His laugh rumbled against her lips. “That wasn’t it, actually. Not completely, anyway. The escape I have in mind will take a couple hours, at least.”
Now her brows went up. “Hours? Is there tantric yoga involved?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“All right.” She settled in her seat. “Be mysterious. I’ll go with the flow, so long as you tell me I’m dressed okay for whatever you have planned.” Last night he’d specified casual—shorts, flat shoes, swimsuit optional. Since he was wearing a dark green University of Hawaii T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops, she figured her raw-edged black T-shirt tank top, faded cutoffs, and black Havaianas fit the dress code. She’d thrown the clothes on over her favorite bikini and stashed a towel, sunscreen, a straw hat, and a hoodie in her tote. She’d left her hair free, but wore an elastic ponytail holder on her wrist.
Clear amber eyes conducted a slow perusal, and the heat in his gaze and the wicked smile on his lips left her breathless. It wasn’t just an appreciative glance, or a playful flirtation like the kiss. It was a blatant reminder he’d seen and touched every part of her—an unapologetic eye-fucking with a promise of an actual fucking to come. Her favorite bikini suddenly felt too small.
And he knew, too. His wicked smile turned downright cocky. “There’s just one small thing.” He ran his hand down her arm and rolled the ponytail holder off her wrist. “Turn around.”
She did. Then his hands were running through her hair, brushing her temples, tickling her scalp, and putting her into an exquisite trance as he gathered up the strands until he held it all in one fist at the back of her head. He snapped the elastic band around the tail, twisted it, and pulled the ponytail through with quick efficiency. She recognized a play as well as the next girl, but recognizing didn’t make her immune. Especially not when he used his grip on her ponytail to tug her head back until he could plant a hard, hot kiss on her mouth. She leaned against him, bowing her back as his hand splayed just under her breasts, his thumb angling into the space between them. Her heart beat wildly under his touch. She was still scrambling for balance when he raised his head.
“Now you’re good to go, Czarina.”
“Good” wasn’t the word. She was dying to go—pop off like a spring gun on a hair trigger. Somebody laughed nearby and reminded her of where she was. Straightening, she slid her sunglasses on and cast a nervous glance at the valet, relieved to find him completely occupied with the new arrivals behind them. Needs or no, she knew the value of discretion, and kissing a man in the drive of a St. Sebastian hotel in front of God and everyone didn’t qualify. There were security cameras directly above them, for heaven’s sake. She cleared her throat and looked at him. “Did they teach that in astronaut school?”
He smiled and started the engine. “You’d be surprised what skills I mastered.”
The moment called for a demo of some of her skills. As he maneuvered the Jeep down the drive leading to the main road, she skimmed her fingers along his leg, starting at his knee and coming to rest high on his thigh. “Go ahead and surprise me. I love surprises. Even the word—it has ‘prize’ built right in.”
And speaking of prizes, a big one surged just beyond her hand. She edged her fingers inward. His thigh muscle twitched, rewarding her boldness, but when she closed in on the prize, he surprised her by intercepting. He lifted her hand, kissed the knuckles, and then hung it from the crook of his arm.
“I don’t want to surprise you with a trip to the emergency room,” he said, “which is what might happen if I run off the road due to extreme…distraction. Distract me another way.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Conversation. What’s the drama in Siberia today?”
Damn. He’d unwittingly selected the least relaxing topic imaginable. She hated the idea of bringing her screwed-up personal and professional life into what was supposed to be a sexy escape, and intended to offer a stock answer and move on to a less stressful subject, but instead she heard herself say, “My father doesn’t appreciate my mother’s new golf hobby.”
“Your mother’s developed an interest in golf?”
“Oh no.” She laughed, and winced at the harshness of it. “My mother can’t stand golf. She’s developed an interest in a golf instructor.”
“Ah.” He reached over and squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm. “That puts you in an awkward position.”
“I’m used to it. And don’t feel too sorry for my father. He’s had lots of interests over the years. They both have. It’s just part of their charm.”
“Divorced?”
“We don’t get divorced in Siberia.” She laughed again, but stopped when he threaded his fingers through hers. “They’re separated. They’ve been separated a long time, and they take it to heart by avoiding each other whenever possible. They’re actually pretty good at it.”
“Sounds like they’re pretty lousy at it, since they have to drag you into the middle to make it work.”
“Old habits. And deep down I know I’m not just a handy conduit. My brother and I actually are two of their few shared interests. We glue them together whether they like it or not, because they love us.” Hoping to change the topic, and also curious, she asked, “What about you? Do you have a mom and dad somewhere bragging about their son the astronaut?”
His smile held equal parts amusement and genuine affection. “Yeah. A mom, a dad, and two older sisters, all living relatively drama-free in the same town outside Portland where I grew up.” He gave her fingers one last squeeze and then released her hand to take the wheel and make a turn. “I’m sorry about the drama in Siberia, though. That sucks.”
“I don’t mean to complain. Siberia has plenty of good parts, too.”
“Speaking of the motherland, ever cruised the Russian Riviera?”
Was there a Russian Riviera? She had no idea. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I was wondering if you experience motion sickness, say, from being on the water.”
The question came as he steered down a private drive marked with a sign for the local yacht club.