Читать книгу Sex On The Beach - Delphine Dryden - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Not one word. He’d said his spiel, poured his heart out in his own carefully measured way, and Amanda hadn’t responded at all except to say she’d be right back.

It could have been worse. She could have told him off some more, shoved the stupid leaf up his nose, kicked some sand on him and called hotel security about the scary leaf-nosed beach-stalker guy. Of course, she might also be in her room packing at that very moment, but he still felt confident enough to hope.

She looked so good, so good. He’d forgotten, like he always did, how deeply adorable she was. How her expressions sometimes punched him right in the gut, as if the two of them were connected in some weird cosmic way, so he was feeling whatever she felt. Soul mates or star twins or some idiotic thing like that. Mostly, it was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her. Make her understand the strength of his emotion by the time-honored methods of tonsil hockey and groping. Amanda made him stupid and he liked it, every dopey, eager, grunting-caveman second of it. He’d forgotten about that, too, but now he recalled how he inevitably became such a goofy, drooling puppy around her.

The near year of celibacy probably didn’t help with that. That bright red bikini, either. He pried his mind away from the tantalizing notion of peeling away those vivid scraps of nylon, untying the bright floral scarf that Amanda wore as a skirt, and just...damn. Just going to town, which he knew wasn’t going to happen. Not the way she’d reacted to seeing him. Not the way he’d fumbled the speech.

I blew it before I even got on the plane. Sure, now he realized that. But it was too late, he was already here and he’d already talked to her, so there was no way out but through.

When she emerged from the room, the bikini-and-scarf-skirt combo was absent, replaced by a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt and a hoodie. Armor, Jeremy realized. Fair enough.

“We could go over to the bar in the lobby,” he suggested. “I think it’s still open.”

Amanda rubbed the bridge of her nose, drawing his attention to the fact that she’d also taken off her makeup. He liked that look on her, the unguarded clarity of her eyes and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. “Yeah, fine, as long as they have coffee and more dessert there.”

“More dessert?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

In the split second before she turned to start toward the main building, he saw it. The crinkle at the corner of her mouth and eye, the barest hint of a smile. All his reason to hope, right there on her face in one fleeting instant.

The night air was full of life, the constant susurration of the tide and the influx of heady aromas on every breath of wind. Even the colors seemed brighter than back home. Cool, moonlit blues were broken by flashes of scarlet petals in the foliage, torchlit ambers flickering along the pathways. Despite the humid coolness, the general impression was sultry. Ludicrously tropical, flagrantly sensual.

The lobby seemed a little too bright and crisp after the walk, lacking in nuance. Jeremy steered Amanda toward a choice, dimly lit booth in the almost empty lounge area. A waitress appeared before he could backtrack to the bar to order, and at first he thought they were screwed because she said the kitchen was closed. Then a few words and a look of deep, girlie understanding passed between Amanda and the waitress, and suddenly a room-service menu was procured and some sort of confection ordered that involved chocolate ganache and macadamia nuts.

“And probably enough calories to feed a small country for a month,” Amanda said once the order was in progress. “But it’s a vacation, so fuck it.”

She pressed the bridge of her nose again, and Jeremy recognized her headache grimace. He’d taken the seat next to her in the booth, and it was automatic to reach out and palm the back of her neck, press the spots at the base of her skull where he knew some of the pain lived.

Her groan struck him hard, not just the sound but the way the breath caught in the back of her throat as the tension seeped from the tightly strung muscles under his hand. His touch had magical headache-curing properties, she’d explained more than once, some combination of the size of his hand and the heat and pressure that she’d never been able to duplicate. It made him feel useful and important, knowing he could help.

“Did you already take your stuff?”

Words broke the spell, and Amanda tightened up again. “Yes, when I was changing. I should be fine in a few minutes.”

If she’d caught it early enough. If it was just tension, eyestrain and sinuses, and not an actual migraine. “I’ll stop if you want me to. I wasn’t trying to start anything up, it was just habit.”

After a few seconds, she shrugged, wincing at the movement. “No, it’s fine. Um, thanks, I guess.”

“Well...put your head down. And try exhaling.”

She folded her arms on the table, lowering her head to her wrists with a sigh. Too tired to argue, it seemed. Which also explained the coffee and even the chocolate, which might trigger headaches for some but had always been curative for Amanda. Assuming she’d eaten enough protein at dinner, otherwise the sweets would make her throw up. He hoped that wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

“I probably ought to be telling you to go perform a sex act on yourself right now,” she muttered a short while later, “but that feels too good. Damn you.”

It took superhuman willpower not to mention the other thing he used to do to help with her headaches. Volunteering to get her off for the endorphin hit was absolutely not allowable under these circumstances, and he knew that. No matter how willing he was to be selfless in that regard. Nothing orgasm-related was ever completely selfless, and his dick reminded him of that in clear terms that made him very glad he was sitting down and wearing loose shorts.

Down, boy. That isn’t what we’re here for.

He was having trouble remembering what he was there for. Touching Amanda—even if it was just on the neck—had turned everything physical, visceral. All he wanted now was to wrap her in his arms, hold her against his body. To sink into her, soul deep. He wanted to get that place of connection where words no longer applied.

Words were what he needed, though. They were the only way to reach that other, better place. He hadn’t planned anything beyond his initial speech, though, a horrible and uncharacteristic lack of preparation on his part. Maybe if he just started talking, eventually he’d say the right thing. Looking around for inspiration, his gaze lit on a row of giant banners on the opposite side of the lobby, larger-than-life photos advertising all the ways guests could spend more money and call it adventure.