Everything to Me

“What?” she gasped, but all she got in reply was a soft, throaty chuckle.

At the end of a stone walkway they came upon a brightly lit building. Its doors were open, and the entrance was flanked by tall torches, their ends rammed into the ground. The air was filled with the scent of citronella.

As Walker began to climb the four or five steps leading to the entrance, Dakota lagged behind, overwhelmed by growing panic.

He sensed her reluctance and stopped abruptly, turning slightly to look back at her. Since he didn’t signal he was slowing down, she almost ran into him. His amusement at her discomfiture was all gone. He was just one step above, looking down into her face, his eyes searching hers for something. Maybe he found it, because he said, very gently, “Don’t worry.”

Instead of shooting back a skeptical response, she wet her lips and looked away. Nights were short on the islands, and things would look better in the morning. Plus, they weren’t exactly enemies; it wasn’t as if he’d sworn a blood oath to erase her and her kin from the earth. His business and her duty just weren’t in sync. It wasn’t personal.

Well, all right, it was a little personal. Like that evening at the album launch when he’d called her a bottom-feeding scavenger for ratting out his precious diva—and him. And she’d responded by decorating the front of his white shirt with a glass of ’03 Chilean red.

A movement in the doorway saved her from whatever he was going to say next. The apparition was enough to jolt all thoughts of Walker from her mind, and that was saying something.

The man standing in the glowing lamplight at the entrance was so tall that he dwarfed Walker, and his skin was so black he seemed to belong to the night, rather than simply inhabit it. Impeccably twisted dreadlocks cascaded from his head, a Medusa’s nest of snakes. He wore a tan suit made of a light fabric, with a cream-

colored shirt and a tie of deep garnet. He was so striking, so physically perfect, that Dakota almost believed he was supernatural. This was the Caribbean, after all. A place populated by the ghosts of African princes, forest deities and enchanted apparitions.

As they approached, onyx eyes gleamed behind thin glasses, and his dark face split in a welcoming smile. His large, perfect teeth all but glowed. “Mr. Walker! So good to meet you. Welcome to Tobago.” His deep voice floated on the wave of the graceful and enchanting accent they’d heard everywhere since they’d touched down.

Walker and the handsome devil clasped hands warmly, equally white grins on their faces. “Trent, please. And it’s good to be here.”

The big man turned his cave-dark eyes in Dakota’s direction. His grin grew even wider. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing a guest, Trent, but we’re perfectly happy to have her.” Then he addressed Dakota directly. “Welcome. I’m Dr. Declan Hayes, part owner of this establishment. But once you check in, there’s a penalty for using last names here at Rapture.” He cocked his head in the direction of the reception area. “We’ve got a clay jar in there, sort of like your American swear jar. If you call me Dr. Anything, you owe me a dollar. Deal?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Deal…Declan.” She threw a glance at Walker. Damned if she was calling him by his first name. She’d drop a buck in Declan’s jar every twenty minutes, if she had to.

Walker laughed, as if he knew what she was thinking. Then, realizing the introductions had been one-sided, said, “Declan, forgive my rudeness. This is Dakota Merrick. My…er…” He searched for several long seconds for a suitable description, and then finished up weakly “…colleague.”

Declan caught his hesitation—and misunderstood. He lowered his voice, his face somber, radiating trustworthiness. “Don’t worry, Trent, Dakota, here at Rapture, we’re extremely discreet. Rapture was built for lovers, and confidentiality is our top priority. We have a wide range of indulgences to offer, and I promise you you’ll be very happy together here.”

Dakota choked on a mouthful of shock. “But I…but we…we’re not…” She shot Walker an exasperated look.

Declan had already snatched up Dakota’s bag and was moving. “Follow me to your quarters. You were lucky enough to get one of the largest and most luxurious cabins. It’s the farthest from the communal areas, for enhanced privacy.” He twinkled back at Dakota. “And the outdoor Jacuzzi tub is completely screened off from the other cabins.”

Jacuzzi, Dakota huffed to herself. Adults only, built for lovers…

The two men fell into step, as though they were old friends. Dakota kept up with them, seething. She wanted to grab this sleek gorgeous apparition, spin him around and make it abundantly clear that she and Trent Walker were not, not, not here for an illicit liaison. It was an accident they were even together.

They passed through a side door and descended a few steps into a garden that Dakota could only describe as magical. Even through the thick soles of her shoes she could feel the springiness of the dense, spiky grass. Under soft outdoor lights, a chaotic array of bushes, flowers and trees slumbered. Flagstone paths twisted and twined, going off into arbitrary directions. Down each path, she could see a faint halo of light, leading her to believe that each one led to a cabin.

“The pool’s in that direction,” Declan volunteered.

The nude pool, she remembered.

“It’s right next to the spa, where you can enjoy a variety of services: hot-cupping, Swedish massage, Shiatsu, acupressure. My business partner, Anke, is in charge of that. My office is on the other end of the property, if you’d like to have an appointment.”

She just had to ask. “Appointment? For…?”

“Counseling. I started off as a general medical practitioner, but then went back to study psychiatry. Now I’m a sex and relationship therapist,” Declan answered calmly.

Sex and relationship therapist. Huh. She distracted herself from the incongruity of the situation by focusing on her surroundings. She wished desperately that it was still daylight so she could enjoy the sights as well as the smells. What a long way from Santa Amata, with its endless rain and slush. She was in the warm and wonderful Caribbean, so close to the sea she could hear it whisper in and whoosh out. The sky was so bright and clear she wanted to reach up, snatch down stars and make herself a sparkling necklace.

She didn’t realize she was smiling until she heard Walker murmur, “I know. Makes you tingle all over, doesn’t it?”

The last thing she wanted to discuss with Walker was any part of her body tingling. With a nervous hand, she twisted a curly lock of hair around her ear.

The path dipped sharply and they came upon an exquisite cabin. It was made of wood and painted a mellow tangerine, except for the carved white adornments that graced the small porch, doors and windows, and ran around the edge of the roofing like spider webs.

Wood thudded dully under their feet as they climbed the three steps leading to the entrance. Declan withdrew a key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock. He eased the door open and preceded them into the cabin, flicking on lights as he did so.

He led them through the sitting area toward the farthest bedroom and flooded it with light. Its walls were a soothing shade of avocado set off by white jalousies. A large painting hung on one wall, an oil rendition of a dark-skinned woman, completely naked, rising out of a tropical stream, water dripping from her long, woolly hair. Water rose just to her pubis, seeming to caress her there, like a cool, intimate hand. The thick-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes were half closed, and her smile spoke of the pleasures of swimming naked. It was the most erotic painting Dakota had ever seen. She tore her eyes away.

She was vaguely aware of the other furniture. The rest of her mind was swamped by the image of the big, luxurious bed.

“This is the master bedroom.…” Declan was saying.

The king-size bed was covered with a cheerful quilt. It was strewn with huge pillows and stood high off the floor.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he continued.

The bed stood firmly on polished brass legs. The mattress was thick. Bouncy, she guessed. Strong. She caught sight of what was on the bedside table. Other hotels kept a copy of the Bible next to the bed. Rapture had a leather-bound copy of the Kama Sutra. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure you two will be very comfortable here.” Declan set Dakota’s bag down against a wall.

She sputtered, trying to drag her gaze—and her thoughts—away from that big, big bed and the ancient Indian instruction manual lying beside it. “Oh, but we…”

Walker still held on to his bag. Unruffled by the insinuation, he said calmly, “Dakota can take this one.”

Her ears pricked up at his use of her first name. Just to avoid tossing a buck into Declan’s jar?

He continued. “I’ll be fine in the room next door.” He cocked his head at her, as though amused by her discomfort, and gave her half a wink.

Declan’s bushy brows flicked upward for a fraction of a second and then, with a nod toward Dakota, he followed Walker. She stood with her back to the door, surveying the room, thoughts tumbling.

Chapter 3

The men exchanged muffled goodbyes and there was the sound of the front door closing. Then, a presence in the doorway. She spun around.

Trent stood just a few feet before her, hands on hips, contemplating. The forced intimacy of shared quarters made it hard for her to breathe.

“Traveling’s a real bitch,” he finally said, sounding sympathetic. “You must be tired.”

She was way too keyed up to be tired. “I’m…fine, thank you.” She was carefully polite: as tense as the situation was, she couldn’t forget she was here due only to his kindness.

“Good. Why don’t we take twenty to freshen up? Then we can head out to the dining room and see what they’re offering.”

Eat. With him?

Her hesitation was just shy of being damn rude.