In Too Deep Page 8

  She put her fork down on her plate and opened her eyes very wide. "Really?"

  "Absolutely. You need sex and lots of it. Administered by the right person, of course."

  "Of course. Hmmm. I'm going to have to give this serious thought, Doctor…" She bit her lower lip and opened her eyes very wide. "With careful deliberation…" She cocked her head and gave him a sultry look. "I'm afraid I must… disagree. My problem isn't sexual tension, it's a deep-seated homicidal tendency." She smiled at him sweetly and picked up her fork. "If I stick to my medication, and stay away from attractive, half-naked men wearing eye patches, I think I'll recover in no time."

  "You're a dangerous woman, Tally Cruise."

  She met his gaze head-on without blinking. "I have no illusions. I know what I am, Michael," she said, all seriousness now. "And all flirting aside, I'm really not going to sleep with you again. I know I instigated it, and I'm certainly not sorry, but that was it. I don't respect women who say one thing and do another. I enjoy the flirting part, but I have to make it clear that it's hands-off for the duration."

  "Honey, you have the final say, and I certainly appreciate you spelling it out for me. I'm just curious why, when we have such obvious chemistry, you want to put the kibosh on a good thing?"

  "You're far too rich for my blood, Michael. I can't handle recreational sex. Trust me when I tell you this sophisticated façade is paper thin. Inside, I'm still that insecure little kid being dragged from pillar to post with my mother, and never quite fitting in."

  "You fit me rather nicely last night."

  "Yes. Let's cherish the memory," she said with a demure smile.

  The mahi mahi was tender, cooked to perfection, and delicious. She dug into her meal with delicate greed. She wouldn't sleep with him again. Unfortunately. Tally knew herself too well. Michael Wright was charming, amusing, and sexy. She was halfway in lo—lust with him already.

  One taste had been incredible; another would involve a part of her anatomy she wasn't prepared to give up to a wanderer. When she gave her heart completely, it would be to a man who had both feet firmly planted. She'd had precious little stability in her life, and over the years she'd carved out a place for herself. A place where she felt safe.

  As sexy and attractive, and downright appealing as Michael Wright was, as incredible a lover as he was, he wasn't the hearth-and-home type.

  Tally wasn't going to settle for anything less.

  No matter how tempting the package.

  "This is delicious, isn't it? Do you have a big family?" she asked curiously. Michael wanted to vault over the glass table and lick that sheen off her lush lips. He took a swig of his beer instead. The taste wasn't even close.

  "No, wait," she said, sparkly eyed, before he could speak. "Let me guess."

  "Go for it."

  "You're how old? Forty?" she teased.

  "Thirty-four."

  "Oh. Hard childhood. You were an orphan. Foster families, cruel, inhumane, of course."

  "Of course."

  "You were a runaway, always in trouble." She cocked her head. "Hmm. What kind of trouble? You're too in control to do drugs. Numbers running? The ponies?"

  His lips twitched. "Are you finished?"

  "I don't know. Was it better? Worse?"

  "What gives you the impression I was an orphan?"

  She shrugged. "I read a lot. The hero always has some sort of angsty background."

  He went still. "I'm no hero."

  "Am I right about any of it?"

  "Not even close. I have a kid sister I adore. Three brothers I'm crazy about, and a father I get on with very well."

  "Oh. Well, I'm glad you weren't an orphan, anyway." She picked up her water glass and took a drink. "Can anything be done about your eye, or is it a permanent injury?"

  Michael stared at her. No one. No one! Had ever asked about his eye. Even his family only knew the barest of details. "It's permanent. And I don't talk about it."

  "Perhaps you should."

  "I. Don't. Talk. About. It."

  "Does it hurt?"

  "No."

  "You'll work through it, you know."

  "What the hell are you? A psychiatrist?"

  "Brooding doesn't appear to be in your nature—or at least not intrinsically. I imagine you're going through a learning period. A time of adjustment. When you've come to terms with it, you'll adjust beautifully, and go back to whatever you were doing before you decided to hide, while sailing the seven seas."

  "Jesus, Tally Cruise, are you for real?"

  Chapter Six

  « ^ »

  Tally rolled over and punched her pillow. She'd upset Michael with her questions about his eye. Why couldn't she learn to shut up? Sometimes her brain disengaged from her mouth, and she just blurted out her thoughts before filtering them.

  She'd like to blame him for her open-mouth-insert-foot comments. Damn it, he'd sat there, bare and delicious looking—and reasonable!—and had expected her to have a rational conversation? Tally groaned. This was absolutely the most ridiculous, the most inappropriate behavior. She'd been shocked at the salacious thoughts dancing through her mind while she'd watched him eating.

  At one point, when he'd dropped that slice of melon on his chest, she'd stared at the damp spot it left behind and had fantasized how the combination of Michael and melon would taste.

  She rolled over again. Too hot. Too wound up to go to sleep, and punched the stupid, not down, pillow. "Get out of my head, blast you!"

  She tugged the front of her pajamas away from her far too sensitive nipples, and scissored her legs to find a cool spot on the tangled sheets. That was a bad idea.

  She rolled over again, eyes squeezed shut. You are getting sleepy… horny was more like it!

  Sleeeepy, damn it. Verry veryyy sleeeepy…

  Nope. Wasn't working. She wasn't the least bit sleepy.

  Self-hypnosis was a bust, and she didn't want to count sheep. What she wanted was Michael Wright in bed, inside her.

  She stared at the ceiling, softly lit by the dim glow of the night-light, and tried to convince herself that not repeating their sexual encounter was the right thing. Okay, fine. It had felt right at the time, but now she was reasonably rational, she had no excuse.

  She turned over on her tummy. It wasn't as though the man meant anything to her. How could he? After such a short time? Women needed emotional involvement as well as physical release. At least she did…

  Tally groaned. Was she trying to talk herself into taking the easy road and sleeping with him again? God only knew, her body was rarin' to go.

  Sleeepy.

  Nope. Cold turkey was the right thing to do here.

  Why was he so blasted intriguing? Tally flopped over onto her back. She'd never lost sleep over any other man, but then, she'd never felt this kind of erotic heat in her life. She liked the feeling too much, so it couldn't possibly be good for her. She wriggled onto her side, punched the pillow, groaned, then turned on her stomach.

  Not only was it inappropriate to say the least, the feelings weren't reciprocal. Which basically made her pathetic.

  Michael Wright had slept with her because she'd crawled into his bed and let him do whatever he'd wanted with her. And, God help her, let her do whatever she'd wanted to him. Her cheeks flamed. Holy cow, she couldn't believe some of the things she'd done to his body. Michael Wright knew what he was doing in the lovemaking department, that's for sure. But she wasn't sure he was fully engaged in the exchange.

  Sleeepy. Very, very sleepy.

  "Oh, for Pete's sake!" She was ready for this night to end. She buried her face in the pillow. She wanted to sleep. She needed sleep. Tally lifted her head and flipped the pillow over to the cool side. It didn't help that it was barely ten p.m. when she'd come to bed. Far too early. No wonder she couldn't—

  Her eyes flew open as a barely audible sound superimposed itself over the faint hum of voices from the bar below.

  Was that Michael coming upstairs to
bed? Her entire body tensed, as if for action. Would he stop outside her door, hoping she was awake? Would he be tempted to come in?

  "You are such a wuss," she whispered. "Get a grip." She didn't hear the noise again and tried to relax.

  Her bedroom door snicked open.

  Wait a minute…

  Her door?

  Oh. My. God. Tally's eyes flew open, and her heart almost stopped as realization struck: He's come to my room. Be still my heart.

  Oh, Lord. She'd categorically told him no more sex, then flirted with him. She'd given off completely mixed signals, but damn it, that was because she was feeling mixed signals. Her body wanted va va voom, and her brain was sending a Klaxon call of warning.

  Tally froze, listening to his stealthy footsteps approaching the bed. She didn't know what to do. Sit up and say, "Come on in," or pretend to be asleep, or yell at him for crossing the line she'd drawn in the sand.

  His footsteps stopped, and the soft, comforting glow in the room was suddenly extinguished. He'd unplugged the small night-light by the door.

  Fear tangled with desire and damn near squashed it. I wish you hadn't done that. Dark was the last thing she needed right now. She was already overstimulated, and the man hadn't done anything. Yet. Tally squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pretending she was bathed in candlelight.

  It helped. A little.

  Her heartbeat sped up, and every sense vibrated as Michael crossed from the door to the bed.

  She opted for pretending she was asleep. Cowardly, perhaps, but nonconfrontational and safe; the best course for this time of night.

  His footfall was quiet, a soft shift of bare feet on wood. She wanted to roll over to greet him. With open arms.

  No, she didn't. What was she thinking? This would be a good time to "wake up" and tell him to get the hell out. This would be a perfect time to get her body and her brain to cooperate and come up with a definitive N-O. How the hell could she make it clear to him when it was as clear as mud to her?

  Tally lay still, barely breathing, her body humming with anticipation. With sheer, unadulterated lust.

  The footsteps stopped beside the bed.

  Under the pillow beneath her head her fingernails bit into her palm. If they made love again, there'd be no going back. If she managed to get a grip on her raging hormones and tell him her decision had been final, that would be that.

  To holiday fling, or not holiday fling. That was the question.

  Make up your mind, Tallulah!

  It was now or never. She started to roll over. The movement was arrested by a large palm slapped roughly over her mouth.

  "Heyth!" The callused hand tightened painfully. Tally struggled to sit up even as she tried to shove the restraint away. He was strong and determined. She couldn't even manage to lift her head from the pillow.

  The son of a bitch hadn't taken no for an answer after all.

  Infuriated, Tally tried to break his grip on her face. One of her arms was pinned beneath her head. The other trapped against her body by the sheet he was apparently kneeling on.

  The nerve of the man. The unmitigated gall. How dare he come in here and just grab her after she'd…

  Oh, God. This was not Michael.

  He bent over to whisper something in her ear. Tally hadn't a clue what he'd just said. It sounded like French. Did he think that phony accent would turn her on? The man was crazy.

  He put more of his considerable weight against her shoulder, squishing her into the mattress, and whispered menacingly. "This will go much worse for you if you fight me."

  He'd been drinking. His breath smelled like whiskey aged in a fish barrel. Ew!

  Tally struggled harder, managing to free her legs but not her upper body. She tried to reach the flashlight she kept on the bedside table. It was lightweight, but big enough to give him a nasty conk on his head. Unfortunately, it was just out of reach.

  She couldn't get his hand off her mouth to scream, and besides, the noise in the bar downstairs would drown out any sound from her room.

  She struggled, this time freeing an elbow and jerking it backwards with enough force to elicit a hoarse curse as it struck his thigh. His hand tightened on her face. He said something else, but the blood pounding in her ears made hearing damn difficult.

  Something cold and sharp touched her throat. Tally froze. He had a knife? The son of a bitch had a knife at her throat?

  That's it! Tally pushed the weapon away from her skin, so furious, she didn't care if the sicko cut her in the process.

  With almost superhuman strength, she shoved away. Free, she scrambled to her knees and then bounded to her feet to stand—no, bounce—on the sagging mattress. Vaguely, she heard the knife clatter to the hardwood floor as she grabbed him by the hair and shook him like a rat.

  "Hurensohn!" she shouted in German. "You sorry excuse for a man." Shake. "Kaproskilo! Scum-sucking dirt wad." Shake. "Lowlife opportunist. You—"

  "Mon Dieu!" The man grabbed her hands fisted in his hair. "Merde."

  "Who are you? What are you doing in my room?" Tally paused, her fingers buried in his hair. Coarse, thin, oily hair.

  Oh, gross. "What"—she held on, and shook him again—"do you want?"

  "You are a dead woman," he said in gutter French. "A dead woman."

  She yanked harder. "For a dead woman, I have quite a grip, don't I, you motherless bastard?"

  "Let go or die."

  "Let go and die, you mean. What do you want? What have I done to you?" She demanded, in French.

  He shackled her wrists and threw her backwards. Tally landed flat on her back on the mattress, the man fell with her, crushing her chest. One arm was pinned beneath her own hip, the other was pinned by the weight of his body. She squirmed beneath him. He wasn't budging.

  His hands came up around her throat. He was strong and determined. She gagged. Coughed. Gagged again. Brilliant lights starburst in the blackness of Tally's vision.

  Her right hand was palm up, and she could feel his heavy erection twitch against her fingers. Oh, Jesus. Fighting to stay conscious, Tally tried to free either of her arms so that she could try to fight him off. Their combined weight made the task impossible.

  With sheer gut instinct she closed her hand around the man's testicles and penis in a death grip. And squeezed with all her strength. The pressure immediately relaxed around her throat. She squeezed harder, digging her long nails into his flesh through his pants.

  He screamed. High-pitched and loud. Still holding on, she levered her upper body off the bed. He was cursing in virulent French, bent over, trying to protect his privates while scrabbling for her wrist. Tally managed to get a two-handed grip on his body parts. As disgusting as it was, she wasn't letting go for anything.

  His elbow smacked her check as he flailed around, in too much pain to be effective fighting her off. Good. She held to him as tightly as she could. Her hands numb with the pressure, her nails imbedded to the quick. There was no more erection of course, just a limp, disgusting noodle stretched to its limit. She was going to be grossed out as soon as she could figure out what to do next.

  Oh, Lord. What am I supposed to do with him now? Staring blindly into the darkness, she shouted, "Michael! Help!"

  Tally dragged the guy to the window like a pull toy. His language was blue and fierce, but of course, like any man, he followed his penis. She stepped outside onto the narrow wood lanai. The star-studded sky didn't give off enough light. But she saw that he was hunched over almost double, his hands clutched over hers, moaning in pain. Tally dug her nails in harder.

  Below the balcony was Auntie's beautiful tropical garden. No stairs. So he'd come in through the bar and up the inside stairs. She gave a sharp twist. He screamed like a girl. "Tell me why you wanted to hurt me?" she demanded, trying to figure out what the hell to do now.

  "I was looking for… money," he said in a rapid spate of French interspersed with much sobbing. "You will release my penis, and I shall go."

  "And come back
to rob me another time? I don't think so."

  "Non. I will tell h—mon Dieu! Release me, I beg this of you."

  Because she obviously couldn't stand there forever gripping the man's balls, Tally let go. And while he was still moaning and hunched over hugging his privates, she pushed him over the balcony to the lanai below.

  There was a thump, a loud rustle of foliage, and then silence.

  Without looking down, she rushed back inside and slammed the French door behind her. Grabbing the rattan chair near the bed, she wedged it under the handles. Useless, of course. Anyone wanting to come in only needed to give a hard push and the chair would slide across the wood floor.

  Tally fumbled in the dark for the flashlight she always kept beside the bed, then pulled the thin drapes closed across the glass door with shaking hands. With the light to guide her, she went across the room and turned the useless lock in the doorknob, then flicked on the overhead light.

  Better. Much better. She peered at her throat in the mirror by the door. Her neck was already starting to bruise, and damn it, the son of a bitch had cut her. She felt sick to her stomach at the violence. Two near-death experiences since she'd been here was two too many.

  This was a little more reality than she was ready for. From downstairs came the sound of people laughing, talking, having fun. She hesitated, almost scared enough to go racing downstairs in her jammies.

  But not quite.

  She pulled off her pj's, and dragged on a pair of camel linen slacks, and a tailored white linen shirt with natural bone buttons. Barefoot, she opened the door into the hallway. If it hadn't been for the stream of light from her room, the hallway would've been pitch-dark. She went back inside to get the flashlight. If need be, she'd use it like a club.

  A quick glance to the left showed Michael's door ajar. Had he come upstairs yet or was he still downstairs drinking and carousing with the locals? He wasn't the type of man to go to bed at ten o'clock. At least not alone.

  She hesitated. Michael, or downstairs?

  Surely he wouldn't sleep with her one night, and bring Leli'a to his room right in her auntie's hotel the next? The thought of Michael Wright having hot sex with the beautiful Tahitian girl made Tally's stomach roll.