I can't resist slanting closer to murmur, "Waltzing was a scandalous act back in Victorian days. Being so close to your partner meant you were the worst kind of rake."
"Yes, I read an article from the eighteen-sixties that explained how waltzing could cause sickness because holding a woman too near your body will inevitably lead to intercourse later in the evening. And syphilis was a serious concern." He draws me closer, our bodies pressed together. "I'm beginning to understand why the author of that article made that claim. Dancing with you is almost as sensual as making love."
"I didn't feel that way when I danced with Dex." I glide my hand across his shoulder, spreading my fingers over his throat. "But with you, I'm getting warm all over."
"As much as I want you, Madeleine, I can't do it. You need time to recover."
"We can do things that don't involve penetration. I've got lots of ideas about that."
He chuckles, too softly for Dexter to have heard. "You have quite the appetite, don't you?"
"Am I being too forward? I'm not usually like this, but I can't help it when I'm with you." I tickle his neck with my fingertips. "If you don't want me to seduce you, better stop being so irresistible."
"I'm not complaining. I love your passion."
Glass clinking spurs us both to glance toward Dexter.
He's holding his snifter, tapping it with his fork. "You two look about ready to retire for the evening. And by 'retire' I mean shagging in your room. You are staying the night, aren't you?"
Richard freezes, forcing me to halt too. "I'd assumed the helicopter would take us back to the resort."
"I could call the pilot to retrieve you, but I'd much rather you both stay here. I have plenty of room. Then we can discuss your offer in the morning."
"But I thought we would talk about that tonight."
Richard's body has tensed up like he's anxious about the business deal. Maybe he worries Dexter will put him off again in the morning. He did say he's been courting Dex for a while without any luck.
I approach Dexter, leaning forward to touch his arm. I know I'm also giving him a good look at my cleavage, and yeah, I do that on purpose. What's the use of having tits if I can't use them to help my boyfriend? If Richard is my boyfriend. Maybe we're just lovers.
Ugh. Like that matters right now.
With my cleavage in full view, I say, "Please, Dex, don't make Rick wait until morning. He came all this way to meet you. As a favor to me, talk to him now."
His focus gravitates to my chest. "I never can say no to a beautiful woman in a Victorian gown. All right, let's discuss this publishing rubbish."
I kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Dex. You're a sweetie."
"Does that mean we can get a leg over while Rick is asleep?"
Shaking my head, I grab Richard's hand and lead him back to the sofa. Once we've sat down, Dex pours us each another glass of cognac.
"Business meetings require liquor," he declares.
"Only in the Caribbean," Richard says. He takes a tiny sip. "Why don't you tell me about your new book? You've been rather cagey about the storyline. In fact, you've told me nothing except that it will be 'glorious' and 'crackerjack.' I'm anxious to hear more about it."
Dexter swigs his cognac, swallowing almost all of it. With a satisfied sigh, he relaxes into his chair. "I suppose it is time I share the details."
Rick seems to be clenching his jaw, and his hand on his thigh is tense too, his fingers crooked into his leg. Jeez, he's way more anxious about this than I realized. So I lay my hand over his, rubbing my thumb in slow circles until his fingers relax.
"All right, the story," Dexter says while he swirls the remaining cognac in his glass. "I've taken a different approach with this book. It's quite a departure from my previous works, but there's a good reason for that. I got so bloody sick of writing literary novels about blokes who wander about here, there, and everywhere searching for meaning in life. Do you want to know the real answer to that question? What is the meaning of life?"
A muscle ticks in Richard's jaw, and his fingers start to crook into his thigh again.
I peel his hand away from his leg and thread my fingers with his.
He exhales the breath he must've been holding and flashes me a grateful smile. "Go on, Dex. Share the meaning of life with us."
"It's bollocks. There is no overarching plan, no soul-inspiring insight. You're born, you shag, you die. The end."