“It’s certainly…inviting,” he said, taking in the sybaritic scene.
“That’s exactly what Nate had in mind,” Lani said dryly. “Watch this.” She crossed the room and pushed a button, causing bamboo blinds to open and reveal a folding wall of glass that opened to a tropical outdoor rain shower surrounded by yet more plants. Beyond the shower, turquoise water lapping onto coral sand enhanced the unabashed sensuality of the room’s decor.
Blaming the erotic atmosphere for his runaway imagination, Donovan found himself wondering if Lani’s breasts, barely concealed by the flowered bikini top, were as tanned as the visible parts of her body. Then rigidly tamped down lustful thoughts of moonlight skinny-dipping in the lagoon.
“Would you like to know when he requested this little rush remodeling job?” Before he could venture a guess, she answered her own question. “Ten days ago. I’ve been working like a demon in order to get everything done on time.”
“You did all this?”
“I’m something of a local handyman in my spare time,” she said offhandedly. “By the way, the fur is definitely fake. I put my foot down at killing animals just so my brother could create a tropical version of the Playboy Mansion.”
She stuck her hands in her back pockets as she looked around the room. “I did all this with my own two hands at Nate’s request, never realizing that I was setting the scene for my own seduction.”
The sight of her sea-green, thickly lashed eyes and full, lushly inviting lips the hue of a ripe peach, caused an unbidden and inappropriate image of her lying beneath him on the gauze-draped bed to flash on a huge flat-screen in his mind. “You really are mistaken about my reason for being here,” he said.
Lani eyed him consideringly. “Oh, I believe you when you say you’re here in order to get some work done. But believe me , Nate has entirely different plans for us.”
He shook his head. “Do all the Breslins have such vivid imaginations?”
She waved away his protest. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I need a shower, and you need to get out of those city clothes. I’ll run over to my place and meet you back here in an hour.”
“Your place?”
“Right around the bend.” Lani pointed out the window to the beach. “Handy, isn’t it?” she said dryly. “Although I stocked the kitchen for you, it seems only right that I should play a proper hostess by taking you out for dinner. But you don’t have to worry.” Soothing him with an indulgent smile, she placed a slender hand on his arm. “I have no intention of setting any feminine traps for you, Donovan Quinn. So, you’re perfectly safe with me.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Donovan to stare out the expanse of glass, admiring the sway of her hips in those faded cutoffs. Glancing down at the spot where her coral polish-tipped fingers had rested briefly on his arm, he imagined he could still feel the heat.
Despite her reassuring words, Donovan had an uneasy feeling that he knew exactly how Adam must have felt when Eve had suddenly shown up in Paradise.
2
Lani hadn’t always lived on Orchid Island. She had, before returning to the island, lived for six years in Los Angeles, where you couldn’t throw a stick on a beach without hitting a hot guy. It hadn’t taken her that long to become immune to flawlessly straight Hollywood white teeth, sexily shaggy sun-streaked hair, and toned-to-the-nth-degree-of-perfection bodies. So how was it that the too-thin, exhausted-looking Donovan Quinn could, after all these years, still make her go weak at the knees while other, more significant parts had definitely leaped to attention?
The same way they had that first time she’d seen him. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had crushes before. She’d even taped magazine photos of Joshua Jackson, the poster bad-boy-turned-good from Dawson’s Creek , onto her bedroom mirror frame and had practiced writing Lani Jackson in her journal. Over and over again.
But a crush on a TV character was a whole lot safer than the way Donovan Quinn had made her feel. Just looking at him in that blue uniform with the big, dangerous gun strapped to his hip had taught her what actual, real life lust felt like. In a desperate attempt to hide her tangled, confused teenage emotions, she’d hidden them behind a mask of petulant hostility.
Proving current appearances deceiving, according to her brother, Donovan was on the fast track. Whether he ended up in the FBI, on some Homeland Security task force, or even, as she could easily see him, Portland Chief of Police, the chances of him staying on the island were about the same as the volcanic Mt. Waipanukai erupting on Christmas Eve.
As were the chances of her ever moving off island again.