lives up to all your fantasies.”
Our chests touch as he brushes past me to get out the door. I’m aroused, and from the way he hardens, I know he is, too. Does this tempt him to forgive my stupidity?
No. The door closes silently behind him.
I lean over the basin to splash cold water on my face.
I wish I could take a cold shower.
It will be the first thing I do when I get to my room in Eden Key, which the brochure describes as “the epitome of sensuality, what with its heart shaped feather beds, mirrored ceilings, two-person Jacuzzi tubs, libido-warming fireplace, and plush bathrobes—optional attire, since nudity is welcomed with open arms, and your privacy is always guaranteed.”
Not to mention my loneliness.
On this mission, it is my penance.
Suddenly I want to go home.
That is to say, to be in Jack’s arms again.
Chapter 5
How to Stuff a Wild Bikini
If your vacation includes warm weather and a beach, packing a swimsuit is a must. Oh, pshaw to your lame excuses for staying wrapped in some sack-like muumuu! Time to show a little flesh, if only for these three reasons:
Reason #1: Anticipating the day in which you can squeeze into your bikini will help curb your appetite. (Or it will make you cry. And if you’re crying, trust me, so is everyone else, all up and down the beach.)
Reason #2: Putting on a bathing suit encourages you to get into the water, and we all know swimming is great exercise—especially when swimming away from stingrays, jellyfish, or sharks. Who knew you had a perfect breast stroke, and can complete it in Olympic-worthy time?
Reason #3: You need your daily dose of Vitamin D. Remember, thirty minutes of sun, each and every day, keeps the doctor away! (Or close at hand, depending on how you look in that suit. If it has his temperature rising, expect him to offer you Vitamin F injections, too.)
And remember, the perfect itty bitty for you is the Bond Girl bikini. You know the one: it has a thick belt worn low on your hips—where you’ll carry your assassin’s knife.
“Welcome to Fantasy Island!” Mr. Boarke’s voice booms out from the far reaches of the gently sloping lawn, which ends at the edge of the resort’s private runway. As he approaches, his gait is more of a glide: leisurely in pace, but with purpose.
On the other hand Battoo is practically beside himself with joy at seeing us. He shouts, “The plane! The plane—” as he yanks a cord that pulls the large bell hanging from an enormous wooden tower.
Both men are dressed in their iconic white linen suits, as are the three drivers who stand beside the trams marked with the logos of the island’s three resorts: Kamp KidStuff, the Hunt Club, and of course Eden Key.
Everyone coming off the plane gets a photo op with Boarke. After all, he is the island’s celebrity. The flight crew stands behind them, straight as soldiers and beaming from ear to ear. They’ve arranged it so that the first guests off the plane are those heading for Kamp KidStuff. Boarke gives the parents hearty handshakes. His warnings, to slather on lots of sunscreen, leave parents just as giddy as their children as they rush to grab seats on their tram.
Many of those whose final destination is Eden Key are still primping and scoping out potential partners, not to mention the competition. This includes Dominic. He must think the pickings are slim because he has the nerve to give me a smile and a wink.
If he thinks I want to kiss and make up, he’s got another thing coming. My frown warns him to keep his distance. If I hadn’t needed to hold Jack back, I would have smacked him myself.
Nah, he would have liked it too much.
I’m standing by three women. One, a frowzy fifty-something whose hair is too dark to be her real color, blows a perfect smoke ring over my head as she gives me the once-over. She jerks her head in Dominic’s direction. “Hey Red, Handsome over there thinks you’re adorable. What are you waiting for, a
Our chests touch as he brushes past me to get out the door. I’m aroused, and from the way he hardens, I know he is, too. Does this tempt him to forgive my stupidity?
No. The door closes silently behind him.
I lean over the basin to splash cold water on my face.
I wish I could take a cold shower.
It will be the first thing I do when I get to my room in Eden Key, which the brochure describes as “the epitome of sensuality, what with its heart shaped feather beds, mirrored ceilings, two-person Jacuzzi tubs, libido-warming fireplace, and plush bathrobes—optional attire, since nudity is welcomed with open arms, and your privacy is always guaranteed.”
Not to mention my loneliness.
On this mission, it is my penance.
Suddenly I want to go home.
That is to say, to be in Jack’s arms again.
Chapter 5
How to Stuff a Wild Bikini
If your vacation includes warm weather and a beach, packing a swimsuit is a must. Oh, pshaw to your lame excuses for staying wrapped in some sack-like muumuu! Time to show a little flesh, if only for these three reasons:
Reason #1: Anticipating the day in which you can squeeze into your bikini will help curb your appetite. (Or it will make you cry. And if you’re crying, trust me, so is everyone else, all up and down the beach.)
Reason #2: Putting on a bathing suit encourages you to get into the water, and we all know swimming is great exercise—especially when swimming away from stingrays, jellyfish, or sharks. Who knew you had a perfect breast stroke, and can complete it in Olympic-worthy time?
Reason #3: You need your daily dose of Vitamin D. Remember, thirty minutes of sun, each and every day, keeps the doctor away! (Or close at hand, depending on how you look in that suit. If it has his temperature rising, expect him to offer you Vitamin F injections, too.)
And remember, the perfect itty bitty for you is the Bond Girl bikini. You know the one: it has a thick belt worn low on your hips—where you’ll carry your assassin’s knife.
“Welcome to Fantasy Island!” Mr. Boarke’s voice booms out from the far reaches of the gently sloping lawn, which ends at the edge of the resort’s private runway. As he approaches, his gait is more of a glide: leisurely in pace, but with purpose.
On the other hand Battoo is practically beside himself with joy at seeing us. He shouts, “The plane! The plane—” as he yanks a cord that pulls the large bell hanging from an enormous wooden tower.
Both men are dressed in their iconic white linen suits, as are the three drivers who stand beside the trams marked with the logos of the island’s three resorts: Kamp KidStuff, the Hunt Club, and of course Eden Key.
Everyone coming off the plane gets a photo op with Boarke. After all, he is the island’s celebrity. The flight crew stands behind them, straight as soldiers and beaming from ear to ear. They’ve arranged it so that the first guests off the plane are those heading for Kamp KidStuff. Boarke gives the parents hearty handshakes. His warnings, to slather on lots of sunscreen, leave parents just as giddy as their children as they rush to grab seats on their tram.
Many of those whose final destination is Eden Key are still primping and scoping out potential partners, not to mention the competition. This includes Dominic. He must think the pickings are slim because he has the nerve to give me a smile and a wink.
If he thinks I want to kiss and make up, he’s got another thing coming. My frown warns him to keep his distance. If I hadn’t needed to hold Jack back, I would have smacked him myself.
Nah, he would have liked it too much.
I’m standing by three women. One, a frowzy fifty-something whose hair is too dark to be her real color, blows a perfect smoke ring over my head as she gives me the once-over. She jerks her head in Dominic’s direction. “Hey Red, Handsome over there thinks you’re adorable. What are you waiting for, a
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