Читать книгу Minute by Minute - Jo Leigh - Страница 9

CHARLIE HANOVER LOWERED THE POST to his lap as he swung his leather chair around. He had a great view of the Washington Monument from his office and when it snowed like this he’d often sit and stare for long stretches, just letting his thoughts go where they may.

So Alex Rosten had officially gone ’round the bend. Charlie smiled, letting the moment have its due. That bastard Rosten had been a thorn in his side since college. Charlie didn’t care how many times Rosten denied it, he had been the one to start those rumors of plagiarism when they’d both been up for the Balakian Award. It was no coincidence that Alex had won.

Charlie figured he’d be done with Rosten after that, but no. They’d both been up for jobs at the Post at the same time, and, again, no coincidence, Alex had triumphed. But now that Charlie was covering Washington for the New York Times, Alex could kiss his ass. Although he didn’t have to now. With this column, Alex wouldn’t have a source left in Washington, or anywhere else for that matter, who’d give him the time of day.

Picking up the paper, he read the article again. He’d give Alex credit—he focused on his own errors of omission. He’d spilled the beans about Senator Allen’s birthday bash in Hawaii two years ago. The celebration had been an obscene display of wealth, with everything from barely dressed dancing girls to troughs of the most expensive champagne and caviar in the world. The total price tag had been in excess of two million, most of it taxpayer money. That little detail hadn’t hit the papers, even though there had been a large contingent of journalists sipping the bubbly and enjoying the view.

Charlie had been there. Had a great time. He’d gotten a dozen good columns out of that junket, and he had no regrets. You gave a little to get a little. That’s the way it worked in Washington. The way it would always work. But Alex, in a fit of ethical remorse, was now sorry he hadn’t reported about the misappropriation of funds. He admitted that while he’d suspected the money was tainted, he hadn’t dug further. Because, like Charlie, he’d gotten a lot of other juicy tidbits at that shindig. More than just the material for a number of political columns, he’d gotten the biggest single commodity on the Hill—information. The one currency that never loses its value.

According to Alex, he was no longer willing to trade information without full and immediate disclosure to the American people. Noble sentiment. But it would never work. It wasn’t how the game was played. Power was everything in Washington, and no bleeding heart would ever change that.

Charlie put the article away as his secretary stepped inside his office. “Talk to me.”

“Alex Rosten is gone,” Stephanie said. “On vacation.”

“Not surprising. Where?”

She frowned. “This is gonna cost you. I had to promise I’d go to dinner with that slimy creep at the Post.”

“Two three-day weekends?”

“Deal.”

“So?”

“He’s gone to an island in the Caribbean. To a resort called Escapades. And before you ask, I called around. There are no rooms at the inn.”

“Escapades, huh? Don’t worry about it. I know a guy. Get me everything we have on Rosten. I want to be out of here in two hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charlie turned to his computer, to his database. He didn’t know the owner of Escapades, but he had a buddy who did. And that buddy owed him, big time. Which is how the game was played. Only this time, Charlie was going to make sure Alex Rosten went down in flames.

ALEX HAD ONLY BEEN on the island a few hours, but that didn’t stop him from giving Meg a detailed tour. They were in a glorified golf cart, her luggage safely stowed in the back. The island was actually a pretty big place. On one side, the side with the airport, was a full-out luxury resort. They passed a large white hotel, curved and glittering and elegant. Near the hotel were several restaurants, a couple of pools, a spa, tennis courts and more. Everything a person could want, if a person wanted to be around people.

On the other side of the island, where he was taking her, were bungalows. Only twelve, all of them perched either in the seaside palm trees or right over the water. The one he’d booked was over the water. No restaurants, no pools. Just the bluest ocean on earth meeting the bluest skies in the heavens.

They had the use of the cart for the duration of their stay, which meant they could go wherever they chose easily, but he had high hopes that they wouldn’t be spending a lot of time at group activities.

“This is breathtaking,” Meg said, as they drove by one of the huge swimming pools.

“It’s got a swim-up bar. And I think that waterfall is actually a slide.”

“No kids.”

“One of the advantages of an adult resort. And it’s all-inclusive. You want a drink, they bring it to you. You can eat anywhere. The only thing they charge extra for is deep-sea fishing. Basically, you want it, you got it.”

She looked at him. “I want a whole lot.”

“Then we’re in the right place.”

Her smile lingered in his mind’s eye as she turned back to the scenery. He, on the other hand, had to figure out a way to stay calm. Cool. As if he didn’t want to jump her the moment they were in the bungalow. Hell, as if he didn’t want to do it right this second.

What the hell had she been thinking when she’d e-mailed him that picture? It didn’t come close to what she really looked like. Jeez, she’d caught him completely off guard. Dammit.

The woman was beautiful. She had long, really thick, almost black hair. It framed her face, and oh man, what a face. Dark brows, dark lashes and dark eyes. Pale, delicate skin. The contrast alone was worthy of epic poems.

She was taller than he’d expected, and he could see that all that yoga she talked about had paid off. Again, a mixture. Lean lines with fascinating curves just where they should be.

He couldn’t blow this. He hadn’t invited her to sex-apalooza. In fact, he’d gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make sure she felt completely at ease. But it was clear that if she didn’t want to sleep with him, he’d have to kill himself.

“Oh, God,” she said.

He followed her gaze to the first clear view of the beach. “This is nothing,” he said. “Wait till we get to the other side of the island. There’s a huge lagoon. And we have a lot more privacy where we’re staying.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded, wanting this part to be over already. It was awkward, the first steps of a new dance. He wanted it to be like when they were online. He could speed things up, take her right to the bungalow, but he’d promised her a tour, and she should have it. There was so much to do here, and even though he’d like to keep her to himself, this was her vacation.

Meg turned to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“What made you look for the island in the first place?”

“Aside from our fabulous New Year’s Eve conversation?”

“Yeah. Aside from that.”

He eased the cart around a few trees and toward the spa. The jungle was thicker here, and he thanked the timing gods that they’d made the trip in February, when the air was perfectly warm, but not too humid to breathe without a snorkel. “You weren’t home,” he said.

“Ah. Well, that clears everything up. Thanks.”

“It’s true.” God, he was glad she was as sarcastic live as she was online. “You weren’t home one night and I’d already written my column about the damn environmental bill I told you about. That idiot Thompson was just spoiling for me to say something that would upset—”

“Alex.”

He knew that tone, despite never having heard it before in his life. He had a tendency to get caught up in tangents, even on the computer, and Meg rarely let him get away with it. And now he could put the voice with the sentiment.

It seemed absurd that they’d never talked before. That this was their first meeting. On the other hand, why sit in the frying pan when you can jump right into the fire? “Right. I was seriously thinking about relocation at the time, and I figured an island worked for Gauguin, so why not me? So I surfed the web, and then I came across this island, and it was so much like what we’d talked about that, you know.”

“That you decided to spend an absurd amount of money so that we could meet here.”

“Basically, yeah. There’s the spa.” He pointed. “That whole building.”

“Is that your way of distracting me from follow-up questions?” she asked.

“No, that’s my way of saying there’s the spa.”

She looked at him. And damn if he didn’t recognize that look, too. Yeah, he’d never seen her, except for that surprisingly unflattering picture, but nonetheless.

“And about the questions. I told you. You can ask anything. I have no secrets,” he said.

“None?”

“Maybe one.”

“Which, of course, I’m going to have to get out of you before our time here is through,” Meg teased.

“Go for it.”

She grinned, then turned her attention to the spa.

The building was white, like the hotel, and it reminded him of the Greek Isles. Columns, open architecture, stark. A beautiful setting with ample views of the lush vegetation and the ocean. There were also some tents on the outskirts, more Roman than Greek, which were closed to their view. “Those are massage tents.”

Meg sighed. “I’ve dreamed of this. A real massage where I don’t have to think, or move, or do anything but make moany noises.”

“We can sign up right now.”

“Yes, please.”

He found the entrance and parked the cart under a nearby tree. Meg climbed out and he followed her up a series of marble steps, between two columns and into a spacious lobby. He hadn’t been to a lot of spas, but he’d read about this one, and it was supposed to be one of the best in the world.

A lovely older woman with silver hair smiled at them as they approached the marble desk. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to get a massage, please,” Meg said.

“Of course. We have a four-handed massage, with two therapists working on your body at the same time. Aromatherapy, of course, using some of the fruits and oils unique to the Caribbean. We have reflexology, Swedish massage, hot stone massage, a sports massage tailored to your needs, and of course, our famous couples massage.”

“Okay,” Meg said. “I’ll take one of each.”

The woman smiled. “How would you like me to book them?”

“I was kidding. I want them all, but I’ll take two—how’s that?”

“Whatever we can do to make your stay more relaxing. There are also hydrotherapy sessions, seaweed baths, mud baths, and a mineral salt bath.”

“Now that’s just being mean.”

Alex touched Meg’s arm, wanting to give her all those treatments himself. “Anything you want.”

“I can’t decide. Do you have a brochure?”

“Naturally,” she said, handing her the folded chart. “But keep in mind you need to give us some advance notice. What I can do is put you down on our wait list, and notify you when we have an opening.”

“That would be wonderful.”

While Meg wrote down her name and how long she’d be staying, Alex studied the picture that dominated the wall across from the desk. Maybe he was nuts, but it looked like a Monet. Or a Manet. He could never get them straight. Whichever, it looked like something that belonged in a museum. With the blues and greens and soft lilypads, it was as tranquil as the building, as the breeze.

Meg thanked the receptionist, and they turned to leave. She walked slowly, sniffing the air as she walked. “It’s amazing.”

“What?”

“The ocean scent. It’s all over the island. Everywhere.”

“I’m used to the East Coast waters, and I don’t remember this smell at all.”

“I don’t think it’s like the California beaches, either. Maybe Catalina, but not quite. It’s like the ocean mixed with flowers somehow. I wish I could bottle it and take it home with me.”

“If I could get that for you, I would.”

She stopped, smiled at him. “This is the best present ever. You know that, right?”

“I hope so.” He waited, thinking maybe this would turn into a moment. The thought of kissing her was right there, urging him to move, but he held back. The first kiss was going to have to be her call. After that all bets were off. It wasn’t easy, but it was right. He had to wait.

The way she hesitated made him think that she was considering the options. But she didn’t lean forward. All she did was smile. It was enough. For now, at least.

“Where do we sign up for the other stuff?”

“Back at the hotel.”

“Should we do that now? I’m just thinking the place is pretty crowded…”

“Absolutely. Let’s go.”

They walked together, matching rhythms as they went down the steps. Once they were in the cart, he turned around and back to the hotel. It was a little trickier to find a place to put the cart, but after driving a few minutes, he found a space. The crowds here made him glad he’d gotten the bungalow, where it was quiet and empty and far away from all these adoring couples.

The entrance to the hotel was even more ornate than the spa facilities. Big marble steps again, but this time there was a fountain that greeted them just before the open front doors. He’d been to Italy several times and he recognized the fountain. It was a smaller version of the Trevi. When they reached the edge, he looked down and found the bottom glittering with coins of all kinds.

“It’s like that movie,” Meg said.

“Right. Legend has it that if you toss a coin into the fountain, you’re destined to come back.”

“My wallet’s in the cart.”

He dug a quarter from his pocket. “Use this one.”

“Do I have to do something special? Say any magic words?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe turn around and toss it over your shoulder.”

“And make a wish?”

“Sure, why not.”

She did exactly that. Turned and closed her eyes. He could tell she was getting detailed about the wish, because it took some time, but eventually, the coin went over her shoulder and plopped into the water.

When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with pleasure. If nothing else came of this impromptu getaway, at least he’d given her this. A chance to escape from her brutal work schedule, a way to relax and just take it easy.

“Oh, the hell with it,” he said, coming up with another quarter. He turned his back on the fountain, wished in no uncertain terms that the next few days would be filled with a lot more than frolicking in the sand and getting massages from strangers. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard the coin splash down.

Meg seemed to think that was funny, which was okay with him. Damn, her laugh was great. But enough of wishing. He wanted to do the sign-up thing so he could take her to the bungalow.

He bowed toward the door. “After you.”

Tugging him by the shirt, she led the way, but they both slowed as they went inside. He’d heard about the decor here, and the lobby, more than anything else, told him the tales were true.

The interior was huge and elegant. The furniture was mostly rattan, and a dozen huge plantation ceiling fans made it feel like outdoors. Between the couches were glass-topped tables, most of them with large tropical flower arrangements. Like the spa, the art was all Impressionist paintings, damn good ones. If they were prints, they were the best he’d ever seen. If they were real, he couldn’t imagine the kind of security they’d need.

“I think that’s where we need to go.”

She was pointing at the concierge desk, which had a big Activities banner across the front. A nice-looking woman on the phone smiled at them and held out a clipboard.

Meg took it, and him, to a nearby couch. Alex sat, and then she sat. Close. Really close. Jesus, this was bad. This was really bad. He was way too aware of how much he wanted her, and it had been what, an hour? He could not go there. Not yet. There was time. Now if he could only convince his dick that it should chill.

“Wow, this is a lot of stuff.”

He looked at the list as she filled in their names. All major groups were included, from windsurfing to climbing a rock wall.

“Jet Skis. Cool.”

He could do Jet Skis. Anybody could do Jet Skis, right? “Great. Mark that one.”

“And scuba, of course,” she said.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Meg turned to him. “Are you certified?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I see.”

“I’ve watched reruns of Sea Hunt on Nick at Nite. Does that count?”

She grinned.

It wouldn’t do any good to be embarrassed. In fact, it was stupid, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to think he was the alpha male. All buff and strong and able to slay the woolly mammoth. Unfortunately, what he was really good at was conjugating verbs.

“What else?” she asked.

He looked down the list. “Volleyball?”

“I haven’t played since high school, but I really liked it. Let’s do it.” Her comment was punctuated by an audible tummy gurgle. Meg blushed, squinted her eyes.

“Okay, next on the tour will be food, yes?”

“Probably a good thing. The last food I had was hours and hours ago.”

“All right. Anything else you want to play?”

She looked at him as if he was going to slap her hand away from the cookie jar. “Do I have to decide it all right now?”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have to do a damn thing you don’t want to. Vacation, remember? All fun, all the time.”

“Good. Let’s get fed, and then…” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Then you can take me to the bungalow.”

MEG SAT AT THE LITTLE table, waiting for Alex to come back with their food. She’d ordered too much, but screw it, she was starving. Besides, everything smelled like heaven, and she was a fiend for fish tacos.

She looked behind her. There he stood, chatting with some tall cowboy guy, looking very fine and a wee bit impatient.

Meg was a lot of things, but dense wasn’t one of them. The vibes were there between her and Alex. Oh, yeah. And they definitely weren’t one-sided. She’d known back in L.A. that she was attracted to him, especially after seeing that one picture. But she’d had no idea she’d want him this much.

Everything from his voice to the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled hit her where it counted. Yeah, it probably didn’t help that she hadn’t had sex since the Ice Age, but that wasn’t the only thing going on.

The problem was that she had no clue what to do. Should she just pounce on him? Get the booty out of the way up front, and hope the spark built? While it was a fine idea, she wasn’t sure she could do it. It wasn’t her style. Not that she had an actual style, but boinking after an hour and a half wasn’t close. So how long was long enough? Four hours? Five?

Of course, if she counted all the online time they’d shared, she’d actually known him a year, which by anyone’s standards was more than enough time.

It just didn’t feel like a year.

If they’d said the exact same words to each other over a computer, she’d have been relaxed and cool as a cucumber. In person, not so much.

She wanted that comfort level back, and something told her it wasn’t going to happen in bed. It needed to happen when they were talking, going about the day. Then the bedroom thing would happen naturally. At least, that was her present theory. She reserved the right to change her mind whenever.

She turned back around. He’d be here soon, bearing food and drink, which was good. More talk had to be a step in the right direction.

In the meantime, she could look at the gorgeous view. The ocean wasn’t very far away. She had no sense of distance or direction, so she couldn’t say exactly how far, just that she could walk it in about five minutes. Alex had scored them a table right on the edge of the deck. She could almost forget that every other table was occupied with couples. Couples who touched. A lot. Kissing was also high on the agenda, with groping tailing by a hair.

It made her discomfort with Alex more acute, and looking at the ocean the best alternative.

God, it was stunning. She’d only seen pictures, and none of those had even hinted at how it would feel to actually be on that white sand, to smell that orgasmic scent. Even the breeze was something new. Slightly moist, a little salty, it lifted her hair and skimmed every available bare spot.

It would feel luscious to be nude here. To feel it all over.

A shadow on the table made her jump, and she turned to find Alex with a tray. She removed plates, napkins, forks, drinks. Then he put the tray away and came to sit next to her.

“This looks incredible,” she said, pulling her plate close.

He grabbed one of his tacos and bit into it with gusto.

She grinned and took a bite of her own. When she’d swallowed, she said, “Ambrosial.”

He nodded, but was too busy eating to respond.

Which was just fine. Sitting in the warm air, listening to distant metal drums, feeling the breeze and eating fantastic fish tacos, she felt something inside downshift.

She might not jump him in the next ten minutes or so, but that whole four-hour wait was beginning to feel a mite excessive.