Jill Shalvis - The Trouble With Paradise

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When Dorie Anderson meets a cute guy, she becomes a huge klutz. But one phone call has turned her dead-end dating life into an adventure: she's won a trip on a singles' cruise to Fiji. On board, she soon meets pro baseball player Andy, and the ship's hunky French doctor. She's sure she'll fall head-over-heels in no time. Unfortunately, she's right: soon, she trips over her luggage right in front of them. Mortifying. But a bigger disaster is just on the horizon. Dorie finds a man murdered in his bunk the same night a storm wrecks the ship, stranding everyone on a deserted shore. It'd be a perfect setting for romance-if it weren't for the fact that there's a killer among them.

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Risking her neck, she burst into a run now, because suddenly she didn’t trust herself not to beg for that hug, and if he gave it to her, she’d definitely lose her panties. “Ow, ow, ow…” Her damn splinter hurt like hell-

“Dorie.”

Oh, no. Kicking it into higher gear, she turned the corner, away from the glow of the fire, away from the others, needing a private pity party, if only for a moment.

The rocks were stacked one upon another, making cliffs that jutted straight up, hundreds of feet into the sky. By day those cliffs had been green, teeming with lush growth, but now, at night, it was all black, looming, and suddenly terrifying.

Since Christian wasn’t wearing silly sandals, and probably exercised more often than when someone gave him a gift certificate to a gym, he easily caught up with her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“I thought you said you don’t do guests,” she huffed, out of breath. “Now you want round two?”

“While that invitation is ever so romantic, no. I had something else in mind.” He pulled out a small first-aid kit.

Opening it, he lifted a-

“Oh, no.” She laughed, then shook her head at the gleaming pair of tweezers. “You’re not going to come anywhere near me.”

“Funny, you weren’t saying that a little while ago.” He still had a gentle but inexorable hold on her, and using that, led her to a large rock, upon which he sat.

She held her own butt, her gaze glued to the tweezers. “I’m not sitting.”

“No. You’re going to bend over and let me take care of your business.” Unperturbed, he calmly fished through the first-aid kit for God knew what else.

“My business has been taken care of.”

He looked up at her words. Met her eyes. His mouth quirked as if he wanted to smile. “Yes, and that was my pleasure, believe me. This”-he gestured to her butt-“this is my job.”

She didn’t budge. “Yeah, um… about that other.”

His eyes heated. “Yes?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “My… business … doesn’t usually get taken care of so easily.”

Now he did smile. “Like I said, my pleasure . Now get down here.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

“I understand English,” he said. “Quite well, even though it’s my third language. I understand analogies as well. You had an orgasm. Several, actually. I felt each of them, trust me. Watching you come, feeling you contract around me, was the highlight of a very fucked-up evening. Now come here.”

The steel of the tweezers gleamed in the moonlight, making the muscles in her bottom twitch. “It’s just that I don’t understand what came over me, because…”

When she didn’t finish her sentence, he arched a brow. “Because?”

This was simply too difficult with him looking at her. “Nothing. Forget it.” She whirled to go, but he caught her hand. He looked up at her with a patience she would never have guessed at, and she let out a long breath. “I don’t usually come like that… Well, I do, but only because I sort of… Oh, God.” She covered her face.

“Just out of curiosity,” he asked easily. “Are you still speaking English?”

“The last time I slept with somebody, I faked it.”

“Faked it.”

“The orgasm.”

“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Hands still over her face, she groaned. “Seriously, could you just not listen to me?”

“Did you fake it like the When Harry Met Sally fake it?”

“I don’t think I was that good.” She absolutely could not believe her mouth was betraying her this way. “The point is, I don’t usually go so… wild.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Funny,” he eventually said, looking a bit wicked and naughty and far too damn proud of himself. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble with me.”

EIGHTEEN

You know what? We’re not doing this,” Dorie decided. But when she whirled away from Christian’s far too gorgeous face, he once again caught her.

“Sorry. We’re not done here.” He clicked the tweezers open and closed.

Again her bottom twitched, and she quickly played the compassion card. “Seriously, Christian.”

He put a mock look of fierce intensity on his face. “Seriously.”

“It’s just too embarrassing. I mean it’s on my thigh.”

“No, it’s on your ass.”

She felt herself get even redder. “Okay, yes. So you can understand why I’m feeling… awkward.”

He grinned. “That’s not what I’m feeling.”

She drew a deep breath that did nothing for her nerves. “Sort of my point. Look, you’re not going to get it out anyway, I tried. It’s in there good.”

“I can get it out.”

“Not without a needle, and-”

“I’ll get it, Dorie, I promise you.”

“You can’t, it’s-”

“I’ll bet you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re so sure I can’t get the splinter, I’ll bet you. You name it.”

“I… that’s crazy.”

“Not if you’re so sure I can’t get it. Come on, let’s go for broke. If I get the splinter, you dance naked beneath the stars.”

She laughed.

He just waited.

“You’re kidding.”

“What’s the problem?” he asked silkily. “If I’m not going to get the splinter?”

There was no way he could, and yet that look on his face, that utter confidence, tripped her up. “What do I get? If you lose.” Which he would. He had to, because she was not going to dance naked. No way, no how.

“If I can’t get the splinter out, I’ll dance naked for you.”

Okay, now that might be worth the price of admission. “This is totally and completely crazy.”

“Chicken?”

“Of course not.” Hell, yes. “I just don’t see any reason to worry about the silly splinter, that’s all.” She plopped down on the rock, let out a little cry when the stone hit the splinter, and bounced right up again.

“Okay, that’s it.” He clamped a hand around her wrist, this time an inescapable grip, and pulled her onto his lap. Slipping his arms around her, he leaned in and surprised her with a kiss. Because he was the most amazing kisser on the face of the planet, she helplessly sank into it for several long, delicious, mind-blowing minutes. By the time they surfaced for air, she had her hands in his hair, and was rubbing herself against the intriguing bulge at the vee of his jeans.

With a low murmur of pleasure, he pulled her in for yet another deep, drugging kiss, then slid out from beneath her, sinking to his knees beside her, pulling her down with him, turning her so that she faced the rock.

Oh, God. He was going to slip into her from behind, and her legs trembled because she was going to let him. Just to see if she could come again without any effort at all, she told herself. Call it research.

Or sheer, unadulterated, uncontrollable lust.

He bunched up the material of her skirt, pushing it high. But instead of skimming her panties down, he slid them aside, bunching them where no panties should be bunched, giving her a world-class wedgie. “Hey-”

“Shh.”

She was just surprised enough to actually close her mouth, but then he flattened one hand on her bottom and ran a finger over the crease of her upper thigh, right where she’d removed the first splinter. “Good work,” he said. “Where’s the other one?”

“Don’t you even think about it,” she hissed, and began to struggle.

“Too late, I’m thinking.” He whisked her panties down to her thighs, leaving her hanging out in the wind. “Ah,” he murmured. “There it is.” He might have said other stuff, too, but Dorie was too busy trying to get free in order to kill him.

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