Читать книгу Silent Surrender - Barbara Hancock J. - Страница 5

Chapter One

She left her cell phone behind.

Alexia Scott adjusted the thin spaghetti straps of her designer maxi dress before stepping out the door of her hotel room and clicking it shut.

Once in the airless, dimly lit hallway, she leaned against the closed door and sighed.

Even left behind on her bedside table, she could still hear the buzzing hum as call after call hit her BlackBerry. The vibrations set her teeth on edge, but she didn’t dig her keycard out of her clutch. If she went back inside to turn the phone off, her evening would be over before it began. Instead, Alexia took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. She forced her feet to carry her away from the phone that often seemed to take over her life with its never-ending demands.

For once, the tension headache that had become her constant companion didn’t throb in her temples with every step. It hovered back as if giving her the chance to escape. Alexia took that chance just as she’d taken the tickets that had brought her here to Mexico.

The only problem with a vacation was it would eventually have to end.

* * *

He watched her choose the quiet, more subdued lounge instead of the disco. Here, lit by soft twinkle lights strung up in numerous potted palms, patrons listened to piano music—understated jazz—and talked in whispers as they drank: martini, seltzer, a glass of wine or two or three.

She walked in on three-inch-high strappy sandals. Tall, elegant and so sexy it punched him in the gut. Then her graceful sashay awarded glimpses of a never-ending leg through a high-cut slit in her summery dress; that sight hit him a half a dozen inches lower than his gut.

He shifted in his corner at the bar and took a sip of whiskey. It burned, smooth and strong, because he took it straight, but its burn couldn’t compete with the burn she caused in his cock.

Carlos saw a lot of beautiful women check in to his hotel, but he’d never seen one as frantic and flustered as this one had been only a few hours ago. She had juggled a massive briefcase on wheels, her cell phone and signing in at the front desk with clipped speech and hurried movements. He would have sworn she handled a half a dozen major crisis calls while tipping the bus boy without breaking stride.

But Carlos had seen her wince when no one else seemed to be looking. He’d seen her roll her shoulders and close her eyes. He’d seen her whole body move with a sigh as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels each time her phone went off.

As he’d handled his own busy evening, he’d wondered if she would be one of those women who came on vacation only to spend all their time working in their suite, or if she would be the type to hit the disco like a Hollywood starlet gone wild.

When she finally appeared, he found neither image applicable. She wasn’t a workaholic or a partier. She was simply a breathtaking woman who sat at the farthest table from the piano and ordered a glass of wine.

* * *

In the soothing atmosphere of the resort’s lounge, Alexia mentally kicked herself for not being able to turn off the ticker in her head. There was no reason to escape New York if she was going to bring it with her. Facts, figures and futures hummed through her brain more insistently than the missing hum of her phone. More than once she found herself reaching for the little device before she remembered it wasn’t there.

Two days.

That’s all she could be spared.

Even workaholics occasionally jumped on the wagon and rode it gleefully out of town.

Just as she was beginning to get impatient for a soothing sip of something sweet and frothy, a man appeared at her elbow. He stepped from the shadows holding two champagne flutes and handed her one with such confidence that she reached to take it before thoughts of suave serial killers could stop her.

He was suave.

Alexia sipped from the chilled fluted glass, and as her eyes widened in appreciation of the crisp bouquet that tickled her nose, she took in her silent companion’s appearance with just as much pleasure.

He was tall, well over six feet, but he was also lean. The tailored cut of his expensive suit hugged the angles and contours of an athletic body, showing off his broad shoulders and strong thighs. The white silk shirt he wore under the suit was thin and open at the neck. A tanned, muscular chest wasn’t hidden by the silk but rather caressed and showcased by it when he moved to sip his own champagne.

The dark waves of his hair and his chocolate-brown eyes spoke of a Hispanic heritage, but he hadn’t spoken himself. No “What’s your sign?” No “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” No “Of all the gin joints in the world…”

Nothing.

Silence.

But not nothing, after all.

Because his eyes said so much.

They were startling and dark and filled with liveliness against the tan complexion of his face. His gaze tracked over her as if he missed nothing about her from the Cherry Blossom paint on her toenails to the lips she had forgotten to gloss. And, surprisingly, Alexia didn’t mind.

His expression wasn’t heavy or rude, and the brown of his eyes seemed to swirl with a depth of emotion that went beyond liking her breasts. Something in his stillness and in his attentive appraisal made her see mystery and magic in him beyond the hotness of his killer looks.

The appreciative glitter fired to life emerald glints in his irises that startled against the brown. Those glints caused pleasant tingles to rush over her skin. Almost as if a peppermint breeze swept her from head to toe.

Alexia took another sip of champagne, experiencing the goose bumps instead of willing them away. She so rarely lived in the moment, in the real world. Her regular world was one of pushing and shoving and shouting to be heard over a stock market floor of mostly male traders. Numbers. They ruled her life. But not in this moment.

With nothing but the drink and those deep, dark eyes, the handsome stranger had made her forget all about her phone. For the first time in months, her tension dissipated, replaced by the pleasant curl of anticipation low in her stomach.

“Thank you,” she murmured, though she was loathe to begin a conversation.

“Mr. Rivera, Thomas is ready now,” a smooth voice interrupted their silent tête-à-tête and Alexia looked from the waiter who spoke to the man he addressed.

Rivera.

The owner of Rivera Resort?

A new song began in the background and Alexia’s gaze was drawn to the piano. While she’d been busy falling in lust over a bubbly cocktail, several tables had been moved, revealing a simple wooden dance floor. It gleamed invitingly, a small, maple oasis lit only by indirect light.

Rivera nodded at the waiter and placed his glass on the tray in the man’s hand. Then he reached a hand out toward Alexia. She might have refused if a slight half smile hadn’t tilted one corner of his well-shaped lips. The dimple the smile caused on his otherwise chiseled face disarmed her even more than the interest in his eyes.

She could do nothing less than take his warm, strong fingers in hers. She couldn’t risk losing that dimple or that smile.

When he led her onto the dance floor, it was as if the voice mail messages piling up on her phone belonged to another woman.

Here, now, the woman she became as he took her into his arms might never return another phone call again.

* * *

In the corner of the shadowy lounge, the music seemed to eddy and swirl like warm bath water in an elegant tub. Alexia stepped onto the wood and into Rivera’s arms, but it was also as if she dove into the soft notes floating on the air around them.

Unbroken by casual conversation, the music was buoyant, compelling and charged. Electricity flowed along with the song, creating a tangible symphony against her skin.

He pulled her closer and she went.

His hand splayed on the small of her back and its heat was more intimate without words to dilute his touch. Each finger seemed to flex in order to feel the bare skin above the low cut back of her dress, and as each warm digit moved, she could focus on the friction of its tickling slide.

But when he tightened his arms and her breasts came against his chest, she forgot his hands. He didn’t squeeze. Her breasts weren’t flattened. Gracefully, with a sensual rhythm that matched the music, he swayed their bodies around the dance floor, causing his chest to brush and tease and rub against her nipples.

She had thought the bodice of her dress cupped the globes of her bare breasts as well as a bra. She’d forgone the extra support and now the thin cotton was no barrier at all to his friction and warmth.

Alexia began to gasp each time he pressed close and sigh each time he pulled away. Her gaze was drawn down to see the response she could feel. Her nipples had peaked, tenting the yellow fabric of her dress with two obvious, aching points. He worshiped those tight, throbbing little nubs again and again with the firm muscles of his pecs. Twisting, brushing and pulling back only to twist and brush and stimulate her nipples again and again.

Heat flared between Alexia’s legs and her cheeks flamed as his dark gaze focused on the signs of her obvious pleasure. Not because she didn’t want him to notice her hard nipples but because she wanted to bare them to his perusal and his chest and the music. She longed to see the sparkling lights dancing on her naked skin. She wanted…

Just then her seductive partner leaned down to bring his face close to the skin of her neck. She thought he would speak. She expected him to. But, instead, he pressed a teasing kiss against the throb of her pulse. Slow—once, twice—then away, but not before Alexia had gasped out.

“Please.”

She didn’t recognize her voice.