she’d been so bold. But even harder to believe it hadn’t worked. Her heart turned to
ground glass in her chest each time she relived the pain.
Maybe deep inside she’d known he wouldn’t want her. Maybe that was why she’d made a
move so very extreme, as opposed to, say, asking him out for a burger and Coke one day after work. Still, it was hard to believe the guy had turned down a naked girl in his lap—talk about the ultimate rejection! “A guy just doesn’t do that. A guy just doesn’t turn down a naked chick
in his lap!” That’s what Nina had said when Kat had gotten her on the phone afterward, in
tears.
“Maybe he’s gay?” Nina had suggested the next day in Kat’s bedroom. They’d been polishing
off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in consolation.
Kat had simply flashed her a look of disbelief, spooned a bite of chocolate chip cookie dough
ice cream into her mouth, and they’d both sighed. One look at Brock and no woman on the
planet could think he was gay.
“Well, either way, guess this means he’s not pendant-worthy,” Nina had said.
Guess so, Kat thought now, turning toward the rear of the gallery to peer briefly at her stone
pendant in its frame, before walking back toward the front door to turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED.
The sad truth she’d been trying to deal with ever since graduation night was the same
conclusion she’d known all along: He just plain didn’t want her. She was too much of a little
girl for him. Even naked. In his lap. Oh God. Had that really happened?
A lump rose to her throat, and she had to close her eyes for a few seconds to hold back tears.
She reached to the edge of one of the gallery’s pedestals for balance. She might have cried
herself to sleep a few nights this week over Brock Denton, but she’d just made a decision—she
wasn’t shedding one more stupid tear on him.
“Hey, kitten.”
Her heart stopped.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Don’t turn around. Just leave.
Unfortunately, her purse was in the office, which lay behind her, which was also where he
was. And even if she decided to leave it behind to achieve a quick escape, she couldn’t avoid
him all summer.
So she swallowed back the threat of tears and turned to look at him—but she wasn’t friendly.
“What do you want?”
She made the mistake of peering into his dark eyes, which were no less than hypnotic. With
that same black stubble sloping over a strong jawbone and a gaze that seemed to see into her
soul—no doubt about it, he was a god of all that was hot and sexy. “To say I’m sorry.”
Well, that was the last thing she’d expected. Brock Denton apologizing? Even those gray eyes
of his were a little warmer than she’d ever seen them before. Not that it was good enough.
“Excuse me,” she said pointedly, pushing past him toward the office.
Stepping inside, she grabbed up her purse and came back out, starting for the door. It was just
hitting her fully all over again that he’d seen her naked without returning the favor—and that
she had to get out of there, now. Without looking at him, she said, “I’m locking up on my way
out, so be sure you lock the back when you leave.”
“Wait, kitten. Don’t go.” His hand closed warm around her arm as she tried to sweep past him.
She looked up to find his eyes far too close and penetrating, her whole body tingling from his
touch. He was near enough to kiss.
“Heard you got a birthday coming up.”
“So?” Whatever you do, don’t start trembling.
“Just thought I could make it up to you. We could go somewhere.” He gave his head a slight,
oh-so-provocative tilt. “I could give you that present you wanted. Just make it for your birthday
instead.”
She swallowed back the lump that had just risen to her throat.
Sex. They were talking about it the same as if it were a sweater, or a charm bracelet. But she couldn’t blame him for that—she was the one who’d laid sex out on the table between them so
bluntly.
Ideally, the offer would come with dinner and a movie at the very least, but she knew Brock
didn’t have money to spare—what little he made went toward taking care of his sick grandpa,
out at the swamp.
“Friday night?” he asked.
“That’s my birthday.”
“I know.”
That impressed her, just a little, that he knew the actual day, had perhaps even consulted a calendar. Frankly, she was so wild about him that it didn’t take much. She so wanted to see the
good in him, to believe it was there. She was such a pushover where he was concerned.
“I have a party that night. My birthday party. At the country club.”
He let out a soft, low chuckle. “Don’t suppose I’m invited.”
She didn’t know where to go with that. Her father would have a heart attack if she invited
Brock, and it wasn’t like he’d fit with her friends. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing
came out.
“Don’t worry, kitten,” he said with a slight headshake. “Not my scene anyway. But maybe
you’ll meet me after?”
She bit her lip. Any sane girl would tell him to go to hell. But she was getting a glimpse of something she’d never really expected—a kinder, gentler Brock Denton. If she’d found him alluring before, well, now it was all she could do not to melt beneath the weight of his gaze, the
manly scent of him, the urge to press against him, right here in the gallery. “The party’ll go late,” she said. “But I could maybe slip out for a while.”
A slight nod. “Sounds good.”
“Pick me up at the front gate.” She knew he was familiar with the club—he’d run errands for
her father there before. “Ten o’clock.”
The vaguest hint of a smile made its way onto his face. “See you then.”
“Don’t fuck up this time,” she said on impulse. She never used the “f” word, but thought it
might reinforce the idea that she wasn’t a little girl. “You have a lot to make up for.”
The attitude earned her a grin. “Don’t worry, kitten. I never make the same mistake twice.”
Chapter Six
The sun beaming through the window forced Brock’s eyes slowly open. He instinctively
turned to look beside him—to find the sheets rumpled but the bed empty. Even the pillow was
gone. A small knot of disappointment settled low in his gut.
“Oh, Kat,” he called, his voice echoing through the tiny house, any letdown well disguised.
“Sister Katrina of the Tiny Bikini—where are you?”
No answer. And no water running in the bathroom, but surely that was where he’d find her.
Pushing up from the bed, he meandered in that direction, but discovered the bathroom door
standing wide open.
Great. His seduction attempts had driven the girl right out of the house.
Feeling bad in a way he usually didn’t, he located the near-empty donut box on the counter,
grabbed up a glazed one in a napkin, and headed outside to find her.
The tropical morning air hit him crisp and sweet, and he suffered a brief—and weird—longing for a calmer life. Life on a deserted island with Kat? Even if she resisted his advances forever,
the last couple of days had been oddly nice.
Stopping near the picnic table, he looked around—where the hell could she be? The beach lay
straight ahead, and on either side of him, nothing but palm-and banyan-laden woods.
That was when he spotted something he hadn’t seen before—a hammock stretched between
two palm trees on the edge of the jungly island interior not more than a stone’s throw away. Padding through the cool sand, he found Kat curled up in a little kittenlike ball, fast asleep, her
pillow tucked beneath her head, her little green pajamas as cute as ever.
He stepped up close, then waved the donut gently back and forth in front of her nose. “Wake
up, kitten,” he said softly. “Time for breakfast.”
A few seconds later, those sweet blue eyes fluttered open. At first, she squinted at him, as if
trying to figure out who he was and where they were. Then she wordlessly snatched the donut from his hand and took a big bite.
“How long have you been out here?” he asked.
She stretched, a move that arched her breasts pleasingly against the front of her top. “All
night,” she said on a yawn.
Damn it. He’d not meant to drive her from the bed just by sharing it with her.
No, he’d meant to make her break a promise to the man she’d agreed to marry.
In the light of day, that seemed just about as bad. And not nearly so noble as he’d thought it
yesterday. “Sorry, kitten. I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.”
Her reply came brisk and resolute. “Sure you did. But that’s okay. It’s nice out here. I’m going
to sleep here from now on, until my parents come for us.” She took another bite from her
donut.
“No,” he said. “I’ll sleep here. You’ll sleep in the bed. It’s your house—I’ll clear out at night
so you can sleep in peace.”
“Typical,” she replied, rolling out of the hammock to her feet in one swift move.
“What?” They stood just a few feet apart, and as usual, he wanted to kiss her.
“You come barging into my vacation, and no matter what I do, you tell me it’s going to be the
opposite way. I tell you I haven’t had sex with my fianc—you insist that I should have. I tell
you I’m not having sex with you—you ignore me and keep right on trying. I tell you to sleep
on the floor—you get in the bed. So I tell you I’ll sleep in the hammock, but no, now you’ll
sleep in the hammock.” She concluded with a huffing breath, then started to march away,
stuffing a big chunk of donut in her mouth as she went.
He looked after her, feet rooted in place in the sand. “Where are you going?”
She spoke around the bite of donut. “I’m getting dressed. And then I’m going to take a walk.”
She stopped then, turning to glare at him. “And if you tell me I’m not taking a walk, I will go
into that house, find a frying pan, and beat you over the head with it. Got it?”
