Lying in Your Arms Page 2

  “We can do this,” she told him, slowly thinking it out. “But I have a condition of my own.”

  “I’ll still pay you half of everything I made this year.”

  “Forget the money.” She’d never take another dime from him. Tommy had supported her while she’d finished her screenplay. He’d helped her pay her student loans. And she’d let him, figuring if she was going to give up her life, her job, her home and any other man for the duration of their engagement, she would earn it. She was not coming out of this relationship grasping the short end of the stick.

  But she was almost free now. That was worth more than money. She’d gone into this with her eyes open, and didn’t regret it, but she couldn’t deny a big part of her was ready to be just Madison Reid, writer, not Tommy Shane’s fiancée.

  And, though she wouldn’t admit it, getting to have sex again was a pretty darned big perk, too.

  “So what’s your condition?” he asked.

  “The condition is...I take the heat.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m the cheater. I’m the bitch. And you break up with me.”

  He sputtered. “No, you can’t do that.”

  She put a hand up, cutting off his arguments. “Tommy Shane can’t be a cheating dog. I can. Nobody’ll give a damn.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said. “The press can be nasty.”

  “Why would they? They’ll say I’m an idiot for letting you get away and that’ll be the end of it.”

  “What if it’s not?”

  “Well, then, I’ll...take a vacation. You send me somewhere tropical and I’ll hide out until they forget all about me.”

  “You should do that anyway. Find a nice, hunky beach bum to shack up with for a little while,” he said with an eyebrow wag.

  “I’ll think about it. So we’re agreed?”

  He frowned, clearly not liking the idea, but she wasn’t going to change her mind. Tommy would never get through a scandal unscathed, but she would. Who cared about Madison Reid? She could take whatever heat anybody wanted to dish out because it wouldn’t last for long.

  And if it did? Well...there was always the somewhere-tropical-with-a-hunky-beach-bum idea.

  2

  “IT’S GOING TO BE one hell of a honeymoon.”

  Although the driver of the cab looked confused, considering Leo Santori was sitting alone in the backseat, he didn’t reply. And it wasn’t just because this was Costa Rica and Leo didn’t speak Spanish. The driver spoke English, or something very much like it. No, he just seemed to be abiding by the code that said Americans on vacation in tropical paradises could be as strange as they wanted to be. It was all good. No problem.

  “All good. No problem,” Leo muttered.

  All good that he was honeymooning alone.

  No problem that he’d been betrayed.

  It’s really all good that my fiancée cheated on me six months ago so we canceled the wedding, which was supposed to have taken place yesterday. No problem that she kept the ring, the apartment, her yappy bichon frise—which really was no problem—and the new KitchenAid mixer, and I kept the nonrefundable honeymoon.

  She’d also kept the best man. The one she’d cheated with.

  No problem.

  Still, it certainly was not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone. Especially not now that he was here in Central America, ready to embark on some to-hell-with-it adventures. Those would definitely include surfing and zip lining. Good drinks, beautiful beaches, exotic foods.

  They also might include getting laid. If he happened to meet a woman who was interested in a rebound-sex-fest with a Chicago firefighter who had a slight chip on his shoulder and a honeymoon package created for two but starring only one.

  “Here we are, señor,” said the driver.

  The ride from the international airport in Liberia to this west coast paradise had been comfortable. The driver had pointed out various sights that Leo felt sure he’d explore over the next several days. No doubt about it, Costa Rica was every bit as beautiful—sunny, robin’s-egg-blue skies, vivid hills and jungles, perfect eighty-degree climate—as the brochures had said. An outstanding choice for a honeymoon. Even a solo one.

  “Thanks, man,” he said.

  The driver pulled out his suitcase and handed it off to a broadly smiling doorman who quickly swept it through the entrance of the hotel, which, as advertised, looked small, tasteful and upscale. Inside, Leo glanced around, noting that every wall seemed open to the outdoors. But it was still comfortable, a soft tropical breeze blowing through, whispering along the cool tile floors and setting the potted palms in gentle motion.

  A bellhop engaged him in conversation in heavily accented English as they walked to the check-in desk. Leo only understood half of what he said, responding with smiles and nods.

  The woman at the desk greeted him. “Welcome, Mr. Santori, we’re so very glad to have you with us.”

  She smiled, obviously noting his surprise at being called by name. Then he thought about it and realized he might very well be the only person checking in today. He remembered from the research he’d done on this place that there were only twenty-four rooms on the whole property. Twenty-four bungalows each with a small, private pool and walled garden, just the thing for a romantic interlude between a new bride and groom.

  Christ, what was he doing here?

  The middle-aged woman, whose English was only slightly tinged with an accent, glanced past him and looked around the open lobby. “And where is Mrs. Santori?”

  He grimaced. Obviously, despite his calls and his emails, word had not filtered down to the front desk that he would be traveling alone.

  “Uh...”

  “Oh, dear,” the woman said, reading something on the screen and biting her lip in consternation. She swallowed, visibly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Santori, I didn’t see the notation on your reservation.”

  Okay, so somebody had paid attention when he’d changed the reservation to make it clear he was no longer traveling with a companion. It had just taken her a moment to see the note. He wondered what it said. Maybe: attention—pathetic sap was cheated on and didn’t get married.

  He doubted it happened often, but he couldn’t be the first single-on-a-honeymoon vacationer they’d ever seen.

  He didn’t ask her to turn the screen so he could read it. His imagination was good enough. “No problem.”

  She smiled her appreciation. “How was your trip from the airport, sir?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Wonderful.” Her fingers continued to click on her keyboard as she finished working on his check-in. “We have you in our Emerald Bungalow. It’s one of our nicest on the west side of the property. Sunsets over the Pacific will make you gasp.”

  Yeah. He was sure he’d be doing a lot of gasping during this trip, just not for the reasons he’d expected. It sure wouldn’t be out of breathlessness from the ninety-seven ways he and Ashley would have been having sex.

  He pushed her name out of his head. He’d done a great job of that for the past six months, since the day he’d mistaken her phone for his and discovered the kinds of intimate sexting pictures he’d never want to see from a guy. Definitely not from Tim, his own old friend...and best man. Especially not when those messages were written to—and welcomed by—Leo’s fiancée.

  Six months had been enough to calm the anger, soften the insult, heal the heart. For the most part. It maybe hadn’t been enough to kill the embarrassment, which was what he most felt these days when he thought about it. Which wasn’t often.

  It was only because he’d come here, to take advantage of the nonrefundable vacation he’d paid for months before the scheduled wedding date, that he was thinking of his ex. Back home in Chicago, around his big extended family, or the guys at the station or the women wanting to help him jump back into the dating game, he was able to forget there’d ever been an Ashley. Or that he’d ever been stupid enough to think he’d really been in love
with her. If he’d really been in love with her, Tim wouldn’t have ended up with a broken nose— he’d have ended up in traction. Or, if his great uncle Marco—supposedly mob connected—had had his way, with a pair of cement shoes.

  But no. That wasn’t Leo’s way. No broken legs or kneecaps, definitely nothing even worse. Ashley just hadn’t been worth it. When it came right down to it, he’d known his pride had been a whole lot more bruised than his heart. So he’d walked out on her without a big scene, not moved by her crocodile tears. And he’d let Tim off with a punch in the face...and a warning to watch his wallet since Ashley was a bit of a spender.

  Frankly, that was why he figured she’d gone for the guy to begin with. The one place Tim had ever outdone Leo in anything was the wallet. Hopefully the lawyer would continue raking in the bucks to keep Ash supplied in the stupid snowmen figurines to which she was addicted. Actually, screw it. He didn’t care if she never got another one, or if the freaky-faced little monsters melted. At least he didn’t have to look at them anymore.

  “Sir?” the desk clerk prompted.

  Realizing he’d let his mind drift, he shoved away thoughts of Ashley. He was in paradise and had no room in his head for anything dark. “Sounds great, thanks.”

  “Here you go,” she said, handing him a plastic keycard. She also gave him a map of the property. “I hope you have a wonderful time. There are so many things to do, so many people to meet.”

  He needed to get away from her slightly pitying expression before she mentioned that she had a single niece or something.

  The bellhop approached with his suitcase and led him out of the lobby onto a path that wound through the lush grounds. He pointed out a few conveniences including, Leo thought, directions to the pool area and the beach. Or maybe he’d been pointing out a bird or an outhouse, frankly, Leo had no idea.

  Finally, they came to a stop in front of a thatch-roofed cottage. “You,” the man said with a big smile.

  Nodding, Leo slid his key into the reader. The light didn’t turn green, and he didn’t hear a click as the lock disengaged.

  “Is no good?” the belhop asked.

  “Doesn’t appear to be.”

  The worker took the key card, tried himself, several times. It didn’t work for him, either.

  “Forget it. I’ll have them reprogram it,” Leo said, not happy about having to trudge back to the lobby. Right now, he just wanted to strip out of his clothes and take a cool shower.

  “Here,” the bellhop said, pulling out his own master keycard. That would save him the lobby trip for a while, anyway.

  Following the man inside, Leo glanced around the room. It was large, airy, bright and immaculate. The vaulted ceiling was lined in pale wooden planks and two fans spun lazily overhead. Sandstone tile floors, peach walls, vibrant paintings of island life...just as advertised. A small café table designed for cozy, intimate breakfasts stood in one corner near a love seat. And the enormous king-size bed looked big enough for four honeymooners. He hid a sigh and shifted his gaze.

  The bellhop lifted the suitcase onto the dresser, then headed over to unlock the patio door. He pulled it open and a warm, salt-and-flower-tinged breeze wafted in, bathing Leo’s skin. He wouldn’t need any AC; the ocean breezes were amazing.

  “Pool, is very private,” the man said.

  “I can see that.” Naked midnight swims had sounded appealing when they’d chosen this place. “Thank you,” he said, pulling some cash out of his pocket and handing it over.

  The man smiled and departed. Alone, Leo walked to the sliding door, glancing outside at the small pool, which was surrounded on all sides by a tall hedge covered with bright pink flowers. The owners had really meant it when they’d promised privacy for the pool. The resort boasted a large one, with a swim-up bar and lounge chairs, but right now, wanting that coolness on every inch of his skin, he figured this smaller one would do the trick. Midnight naked swims? Hell...with that hedge and the stone wall behind it, daytime ones would be fine, too.

  Smiling, he checked out the rest of the suite, pausing in the bathroom to strip out of his clothes and grab a towel, which he slung over one shoulder. He returned to the patio door, put one hand on the jamb and another on the slider and stood naked in the opening, letting that breeze bathe his body in coolness.

  Heaven.

  He was just about to step outside and let the warm late-day sun soak into his skin when he heard something very out of place. A voice. A woman’s voice. Coming from right behind him...inside his room.

  “Oh. My. God!”

  Shocked, he swung around, instinctively yanking the towel off his shoulder and letting it dangle down the middle of his body. To cover the bits that were dangling.

  A woman stood in his room, staring at him, wide-eyed and openmouthed. They stared at each other, silent, surprised, and Leo immediately noticed several things about her.

  She was young—his age, maybe. Definitely not thirty.

  She was uncomfortable, tired, or not feeling well. Her blouse clung to her curvy body, as if it was damp with sweat. Dark smudges cupped her red-rimmed eyes, and she’d already kicked off her shoes, which rested on the floor right by the door, as if her first desire was to get barefoot, pronto.

  Oh. And she was hot. Jesus, was she ever.

  Gorgeous, in fact, with honey-brown hair that fell in a long, wavy curtain over her shoulders. Although reddened, her big green eyes were sparkling, jewel-toned, heavily lashed, with gently swooping brows above. Her face was perfect—high cheekbones, pretty chin, lush mouth. That body... Well, he suddenly blessed perspiration because the way that silky blouse clung to the full curves of her breasts was enough to make his heart skip every other beat. And the tight skirt that hugged curvaceous hips and several inches of long, slim thigh— leaving the rest of her legs bare for admiring—was making it skip every one in between.

  She was also something else, he suddenly realized.

  Shocked. Stunned. Maybe a little afraid.

  “Hi,” he said with a small smile. He remained where he was, not wanting to startle her.

  “I... You... You’re naked!”

  “I am, yes.”

  Her green eyes moved as she shifted her attention over his body, from bare shoulders, down his chest, then toward the white towel that he clutched in his fist right at his belly. She continued staring, scraping her attention over him like a barber used a blade—close, oh so damned close, and so very edgy.

  Something like comprehension washed over her face and her tensed, bunched shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Did Tommy send you?” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Of course it was Tommy. Or Candace? But, wait, this isn’t... I’m not... Look, I don’t need you.”

  “Don’t need me for what?” To do your taxes? Cut your hair? Carry your suitcase?

  Put out your fire?

  Oh, he suspected he could do that last one, and it wasn’t just because of his job.

  “To have sex with me. I don’t need to get laid this badly.”

  His jaw fell open. “What?”

  She licked her lips. “I mean, you’re very attractive and all.” Her gaze dropped again, and he noticed the redness in her cheeks, and the audible breaths she drew across those lush lips. “Still, I just don’t do that. I couldn’t.”

  He had no idea what she was babbling about. But he was starting to get an idea. The gentlemanly part of him wanted to tell her right away that she was in the wrong room. The male part demanded he wait and see what on earth this beauty would say next.

  “You couldn’t do what?” he asked, letting the towel drop a little bit. Oh, it still covered what he needed to cover, but he wasn’t gripping it the way a spinster virgin would grip her petticoats. And when she licked her lips, eyeing the thin trail of hair that disappeared beneath the terry fabric, he couldn’t resist letting it slip a little bit more.

  He was no flasher. But damn, the woman made it interesting to be ogled.

  Her eye
s almost popped out of her head. “I couldn’t, you know, uh, hire you.”

  He didn’t ask what for. It sure wasn’t to trim her hedges. At least, not any green ones. He’d begun to suspect she’d taken him for an escort...or even a gigolo. Why on earth this beautiful woman would need either one, he couldn’t say. But he was having fun trying to figure it out.

  “I’m not desperate. I would never, uh, have sex with a, uh, professional.” Her voice falling into a mumble, she added, “Not even one with the finest male ass I have ever seen in my entire life.”

  Leo was torn between indignation, laughter and lust. Right now, judging by how he felt about the way her assessing eyes belied every word she said about not wanting him, lust was winning the battle.

  “You wouldn’t, huh?” He stepped closer, moving easily, slowly, almost gliding.

  She did the same, edging closer, her bare feet sliding smoothly over the tile floor. “No. Never.”

  They met near the end of the bed, both stopping when they got within a couple of feet of each other. She licked her lips, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “So, thanks for the effort, it was a, um, nice surprise. But I think you should go.”

  “You’d like that, would you?”

  Her eyes said no. Her lips forced out the word, “Yes.”

  “I can’t do that,” he said, his voice low, thick.

  He edged closer, unable to resist lifting a hand to brush a long, drooping curl back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She hissed a little, tilting her head, as if to curve her cheek into his palm.

  “Why not?” she whispered.

  His tone equally as intimate, he replied, “Because you’re in my room.”

  She froze, eyed him, then quickly looked around. Her gaze landed on his suitcase. She turned to peer into the bathroom, obviously seeing the clothes he’d let fall to the floor. Then back at him. “Your...”

  “My room,” he said, a slow smile pulling his lips up.