Everything to Me

Chapter 2

Island time, Walker thought. No matter how often he traveled through the Caribbean, he never ceased to marvel at the slow, easy pace of everything and everyone around him. Coffee shop attendants stopped to chat in the middle of pouring him a cup, porters took their own sweet time crossing the road… Car rental companies moved with the speed of honey dripping off a spoon.

The previous client—no doubt an islander, he thought wryly—had returned the rental car he ordered more than an hour late, whereupon smiling employees had informed him in their musical accent that they’d clean the car up for him “just now.” Suspecting that “just now” in island-speak meant a good chunk of time, he’d bought himself a local paper and settled in for the wait.

By the time they’d handed over the keys to the pearl gray BMW sedan, it was fully dark outside. He eased past the airport, noticing that traffic had thinned significantly. The flight they were on was probably the last international arrival of the evening. Everyone had already gone home.

At least, those who had a home to go to.

In the yellow glow of a streetlamp, a hunched shape sat on a bench, two small bags propped up beside her. Merrick, he knew at once. The curve of her shoulders, her mere presence, in fact, told him she hadn’t found a place to sleep. He wondered idly how she planned on dealing with her assistant when she got back to New York. From his brief experiences, Merrick had quite a tongue on her; he was half-sorry for her assistant once Merrick could rustle up a few bars of signal on her phone.

As he rolled past, struggling to remember to drive on the left rather than the right, he turned his head—and their eyes locked. Hers were wide and dark against her tan skin, Japanese anime-huge, and in a flash he read anxiety and fear. One hand clutched the collar of her leather jacket to her throat. It was still warm out, so it couldn’t have been to ward off the cold. In his rearview mirror, he saw her slap at her neck and wince.

In the darkness, the mosquitoes had come out.

The gods were having a laugh at her expense. Poetic justice, given the mess she’d almost made of his career.… Well, technically she’d made a mess of Shanique’s career; he’d survived virtually unscathed. But still… Feeling guilty at the meanness of the thought, he comforted himself. She’d get lucky; it was mathematically impossible for every single bed on the island to be filled. She’d try again in a while, and at the very least find a dive where the all-night bar would keep her up and the bedbugs wouldn’t give her a moment’s rest. Then maybe she’d be too tired in the morning to do any more muck-raking for her damn column.

In the rearview mirror, he saw the light above her head flicker, and she tilted her face upward in panic.

Walker eased his foot off the accelerator.

The woman was alone and possibly in danger. Who knew what kind of creatures, two-legged or otherwise, came crawling out of their holes after dark? What if something happened to her out there? A feeling of dread, mingled with a vague sense of responsibility, ran through him. If you saw someone standing on the tracks and a train was bearing down, only they couldn’t hear it coming, would you push them out of the way?

Would you yank them out of harm’s reach even if they’d done you wrong?

Naw, the voice in his head chided, you’re not thinking… .

With a squeal of tires, he made a U-turn, and headed back to where she sat. As he slammed on the brakes, her face was the picture of confusion and alarm.

“Get in, Merrick,” he ordered.

“What?”

He hopped out, walked around, and grabbed her bags. “You can’t stay here.”

“I wouldn’t be the first traveler to spend the night at an airport,” she said stubbornly. “There’s security all over the place. I’ll be safe.”

“It’s a dinky country airport—an open air airport—on one of the smallest islands on the planet. And in case you haven’t noticed, most everyone’s gone home. What were you planning to do? Sleep on the bench?”

“I was planning to stay awake on the bench,” she countered, and slapped at the back of her neck again. “I hear the sun rises early in the West Indies.”

“There are mosquitoes dancing around your head. Can you imagine what you’ll look like by morning?”

“What’s it to you?” she responded suspiciously.

“Refer to my previous statement about leaving fellow citizens stranded.” He could have added a comment about damsels in distress, but he knew he’d be an idiot to go there. Merrick looked unlikely to be amused by his chivalry.

“I’ll be sure the president’s notified.” She folded her arms, but didn’t make a move.

As he threw her bags into the back, next to his, her dark eyes rounded. “What are you…?”

“Far as I know, my place is confirmed and waiting for me. You’re welcome to come along.”

She gasped. “Stay with you? In your room?”

He laughed, delighted by her horrified reaction. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t suggesting we share a bed.…” He stopped, and his tongue flicked against his lower lip. “Not even one of those chaste little arrangements where one of us sleeps on top of the sheets and the other sleeps beneath them. This isn’t a teen sitcom.”

She looked relieved to hear it. “But how…?”

He explained. “I’ve rented a cabin. It’s a fully equipped unit.” Then he added meaningfully, “It has two separate bedrooms.”

All the while he was talking, that self-preserving voice at the back of his head was calling him a lunatic. Look at her, the voice warned, with her heart-shaped little face and pointed chin. Plus, under that outfit—was she crazy, wearing leather here?—he knew she was more than a handful up top, and everything a brother could ask for down below.

Oh, yeah, he taunted himself. You’ve noticed her over the months. Just how small is this cabin, he wondered. Would he be able to stay out of her range?

He’d better.

She was frowning. Thinking. Tempted. She glanced at her stuff, sitting in the trunk of the Beemer. “I don’t…”

He sighed; his patience was giving out. “It’s late, Merrick. We’ve flown all day, and we’re in a strange country. Stop fighting it. You need a meal and rest as much as I do. Come with me, just for tonight. You can call around for a hotel again in the morning.”

“There’ll be something for me tomorrow,” she wavered.

“Definitely,” he agreed, although he wasn’t betting on it.

It was futile trying to resist the onslaught of logic. Slowly, doubtfully, she nodded. “We split the tab,” she insisted.

“Deal.” He patted her lightly on the shoulder, the first time he’d intentionally touched her. He felt something shift deep inside. “Let’s go.”

She climbed into his car like it was a paddy wagon carting her off to jail. As she buckled up, he noticed her hands were shaking. He wanted to say something to put her at ease, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what.

He levered his long body into the driver’s seat next to her and unfolded a small map, clicking on the overhead lights with one hand.

“Know where you’re going?” Dakota asked.

He ran his finger along a fat blue line, tilting the map toward her so she could see as well. “It’s fairly straightforward. Just got to stick to the coastal road ’til we get to Speyside.”

“Is it far?”

Meaning how long would she be stuck with him, he thought. “The island’s about 25 miles long. I don’t expect anything’s far from anything else.” He gave her an amused look. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Just lean back and listen to the music.” He clicked on the radio and scrolled through the stations until he found one that suited him. Jazz, naturally.

“We’ll be there in no time,” he promised.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“My pleasure.” The word pleasure rolled off his tongue.

Mistake, the voice in his head harped. Big, big mistake.

* * *

Dakota had the distinct impression Walker was driving with a lighter foot than he would have if he were alone. Even so, less than an hour later the car turned onto a narrow, sand-swept driveway and slowed to a halt. She stole a look out of the window, while trying not to be too obvious about it.

The property rolled over low foothills to the dark sea. Moonlight glittered on the surface, breaking into a dozen pieces with the movement of the waves, until each piece danced to its own rhythm.

The softly lit estate was lined with greenery. She could just make out the silhouettes of tall, curving coconut trees that arched toward the sky, flanked by shorter, fan-shaped palms.

He helped her out, then yanked their bags from the trunk, holding one in each hand. “Come,” was all he said.

She followed him, clutching her carry-on. In the back of her head, a mantra had struck up: bad idea, bad idea, bad idea… . She shouldn’t have let him talk her into this. She should have made a few more calls. Tried more hotels…

Beyond the trees, a pair of spotlights illuminated an arched gateway of wrought iron, shaped like rambling vines curling and intertwining around each other. The word Rapture spanned the two supporting posts.

Dakota stopped short. “Tell me that’s not the name of the hotel!”

“I believe that’s the name of the hotel.” He seemed to be enjoying the shock in her voice. “Relax. It’s an adults-only resort. They’re all over the Caribbean: Hedonism, Sandals… It can’t be much different.”

“But why’d you pick this one?” she asked suspiciously. Maybe he was planning to take full advantage of all the delights available to a man of his stature at a festival like Jazz. She thought of the dizzy little groupie on the plane, with her diamond-studded tongue. Was Walker the kind of guy to choose the best of what was on offer at a concert and head back to his hotel to continue the party in private?

“By the time my assistant got around to booking, I didn’t have much to choose from. My travel agent said they had an opening, and I took it.” Then he reminded her, “It’s better than your alternative, correct?”

She conceded both his point and her rudeness. “Sorry. I’m very grateful—”

He cut her off. “So relax and enjoy it.” As he continued toward the entrance, his back turned to her, she heard him add, “You don’t have to swim in the nude pool if you don’t want to.”

“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.

“Hey,” he said reasonably, with that same easy smile that made him as much of a star as his singers, “if the Pilgrims and the Indians could call a truce long enough to eat…”

She could have countered with a sharp rejoinder about smallpox-infected blankets, but good manners forced her simply to nod in mute, weary gratitude.

He accepted her concession with the satisfaction of a man used to winning. “Twenty minutes, then.” He headed back to his room.

* * *

“Anything you don’t eat?” Trent asked as he studied the menu. All around them, guests were already dining in the gorgeously decorated hall. The meals were included in the price of the stay, so most of the hotel guests stayed on the grounds for dinner. The vaulted ceiling was bright white, and the glow from small lamps on each table danced along its surface like a light show.

Dakota sat in the comfortable polished teak chair, several degrees cooler now that she’d showered and changed into a light linen sleeveless dress with a square-cut neckline. She could have sworn for a second that, upon first seeing her, Trent’s eyes had lingered briefly at her bare collarbone before sliding downward and away, but she could be mistaken.

The air was filled with the dizzying scent of hot food, an opulent blend of roasted meats, baked yams and potatoes, and vegetables drizzled with olive oil. A sharp pang of hunger stabbed at her, reminding her it had been hours since she’d had anything.

“I’m not normally fussy, but I hope the soup of the day isn’t goat liver or something weird like that.” She was startled to find her sense of humor hadn’t abandoned her.

In response, the rigid squareness of his shoulders softened a little, letting her know she wasn’t the only one anxious over their arrangements. “Well, they cater to Americans and Europeans, so I’m sure they’ll have something less exotic for the guests. And I think that soup you’re talking about is called mannish water. It’s Jamaican, not Tobagonian.”

“Well, if I ever go there, I’m not having any.” She ran her finger around the top of her water glass, glad for something to focus on. Anything to keep her eyes off him.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He seemed as relieved as she was to have something safe to talk about. As if food could be a safe topic in a place like Rapture. From what she’d seen so far, she’d be grateful if the coconut mousse wasn’t molded in the shape of a penis.

As for her sense of adventure? She was having dinner in the least likely of places with the least likely of people. This was enough adventure for her.

At the next table, a movement caught her eye. A long-haired young man with deep blue eyes reached across the table to his companion, a champagne flute in his hand, and slowly drew the chilled glass over her left nipple. The woman laughed, and her physical reaction to the icy contact was instantly obvious as the small, hardened bump poked through the thin satin of her blouse. That simple gesture was so outrageously erotic that Dakota sucked in a lungful of air, shocked at herself for watching.