Love At Last Page 5

  Stupid, even this tiny sliver of disappointment she felt.

  “Clare. Hey. Wait up.”

  She slowed and turned to see Deacon jogging toward her. He caught up and fell into step beside her. “I know Leslie from way back. We were in vet school together.”

  “Right. That’s what you said. Great to catch up with old friends.” Or more than friends.

  “I haven’t seen her in…so many years, I can’t even remember.”

  “It’s okay, Deacon. Really,” she said, making sure she didn’t sound mad. She wasn’t mad. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Right. Well, I just thought…” He lifted his hands then let them fall back to his sides as they walked. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  She took in his distressed expression. “That I don’t have a lot of faith in men right now?”

  “Maybe.” The look in his eyes softened. “And maybe I feel called upon to redeem my sex.”

  “You don’t have to redeem your entire sex. I think that’s too much for one man.”

  “Ouch,” he said, wincing like she’d delivered a blow. “You don’t think I could do it?”

  He was flirting with her, and she reminded herself she had nothing to feel guilty about if she felt like flirting back.

  “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the music, now a sexy Latin beat.

  She really didn’t want to go back to her room. “Okay,” she said, giving in to the smile she felt. “I’ll give it an hour.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  * * *

  THEY FOLLOWED THE SOUND of steel drums and a samba beat. A small band played in the open-air lobby, creating a lively, Caribbean party atmosphere. Deacon was just leading Clare toward a set of wicker chairs when the woman with the microphone declared it time for salsa lessons.

  “Everybody!” she called.

  Smiling staff came down from the stage and circled the seating areas, pulling people up and leading couples to the open dance area.

  “Deacon.” A man with gray hair and a loose floral shirt slapped a hand down on Deacon’s shoulder.

  “Murray.” Deacon took the man’s hand. “How are you?”

  “Good, good. How could I not be in a place like this?” Then he looked at Clare, his bushy white brows raised. “Who’s the lovely lady?”

  “This is Clare. Clare, Dr. Murray Langdon.”

  Clare shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Murray smiled, a bit of humor and mischief in his blue eyes. “You, too.”

  Deacon and Murray’s wife greeted each other, then she offered a hand to Clare. “Martha.”

  “Hi. Clare.”

  “I taught this young man everything he knows.”

  “Really?” Clare smiled as Deacon rolled his eyes.

  “Come on now, leave them alone.” His wife pulled on his arm. “You promised you’d dance with me.”

  “I did, I did. Be careful what you promise.” He gave Deacon a wink before he was led away.

  “I interned with Murray many years ago,” Deacon said, leading Clare toward the bar. “I see him at one of these conferences every now and then. Good guy.”

  “Come! Come!” A brightly dressed man ushered Deacon to get up. “Grab your beautiful woman. It’s time to salsa!”

  The enthusiastic staff ushered them toward the open space where other would-be dancers gathered. Deacon took Clare’s hand.

  “I can’t dance,” Clare said, pulling him to a stop. “Seriously can’t. I just wanted to listen.”

  Deacon grinned and pulled right back. “I don’t believe you.” He silently thanked the dance instructor when she placed Deacon’s hands on Clare’s hips. Then, standing beside them, she gave him an enthusiastic demonstration of how each of them should move.

  “I’m serious, Deacon. I’ll hurt your feet.”

  Amused by her concern, Deacon took her hand in his and pulled her other one up and around the back of his neck. “All you have to do is hold on. Move your body against mine. Think you can do that?”

  He slipped a hand around her back, letting it rest just above the small of her back.

  “Mmm. I knew you could do it.”

  They danced, barely moving at first, but the resort staff was having none of that. Weaving through the guests, they demonstrated the hip-swaying Latin moves. A few couples were serious, wanting to learn. Others escaped to the bar before they could be singled out.

  Deacon tightened his hold, pulling her a little closer, and moved them out of the crowd before Clare got ideas of escaping. He had her in his arms, and he wasn’t letting her go just yet.

  At first, they tried to follow the steps. Clare took a step forward as he stepped back. “You’re doing good.”

  “Shut it. I’m concentrating.”

  He could see that. Her brow was all scrunched up with worry, eyes intent.

  The beat of the music pounded and so did his heart. He dipped his head so that his lips brushed her ear. He wondered what she would do if he pressed his lips to her neck, just where the pulse in her throat was beating. “It’s supposed to be fun, not painful.”

  “Shhh.”

  He stepped forward, and so did she. Luckily for him, she slammed into his chest before she stepped on his toes with her heels. Also lucky, Clare’s soft breasts brushed against him briefly before she pulled back.

  “I’m sorry. Damn.” She frowned up at him. “I told you.” She huffed and socked him in the arm. “Stop grinning like that.”

  He couldn’t, not with Clare in his arms. And he didn’t miss that whatever was between them seemed to be clicking up another level every time they touched. Did she feel it, too?

  Clare narrowed her eyes at him. “So I’m not the most coordinated. What did you do? Take dance lessons?”

  “Yes. For one year. Not by choice. My mom couldn’t manage three different activities after school, so it was either dance with my younger sister or origami with my older.”

  Her hazel eyes widened in surprise. “They have origami class?”

  “Evidently. I chose dance.”

  “You would have been good at the origami,” she said, completely serious.

  He shrugged, charmed by her compliment.

  “Let me guess, you chose dance because of the girls.”

  He smiled and let his hand drift a little lower on her back. “I was eight, so no. The lobby had a snack machine.”

  She smiled, and his fingers tightened around hers. “I’m glad I chose dance,” he told her.

  She angled her face away, but not before he caught her shy smile.

  Deacon liked where his hands were so much, he stayed for another song.

  “Don’t spin me,” she said when a man nearby did just that to his partner. “I’ll get dizzy and puke.”

  He pulled back to look at her. “Okay. No spinning.” Her cheeks glowed, and a light sheen of sweat dampened her brow, making the fine hair around her face curl just a little. And she was laughing. She had a really great laugh. Soft and genuine, it was the kind of laugh that started with a smile then grew until she couldn’t contain it.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  They danced on, through two more songs, until she stepped hard on his foot again.

  “Okay. Enough,” she said, stepping back. “Your poor feet can’t take it.”

  He was sure they could, but he followed her away from the dance floor. “Want to walk on the beach?”

  They were on the edges of the lobby, where the breeze was stronger. It tossed her hair around her face. He wanted to brush back the silky strands, tuck them behind her ears, then let his fingers linger there.

  “I think I better call it a night,” she said softly.

  “I understand.” And he did. A man and woman walking on a beach at night suggested more, led to more. Which he wanted, though some part of him was glad she wasn’t racing toward a rebound. He wasn’t interested in being the one to make her forget another man. “I’ll walk you back.”

  Deacon
took her hand as they left the lobby, wrapping his fingers around hers. It felt good and easier than it should have.

  “You have a good memory,” she said as they walked. “For someone who only took dance for one year when they were eight.”

  “I played baseball after that, but my mom made me practice with them over the years.”

  “Tough childhood,” she teased.

  “You have no idea. I was dressed up, carted around, even had my nails painted more than once. And that’s when they weren’t making me be the dog. I would have traded them for your brother.”

  She laughed. “There were days I would have made that trade.”

  “And now?”

  “Mmm. I think I’ll keep him. He’s grown on me.”

  “Mine, too. Funny how they do that. And they don’t dress me up anymore, so that helps.”

  They walked a little farther in silence, enjoying the night and the way her hand felt in his. “I have a work thing tomorrow night. A dinner and then meeting some colleagues for drinks.”

  “Oh. And then you’re leaving the next day?” She glanced up at him.

  “Yes.” At the time he’d made the plans, he’d been so sure he wanted to return home the minute the conference was over. Get back to his girls, but now… “I hate to picture you eating alone. I’d ask you to come to this dinner, but—”

  “No. It’s fine. Really. I’ll eat and maybe go to the show. It’s Michael Jackson night.”

  “I thought he was dead.”

  “He is.” She smiled. “So it should be interesting.”

  “Maybe I can find you after dinner. Before the drinks.”

  “Sure. Maybe.”

  He stole a glance at her, wondering if she was irritated, but he saw no hint that she was being coy with her answer. “What will you do the rest of the week?”

  “Pretty much what I’ve been doing. Reading. Napping. Eating.”

  “Your perfect vacation?”

  She grinned. “It doesn’t suck.”

  “No.” He was more of an activities kind of vacationer, not that he’d vacationed in years. He’d never been content to sit on a beach and do nothing as his sisters had. Though the idea of doing nothing with Clare held some appeal. He missed his girls, their little hands on his cheeks when he tucked them in. But he wanted more with Clare. He didn’t know what more he could have, except maybe just a little more time.

  “Oh, I do have a snorkeling thing booked for Thursday,” Clare said. “So I’m not totally doing nothing. It was booked from before, so…” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll go. Don’t worry. I’ll make new friends.”

  And so he went from picturing her alone to picturing her with someone else. He didn’t like that, either, he thought, pausing as they reached her building.

  He wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted to kiss another woman in his life. He needed his mouth on hers like he needed air. And it was the raw desperation that kept him from moving.

  Clare faced him. “You’re sweet. You know that?”

  Her lips curved up in this slow smile that he’d bet she didn’t even realize was incredibly sexy. He didn’t feel sweet. He felt hot and edgy, his hands itching to touch her skin.

  Then she pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Deacon.”

  “Goodnight,” he said softly, thinking it might very well be goodbye. He wanted to reach out for her, but she was already jogging away, through the breezeway and out of sight. He heard her shoes clipping up the terra cotta steps. A minute later, she appeared at the overlook of the second-floor hallway.

  “Hey!” She smiled down at him brightly, and he had a flash of Romeo and Juliet. “If you get a chance, you should really give the origami a try.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.” She laughed and waved, then she was gone.

  Chapter 6

  “YES, OF COURSE, IT was great to see you, too,” Deacon said, shaking another hand, anxious to disengage from the never-ending conference wrap-up dinner. There’d been one more round of closing comments and thanking the staff of the resort, then one more and one more. And he needed to find Clare. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again.

  He liked her more than any woman he’d met in…ever. Part of him hated to even think that. He was leaving tomorrow.

  He said what he hoped was his last good-bye and headed to the main lobby. His cell rang in his pocket, and he took it out as he walked. “Hey, Jax.”

  “Hey, man. What’s up? All tan and relaxed?”

  “Ha. I’ve been working.”

  “I know. That was a joke. You forget, I’ve known you since college.

  “How’s everything there?”

  “Good. But…the Lab took a turn for the worse yesterday. We had to euthanize.”

  Deacon’s steps slowed. He’d been determined to repair the young Lab’s broken back against all odds.

  “I’m sorry,” Jax said.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “The chances were slim to none. We knew that going in.”

  Yeah, he’d known, but he’d still had hope. He always had hope that he could fix things. Every now and then, he was reminded that he couldn’t.

  “Sorry. I knew you’d want to know.”

  “I did. How’s everything else?”

  “Fine. You still determined to come back tomorrow?”

  “The conference will be over.”

  “Well, maybe if you tried hard enough, you could find a reason to stay. Go out, have some fun, for God’s sake. I’m starting to worry about you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate our concern.”

  “You know, I think Stella gets more action than you do, and she’s sixty.”

  Deacon laughed, picturing their office receptionist. “I won’t ask you how you know that.”

  “People confide in me. It’s a gift.”

  They went over a few more patients, then he hung up and continued toward the open entertainment area off to the left of the lobby. The wicker furniture that was arranged in small groupings during the day had all been angled to face the stage.

  Even in the large, dimly lit room, he saw Clare immediately. She sat in a chair on the end with another scooted close and a small table in front just big enough for drinks.

  As he drew closer, Clare looked up as if she’d been searching for him. Their eyes met, and she smiled, familiar, friendly, and just for him. Deacon swallowed hard. She took his breath away.

  Maybe I could stay the full week. It’d just be two extra days. The girls were fine with his mom. When was the last time he’d thrown out every should and just done something for himself?

  The music beat in the background, and red and blue lights glowed on the stage, signaling a show was imminent. In the time it took him to cross the lobby, no fewer than three men paused beside her. Each time, she smiled and shook her head when they gestured to the empty seat next to hers.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching her.

  “Hi. How was your dinner?”

  “Good. Boring. I’m glad I found you,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  Clare crossed one leg over the other, and the hem of her dress skated a little higher up on her thigh. A group of men taking their seats nearby stole glances. He leaned in a fraction closer. “I still have that other thing to get to, but I have some time. Want to walk?”

  “Okay.”

  She stood with him, her hand slipping into his naturally as they walked to the beach. Clare stopped and bent to take off her heels. As if they’d done it a thousand times, he offered his arm for her to hold on to.

  “Was Michael resurrected?”

  “He was.” She unbuckled both and carried them on her finger. “It was actually pretty good.”

  “Who doesn’t love ‘Thriller’?”

  “Exactly.”

  Deacon did the same with his sandals. When she straightened, she was four inches shorter, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. He took her hand again.

  “Oh
, and I saw Leslie. Or she saw me and stopped to chat.”

  “Shit.” Leslie loved drama, or she had years ago. Loved to put people on the spot. “Would it help to say I’m sorry?”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. She thought we might trade secrets about you.” Clare grinned.

  He groaned and she squeezed his hand.

  “It was fine. I didn’t have any secrets to trade anyway.”

  He imagined changing that. He’d thought about it quite a bit during the day.

  “Not that I would. She just assumed we were in a relationship or…” Clare smiled shyly and shrugged. “Maybe having an affair. I don’t know.”

  And were they having an affair? Was that where they were headed? Was that even what he wanted? A meaningless two-day affair? Clare didn’t seem like the vacation hook-up type.

  “I didn’t really get a chance to tell her otherwise. She seemed happy to do all the talking. I just listened.”

  “That’s Leslie. Where did you eat tonight?” he asked as they walked.

  “The tapas place.”

  “Good?”

  “Delicious, but I love food like that. Meats and cheese and olives. And the bread.” She moaned at the memory, and he felt it in his gut even if it was for the bread. “There was bruschetta and another olive spread. It was amazing.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “Then I went by the concierge to double-check the snorkel thing and the meeting place. I mean it said beach towel hut, but I didn’t know if there was only one or what.”

  She chatted on, telling him about her day as they walked hand in hand, and he listened, enjoying the sound of her voice. The low beat of drums started up, followed by war cries. Light flashed, and men in native dress slashed fire sticks through the dark night, sending the scent of burning oil and tiki torches into the air.

  The music changed, and the crowd joined in. One woman in particular was quite enthusiastic. A few years past middle-aged, in a floral dress that reached her ankles, she played her own invisible drum. Another woman joined her. Then a man.