Losing Control
After six hours in the air, and within ten minutes of leaving the much smaller connecting flight, Cole decided that their destination should be named "Taryn Quinn has Rocks in her Head."
For some crazy reason, when Taryn had said she was surveying a location for her Hot Spots proposal, Cole had assumed luxury, first-class transportation and air-conditioned comfort at the very least. When she'd let on that they were ultimately destined to land somewhere in Polynesia, his assumptions seemed assured. Now, edging into the decrepit station wagon this island referred to as a taxi, Cole began to grasp the scope of his error.
Luckily the rust bucket was fitted with seat belts.
As the driver roared the gears into a crunching first and slammed his foot to the floor, Cole held on to the arm sling for grim life. He glanced over at Taryn, sitting beside him on the back-passenger seat, and growled. What the hell was she grinning at?
"Cole, you look surprised."
"What's the name of this place again?"
"Ulani. It means happy or gay."
They hit a massive pothole and Cole's head smacked the cab's sagging ceiling, while, bouncing around, Taryn actually laughed. Worse, she looked gorgeous doing it. Her face free of makeup, her hair loose and tousled, she was nothing short of radiant.
During the week, they'd chatted about this trip, and with such composure an outsider would never have guessed what had transpired on that dance floor almost a week ago. He'd thought about that close-proximity incident often since. If she'd leaned in another inch, it would have been on. Instead she'd pulled away at the last minute and he'd been given space to cool down, keep his head.
Only problem was that stir and urge hadn't left him. He might have behaved civilly this week, but underneath he'd wanted to lay this on the line and take what he believed she wanted to give. He should be dreading these next couple of days. But he was only glad this time had finally come. At last they were alone and this thing simmering between them could come to a head.
But he'd envisaged that would happen amid first-rate treatment and perhaps even satin sheets. Guess he'd get past this shock.
"Why did you choose this place?"
"I wanted different, out of the ordinary," Taryn said, gazing out over a landscape of vine-strangled palms backdropped by a sleeping monster of a volcano. "Anyone can go to Hawaii or Tonga."
"I take it the resort or hotel or wherever you're taking me isn't five-star."
"From the pictures and reviews, I'd give it six."
Another pothole sent him jolting and cringing in his seat again. "I'm thinking a remedial massage is a priority."
"I could always organize the next flight out for you," she offered.
"And miss all the fun?"
The taxi skidded to a stop. Cole shifted to inspect the building and his jaw dropped. This place wasn't much better than a shack.
He drawled, "You are kidding."
"Not even a little bit."
"Didn't you say that night at Marco's, and I quote, 'This program could start a whole new genre'?" He examined the gray-bearded dog asleep on its back in a most unflattering pose near the entrance. "Maybe we should head back," he muttered under his breath.
Did she really have no idea? More than ever before, after seeing this, chances were her show was dead in the water. Only a miracle could save it now.
The driver was lugging both her suitcase and his overnighter toward that reception shack. Above a barely hinged door rested a lopsided sign, which read in faded green paint, WEL OME.
"There's still time to escape," she told him slipping out of the taxi, whereupon Cole set his teeth, ran a hand through his hair then scraped himself out of the vehicle, too.
"I'll stay," he said, dragging his feet to follow, "if only to see what you think can possibly keep an audience glued to their seats."
As well as the promise of being alone with you.
In her tantalizing fitted blue wrap dress, she continued on with a laugh. Seeing those long tanned legs in that dress, that heavenly behind swaying as if to beckon him near...
Cole's pace picked up.
Sure. He could slum it for a couple of days.
* * *
From the moment they touched down, Taryn had fallen in love with this tropical oasis. As far as she was concerned, a weekend wasn't nearly long enough. Except, of course, she'd need to contend with the "Cole looking extra hot in casual wear" situation. But truth was she'd find him sexy even in his Popeye suit.
At a bamboo reception counter, a friendly middle-aged lady with oversize dentures and a gold-plated name tag that read Sonika checked their reservation, after which a man, naked from the waist up, collected their bags. Standing beside her, Taryn sensed Cole's masculine sensitivities prickle. Perhaps he was anticipating an equally stunning island girl to materialize and show off her assets. Best he didn't hold his breath. This island was particularly "woman user friendly."
Sonika's smile beamed brighter. "I'm sure you will be happy with your accommodation," she said in accented English. "Your bungalow has one of the best views on the island."
"How many guest bungalows do you have here?" Cole asked.
"Only six on the whole island. The other five are occupied," she said, closing her registry book. "But don't worry that you'll run into anyone if you don't want to. Privacy is our promise."
The man and his WrestleMania shoulders ushered them out a side door and down a long sandy path, which was bordered by lush ferns and palm trees on either side. Above them curious monkeys crouched on branches, a menagerie of birdlife hooted and cooed, heady combinations of floral scents filled the air and Taryn wanted to sigh. These surroundings would make for fabulous visuals and audio. All she needed was that final nod. She hoped Cole would be a good sport and admit this ultraexotic location and her idea were winners...that is, when he got over the next surprise.
A few minutes later, they arrived at their bungalow. While the porter continued on to drop their bags inside, a previously tetchy Cole seemed to enjoy a change of heart.
"I must say, I had my doubts." He scooped up a handful of powdery sand and let it filter through his fingers while surveying a bay that spread out before them like an endless throw of mirror-blue silk. "Not the Hilton but that is an exceptional view." He spotted a calico hammock waiting on the bungalow's porch and rubbed his shoulder. "I can picture myself swaying in that. In fact..."
But as he moved toward the steps and that hammock, Taryn crossed to block his path.
"I'm afraid you have a task or two to perform before you can lie back," she said.
"We'll take an hour to rest up before we start on your survey work."
"I'm not talking about that. When a person comes to this Polynesian island, there are certain...requirements. Duties."
"What do we have to do?"
"Not we. You."
He threw another glance around and coughed out a laugh. "Like hunt down a wild boar? Descend into the fiery bowels of a live volcano?" When her expression held, his smirk died. "Please tell me that volcano isn't live."
"Remember I said that this island's name means happy. This place is also meant to be a sanctuary where individuals come to know and appreciate others and, more importantly, understand themselves."
He waited then finally shrugged. "And...?"
"Women here, Cole, are adored and revered. They're waited on hand and foot."
Trying to absorb the concept, he repeated her words. "Women are waited on here..."
"Yes. Hand and foot."
"So where's your slave?"
"Standing right there."
Cole actually looked over his shoulder. When he realized the joke was on him, he slowly turned back. She'd had fun imagining this moment. He'd invited himself along to see for himself. Like the emperor with his new clothes, Cole had gotten his wish. If he had half a funny bone, he'd take it on the chin. Hell, he might even laugh. But his expression fell flat.
"Other than the view and that hammock," he said, "you're not scoring too many points."
A bristle ran up the back of her neck. At times he could be so darn negative. "You don't have to stay if you can't handle it."
He challenged her gaze for a long moment then bent to slip off his loafers and wiggled his toes in the sand.
"But if I leave you here all alone," he said, "who will brush your hair? Peel your grapes?"
At that moment, that man with his amazing tan and billboard chest passed by. When he sent a dazzling helpful smile her way before leaving by the path again, Taryn sucked down a breath and gathered her thoughts.
Cole wanted to know who would peel her grapes?
Winding her arms over her waist, she angled her head and shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone."
From the way Cole's shoulders squared, he was back to unimpressed mode. "I thought you were selling this as a family show."
"I'm sure a lot of underappreciated mothers would love a slot."
"What's in it for the poor lugs who have to tag along?"
"Quality time to reflect?"
"While they're fanning the revered ones with palm fronds, I suppose."
"And all while enjoying that view." When his unimpressed look held, she spelled it out. "This island's magic lies in its reversal of social domestic norms. It encourages men to truly nurture their women, which will hopefully ultimately deepen and strengthen their relationships. You've heard of the saying, with sacrifice comes great reward? In the work comes the reward. The payoff."
She nodded then headed toward the bungalow. "But, before you get busy peeling any fruit, we should unpack."
Cole massaged his brow. He was her boss. So why was he being bossed around? Oh, that's right. This "women are revered, men are slaves" twist. Novel. Cute.
Taryn was strong-willed. Even on her best behavior, she couldn't help but occasionally mock him. Over this past week, he'd almost gotten used to her particular brand of sass. She had a sharp wit. Sometimes too sharp. And he didn't enjoy being anyone's pincushion.
She'd told him that he needed to unpack.
He called out, "We're here two days."
"Clothes get rumpled."
"We're not dining with the queen."
On the bottom step, she rotated around. "If you want to live out of a bag, that's your business."
Darn right it was his business. This might be her location survey but, make no mistake, he was in charge regardless of this island's female bias. And as she continued up those steps in that hug-every-curve dress, a cog in his brain turned and clicked. When she reached the bungalow doorway, the ideal solution to this predicament lit his mind like the breaking of tomorrow's dawn.
Taryn wanted to explore the island's ethos. She expected him to serve. Get enlightened.
He called out again. "I might not need to unpack my bag but, if I have this setup right, while we're here - me being the male and you being the female - I'm supposed to revere you. Be your slave."
Pivoting again, she rested a hand on the bamboo doorjamb. "Slave was your term."
"But Hot Spots male guests here will be expected to look after any chores so their wife or girlfriend can lie back and soak up the atmosphere. That's the twist - the opportunity for confrontation and redemption - you want the contestants and viewers to experience, right?"
"Right."
"Which means, if we're really going to get a take on possible dynamics, while I might not want to unpack my bag, I should 'servant up' and unpack yours."
As he sauntered up the steps, she arched a brow. "We don't need to go to extremes."
"Do you want me to immerse myself in this project or don't you? Heaven forbid a rumor should spread that I didn't play by the rules and robbed you of a fair chance."
"I'm quite capable - "
"Then again if you don't want to give it your best shot..."
She seemed to hold her breath. As he imagined her heart pounding and thoughts racing, Cole contained his grin. She was embarrassed and uncertain and probably nudging toward really annoyed at this point. But she'd set the agenda and, as far as he could see, she'd left herself no room to back out.
"Just leave what's in the zipped pouch," she finally said.
"Sure. You go mix yourself a pina colada and leave all the work to me." He set a fingertip to his cheek. "Although shaking cocktails must be my job, too. Maybe wiggle your toes in the sand until I can be of further service."
Passing on his way inside the bungalow, Cole rolled a hand - a theatrical motion from forehead to waist - while, feeling robbed, Taryn moved down the steps and into the clearing.
Above her, palms fronds swayed and clacked in a gentle sea breeze. Like a balm, the sun's heat soaked into her skin. The salty scent drifting in from the Pacific was nothing short of drugging. Paradise. She'd promised herself, no matter what, she would find a little time to unwind.
But she'd been kidding herself. While Cole was around that would never happen. Yes, she'd planned to put him on the spot with that "women are revered" policy. She'd wanted him to squirm but more so think about setup in relation to ratings ramifications for her show. Not for one minute did she buy his spiel about being happy to serve. She had the biggest feeling he was up to something. Something that might leave her squirming instead of him.
A rustling in the brush drew her attention. From a mass of ferns, a boy aged six or seven appeared. He had the biggest, brownest eyes Taryn had ever seen. Wearing that blue-striped tee and toothy grin, he was positively disarming. Striding right up, he gestured toward her feet then indicated she should sit in a deck chair positioned to one side of the bungalow steps.
Wanting to ruffle his mop of clean dark hair, she laughed. "Thank you, but I'm not tired." She crouched to speak face-to-face. "What's your name?"
But the boy was already scurrying off back into the ferns. The next second, Cole's voice boomed out from the bungalow.
"Where do you want me to put these?"
She swung around. Cole stood in the doorway. He held her bikini top in one hand, her bottoms in the other.
After the blush had whooshed up from her toes to her crown, she got her mouth to work and very calmly asked, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Unpacking, as per instructions."
"I told you to stay away from the zip."
"These were right on top."
As he jiggled the top then the bottoms in turn, her thoughts rewound. Usually she put her delicates in a zipped compartment to keep them separate and easy to access. But when she'd remembered her bathing suit this morning at the last minute, she'd shoved it inside her case on top of everything else.
And, honestly - so what? They were two pieces of Lycra. Women had worn them for decades. And yet the way he was holding them, the ties twined loosely around those strong tanned fingers, she felt so suddenly flustered, as if he'd removed them not from her luggage but fresh off her body. His next comments made it all ten times worse.
"Interesting work attire, Miss Quinn." He pushed a sigh out over the hint of a grin. "And I thought you were serious about this weekend."
That flustered feeling stirring her insides swelled into something far more dangerous. She'd known he was hatching something he'd find amusing. Something to put her in her place. She strode up the steps and snatched both pieces from his grasp. Incredibly, he didn't laugh, didn't even smile. Rather he glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck, as if he felt uncomfortable, which, under the circumstances, she found difficult to believe.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that look?"
"I thought I'd better mention now..."
"Mention what?"
"There's only one bed?"
After a moment of numb shock, she hacked out a laugh. Ridiculous. "Of course there's more than one bed."
When she'd received her reservation details, she'd been assured of two bedrooms. And on opposite sides of the hut.
"Maybe you should have booked separate bungalows," he said, "just to be sure."
"You heard the woman at the desk. There are only five other bungalows and they're all taken."
Her words trailed as reality tunneled in and set like reinforced concrete. There'd been a terrible mix-up, and even if she had any hope another guest might consider swapping for a single-bedroom bungalow, she wouldn't put Sonika to the embarrassment and trouble. A weekend's accommodation here cost an arm and a leg and they were staying for free. There must be another way. She might find Cole attractive. She might have wondered how these two days would pan out. But she didn't want him to think she'd actually planned it this way.
After running the problem around in her head a few more times, she offered a weak smile. "You did say you liked the hammock."
"You want me to be sucked dry and eaten by mosquitoes?"
"There must be a couch?"
"It's been a while since I slept on a sofa."
"Then I'll take the couch."
"If you don't mind the lack of privacy, I won't complain."
Taryn's temper began to boil. Hopefully, she would come away from these two days with that contract for Hot Spots finally secured. There was also a chance that before this time was through, she'd regress, give in to temptation and show Cole Hunter again just how much he irritated her.
Right now, he irritated her a lot.
Cole's expression changed; he stiffened then he peered off into the brush. She followed his line of vision. Among the ferns, blue stripes of a tee flashed before all was quiet again.
She explained, "It's a boy. He was here earlier, wanting me to sit down and rest."
"I thought I was in charge of your pampering."
She headed inside to inspect the bedroom situation. "Maybe you've been assigned a helper."
"You think I need help?"
She rolled her eyes. Let me count the ways.
In the casual main room, she turned. Cole was standing right behind her. As his gaze intensified and stroked her lips, her breathing came a little quicker and her chin reflexively raised a notch. When his head slanted and deliberately lowered closer to hers, for one horrifying moment, she thought that force urging her to lean in would win.
And maybe she shouldn't fight it. Maybe she should let her defenses down, throw up her hands and finally give in. Because truth was she wanted to kiss Cole Hunter harder than she'd kissed any man.
His hands found hers and their fingers tangled together among those bikini strings. Her eyes drifted shut and, in a heartbeat, that tingling burn grew into a storm where a thousand shooting flames combined to ignite and consume every inch of her soul. Suddenly, she felt so dizzy she couldn't think straight, unless it was to wonder if his mouth was even half as confident and skilled as instinct said it must be.
Her heavy eyelids dragged opened.
His gaze still on her lips, he lifted her clasped hands to his hard chest and after a few mind-numbing moments, he smiled slowly and said, "Know what I'm thinking?"
Her chest rose on a deep breath. "Tell me."
"I'm thinking one bedroom's probably enough."