What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [7]
Now, she’d just showered in the luxurious marble bathroom in her suite and was off to dinner with her guide. Following the map she’d been given upon her arrival, she took in the beach to her right, the sky turning blush-colored as the sun began its descent. And as she started across a long wooden boardwalk, sea oats sprouting up from the sand beneath, she spied a gazebo in the distance—which her trusty map marked as the spot for her orientation dinner.
She’d worn a pretty pink sundress with a low-cut halter neck—like the bathing suit, sexier than what she’d choose at home. Because she didn’t want Mariel to think turning down the sex part of her prize meant she was prim, or repressed, or anything else. She wanted Mariel to see her as a confident woman who had made the right decision for herself.
She walked slowly to ensure not losing her balance on her sexy, strappy cork wedges—and again couldn’t stop herself from thinking about sex. How many people were having sex right now somewhere on this island? She felt warm in her panties, imagining, wondering, as vague, shadowy images of sweaty bodies moving together wafted through her mind.
Damn—she’d finished her last rum punch nearly an hour ago, but she still felt it. Otherwise, she surely wouldn’t be thinking about sex so much—or suffering the response between her thighs.
But don’t worry—this really will be okay. Eating would help sober her. And after dinner, she could turn in early, then get up tomorrow and enjoy a lazy day on the beach.
The setting sun cast shadows over the interior of the gazebo as she approached, but she stepped boldly inside, ready to show Mariel how self-assured she was. Until she saw a completely scorching-hot guy sitting at a table for two—and flinched, halting in place on her wedge heels. “Um, sorry—wrong gazebo.”
His dark hair was thick but well kempt, contrasting slightly with the sexy stubble on his chin—and a slight smile made him even more handsome. Everything about him looked strong, confident, powerful—like she wished she really felt right now. “No—right gazebo, Jenna.”
Oh, shit—he knew her name. She stood up straighter, her spine going rigid. “I’m supposed to meet Mariel. And you’re . . . not her.”
His smile deepened—he looked amused at how flustered she appeared—and she couldn’t help noticing, even in the dim light, that he possessed deep gray eyes, sexy and captivating. He stood and walked around the small table—set for dinner, complete with ensconced candles and wineglasses—to pull out the chair on the other side. “Sit down,” he said, “and I’ll explain over some pinot grigio.” Her favorite wine. Had that been on a questionnaire somewhere?
She couldn’t figure out a graceful way to not sit down, even though her impulses immediately told her to run, to extract herself from this situation. But for heaven’s sake, calm down—he’s only an incredibly hot guy, not a demon from hell or anything.
Although she feared she was probably looking at him as if he were indeed Satan himself. Because she’d had a plan, and whatever it was he had to explain, this changed it. And suddenly everything felt different. Despite how calm she’d been through the afternoon, now she sensed sex all around her, in a pervasive way.
But then, wait, no—maybe it was only . . . him. His eyes. His body. He dripped sex. He made her tingle between her legs even amid her unaccountable fear. He looked like a guy who could steal a woman’s soul.
“Sit,” he urged her again. “I won’t bite. Promise.” Then he winked.
And there it was again, that undeniable pulse at the juncture of her thighs.
Jenna sat, but only because she didn’t know what else to do. And since she’d already acted totally weird in front of Mr. Soul-Stealing Hottie, she now experienced the urge to make him see what she’d wanted Mariel to see—a confident, in-control woman. With Mariel, it had been to prove she didn’t need the sexual offerings here—yet with this guy, it was simply to redeem herself.
After pushing in