CHAPTER 7
THE STORMhad moved out by dawn, and all the guests seemed to have come out in celebration. By the time Tony had showered and shaved and trekked to the restaurant, all the tables by the pool were full except one. Fortunately, the empty one had an umbrella and a blind side, and he slid into the vacant seat, grateful for the shade and the out-of-the-way location.
Right now, all he wanted to do was sip coffee, let the island’s morning sounds drift over him, and think about Kyra. In his own cabana, he’d iced his back again, trying to repair some of the damage he’d done. He’d fallen asleep and dreamt of her. Now he wanted to sit outdoors and think about her some more. He could still smell her on his skin, still feel her kisses on his lips.
He had nothing at all planned for the day, and he intended to use every lazy hour to repeat—over and over until he was certain he wouldn’t forget even the slightest sigh, the most delicate moan—every moment spent with her last night. He needed those memories to sustain him for the rest of his vacation. Because no matter how much he wanted to feel the press of her bodyagainst his again, he’d come to the unwelcome conclusion that a repeat performance would be a mistake. A huge mistake.
If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have known better than to go to her in the first place. But he’d lost his head, had foolishly assumed that staying anonymous would somehow protect him. Now, though…
If he went back, he was sure to lose his heart. And, frankly, he wasn’t sure he could handle that.
She might not know who he was, but he damn sure knew her. Already the thought of walking away at the end of a week made his stomach churn. Better to end it now. A clean break. He’d stay away, she’d never find him, and they’d never have to part. Or, worse, she’d never find out the truth and turn away from him.
It was for the best, and he tossed back a slug of scalding-hot coffee, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, determined to focus only on last night…not the lonely nights to come.
“Do you mind sharing?”
Her voice.
When he opened his eyes, there she was, smiling down at him and looking just as beautiful as she had the night before. He tensed, fearing she would recognize him, then exhaled as he remembered he’d shed his disguise. Michael’s green eye and beard were gone. And Tony’s scar was right there for all the world to see.
He turned in his chair, keeping his good side towardher. “I’m sorry,” he said stupidly, realizing he hadn’t processed a word she’d said. “I’m—”
“Tony, right?” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m glad I’m not the only one eating breakfast at noon.” She smiled. “I’m Kyra, by the way. We met yesterday.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.”
“I’m not intruding, am I?”
“No, not at all. Help yourself.”
She filled her cup from the thermos on the table, then unscrewed the lid and looked inside. “Guess I emptied it.” She shrugged, then signaled the waiter to bring coffee. “Thanks for letting me join you. There’s no empty table and, well, you’re the only one I even sort of know.”
“I thought you ate in your cabana.” The second he said the words, he realized his mistake.
Her brow furrowed. “How on earth would you know that?”
He tried to grin, wasn’t quite sure he succeeded. “Stuart,” he lied. “He, uh, said all the women ordered breakfast in. And hardly any of the guys did. So, uh, we figured that illustrated some major difference in the sexes, but we didn’t exactly know what.”
“Oh.” She frowned, pondering the conundrum. “Maybe women like to eat in their underwear more than men do.”
“Maybe so.” He started to reach for her hand, then remembered he wasn’t Michael and pulled it backquickly, grappling for something to say to keep her talking, just so he could keep listening to the sound of her voice. “Looks like you went to the trouble of getting dressed. No breakfast in your underwear.” Mentally, he rolled his eyes.Oh, yeah. That’s great conversation. Not.
She glanced down at her outfit, a flowing sundress and a straw hat. “Well, polite society and all that.”
“So why did you venture out?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she stirred her coffee absently.
“A wild night?” he asked. He knew he was fishing, but he couldn’t help it. If he couldn’t spend the day with her as Michael, at least he could spend a few minutes as Tony over a late breakfast.
Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and he could tell she was trying to decide how much to tell him. After a few seconds, she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “A spectacular night.”
She sat back in her chair and spread the napkin in her lap. “They must have delivered the tray to my door at seven as always. But I didn’t even wake up until eleven. When I found the food, it was ice-cold.”
“Sounds like you did have a good time last night.” He kept his face bland even while his purely male ego was busy congratulating itself. “Someone you met at the party?”
“Not exactly.” She waved to a waitress who came over and took her order, then refilled the coffee carafe.“Did you go? C.J. and I were wondering if you were there.”
