Business. Why the heck was she talking about it again?
She bent to lay her tongue to him, this time concentrating on his shaft. Greedily, she tasted him up and down as he encouraged her with building groans. Cherry, skin, Wes…
Stimulated by his enjoyment, she took him all the way into her mouth, swirling her tongue around him, up and down, sucking, lingering, getting a sugar rush that hummed in her veins.
Oh, he tasted so good…delicious…
His hands bunched her hair, and when he came, he filled her mouth. She savored that, too, swallowing. She rubbed her cheek lower, against his inner thigh. His leg hair crisped against her skin, the scent of sweet male satiating her.
Dizzy, she rose away from him. Sweat beaded his chest, his upper lip, and he was gasping for air, just as she was. Her pulse jackhammered from her chest to her sex, tearing her into a thousand pieces, making her tummy roil again.
“Come here,” he whispered raggedly, reaching for her.
Her stomach jumped, but she obeyed, falling over him, mouth seeking his. She grinded her hips against his to alleviate the pressure that’d built between her legs. Even though he’d climaxed, he was still going strong. She rocked against him, wishing she didn’t still have her jeans on, wishing he was inside of her.
As they devoured each other, nipping, sucking, tonguing, the world rolled inside Erin’s head.
Words flashed through her, blinding her sight with neon distraction: You can stop looking for the man of your dreams.
She tried to shut out the fortune-teller, instead reaching for her zipper to undo it. Fun, freedom, immunity from seriousness, that’s all she wanted right now.
You’ve already found ‘the one.’
Panic began to overtake Erin, materializing in clumsiness as she fumbled with her jeans. The sea seemed to lift the ship, and it got to her, making her come up from Wes for a deep breath.
Again, a wave seemed to rock the boat, and Erin’s head went tight.
You reject what love has in store for you, and you twist karma around until it comes right back at you with negative energy.
Closing her eyes, Erin backed away from Wes, holding her forehead. “Dammit.”
“Hey…” he said, cradling her face.
But she pulled away, lying on her side until the ship stopped moving. “Are we in bad weather or something? I…”
She stopped, the taste of candy suddenly like copper in her mouth. Wes was just a short fling, no more, that’s all either of them wanted from each other-
Wes was stroking her hair, obviously concerned. “The ship’s not moving. What’s wrong?”
The answer was clear.
Cursed.
Her karma truly was bent out of shape, and seasickness was the price she’d have to pay this time.
6
IT’D BEEN A ROUGH NIGHT.
And it hadn’t been because Wes had stayed up half the time making sure Erin was taken care of, either. No, he hadn’t minded running a washcloth under water so he could put it on her forehead. He hadn’t even minded going to the gift store for aspirin and those “seasick” bracelets, which were like sweatbands with a bead that pressed against the pressure points on your wrist to cancel the nausea.
Uh-uh. The night had sucked because, once again, he and Erin had been getting so damned close to what he wanted. But it’d also been much too far away.
Fighting his pent-up, eternal state of arousal and the hope of the closeness that might come out of all this, he left Erin sleeping and went to a buffet, bringing back some breakfast for them to share. But upon his return, he found her out of bed and in the shower. So he left the pastries and took a quick trip to the fitness room, where he worked off a load of frustration on a rowing machine.
Of course, that didn’t do crap. He was still wound up and ready to blow. Last night’s candy-coated games and intimacy had only given him a taste of what was in store with a woman like Erin, and it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
When he came back to the cabin, Erin was off somewhere, so he showered and, by the time he stepped out of the small bathroom, she’d left a phone message for him to meet her for a fresh-air Ensenada jaunt. She said she’d be in the atrium, where she was accessing her business e-mail via a bank of computers. He didn’t feel the same compulsion, seeing as Wall Street was closed.
No, he felt a much different urgency. But when he saw her in the Internet Café, her complexion was still a little wan, so he didn’t suggest going back to the room. She was right: the fresh air and solid land of an off-ship excursion would do her good.
Now, as they checked out and strolled down the gangplank to encounter the cool, misted air outside, Wes told himself that, yeah, this really was the right thing to be doing: being a gentleman and not jumping all over her when she was under the weather.
A gentleman, he thought, biting back a smile. Sure.
Immediately off the deck, they entered a building with a sign that said Welcome To Ensenada and that held an assortment of tourist shop stalls. Some sold imitation designer watches, some sold salsa and colorful Mexican blankets.
Erin meandered over to a table decorated with a selection of leather bracelets. Lingering over a particular one with flowers, she held it against her wrist, smiled a little, then put it back down.
“You don’t like it?” Wes asked, surprised to find that he was actually into watching her shop. But, hell, didn’t every one of her moves hold him in thrall?
“It’s not me, I think.”
He glanced back at the bracelet, straightforward in its elegance. She’d look great wearing it, even though the band was simple and no doubt inexpensive. She was worth diamonds, he thought, but there was something about her that made him think more of a buried earthiness where diamonds would be discovered and later polished to a shine.
When Erin wandered over to a toy stall, he quickly asked the shopwoman, “¿Cuánto?” and paid the ten American dollars she asked for. No normal wheeling and dealing today.
Tucking the purchase into his leather jacket pocket, he grinned at the woman, thinking that Erin would be surprised later by seeing the bracelet. Misinterpreting his gesture, the shopkeeper blushed and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear.
Oops.
Wes turned around, joining his…What was Erin to him? Girlfriend? Bed buddy? More?
He turned over that last possibility in his mind as Erin bought something from a different shop. Seconds later, she turned from the salesman to show Wes what it was, her gray eyes twinkling.
“It’s for one of my nephews,” she said, showing him a small jack-in-the-box.
A nephew. A sign of everyday life outside of this cruise. For some reason, the mention of that sort of thing scared Wes, maybe because it drove home that she’d become far more important, far more real, to him in just a couple of weeks than any other woman in the course of his lifetime.
“How old is he?” Wes asked as they started to walk toward the building’s exit.
“Three. Look.” She turned the side crank on the box, and “Pop Goes the Weasel” chimed out. She hummed along with it.
But when it came time for the surprise to burst out, she stopped.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t tell me that’s cursed, too.”
She cracked up, and he reached over to complete the song. When it ended, the clown exploded out of the container, and she flinched.
She put a hand to her chest, laughing. “I’m not so good with…well, things I can’t predict.”
For some reason, there was more to what she was saying than the literal. He thought about her fidgeting whenever she talked about franchising her candy shop, thought about the look in her eyes every time they started to kiss.