Authors: Ann Bruce
His face could’ve been carved in granite. Her fingertips tingled with the need to trace the harsh profile of his face, to soften the hard line of his mouth. Despite knowing what he was capable of, she wanted to comfort him.
Oh, dear God, she was weak.
Feeling cold despite the warm interior of the sedan, Parker wrapped her arms about herself and turned back to the world outside.
It wasn’t until a Learjet, small and sleek and sitting inside an open hangar, came into view that the practicalities occurred to her and made her break the heavy silence in the Maybach.
“And I’m supposed to walk around naked for the next six days?” she queried, turning to him.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’d have no objections to that, but your suitcase is already packed. Your assistant packed it for you. He even remembered your passport. He said he’ll feed the fish in your office while you’re gone.”
“And how did he get into my place to pack my bags?”
“I let him in.”
“You have a copy of my key?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“I want it.”
“You can search me for it.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“I’m hoping you do.”
Parker glanced away. She recalled the devious smile her assistant had aimed at her when she’d accompanied Dean from the offices of
Femme.
“When I get back to the office, Owen is so fired.”
“He was operating under orders from me and your editor-in-chief.”
Her brows drew together in consternation. “Who else knows about this?”
He inclined his head toward the front of the car. “Gordon. The friend who owns the island.”
“Owns the island?” she parroted incredulously. “You’re taking me to a private island?”
“Yes.” His gaze became hooded. “I don’t want you trying to buy a flight back to New York before the six days are up.”
She flushed guiltily. That had been a consideration.
He correctly read her expression. “You’re a very resourceful woman, Parker Quinn. I couldn’t leave anything to chance.”
“And how would you know that? We only met two nights ago.”
He regarded her pensively until the sedan came to a stop beside the hangar and Gordon got out. A moment later, Parker found her door being opened for her, Dean’s driver waiting patiently for her to alight.
“We’ll finish this conversation on the jet,” Dean said. “After you.”
They didn’t continue their conversation on the private jet. Not a good flyer even in a Boeing 747, Parker spent the next three hours in the relatively tiny Lear drifting in and out of sleep in one of the plush leather armchairs bolted to the floor. When awake, Dean plied her with bottled water and aspirin. At one point when she’d managed to stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes, he’d offered her food, but she’d groggily turned away with a grimace, closed her eyes and promptly fell back asleep.
When she next awoke, she found herself floating midair. Her arms flailed, hit muscled flesh, and she realized she wasn’t floating, but being carried in someone’s arms. She sleepily linked her arms loosely around a man’s neck, buried her face in its intoxicating warmth and, feeling safe and content, drifted back into oblivion.
Muscles warm and loose, Parker languidly stretched and twisted in the smooth cotton sheets that were warmed from her body. She yawned widely before opening her eyes. It was dark in the pleasantly cool room. When she glanced at the ceiling she could just make out a fan whirling slowly above the bed. She sat up and the sheet drifted down to her waist. Her naked waist.
Only one person would’ve stripped her clothes from her body while she was unconscious. The heat of anger crawled from her chest, up her neck and across her cheeks. She took several deep breaths, felt under the covers, found her thong still in place. He’d attempted to make her comfortable, not feel her up. Besides, she’d already allowed him that liberty earlier. And hers wouldn’t be the first female body he’d seen. Nor would it be the last.
Suddenly irritated, she yanked the sheet up to cover her breasts, then decided it was unnecessary since she was alone in the darkened room, and rolled out of bed. She found a lamp on a nightstand and, after a little fumbling, flicked it on. Warm, golden light spilled from the lamp. She found her olive suitcase and coordinating tote bag just inside a door that concealed a walk-in closet. Another door revealed an en suite complete with soaker bathtub and separate shower stall.
After closing the door behind her, Parker peeled off the thong. Sighing, she stepped inside the frosted glass stall, twisted the knobs and lifted her face to the water as it washed the sleep from her eyes and beat down soothingly on her tired body. She washed the makeup off with her own foaming cleanser, thoughtfully packed by her assistant. Maybe he wouldn’t be unemployed when she got back to New York after all.
She made use of the deliciously scented herbal shampoo, conditioner and body wash she found sitting on the ledge. Ten minutes later, she toweled herself off with a plush, cream-colored bath sheet that felt luxurious against her skin. With a hairbrush from one of the vanity drawers, she brushed out her shoulder-length hair and decided to let it air dry. Next, she brushed her teeth with the electric toothbrush and toothpaste she dug up from her own tote bag.
Feeling human again, Parker rifled through her suitcase, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Owen for packing sensible clothes for her. She pulled out a pair of cotton thong panties in a funky floral print, blue jeans worn soft and almost threadbare from frequent washings, and a cotton tank top with Lucy from
Peanuts
printed on the front. She shook out her hair, ran both hands through it to sweep the mass of it back from her face and, barefoot, left the sanctuary of the bedroom.
The slick hardwood was cool under her feet as she found her way down to the main floor. Domestic sounds lured her to the back of the house. She came to a halt in the doorway, taken aback by the sight that met her eyes.
Dean, dressed in denim nearly as worn as hers and a white T-shirt that drew attention to those impressively muscled shoulders and biceps, was snapping green beans like a pro. There was just something about a man who could cook that made a woman’s knees go weak. Well, cook and look hot doing it. Watching him, Parker decided that if this man had his own show on the Food Network, millions of women would tune in just to drool over him. Like she was doing now.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
She could feel the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. “Sorry, you don’t look like the type who knows his way around a kitchen. You look more like the barbeque type. Thick slabs of raw meat and an open fire in the outdoors.”
Without pause, he looked up and lifted a single brow. “I didn’t always have Gordon. I was raised middle-class and both my parents had full-time jobs. If my sisters and I wanted to eat, we had to prepare the food ourselves. We all became very good at it.”
In all honesty, she didn’t know much about Dean since he kept such a low public profile, and she was struck by the similarity between their childhoods. Except, she’d only had one parent who’d worked two jobs to ensure her daughters wouldn’t be taken away by Children and Family Services.
A corner of his mouth twitched and he added, “And I can grill a mean steak. You’ll find out later in the week.”
“I didn’t realize men could grill
friendly
steaks,” she remarked smartly.
He paused for a moment, as if her having a sense of humor was rather unexpected. Then he chuckled. “We can, but a mean steak just sounds more manly.” A teasing glint in his blue eyes warned her. “I could grill you a friendly one. I’ll put a bow on it. Pink.”
“Pepto-Bismol pink and you got a deal.”
“Like your shirt?”
She glanced down at the tank top and pursed her lips. “At least it’s not black.”
“I like it. Except you look about twelve years old and I feel like a lecher.”
Her cheeks reddened. Jesus, she needed to do something about the constant blushing. In a thirty-three-year-old woman, it was just plain embarrassing.
Clearing her throat, she slipped both hands into her back pockets and rocked onto her toes. “What can I do to help?”
He finished with the green beans, ran them under cold water a few times and added them to a colander filled with sliced carrots, broccoli and cauliflower glittering with droplets of water. Thinly sliced beef, still rare, sat in a small pile on a thick, wooden chopping board. “I have it covered. Take a seat before you keel over.”
“I feel fine.”
“You’re paler than usual, and, by my guess, you haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.”
Her stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly, supporting his estimate. She frowned down at it before pulling out a stool at the granite breakfast bar and settling herself on it.
“How do you contact the outside world?” she asked, running the soles of her feet along the cool metal bar on the chair.
Dean paused with his hand wrapped around the door handle of the stainless steel refrigerator. “Who do you want to contact?”
“My family. They’re going to need to know why I won’t be answering my cell phone for the next few days.”
“There’s a satellite phone you can use. But you might want to wait until tomorrow to call them.”
Dean opened the fridge, grabbed a nectarine from inside it and tossed it to her. Parker deftly caught the smooth fruit and tested it. It was a little hard, but she didn’t like her nectarines too ripe. “That should hold you until I finish the stir-fry.”
He waited until she took a bite before turning back to the skillet he had heating up on the gas stove. There was sizzling as he drizzled some oil onto the hot surface. After scraping in some mashed garlic from a mortar, he stirred it around, then added the beef.
The aroma from the skillet made Parker’s mouth water and her stomach reminded her yet again she’d gone for too long without nourishment. She made quick work of the fruit in her hand and got up to get another one.
There was more sizzling as the vegetables joined the beef. Parker returned to her seat and, rapt, watched as Dean added a little garlic chili sauce, a dash of soy sauce and oyster sauce. After some more stirring with his wooden spoon, he removed the skillet from the blue flames and set it aside. With an economy of movement, he took down two plates from a cupboard and set them on the island counter in front of her that served double duty. From a pot on the stove, he scooped out steaming white rice for both plates, then piled the stir-fry on top.
“I tried to not peek,” said Dean.
Confused, Parker paused mid-bite, then lifted a brow. “Tried?”
“I’m male and straight.”
“I don’t hear an apology.”
“I’m making dinner. Isn’t that enough?”
She
humphed
, then took a bite out of the nectarine, relishing the crunch.
Utensils and two wineglasses, which he expertly filled halfway with Merlot, joined the plates. Parker set aside the nectarine pit and managed to wait for him to take the stool next to her before digging in with a shiny fork.
Her eyes drifted shut and she had to suppress a moan. The stir-fry was the perfect combination of spicy and sweet. The rice was fluffy, the vegetables still crisp, and the meat tender.
“You like it?”
She nodded, her mouth still busy. She chewed carefully and swallowed, washing the bite down with the red wine. “God, yes.” She speared a strip of beef. “Kitchen duty is all yours if you want it.”
She glanced up from her plate and nearly forgot about its contents. Dean was looking at her mouth, his hooded eyes hot.
She tore a paper towel from the roll on the island. “Do I have something stuck between my teeth? Sauce on my face?”
His eyes lifted to hers and she hoped he wouldn’t notice the sudden hard points that were her nipples. “No, I just like watching you eat.”
Parker put down the paper towel, brought the tines of her fork to her mouth and took the beef between her lips before she said something she’d regret later.
They finished the rest of the meal in silence, both going for seconds. Afterward, they loaded the dishwasher.
“How about a movie?” Dean asked before she could scuttle back upstairs to her room.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Are you?”
She wasn’t. She’d slept the day away and now was wide awake. She’d planned on staring at the ceiling fan above her bed until dawn, which was only a few short hours away. It was safer than his suggestion.
“No,” she replied. “What are our options?”
“Let’s find out.” He scooped up their wineglasses and snagging the bottle of Merlot.
She followed him. The kitchen opened onto the large living room. It was furnished comfortably with cushy sofas and armchairs, which were covered in cream-colored fabric and flanked by sturdy-looking end tables. A thick rug covered the honey-colored hardwood floor. A fireplace and flanking bookcases dominated one wall.
Dean set down the wineglasses and wine bottle on the lovingly restored antique trunk that served as a coffee table. He picked up one of the slim remote controllers laid out like sentinels on the polished surface. After he pushed a button, the white-washed wooden panels above the fireplace slid apart, revealing a massive television screen that made her own thirty-seven-inch widescreen look dinky.
Parker almost whistled. “Nice. Your friend spared no expense for his vacation home.”
“Jay says the isolation of the island’s worth it. The paparazzi can’t follow him here.”
Parker, who’d wandered over to peruse the eclectic collection of movies housed in one of the bookcases, cast a questioning look at Dean over her left shoulder. “Actor or musician?”
“He used to be the former,” Dean replied, coming to join her. “These days he only directs and produces. Says he doesn’t need to work out five hours a day if he’s behind the cameras.”
Her brow puckered. “Have I heard of him?”
Dean shrugged. “Probably.”
“Are you going to tell me?” she queried, exasperation coloring her voice.
“No. I don’t want you thinking about another man while you’re with me. Now, stop scowling at me and pick out a movie.” He faked a pained expression. “Just remember that I cooked dinner, so be nice.”