Kate Carlisle - An Innocent In Paradise

“Hunk alert at three o’clock,” said Dee, a pretty, dark-haired waitress from New Jersey, as she sidled up next to Grace.

Grace glanced at her watch. “What happens at three o’clock?”

Joey and Dee exchanged grins, then Dee put her arm around Grace and said, “Poor baby’s led a sheltered life.”

“I guess I have,” Grace admitted.

Joey leaned over and whispered, “She’s alerting you that the boss just walked in.”

“And he is looking hunk-a-diddly-dumptious,” Dee said, smacking her lips.

Grace laughed. “Oh, wait, three o’clock, I get it.” She turned to her right and saw Logan, then quickly turned back and tried not to show she was flustered. “Does he come in every night?”

“He usually stops in, but never stays long,” Dee said, then frowned. “Until recently, anyway. Last night he was here for a couple hours. Not sure what that’s all about. I hope we’re not getting laid off.”

“The place is filled to capacity every week, so nobody’s getting laid off,” Joey said, then cast a less-than-subtle stare at Grace.

Dee frowned at him. “You think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joey said as he opened a new bottle of rum.

“What?” Grace said, glancing from one to the other.

Dee raised both eyebrows. “Has the boss got his eye on you, Gracie girl?”

She grimaced. “He just wants to catch me making a mistake so he can fire me.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, honey,” Dee said, patting her shoulder. “Although, I gotta say, if I caught the eye of someone that hunkalicious, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my cool.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Mmm-mmm. Is it getting hot in here or what?”

Grace elbowed her. “You’re crazy.”

“I don’t think so,” Dee said, chuckling.

“Here’s your piña coladas, Gracie,” Joey said. “You need help with the tray?”

“You’re sweet, but I’ve got it.”

“I’ll say you’ve got it,” Joey said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Now work it.”

She laughed as she walked away with her drinks, fairly certain she’d never “worked it” in her life. But she was more than willing to try.

“I had three orgasms!” a woman cried.

Logan whipped around, shocked to recognize the young woman who’d been crying in the lobby yesterday afternoon. She had Grace wrapped in a fierce hug and she was jumping up and down.

Logan had just returned from an early-morning run up the peninsula and back. When he saw Grace walking toward the palmetto grove, he started to follow her, but her new best friend grabbed her first.

“Thank you, thank you,” the woman gushed. “You were so right! He found that spot and it was miraculous!”

Fascinating. Logan watched Grace glancing around the beach, probably checking to see if anyone had overheard the effusive woman. When she spied Logan standing ten feet away, she shook her head and closed her eyes in resignation.

Grinning, Logan continued to observe the exchange with interest, listening to every word as the woman gleefully described her husband’s successful foray. It was clear now that Grace had instructed the young honeymooner on how to make love with her new husband. Very interesting.

His gaze narrowed and focused on her. It appeared that all those years Grace Farrell had spent studying the sexual and reproductive habits of spores and other creatures-including humans, obviously-had given her a level of sexual expertise he wanted to explore.

The thought made him grit his teeth. He wanted her right now. It was taking every ounce of control he had to not drag her into the palmetto grove, back her up against a tree and give in to the desire he knew they both felt for each other.

Grace hugged the woman and congratulated her, then watched her skip away. Once she was gone, Grace turned to Logan. “I suppose you heard all that.”

“Pretty much.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Because I’m thinking you pretty much made her day. And night, apparently.”

“Yes, well.” She brushed her hair off her forehead, then fiddled with her sunglasses. “I didn’t do anything she couldn’t have… Well, I just…” She glanced up at the sky. “It’s late. I really should get to my spores.”

“Wait.”

She froze and he took immediate advantage, stepping closer, invading her personal space.

“What is it, Logan? Is something wrong?” Her pink tongue slid across her lush lips again and he almost groaned.

“If you lick your lips again,” he warned, “I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and take you to my room.”

She swallowed slowly. “I-I can’t help it. You make me nervous.”

“Do I?”

She glared at him. “You know you do. And I think you do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” He skimmed his fingers across her shoulder and was gratified when she shivered. “That was a nice thing you did for her.”

She tilted her head, clearly baffled. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” His smile grew. “Do you often go around explaining the G-spot to clueless women?”

“Um, no.” She shook her head slowly. “That was definitely a first.”

He studied her, taking notice of the small scar over her left eyebrow, another smattering of pale freckles on the upper ridges of her cheeks, the perfect cupid’s bow of her upper lip. “What the hell makes you tick, Grace Farrell?”

Puzzled, she said, “I might ask the same of you.”

“Hey, I’m an open book.”

A frown line marred her brow. “Not to me.”

“The thing is,” he said, “I’m usually a pretty easygoing guy. But ever since you showed up, I’ve been feeling a little edgy.”

“That’s not my fault,” she said heatedly, poking her finger at his chest. “And I’m not leaving the island.”

He grabbed her finger to stop the jabs. “It’s not that kind of edgy.” He kept hold of her hand, rubbing his palm against hers, shaping it and molding it to his.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Awareness had her licking her lips again and a bolt of pure heat lit up his insides.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“This.” He leaned forward and kissed her, wrapping his hand around her nape to press her closer to him. Her mouth was as sweet as anything he’d ever tasted and he had to fight to keep the contact light. But his control was slipping as the heat of her body invaded his own. Visions of her lush, naked skin danced through his mind and he groaned.

He would’ve stopped, but a delicious sigh escaped her throat and her lips parted for him. He plunged inside her warmth and her tongue met his instantly, eagerly. Logan felt his heartbeat stagger and every muscle in his body hardened with need.

He wanted her, wanted to strip her clothes off and touch her breasts, her thighs, her slick core. He wanted his hands and mouth on every inch of her body. Now.

The images jarred him back to reality and he remembered they were standing outside in view of anyone who walked by. That’s when he pulled back, but not completely. He took his time, kissing the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, the line of her jaw, the silky length of her neck.

“Let’s go to my room,” he murmured against her skin, then took her hand and started walking back to the hotel.

She stopped and pulled her hand away. “I can’t do that. I have to go.”

He turned and looked at her. “No you don’t.”

“I do. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” She paused to catch her breath. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said carefully. “But I do know you want me and I want you.”

She looked so serious. “You don’t, really.”

“You’re wrong, Grace,” he said, reaching for her.