Читать книгу The Twin Switch - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 12

Three

Just as the chocolate soufflé arrived with Devonshire cream and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, I spotted Brooklyn. She was crossing the lobby, her long blond hair swinging in a high ponytail. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized her walk, the slant of her shoulders and the oversize green-and-gold earrings she’d bought from a funky little stand at Pier 54.

The soufflé looked magnificent—a molten center, topped with the Devonshire cream, powdered sugar and plump raspberries. I’d gone with a seafood salad for dinner, saving space for an indulgent dessert. But I couldn’t let Brooklyn get away.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Max, grabbing my purse and shopping bag as I slid from the booth.

The pastry chef and the waitress looked baffled.

“Is something wrong?” Max asked.

I kept my gaze on Brooklyn. She disappeared behind a pillar.

“I’ll settle up later,” I called back to him, tossing the words over my shoulder as I hurried away.

I felt terrible sticking Max with the bill. I told myself I could drop off some cash at the front desk. They might be sticky about confirming someone was a guest, but surely they’d take an envelope for them.

I also hated to waste the chef’s hard work. He’d clearly taken pride in the chocolate soufflé. I also selfishly hated to miss eating it.

That was twice today.

Indulgence karma was not on my side.

I could see now that Brooklyn was alone. Perfect.

The lobby was octagonal with four passageways leading off the four corners. She headed down one of them. I thought it led to the pool, an outdoor restaurant and an atrium garden.

I wanted to call out, but I didn’t think she’d hear me. And I was half-afraid she might try to escape. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay away from me.

I knew why she’d done that.

I knew that she knew that I knew she didn’t really want to do this. And she knew I’d talk her out of it without half trying.

I saw the paradox in my thinking. If she knew all that, she wouldn’t be hiding from me. She’d simply admit she was wrong, and I was right, and she’d made a big mistake. But I was always the rational one between us. Brooklyn was emotional, and she could talk herself into peculiar things.

She was still a hundred feet ahead of me when she turned again, disappearing from my sight.

I broke into a trot, then discovered she’d taken a doorway that led to the garden.

I followed on polished brick pathway that wound through lighted shrubbery and towering palm trees. I hurried, but I couldn’t see her in front of me. Then the pathway forked.

I stopped to consider my next move.

I could hear voices in one direction, and music and laughter. I could see the lights of a restaurant or a patio lounge.

The other way was quiet, no sound but a burbling brook beneath an arched footbridge.

Brooklyn liked to be where the action was, so I followed the music.

I came to a café called the Triple Palm. It was fresh and lively, with a breeze blowing through. Beech-wood tables and chairs were surrounded by greenery and decorated with lights and candles. A trio of musicians played in one corner, and a few couples danced on the raised floor. This was Brooklyn’s kind of place.

I did a methodical search of the tables. Then I checked the bar area. Then I repositioned to see the entire dance floor.

No Brooklyn.

I couldn’t believe I’d guessed wrong.

I didn’t have any time to waste.

I trotted again. It was hard to trot in the heeled boots, but they were better than pumps or spiked heels. That was for sure.

I made it to the fork and over the footbridge. Things got quieter around me. The music faded into the distance. The lights were fewer and farther between.

I listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything. My best guess was that Brooklyn was meeting her new soul mate in a secluded corner to talk or cuddle or kiss.

I couldn’t see her having sex in a hotel garden, not when just anybody could happen by and catch her. That wasn’t like Brooklyn.

Then again, this wasn’t like Brooklyn. I realized there was a chance that she’d been having risky outdoor sex with James all this time without telling me.

I groaned out loud and quickly scrubbed that image from my mind.

“Layla?” It was Max.

I heard his footsteps before he appeared around a corner.

I was more than surprised to see him. “How did you find me?”

“I looked.”

I gave him an eye roll.

“I saw you turn toward the atrium. There are only so many places you can go at this end of the hotel.”

My guilt over cutting out on him came back. “I was going to drop some cash off at the front desk.”

“What for?”

“To pay for dinner, of course.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I invited you.”

“That doesn’t mean you should get stuck with the bill. I didn’t mean to cut out on you.”

“You saw her, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “But then I lost her.”

“Did you check the Triple Palm?”

“She’s not there. And she doesn’t seem to be here.” I glanced around. “Unless she’s found a secret corner to hide.”

“You did say she was with a guy.”

I shook my head. “I know what you’re thinking.” I refused to let myself think that. “She’s not like that.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking. And not like what?”

“She’s not having sex in a public garden, that’s what.”

He grinned in a way that said I was amusing him.

“There are other things for men and women to do in a quiet corner of the garden than have sex.”

“I know that.”

He shifted a little bit closer to me. “This is a very romantic garden.”

Lighted mesquite trees towered above us. Small cactuses lined the path, with pink and yellow flowers adding color. The air was sultry sweet along the smooth, winding red-toned path, heavy with moisture and soft on my skin.

“That’s not really what I want to hear,” I said.

“Why not?”

His gaze captured mine. It was as sultry as the air, dark and deep.

I forgot what I was saying. “What?”

He shifted closer still. “You know, you are incredibly beautiful.”

I couldn’t help it—my heart warmed at the compliment. It beat more deeply, slowly, thudding inside my chest and echoing in my ears.

I told myself to hang on to reality. But myself didn’t want to do that right now.

Max touched my arm. The touch was simple. It was light. His thumb brushed slowly across my skin, and I lit up like one of the mesquite trees. Logic and reason flew into the night.

“Max,” I whispered.

“Layla,” he whispered back.

The breezed cocooned us as he stepped in. One hand slid to my bare shoulder. His other touched the small of my back.

I put my palms on his chest, thinking to stop him, thinking they’d be a barrier between us that would pull me out of this spell.

But it didn’t work out that way.

I touched the crisp fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath it. His chest was firm, his pecs defined.

I’m not shallow. I know there’s more to a man than the shape of his body. But the particular shape of this particular man’s body was doing very strange things to my brain waves.

I lowered my hands, feeling the ridges of his abs. A sudden vision of him naked bloomed in my mind, my fingertips trailing across his glorious frame.

I wanted that. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.

He enfolded me in an embrace, the solid, strong, definitive hug of a man who’d decided exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. I was torn between amazement and arousal.

I tipped my chin, and his lips touched mine, and my amazement fled. There was no room for anything inside of me except arousal.

His lips were hot, firm, moist, with the perfect amount of pressure.

He tasted like fine wine and smoky dreams.

My lips softened, they parted. I invited him in and his tongue swept mine in an encompassing kiss that sent waves of pleasure all the way to my toes.

My hands started to move. They unbuttoned his shirt. They touched his skin, and he gave a guttural groan.

“This way,” he said.

I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t care what he meant, just so long as his kisses didn’t stop and he let me keep feeling my way to his shoulders.

I figured out what he meant, and it was a good thing.

I couldn’t believe his room was this close. But there we were, down a narrow pathway, across a patio and through some French doors.

You really couldn’t call it a room.

It was a suite—a presidential suite or a royal suite, or something with its very own name. I could feel how big it was even in the dim light.

Then Max pulled off his jacket and ripped his way out of his dress shirt. And everything around me disappeared. He was hot with a capital H.

Before I could look my fill, he pushed down the strap of my dress. He kissed his way across my bared shoulder. Every brush of his lips sent new tingles deep into my skin.

I breathed deeply—such a fresh crisp scent. My fingertips traced their way from his abs, to his pecs, up the breadth of his shoulders that went on and on. My lips followed suit, and I felt his warm breath on my hair.

I knew I should stop. My left brain told me I couldn’t careen off on a wave of feeling. I had things to do. I had Brooklyn to find.

Finally, my right brain told me. Finally, after so very many disappointments today, an indulgence was mine for the taking.

The debate was very short.

Indulgence won with a capital I.

I didn’t want to make Max guess, so I stripped off the little dress. I stood there in my panties, making myself perfectly clear.

I was in his arms in a flash, his embrace warm and engulfing. My breasts pressed against his bare chest, sending my arousal to new heights.

Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing. He started walking.

“Bedroom,” he said.

My right brain cheered. It was probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me.

He carried me through a door to a second big room. Light filtered through an opaque blind, and I could make out a king-size bed, a padded headboard and a huge mound of pillows.

We collapsed together onto the soft bed, Max on top, propping himself with his elbows.

The quilt was smooth silk against my body. It was cool. A fan stirred the air overhead.

His hands clasped mine, and he moved in slow motion to kiss my lips.

I simultaneously moaned and sighed, melting against his mouth, then his thighs, then his chest as we pressed closer and tighter together.

His weight felt good. It felt sexy. It pushed me deep into the soft mattress.

His kisses were long and thorough, expertly sending messages to my breasts and inner thighs, making them tighten and buzz with desire.

His lips were magic. His hands did nothing but caress my palms, yet I was writhing and stretching and lifting my hips.

My panties were thin. So were his boxers. My thighs spread apart, and our touch through the whisper of fabric was a prelude to lovemaking.