Karibu Heat (Sequel to Kabana Heat) (2 page)

Shit, I must be
more
hungry
than I realized.

With a strength
he didn’t know he possessed, he tore his stare from her chest and raised his
gaze, determined to ignore her body and maintain some semblance of control.
Slowly, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear. But the question he chose
to ask perplexed even him, yet he had to know the answer.

“So tell me,
Anjelee, did you miss me? Even knowing I’ve come to escort you back to the
States so you can finally go to prison?”

“Did you miss
me?” She mimicked him, her face screwed up in a mask of sarcasm while her head
bobbled from side to side. But beneath the mask, he caught a flash of fear as
sure as the orange and pink sun was setting at that very moment out over the
ocean behind her shoulder.

He rolled his
eyes. “What a stupid question.”

“You’re the one
who asked first,” she shrieked with narrowed eyes.

“What
ever
.” God, already in the time he’d
been standing here arguing with her, he’d taken to her Anjelee-speak language.

“All right, I’ll
play along. Here’s what I missed.” She held up a single finger, tapped it to
her cheek, and blinked disdainfully. “Hmm, let’s see. I missed hearing you
stutter and seeing you stumble after I put you in your place. I missed watching
you squirm through the lens of my camera when I took your picture at their
wedding—when
you
knew that
I
knew you’d lied to your client, the
bride’s father, Heloki ‘Alohi.”

“Shh!” he
hissed. Goddamn her.

“I missed every
flipping minute of your sooo attractive arrogance and puffed up, big-man’s
chest.” To that, she puffed out her own chest and spoke in a deep, scoffing
voice. “I missed your aristocratic, brown-nosing nose stuck up in the air. I missed
your—”

“That’s enough.”
He shook her to silence. Jager wanted to laugh at the panic that had spiked in
her chattering voice and the terror hiding behind the insolence in her eyes.
He’d evoked it in her whether she cared to make it known or not, simply by
mentioning the word “prison”. Maybe he wouldn’t have to choke her after all.
Maybe his mere presence here would scare her to fucking death.

“Is that all the
defense you have to the prospect of prison? Some childish mockery?”

“Ooh, what do
you want from me?” she demanded, stomping a foot and making her boobs bounce in
the process.

He lifted one
shoulder with indifference he didn’t feel in the least. “I already told you: To
see you behind bars where you belong.”

She jerked
herself free of his hold and stalked over to a lounge chair, the round, smooth
globes of her little ass jiggling. She dug a sarong out of a bag and jerkily
tied it around her hips while her eyes damned him over her shoulder with fires
straight from hell. Next, she spun back around and slid into a short, sheer
excuse for a cover-up. Shit, it did little to cover anything up. So he couldn’t
help himself. He drank in the muted sight of her labia through the lime-green,
sheer fabric of the sarong. Holy swollen balls, was it possible for a woman to
look more sexy with her pussy partially covered than totally nude?

Her breasts
jiggled beneath the thin robe as she jammed her small feet into neon-blue
flip-flops. Pink nipples perked up and tented the gauzy material of the
cover-up.

He was just about
to cross to her when a hand clamped around his elbow and whirled him around.
“Hey, mon, either you remove your clothes, or you’ll have to leave.” It was the
female security guard who’d been following him earlier. Her big brown eyes were
narrowed,
her jaw tight with authority, and her cocoa
skin glistened by the light of the setting sun.

Jager glanced
over at Anjelee. She’d been about to snatch up her bag and flee, but at the
guard’s words of warning, her compressed mouth spread into a wicked grin. Anjelee
set her fists on her hips and tapped her foot, waiting for his response. The
gleam in her eyes told him she knew that if she left the nude area, he wouldn’t
have to strip down if he followed her. But if she stayed, thus forcing him to
stay, as well, he’d have to follow the rules and get naked, or face being
banned from the au natural half of the small island—of course, the half
she’d chosen to inhabit.

“I’m not taking
my damn clothes off.” He yanked his arm from the woman’s grip.

“Sure,
mon
, no problem. I understand. Then you have to leave the
nude area,” she said, holding up a walkie-talkie and shrugging. “If not, I’ll
call my boss…my big, strong, muscle-packed boss.”

Anjelee,
that little banshee, let out an unladylike howl and bubbly laugh, then plopped
down onto the nearest lounge chair to enjoy the show.

Chapter Two

Jager peeled off
his aqua polo shirt and dropped it on the pool deck at his sandaled feet.
“There. I’m naked. You happy?”

“No, mon, all of
it. You don’t take it all off, then you have to either leave the resort, or go
to the straight-laced, wimpy side,” said the security guard whose name tag read
“Maja”. She fought to suppress a grin while sweeping a hand down the length of
Jager’s body.

Anjelee clamped
her teeth over her knuckle as she scanned his bare torso.
A
hard, well-muscled one, at that.

Yum
.

“Straight-laced,
wimpy side?” He hooked his thumbs in his Levi’s belt loops, his eyes wide and
regarding her with offensive disbelief. The muscle along his jaw ticked as he
took a long while to consider those insulting words. Ha-ha, the woman appeared
to be lumping him in with the prudes, and that made Anjelee grin in utter
delight.

“You calling me
straight-laced?”

The woman
nodded. “Yeah,
mon
, but irie—as long as you take
it all off...”

“Irie?”

“Means
‘everything’s going to be all right’,” the woman explained, eyeing his body
with a gleam of hope in her eyes. Hope, no doubt, that everything would turn
out all right in her world, too, in that she’d get the opportunity to see him
full-bodied nude.

It irked her to
admit it, but Anjelee couldn’t blame Maja at all. So she joined in and openly
studied Jager’s nice physique. Only because she sat surrounded by such a
sexually charged atmosphere did she allow the tingle between her legs to bloom
into a simmering heat. The last time she’d seen his bare upper body had been
weeks ago in Kabana, Hawaii, when she’d showed up at his hotel suite late at
night to taunt him with her camera full of incriminating gay and bi pictures of
his celebrity client, Mitch Wulfrum. But she didn’t recall Jager’s skin being
quite so smooth and tan, nor did she remember the cut details of every toned
muscle and lean line of flesh.

How could she
have forgotten such male perfection?

Jager continued
to plead his case on deaf ears. “Look, give me a break. I’m not straight-laced
by any means. But I shouldn’t have to take my fucking clothes off and show my
cock to the whole damn world just to get a chance to talk to her.” He gestured
toward Anjelee with an annoyed flip of the hand. “It’s important.”

Anjelee’s gaze
followed the faint whorls of chestnut hair that arrowed down his abdomen and
disappeared into his denim waistband. His penis didn’t appear to be erect at
the moment, but an impressive bulge filled the crotch of his jeans, and it
promised
a woman hours
of pleasure.

But
not this woman.
Uh-uh.

Her mouth
watered at a sudden remembered image. That night in Kabana, she must have
awakened him from an erotic dream in his hotel room. She’d suspected it, due to
the hard-on that had peeped out from the boxers he’d worn beneath his unzipped,
hastily donned pants. At the graphic memory of it, she closed her legs to hold
in a trickle of cream that escaped her vagina beneath the sarong. Her nipples
darted against the fabric of the swimsuit cover-up. She squirmed on the seat
reminding
herself
he was the enemy, the man who
threatened to see her behind bars and her family plunged into permanent
poverty. She wouldn’t allow that to happen no matter what sweet-talking scheme
he might have up his ass. Her sister, Ali, needed her, and the money, now more
than ever.

It could be a
matter of life and death, as far as Anjelee was concerned.

“Sir, here on
the nude side at Karibu, there ain’t nothing more important to the people than
getting naked and partying. So if I let you in with clothes on, I’ve got to let
everyone else. Then those here for naked fun will stop coming here, because
they start feeling like the clothed people are just here to drool at them. And
we can’t have that. Got way more nudist customers than prudes. We need them at
Karibu Resort in order to stay in business,
mon
.” Maja
shrugged. “Rules are rules, and money is money. Now you take it all off, or
I’ll have to call my supervisor.”

“Yeah, rules are
rules, Jager.” Anjelee added a snort.

His penetrating,
hazel eyes found hers across the distance. He held her gaze with a withering
stare, eyebrows inverted, nostrils flaring. He snorted back. “Yeah, is right.
And you, more than anyone, know ‘money is money’.”

Touche.

Anjelee decided not
to bite at his sarcasm. Instead, she curled her hands into fists when he shoved
his fingers through his short-cropped, brown hair leaving it standing on end.
It was the kind of messy that made a woman long to muss it further…or simply
grab him by the ears and drag his head down between her legs.

“Fine,” Jager
huffed at Maja. To Anjelee, he barked, “Then turn around.”

When his command
finally sunk in, laughter bubbled from deep inside her. “Turn around?” She
pressed a hand to her chest. “
Me
?”

“Yes. You.”

She tapped a
fingertip on her chin and made a play of fluttering her lashes. “Uh, let me get
this straight. We’re at a nude pool, and you want me to turn around while you
take off the rest of your clothes?”

He grumbled
through his teeth, “Yes. Now turn around, goddamn it, or I’m not taking my
pants off.”

There was no
stopping it. The hysterics burst from deep inside her belly in an explosion too
forceful to suppress. She plopped back on the lounge chair and curled up in a
painful fit of hilarity that made her
stomach ache
and
tears puddle in her eyes.

“That’s enough,”
he snapped. “This isn’t funny.”

“N-no,
you—” Anjelee cackled, cutting herself off as she tried to point at him.
She gulped in a lungful of air and fanned herself. “I-
I’m
telling you, if you don’t stop it, you’re going to make me pee my pants.”

He rolled his
eyes. “Funny. You’re such a comedienne.”

“Oh, wait.” She
stood, held one hand up and wiped the blur of moisture from her eyes with the
other. She couldn’t look at him, she just couldn’t. If she did, she knew she’d
start rolling all over again. “I can’t pee my pants because, just like everyone
else here, since I’m at a nude resort... I’m. Not. Wearing. Any.”

“Yeah, I
noticed. Believe me, I noticed.”

The unmistakable
lust in his voice caught her off guard. At last, she glanced over at him and
instantly knew it to be the worst mistake of her life.

He stood there
naked. Adonis-like naked.

Holy
freaking gods above.

Undeniably,
drool-worthy gorgeous.

With his wide
shoulders held high, his hands fisted and his feet planted apart, she decided
she’d never seen anything more magnificent in her entire, sorry life.

With
the exception of Keefer.

She frowned.
Jager was right. This wasn’t funny. In fact, there was nothing funny about this
whole situation anymore. The sight of his narrow hips and crisp nest of dark
hair cradling a huge cock, even in its soft stage, was enough to make her want
to sob with regret. But her pussy wept, not her eyes. The spot between her legs
dampened in female response to the mental images bombarding her brain, cruel
images of that shaft getting erect and pummeling her, bringing her to the brink
of ecstasy and back. She could easily envision his long, muscular legs flexing
as he thrust harder, faster, deeper inside her.

And that pissed
her off to no end, almost more than the devastation he could potentially
represent in her life.

Unholy
crap on a damn stick, what she wouldn’t give for a shot of tequila right about
now.

She glanced
across the pool and located Keefer. The man was so infuriating. As usual, he
had no clue. He stood in the waist-high water at the swim-up bar joking and
laughing with two naked couples and the bartender. He held Anjelee’s pinà
colada in his hand, every now and then taking a leisurely sip of it as if he
had all the time in the world. Well, what did she expect, anyway? Nothing lit a
fire under Keefer Giles’s ass, not even the possibility that another man could
be threatening her, or moving in on his “best friend”—ha, like he’d give
a half turd if anyone did show a romantic or sexual interest in her. Nope,
nothing made her dear old pal, Keefer, jealous, and nothing would ever flip the
switch in his brain to cause him to look at her as anything more than his
little party buddy.

So if he’d even
noticed her exchange with Jager, he made no indication of caring, and he made
no effort to meander or swim his way back to her across the big pool to check
out the situation.

The prick.

So, as usual,
she was on her own. In fact, the more she thought of just how alone she really
was, the
more shallow
her respirations became.
Gods on high.
Jager was here for her, and not in the way
she’d like a man. He was here to drag her back to California or Hawaii, or
wherever the hell the jurisdiction would be for what crime he perceived her to
have committed against his client.

“Shit. This
can’t be happening.” She could have sworn she’d covered her tracks. She’d
booked her flight under an alias name with a fake I.D. and passport she’d paid
dearly for, and had come here with Keefer—though Keefer had assumed it to
be just a jack-off trip of fun and sun. He’d planned their trip to chaperone
his clients who’d booked with the travel agency he owned. He’d wanted to insure
things went smoothly for them, though it was more for him to write his own
vacation off on his taxes. For Anjelee, she hung out here simply to await
Jager’s—via star, Mitch Wulfrum’s—electronic transfer of funds into
a non-U.S. account until she could set the money up in a new account under an
assumed name. She’d sent the email anonymously, but based on the wording and
its similar content to her last bribe in Kabana, Hawaii, Jager would have
known, as she’d sort of wanted him to, exactly who had sent it.

And he would
have known that she meant business.

But apparently,
so did he. Yep, here he was naked and looking hotter than just about any man
she’d ever encountered, while insisting on seeing her behind bars. Sweat
trickled down her spine and a wave of dizziness had her gripping the chair for
support. Can an American citizen really do a—what the hell do they call
it
?—
citizen’s arrest in Jamaica and extradite
the person back to the U.S. against their will? Or was he bluffing?

Since she had no
idea one way or the other, there was no stopping the thudding of her heart. She
knew she was being a pussy, but still, that familiar sensation assailed her,
the one where her head threatened to blow right off her shoulders when a
mixture of fear and anger boiled in her blood.

Aw, no, and here comes that feeling of
trapped suffocation closing in around me, too.

Under her
gasping
breaths
, she muttered, “I gotta get the hell
out of here.”

Anjelee jerked
her scrutiny from Jager and snatched up her beach bag. Any other time, any
other person, she might consider slinking right up and propositioning him for a
little fun if the mood struck her. She would flirt outrageously and pursue
anything from drinks, to dinner companionship, to a night of endless,
no-strings sex.

But
not this time.
Not with
Jager Manning, wannabe cop, her possible jailer, the Grim Damn Reaper.

She had to
leave. There was no other choice. She’d have to flee to another resort, or all
the way across the world, anything to get away from him before he apprehended
her for initiating a second threat to his client after she’d lied and promised
she’d destroyed Mitch Wulfrum’s celebrity-damning pictures and would never
demand another cent.

No more time to
think about that stupid risk she’d taken.

Run!

Without
bothering to slip on her bikini bottoms beneath the sarong, she tore out across
the hot tiled pool deck, losing her flip-flops in the process.

“Hey, where ya
going?” Keefer called out.

Screw you. Now you ask, you son of a
bitch.

Her
bare
feet didn’t touch ground long enough to burn on the
heated surface. She leaped over lounge chairs, dodged tables topped with
umbrellas, and raced up the concrete walk leading to the building where her
suite was located. Her fake passport, I.D., and cash were in the room’s safe.
And her jewelry.
Her stomach twisted and lurched. Yes, she
might have to pawn off her few pieces of precious jewelry just to survive in
hiding until the money showed up in her account. So it was important she made a
quick stop in the room before slipping downstairs to the bellhop to request a
shuttle to the airport and on to another resort.

Or better yet,
to another planet.

Anjelee shot up
two flights of stairs. Her pulse pounded, and her braless breasts bounced
painfully under the thin garment. She dug in her bag as she went, finally
closing her fingers around the room key. Her hand trembled when she slid the
electronic card into the slot.