Bird of Paradise Page 8

  He jerked her head back, almost releasing the orange from her hold.

  “What the…damn. Hold on a minute, your hair is tangled on my belt buckle. No, Jesus, leave her alone—”

  In the end it wasn’t her hair caught on his belt, or Jesus crawling over her in an attempt to get her to pet him, thereby tangling her legs in the leash that led to the chair he dragged behind him, it wasn't even the cameraman who squatted down in front of her, laughing so hard he had difficulty filming her as she crouched red-faced next to Adam's groin while he worked her hair free. It was a small, insignificant thing that caused her to drop the orange and lose fifty points she well needed.

  The gecko evidently decided that as her head was higher than the cat's, it would provide a better vantage point for insect sighting. The little creature leaped off of the cat and scurried up her arm and onto her head before she realized what it was doing.

  An hour later she sat in a chair outside her cabana on a wooden lounge, rubbing the sore spot on her head. Hopefully it wouldn't take long for her hair to grow back, but it wasn't really the loss of a shilling-sized clump of hair that pained her. No, it was the footage the cameramen had shot, no doubt gleefully, of her screaming and racing around the table batting ineffectually at her head while Adam chased after her, telling her to stand still so he could remove the gecko, finally achieving that goal when she tripped over Jesus and his chair, sprawling out on the ground in front of everyone with her dress hiked up almost to her bum. The TV audience would eat it up.

  Her shoulders sagged until her head drooped down onto her hands. She didn't think life could get any worse, but she had no doubt it would. Fate was often like that.

  Chapter Five

  “Moonlight is the stuff that magic is made of,” Hero said decisively to no one in particular, which, considering she was sitting alone on a bench, was good. “It's romance, it's fantasy, it's excitement and mystery. Moonlight in the Caribbean—” She gazed out across the velvety croquet playing field, the rich green grass tinted black and silver by the waxing moon. She flexed her bare toes into the lawn, enjoying its coolness against the soles of her feet. It felt so good, she scooted off the bench and sat cross-legged on the ground, the grass tickling her bare legs. Absently plucking a piece of grass, she looked across the way to where a line of coconut palms rustled in the fragrant evening breeze, standing like guardians along a curved stretch of protected beach. The distant thunder of waves pounding onto the island was a muted undertone to air filled with soft noises of night birds and faint strains of Caribbean music from an open-air lounge on the far side of the resort, punctuated occasionally by a shriek and burst of laughter from the swimming pool next to the lounge.

  She sighed and tossed the blade of grass away. “Moonlight in the Caribbean is the most romantic thing in the world, and should be outlawed when you're alone and have no one to enjoy it with and are feeling very sorry for yourself.” She looked around. The line of cabanas was uniformly dark except hers. Evidently everyone had gone off to dance under the stars, or partake in the moonlight swim mentioned as part of the evening's after-hour activities.

  Everyone but her. True, she had been asked. Adam, escorting her back to her cabana after the horrible orange incident, had said he'd heard several people were planning on enjoying a swim later, and would she be interested in joining them?

  She blanched at the thought then, and she blanched now. Appearing in front of everyone in her swimsuit was not her idea of fun. Although she told herself she cared little what Adam thought about her—nipple exploding womanizer that he was—she knew she was lying to herself. She did care, rot his hide. And because she cared, she wasn't going to expose herself to the look of horror sure to be in his eyes when he caught sight of all her exposed flesh.

  “Buck up, old girl,” she told herself. “This too shall pass. Just a couple of weeks and you'll be home and he'll be forgotten and everything will be the way it was.” With, she suspected, the exception of her heart. She greatly feared she was in danger of losing that particular organ to Adam. She wasn't happy about that idea, but as it was clearly the result of her snapped mind, there was little she could do.

  Other than repeatedly deny the attraction. And to reiterate his bad points to herself. And there was the matter of his fan club, as she'd taken to thinking of the women that seemed to chase after him everywhere.

  “He's American,” she told her bare toes as they bobbed in time to the distant music. “Which is always a black mark. He's a smutmonger, too, giving sexual advice to women on the radio. And he has an obsession with a woman who clearly wants nothing to do with him. Not to mention the fact he enjoys discussing his nipples in public. No, he's quite obviously not at all the sort of man any decent woman would want to know. He's just too—oof!”

  A large grey animal landed in her lap, slamming into chest and driving out all the air in her lungs.

  “Jesus, down! Stop mauling Hero, you're getting dirt all over her.”

  Hero pushed the cat down until he was sitting on her legs, and glanced up at Adam, taking a deep breath to refill her lungs.

  The breath strangled in her throat as he stopped before her. Her eyes bugged out a little at the sight of him. He was almost naked, wearing one of those skimpy little swimsuits that men in tropical climes seemed to favor. She'd never given them a thought before, but now she sent up fervent prayers of gratitude to whoever had the brilliant idea of allowing men to parade around in nothing but a bit of lycra. Her eyes started at his bare feet and moved up over nice calves, cute little knees, and muscled thighs. Her gaze skittered over the lycra-covered bits, and continued up to a lovely tanned stomach, broad chest with just the right amount of chest hair swirling around two impudent nipples, and arms that were well-muscled without being grotesque.

  “I'm sorry about this, he got away.” Adam slung the towel he held in one hand over a shoulder and held out a broken leash. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  She tried not to stare, but she couldn't help it. His dark hair was wet, slicked back from his brow, emphasizing the slight widow's peak that made her heart beat faster. Oh, who was she trying to fool, it was all of him that made her heart race.

  “Hero?”

  “I'm fine, thank you,” she finally said, tearing her gaze from him and looking down at the cat in her lap. The gecko, minus its party wear, was clinging to the cat's huge side. She stroked around it, shuddering with the memory of the beastly thing riding her head. “Jesus just knocked the breath from me. You've been swimming?”

  “Yes, you should have come with us, it was great.” He stared down at her for a moment, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Did we interrupt your meditation or something?”

  Really, if her heart beat any faster, she was going to pass out. She had to get a grip on herself, such a reaction was foolish and completely ridiculous. She tried to force herself to calm down as she purposely avoided looking at the bulge in his Speedos; heaven knew that wouldn't do anything toward keeping her calm. And she was nowhere near calm with were the hundreds of questions zipping through her mind: Was he going to sit with her? Had he left the swimming party because he missed her? Had he used his cat as a flimsy excuse to stop by and see her? Could it be that he left all those tanned, fit, attractive women just so he could be with her?

  Had she completely lost her mind?

  “No, it's nothing like that, I was just sitting here enjoying the evening. It's so lovely here, I almost can't believe it's real—the flowers and the ocean and everything. But the moon is so bright, and it's finally cooling down enough, so I thought I'd sit outside and soak in the local color. I can see why people come here for their honeymoons; it's very romantic. And peaceful.”

  He bent over to scoop up the cat from her lap, his fingers brushing her bare arm, sending little streaks of heat rippling up her flesh. “That it is. Well, I won't disturb your peace any longer. Good night.”

  With a flash of his teeth, he turned and strode off into
the shadows of the croquet lawn. She stared after him with her mouth hanging open. He didn't want to stay and talk to her? He hadn't left the swimming party to be with her? He hadn't set up a broken leash as an excuse to stop by?

  “Hell,” she swore, still staring into the inky blackness that had swallowed him up. “I didn't even get to admire his bum when he left!”

  Tears started in the corners of her eyes at the rejection, but she blinked them back before they had a chance to start. “Don't be stupid, of course you mean nothing to him, and you want it that way. He's a sex fiend, remember, and sex fiends are after only one thing. They are not interested in stable, long-term meaningful relationships. They just want steamy, wild, hot jungle sex, and you don't do that, so stop imagining what steamy, wild, hot jungle sex would be like with him and thank your lucky stars that you don't have to worry about a sex fiend pestering you.”

  She sat lecturing herself for a good ten minutes, going over again her reasons for being there, his obvious many faults, and several excellent points regarding why a liaison with him—in the form of steamy, wild, hot jungle sex—would be a very bad thing.

  It didn't do any good. She still felt like crying. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she put him from her mind? Why was her silly heart so caught up in him when he was the epitome of everything she disliked in a man?

  “And what's wrong with wanting steamy, wild, hot jungle sex?” she asked aloud, throwing a handful of grass blades into the wind.

  “Is that a trick question?” a deep voice asked from behind her. Her heart did a few somersaults in hearing it. Adam strolled over to her, now clad in a pair of black trousers and a thin linen shirt that caressed his torso like a lover's hands. “Are there multiple choice answers? Because honestly, I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting steamy jungle sex. Do you?”

  He sat down on the grass next to her, his long legs crossed at the ankle as he leaned back against the bench.

  She stared at him. He came back?

  “I left Jesus locked in the cabana as punishment for his bad manners. You're right; it is beautiful here. And peaceful, too. Very peaceful.”

  He came back? To sit with her?

  “What I'm amazed at is how the scent of the flowers dominates despite the sea air.” He breathed in deeply, his eyes closing to appreciate the perfumed air better.

  He came back to sit with her? Why had he come back to sit with her?

  “Not that there's anything wrong with sea air. I like that too. I'm from a small town in the mountains of California, and I don't often get to the ocean.”

  He came back! Surely that meant something!

  Adam glanced at her, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, am I intruding on your quiet time? I'll leave if you like.”

  Eeek! He was going to leave!

  “No, please don't!” she said hurriedly, trying to gather her scattered wits, scolding herself for being rendered so hen-witted by a mere man. Except he wasn't a mere anything. “I'd like for you to stay. That is to say, you're welcome to sit here. With me. I was…erm…I was just sitting here. Not doing anything, just sitting. So you're welcome to sit, too. Here. With me.”

  Lord, what an idiot she sounded. She wouldn't be surprised if he left, but he didn't. He smiled. That smile ought to be bottled and sold, she mused to herself when she couldn't help but smile back at him. It was better than pheromones.

  “Would you be adverse to doing a favor for me?”

  She looked startled at his request. Adam cleared his throat nervously. “It has nothing to do with our arrangement.”

  “Oh?” Now she looked relieved.

  He swallowed back his nervousness. The worst she could do was to say no. How bad could a little rejection be? His mind went to the scene a few months before when Brittany stormed out of their apartment.

  It could be very bad.

  “What is the favor?”

  The moonlight glinted on her auburn curls, making them a glossy silver and black. His fingers itched to run through those soft curls, to clutch them and hold her head in a position where he could plunder that sweet mouth until he could plunder no more. Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back from thoughts of plundering, damning his lack of self-control. He had seen the startled look in her eye a few minutes back when she saw the reaction he had to her nearness. He had hoped getting into less obvious clothing would help the situation, but he was painfully aware that it hadn't. He was aroused and hard and hot and he wanted her like he'd never wanted anyone.

  “Adam? The favor?”

  “Eh? Oh, the favor.” He was mad, he was a lunatic, he was crazed and deranged for wanting to torment himself in this manner, but he had to ask her. She was smart, she was witty, she was everything every woman should be. Well, true, the blackmailing aspect to their relationship wasn't particularly desirable, but since he secretly approved of her plan to arrange for a date each day, that was a minor matter. Besides, there was no one else on the island whose opinion he was interested in, no one else he trusted to give him the truth.

  Yeah, right, and pigs could fly. What was the use in lying to himself? He wanted her, pure and simple. “Would you be willing, purely for scientific reasons, to kiss me?”

  Her mouth dropped open a bit before she snapped it shut. “You want me to kiss you? For scientific reasons?”

  “I realize it's a strange request, but I do have a reason for it.” Such as, she was an island of beauty and intelligence in a sea of bimbos. “My girlfriend left me a couple of months ago, and…well, we'd been together for a long time, so I haven't had an opportunity to kiss a lot of other women, and since she said I was a lousy lover, I thought maybe if you'd let me kiss you, you could evaluate me.”

  “Evaluate you?” She looked a bit stunned about the eyes, but he didn't think she was offended by the request. At least, he hoped she wasn't offended. She was obviously already of the opinion that he was a lust-crazed slobbering mound of testosterone thanks to that stupid Monday Marsh catch phrase. Damn, he wished he could tell her the truth about himself. He hated lying to her, even if it was indirectly. “You want me to evaluate how you kiss?”

  Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he didn't want her to tell him he had terrible kissing skills. Maybe it would destroy him to know that he couldn't stir any passion in her. “Er…that's the idea,” he said hesitantly. “I thought maybe you could tell me if Brittany was right, or if she was just getting in a parting shot before she left.”

  “But…you're a sex therapist. Why would anyone say an expert in sex was a poor lover?”

  Well, she had him there. He looked at her sitting next to him, all innocent and beautiful and smart and he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her any longer. Hell, she already knew he was a cat smuggler, how much worse could it be to find out he was a private detective?

  “That would be because I'm not really a sex therapist.”

  “You're not?”

  He shook his head. “I'm not Monday Marsh. My name is Adam Fuller. I'm a private investigator. A detective,” he said when he saw the question in her eyes. “I was hired to come to Mystique and pretend to be one of the contestants.”

  A puzzled frown settled between her brows “You were hired to be a contestant? But . . . everyone acts as if they know who you are. I mean, who you are pretending to be.” She waved her hand about. “That whole nipple thing.”

  He sighed. “It's horrible, isn't it? My client, the man who hired me, paid off the real Monday Marsh so I could take his place. Turns out Marsh has agoraphobia or is terribly shy, or something along those lines. His producer was forcing him to do the show as a publicity stunt, so he leaped at the chance to get out of it when my client approached him. Gar bribed a couple of producers as well. I had no idea who I was supposed to impersonate until I was on the plane here, but I can tell you this—I will have my revenge on Gar one way or another.”

  “Gar?”

  “My friend. The one who hired me.”

  “
Oh.” Her fingers pleated the soft cotton of her skirt where it lay on her thigh. “But won't people be able to tell that you aren't this Marsh person?”

  Adam's brows drew together in a faint frown. “I worried about that too, but no one has said anything so far. I guess hearing someone speak in person is different enough from the radio that people are willing to accept any variations.”

  “What exactly were you hired to do here?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I can't tell you. Confidential.”

  “Would it have anything to do with Sally Simmons?”

  He said nothing.

  She nodded. “I see.” She played with her dress for a moment longer. “Why are you telling me this? I'm already blackmailing you because of your cat, why would you tell me something else to put yourself in my power?”

  Why indeed? “I trust you,” he shrugged. “You know the worst about me now anyway. It's certainly not illegal to be a private investigator.”

  “No, but I imagine the Eden people wouldn't be happy to know what you've done.”

  “Are you kidding? They'd love it. They'd save my denouement for the final episode. Anything to drive up ratings.” He covered her hand with his. “The truth is, Hero, I'm a terrible liar. I couldn't think of kissing you knowing there were untruths between us.”

  Her eyes grew huge. “Untruths?”

  He nodded. “I couldn't do that to you. I respect you too much.” He gave as short laugh. “Ironic, isn't it, that we only met this morning? And here I am babbling on about respecting you and—” His gaze dropped to her lips— “kissing you. For purely scientific reasons, as I said before. My hope is, of course, that you won't reveal this secret any more than Jesus's, but I feel I can trust you. You have a quality of honesty about you that I greatly admire.”