He managed a smile. “Rain check?”
Bijou wasn’t giving up without a fight. She untied the strings of her bikini halter top and dropped it. Her breasts sprung to life. He noted that they were a beautiful shade of brown with perky nipples. Her fingertips reached for his face, caressed his temples. She grabbed his hand and slipped his index finger into her mouth. “Still want to go back to the Grove?”
“Those...are...very beautiful.” He breathed in deeply. There was no denying he was aroused, but he stood his ground.
He didn’t know when it happened, but Alyson had become his new endeavor, and getting her attention had suddenly become his focus.
“Glad you like them.” She smiled seductively.
“Please put your top back on.”
“Was it something I said?” she asked. “I was too forward.”
“It’s not you. It’s me.” He sounded like a cliché, but he didn’t care. He had no desire to impress Bijou. “It’s just that I need to get back and speak with someone.”
“With that woman—Jasmine’s sister. The stuffy one,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s too bad she has such a bad attitude.”
“She’s beautiful, though,” Samson rebutted.
“She’s a bit overweight.”
Samson laughed at Bijou’s cattiness. He thought her jealousy was cute. Alyson was far from overweight, in his opinion. She had curves in all the right places. He thought she was sexy as hell, and couldn’t seem to get her out of his head. Bijou lifted her bikini top back up and tied it around her neck again. She started the truck, put it in Reverse and peeled out of the sand at full speed. He wasn’t sure she was able to drive at a normal pace, or even move at a normal pace, for that matter. A man usually had to work hard for what she was willing to give so freely. Fast was definitely her middle name. A week ago, he’d have appreciated Bijou’s audacity. Women had always been his weakness. He couldn’t think of anything better than a beautiful woman’s body pressed against his. But his priorities were suddenly beginning to change.
In an attempt to drown the uncomfortable silence in the truck, Bijou turned up the stereo as loud as it would go. He gazed out the window to keep from looking her way. He wanted to apologize to her, but couldn’t find the words. He just needed to be back at the Grove, and it seemed he couldn’t get there soon enough.
* * *
He found Alyson in the common area at Samson Place. She was reclined on the tangerine-colored antique sofa, pecking ferociously on the keyboard of her laptop. Instead of approaching her immediately, he found his way to the kitchen. Raquel, one of the Grove’s Bahamian cooks, stood in front of the stove with an apron tied around her generous hips.
“Can I get two cups of tea, please?” he asked.
Raquel stopped stirring something in a huge pot, just long enough to look at him. “She likes green tea, with a splash of lemon and just a drizzle of honey,” she said in her sweet Bahamian accent.
“You mean Alyson?”
“Yes, Miss Talbot is very specific about her tea, amongst other things,” she said as she placed a fire beneath the teakettle and grabbed two large mugs from the mahogany cabinet. “And how do you like your tea, Mr. Steel?”
He wondered how she knew his name. It seemed that everyone around the island had become fully acquainted with him.
“I’ll have mine the same way as hers, I guess.”
“She’s mad. You know that, right?” Raquel asked. “You messed up royally.”
“You heard her mention it?”
“The whole house did.” Raquel shook her head. “Came in here ranting and raving about her time being valuable, and her clothes and hair being ruined.”
“Wow,” he said.
“Just be yourself, and apologize profusely.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“I’ve known the Talbots for a long time, and it wasn’t that long ago that I changed Alyson’s diapers.” Raquel smiled. “She has a hard exterior, but the truth is, she’s a real softy on the inside...if you can manage to get in there.”
“I don’t see anything soft about Alyson Talbot, except maybe...” He caught himself, realized that he’d said too much. “Never mind.”
“Now, see, that’s what’s wrong, Mister Steel. You got your priorities all mixed up. Thinking with the wrong head. You’re out gallivanting about town with Bijou, doing God only knows what, and now you want to make amends with Miss Talbot. Such a man!”
“I didn’t... I mean, Bijou and I didn’t...”
“I don’t want to hear any of the details, honey. You just need to make up your mind as to what it is that you want.”
“You know a lot about things, Miss Raquel.”
“I know about everything that goes on around here,” she told Samson.
Samson laughed. Where he was from, there was a name for people like Miss Raquel—nosy. Once the teakettle whistled, Raquel made green tea with splashes of lemon and drizzles of honey and then sent him on his way.
“Now go. Be persistent. No woman wants a mouse of a man.”
“I’m not a mouse, Miss Raquel. I’m far from that.”
“Well, good! Because she’s strong and needs someone to take charge. And don’t take no for an answer.” She didn’t smile, but gave him a nod. “Now, go on, child.”
“Thank you.”
He cautiously stepped out of the kitchen and headed toward the area where Alyson was engrossed in her computer. He placed the mug on the rustic coffee table in front of her. “Just the way you like it,” he said.
She stopped pecking on her keyboard for a second, looked up at him and then at the cup. “And how do you know how I like it?”
“I have my sources.”
“Raquel has a big mouth.” She began typing again.
“I need you to accept my apology. What I did was juvenile and thoughtless.” He plopped down in the chair opposite the sofa.
“Already forgotten.” She grabbed the cup and took a sip. A look of satisfaction briefly appeared on her face.
“Could’ve fooled me. You keep giving me these looks of disgust—scowling at me.”
“Maybe it’s your own imagination. Don’t give yourself so much credit,” she said.
“So you’re not scowling at me?”
“Nope,” she lied, and then changed the subject. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
“You mean my tour of the island? I did indeed.”
“And I’m sure you enjoyed your beautiful tour guide, as well.”
“Bijou is a nice girl.”
“I agree. Hopefully she doesn’t get taken advantage of by the likes of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean—‘the likes of me’?”
“Playboy, philanderer. You choose the term.”
“I love women. That’s not something I can argue. In some circles I might be considered a playboy, if you will.” He wasn’t helping his case very much.