Breaking the Rules (5 page)

Now, there was a lie if he’d ever heard one. She sounded about as convincing as a kid assuring a teacher the dog ate his homework. “At night? In the ocean? With a storm on the way? You don’t seem stupid. You must know that’s dangerous.”

“I’ve always done crazy, spontaneous things.” She gave a jittery laugh. “Wild and unpredictable, that’s me. It drives my family and friends nuts.”

Mitch wondered if she heard what he did in her voice. Uncertainty. Fear. A woman trying to convince herself of something. “Well, control yourself when you’re alone on the island. I’d hate to find out something bad happened to you.”

An image flashed to mind of her standing naked at the ocean’s edge, a silhouette, waves lapping at her feet.

On impulse, Mitch leaned forward, then just as quickly pulled back. He thought of the contract with the show that forbade him from cozying up to competitors.

Thunder rumbled.

He thought of the lights from the resort casting a hazy glow on her slick, wet body.

His heart bounced haphazardly against his chest.

“To hell with the rules.” Mitch leaned toward her again.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Misjudging the location of her mouth, his lips brushed the tip of her nose instead. It reminded him of eighth grade, when the girl he’d loved to distraction turned her head at the crucial moment, landing his tongue in her ear. “Sorry,” Mitch muttered.

“That’s okay,” she answered softly.

He gave it another shot, and this time hit his target.

Chapter Five

Claire couldn’t remember when anything had felt as good as Mitch’s mouth on hers. At first it was little more than a silky whisk of lips. Then warm, thick tension twisted inside her, and she allowed him to deepen the kiss. He cupped her face in his palms, and Claire shifted to wrap her arms around his neck.

When he finally broke away from her, she had to remind herself to breathe.
I’ll tell him about James and end this here and now.
“Name your ideal woman,” she murmured instead, sliding her hands through his hair.

“Tall and slender.” He kissed her again. “Impulsive.”

She laughed, flattered by his observations. “You’re playing it safe. Tell me what she looks like.”

“She looks like you.”

“No fair.”

“It doesn’t matter what she looks like,” Mitch said.

“You’re not getting out of this.”

He touched her damp head. “Her hair is short and wavy.”

“Go on.”

He released an exasperated breath. “Okay. Brunette. Eyes dark, skin brown.”

Claire thought of the coloring she’d inherited from both of her Irish parents: red hair, green eyes, skin easily burned by the sun. The exact opposite of what he’d described. She’d already lent credence to his theory about men and women and dishonesty by not telling him she was engaged. What was one more little indiscretion? “I thought you said you didn’t see me?”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. People tell me I’m very exotic looking. Guess it’s my Latin heritage.”

“But your name’s O’Malley.”

“Oh, that. My father is Irish. The Latin blood comes from my mother,” Claire lied. She tried out her sexiest Mae West impression. “I inherited her dark looks along with her hourglass hips and buxom chest.”

“You forget. I’ve seen you…and
felt
you naked. Not that I’m complaining. Buxom isn’t my thing.”

His hands moved down her back. Claire was acutely conscious of the fact that she wore nothing beneath Mitch’s T-shirt and shorts, and suddenly afraid of what the two of them had started. She’d never intended her first taste of recklessness to turn into a feast.

“Mitch,” she said, easing away from him. “We really shouldn’t be doing this. We both have a lot to lose.”

“Didn’t you say you were famous for being wild?”

Thunder rattled the windows. Wind creaked in the rafters. “Yes…I said that.”

“Don’t change now. Be wild with me.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, afraid of what he implied, afraid of the emotions churning inside her. Desire. Temptation. Fear. A dash of irritation.

“I like you, Aphrodite, and I think you like me.”

“I like my hairdresser, Raoul, too, but you won’t catch me crawling into bed with him.”

Claire had been dubbed “Most Serious Senior” in her high school yearbook. But Mitch’s laughter made her feel like Lucille Ball reincarnated.

“Maybe not,” he said between hoots, “but have you ever tumbled naked on a beach with Raoul?”

It had been a long time since anyone had brought a smile to Mitch’s face, much less made him laugh as easily as this woman had tonight. But when the muscles in Claire’s back tensed beneath his fingers, Mitch suddenly sensed the tug-of-war going on in her head. He chided himself for causing it. She was right to resist. They were strangers…and he was out of line.

Mitch listened to the staccato beat of rain against the roof, remembering the kiss they’d just shared, the way his heart had slammed against his chest at that first tentative touch of their lips, the desire that had risen like an almighty wave to consume him. He removed his arm from her shoulder. “I wasn’t implying we should go to bed together.”

“You weren’t? I mean, I just thought…” She groaned. “Boy, oh, boy, I really put my foot in it this time.”

“Not that the idea of sleeping with a sea goddess doesn’t appeal to me, but what I really had in mind was raiding the refrigerator and pantry.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’m starved. Let’s make a game of it. I can guess what I’m eating.”

Mitch found his way slowly into the tiny adjoining kitchen. He rummaged around in the dark, then returned minutes later with paper goods, a bottle of wine, and a sack full of assorted stuff from the pantry. After some awkward maneuvering in the dark, they sat opposite each other in the middle of the floor, the groceries between them.

“Ready for a taste test?” Mitch asked, straining to see, hoping for more than the occasional hint of her vague silhouette.

“Bring it on.”

“Hold your nose.”

“Why?”

“The smell might give it away.”

There was a pop, then a crackling of paper. Mitch grinned. “Here you go.”

“You sure I won’t regret this?”

“Trust me.” Her breath fanned warm against his hand as she took a bite.

“Ughh! It tastes like a cracker topped with slimy dead fish smothered in mustard.”

“It is a cracker topped with dead fish smothered in mustard. Sardines.” He heard a sputtering sound and guessed she had spit the sardines into the napkin he’d shoved into her hand. “I take it you don’t like them?”

“You take it right. By the way, next time you say to trust you, I’ll think twice.”

They continued their picnic, concluding with wine from paper cups. And sometime during it all, every ounce of tension Mitch had carried around since arriving on the island slipped free and disappeared. The tile floor was cool beneath his skin. He leaned back on his forearms, full and content. “How about some music?”

“Don’t tell me. In addition to being a cameraman and a junk-food connoisseur, you’re also a musician.”

“Afraid not. But I do have a radio. Battery operated.” Mitch gathered up their trash and set it aside. He scooted backward toward the couch, then felt around atop an end table until he located the small radio. After switching it on; he turned the dial. “Let’s see, our musical options are Reggae, reggae, or reggae. And all with a good deal of static. What’s your pleasure?”

“Reggae would be nice.”

“Good choice. I was afraid you might say Tejano, considering all that Latin blood running through your veins.”

The sound of her laughter aroused him. That wouldn’t have worried him much if it were only lust stirring. While his rationality battled his instincts, he sat back and listened to the music.

After a minute, Mitch felt her fingers brush his arm. “Let’s dance,” she said.

The shorts Claire had borrowed from Mitch after her shower hung loose on her hips. Through the fabric of her T-shirt, she felt his hands, large and warm against her back. Because of her bandaged foot, she couldn’t dance to the wild beat of the music playing on the radio, so, laughing at themselves, they swayed to an awkward rhythm of their own.

She wondered how she could feel so secure in his arms—the arms of a man she’d just met, a man whom, as far as she knew, she’d never seen. But she did feel secure, and she felt other things, too. Emotions that had nothing remotely to do with safety.

Her heart beat much too fast and, as if to compensate for her lack of vision, her other senses became fine-tuned. The pace of Mitch’s breath was slow and even, the length of his body lean and solid. He smelled like Dove soap and warm male skin. And when he lifted her chin to kiss her, his lips tasted faintly of wine and sardines, but she found the secondhand flavor more to her liking.

The song’s tempo increased and they spun once, then crumpled to the floor, out of breath and laughing. Mitch tugged the cushions off the couch and they stretched out side by side on top of them, talking and teasing.

Claire pushed aside thoughts of James and the game. She tried not to analyze the reasons why, since the moment she’d met Mitch, she’d avoided telling him she had a fiancé. After the past few days of heartache and humiliation and fruitless competition, it felt good to just relax and be herself. Yes, she wanted to marry James; that hadn’t changed. But she refused to turn away from this moment; she wouldn’t question the right or wrong of it. Not once in the past had she fantasized about a secret lover, a one-night rendezvous.

But now the prospect tantalized her. One night of carefree pleasure. No strings…no commitments.

“You’re a great dancer,” Mitch said.

“And you’re a terrible liar. I’m clumsy and gangly even when both feet are working. Always have been. You, on the other hand, have been concealing your true identity. You’re really John Travolta. That’s some rhythm you’ve got. What else have you been keeping from me?”

“Let’s see. I’ve been called obsessive and self-centered by a woman or two.”

“Self-centered, huh?”

“Yeah. And one of them even followed up that accusation by saying something derogatory about my mother.”

“Your mother?” Claire mulled that over for a second.

“She said something to the effect of ‘you obsessive, self-centered son of a bitch’.”

Claire choked out a laugh. “That was rude.”

“That’s what I thought, too. She’d never even met Mom.”

His fingers gently tapped on Claire’s forearm, keeping time with the music. “What else do your old girlfriends say about you?” she asked.

“I seem to recall the words ‘control freak’. And then there was ‘problem avoider’.” He paused. “No, it was ‘conflict avoider’, I believe.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know.” She felt his shoulders lift, then lower. “Maybe. I don’t like being pushed into a corner, if that’s what it means. I don’t like being caught off guard, either. As far as I’m concerned, the fewer surprises, the better.”

“You kind of bombed out this trip, didn’t you? First the storm, the blackout, then me? I’d say that’s quite a few surprises in one day.”

“The weather can’t always be predicted. Neither can power outages. But you can bet I’ll never travel again without a flashlight and fresh batteries in my suitcase. Now, as for you, stumbling across a goddess every now and then is a nice surprise. I don’t mind that kind.”

Claire trailed a finger across his collarbone. “I’m not usually a surprise, nice or otherwise. I lied to you earlier about being impulsive. I’m normally dull and predictable. This is the first time I’ve ever been spontaneous.”

“Being on
Eden
or skinny-dipping?”

“Both. And this. You and me. Here. Now. I normally avoid setting myself up for future regrets.”

“Why do you think you’ll regret this?”

Anxiety forged a jittery path toward the pit of Claire’s stomach. Beneath the banter, the conversation had somehow turned serious. “You don’t believe in romance or commitment. I do. Still, here we are together, and I’m liking it very much. There you have it—the perfect recipe for future regrets on my part.”

“What’s wrong with just enjoying the time we have together?”

“You mean tonight?”

“I mean however long we’re both on the island.”

Claire took her hand from Mitch’s shoulder. “Even if our being together weren’t against the rules, we’re too different.” She forced lightness to her tone. “We’d only leave each other with bad memories.”

“We have things in common,” Mitch insisted. “You’re a woman who likes to swim naked; I like women who like to swim naked. See there?”

“Ha, ha. You’re such a comedian.”

Mitch took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss into the palm. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled. He made it too easy to forget about James and the game, her inhibitions, and everything else. “How do you know I’m beautiful? You’ve never even seen me.”