Footloose

“Oh,” Jack said and kicked himself for not figuring that out earlier. She was recovering from a breakup. The classic signs were there—stiff drink, halter dress, distrust of the opposite sex. “A Honda’s not a bad car.”

“I know. It gets great gas mileage, doesn’t break down frequently, has good resale value.”

“Too practical for you? Are you more of a practical woman or do you like to take chances?”

She sighed again and frowned. “Up until now, I’ve been very practical.”

She didn’t sound happy with the revelation.

“That’s Van Morrison playing,” he said. “Wanna dance?”

She looked startled at his invitation, then hesitant, then a little defiant. “Yes, I would, thank you.”

He led her onto the sand that served as a dance floor and coaxed her into the rhythm of the song. She stumbled a couple of times, laughing at herself. The breathless sound tugged at something inside him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he felt his blood sink to his groin.

Getting her into bed would be a piece of cake. She was vulnerable and he had Irish charm on his side. Another hurricane and a couple of slow dances were all it would take.

Jack was a shark by trade, but he didn’t make a habit of taking advantage of wide-eyed, broken-hearted amateurs. Yet while she was innocent, she also seemed determined to get into the water. And with her knowledge of Bellagio, she could be useful. That, he couldn’t resist exploiting. But her vulnerability was something else. So he would be careful with her, but he would get what he could from her.

After a couple more dances and half a hurricane, she loosened her tongue. At his gentle prodding, she gave him a new snapshot of the players, major and minor, at Bellagio, the corporate culture and the general attitude and mood of the employees. Tucking the information in the back of his brain for future use, he checked out what she’d scribbled on the napkin. “This list needs some work,” he said.

She reached for the napkin, but he held it away from her. “That’s supposed to be just for me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just an anonymous guy you met at a tiki bar. I’ll be the ghostwriter. If you really want to make some changes, then you need to climb further out on the limb.”

“Changes such as?”

“I’ll start you off small. Swimming in the nude,” he said, taking her pen and writing it down.

Her eyes widened. “I don’t think—”

“It’s not as drastic as sex on the beach, but we can add that one if you—”

“No, and—”

“What about driving a convertible with the top down? Have you ever driven one?”

“No.”

“Good thing to do at least once. Sky diving?”

“Absolutely not.”

And so it went. He suggested. She countered. Egging her on to expand her list was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

TWO HOURS LATER, after Amelia had finished her third hurricane and Jack had extracted information about Marc Waterson, Bellagio’s heir apparent, Jack did the honorable thing and returned Amelia to Lillian Bellagio’s estate. She leaned against his shoulder and dozed during the short drive.

The thought occurred to him, again, that it would be so easy to take her back to the beach house where he was staying. She wouldn’t protest. She reminded him of a little lamb without any protection. The wolves would get her in no time if she didn’t shore up her defenses. At the same time, though, it would be a damn shame to see her toughen up. Her innocence was rare and appealing.

Pulling to a stop just outside the estate, he gave her a gentle shake. “Amelia, we’re here. Time to wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him in confusion. “Jack.”

“Yep. I’ll be at the gate in just a minute. Will you be able to walk to the house?”

She nodded. “Sure,” she said and sat up, blinking.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She looked at him. “You’ve been very kind.”

He felt a sliver of discomfort at taking advantage of her hurricane-influenced state to get insider info on Bellagio. “It was a fun night.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You’re very good-looking. Could you do one more favor for me?”

“What?” he asked a little warily.

“Could I kiss you? I’ve never kissed a guy the first time I met him.”

He felt a jolt of surprise. “Is this on your list?”

“Hmm. I guess it is.”

“Okay,” he said and leaned toward her.

She pressed her hand against his chest. “No. I have to kiss you. I have to start it.”

Accustomed to taking the lead, Jack felt a startling punch of exhilaration. Damn, who would have thought…

Her eyes open, she leaned toward him and lifted her lips to his and rubbed from side to side. The soft texture of her mouth and the sensual movement provided the biggest tease he’d had in a long time. He was used to taking what he wanted. Sure, he knew the ways of seduction, but they were a means to an end.

She opened her mouth and he felt a lick of anticipation shimmy down to his groin. He could feel her indecision. To taste or not to taste.

He struggled with an instinct to take control, to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but her tentative explorations were too delicious.

He opened his mouth and barely brushed her lips to give her encouragement without guiding her.

She echoed his movement and rewarded him by sliding her tongue just inside his mouth.

White-hot lust raced through him. He wanted to devour her mouth, bury his face in her breasts and slide between her thighs until neither of them could walk normally. He couldn’t remember feeling this hot since he was sixteen years old.

She lingered, rubbing just the tip of her tongue over the inside of his lip, then against the tip of his own tongue. Then she pulled back and he again fought the urge to close his arms around her and kiss the breath out of her.

Something made him stop. He would figure out later just what that something was.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky with a hint of arousal, and she smiled. “Thanks.”

Over the pounding of his heart, he smiled back. “Thank you.”