After six hours in the air, and within ten minutes of leaving the much smaller connecting flight, Cole decided that their destination should be named "Taryn Quinn has Rocks in her Head."
For some crazy reason, when Taryn had said she was surveying a location for her Hot Spots proposal, Cole had assumed luxury, first-class transportation and air-conditioned comfort at the very least. When she'd let on that they were ultimately destined to land somewhere in Polynesia, his assumptions seemed assured. Now, edging into the decrepit station wagon this island referred to as a taxi, Cole began to grasp the scope of his error.
Luckily the rust bucket was fitted with seat belts.
As the driver roared the gears into a crunching first and slammed his foot to the floor, Cole held on to the arm sling for grim life. He glanced over at Taryn, sitting beside him on the back-passenger seat, and growled. What the hell was she grinning at?
"Cole, you look surprised."
"What's the name of this place again?"
"Ulani. It means happy or gay."
They hit a massive pothole and Cole's head smacked the cab's sagging ceiling, while, bouncing around, Taryn actually laughed. Worse, she looked gorgeous doing it. Her face free of makeup, her hair loose and tousled, she was nothing short of radiant.
During the week, they'd chatted about this trip, and with such composure an outsider would never have guessed what had transpired on that dance floor almost a week ago. He'd thought about that close-proximity incident often since. If she'd leaned in another inch, it would have been on. Instead she'd pulled away at the last minute and he'd been given space to cool down, keep his head.
Only problem was that stir and urge hadn't left him. He might have behaved civilly this week, but underneath he'd wanted to lay this on the line and take what he believed she wanted to give. He should be dreading these next couple of days. But he was only glad this time had finally come. At last they were alone and this thing simmering between them could come to a head.
But he'd envisaged that would happen amid first-rate treatment and perhaps even satin sheets. Guess he'd get past this shock.
"Why did you choose this place?"
"I wanted different, out of the ordinary," Taryn said, gazing out over a landscape of vine-strangled palms backdropped by a sleeping monster of a volcano. "Anyone can go to Hawaii or Tonga."
"I take it the resort or hotel or wherever you're taking me isn't five-star."
"From the pictures and reviews, I'd give it six."
Another pothole sent him jolting and cringing in his seat again. "I'm thinking a remedial massage is a priority."
"I could always organize the next flight out for you," she offered.
"And miss all the fun?"
The taxi skidded to a stop. Cole shifted to inspect the building and his jaw dropped. This place wasn't much better than a shack.
He drawled, "You are kidding."
"Not even a little bit."
"Didn't you say that night at Marco's, and I quote, 'This program could start a whole new genre'?" He examined the gray-bearded dog asleep on its back in a most unflattering pose near the entrance. "Maybe we should head back," he muttered under his breath.
Did she really have no idea? More than ever before, after seeing this, chances were her show was dead in the water. Only a miracle could save it now.
The driver was lugging both her suitcase and his overnighter toward that reception shack. Above a barely hinged door rested a lopsided sign, which read in faded green paint, WEL OME.
"There's still time to escape," she told him slipping out of the taxi, whereupon Cole set his teeth, ran a hand through his hair then scraped himself out of the vehicle, too.
"I'll stay," he said, dragging his feet to follow, "if only to see what you think can possibly keep an audience glued to their seats."
As well as the promise of being alone with you.
In her tantalizing fitted blue wrap dress, she continued on with a laugh. Seeing those long tanned legs in that dress, that heavenly behind swaying as if to beckon him near...
Cole's pace picked up.
Sure. He could slum it for a couple of days.
* * *
From the moment they touched down, Taryn had fallen in love with this tropical oasis. As far as she was concerned, a weekend wasn't nearly long enough. Except, of course, she'd need to contend with the "Cole looking extra hot in casual wear" situation. But truth was she'd find him sexy even in his Popeye suit.
At a bamboo reception counter, a friendly middle-aged lady with oversize dentures and a gold-plated name tag that read Sonika checked their reservation, after which a man, naked from the waist up, collected their bags. Standing beside her, Taryn sensed Cole's masculine sensitivities prickle. Perhaps he was anticipating an equally stunning island girl to materialize and show off her assets. Best he didn't hold his breath. This island was particularly "woman user friendly."
Sonika's smile beamed brighter. "I'm sure you will be happy with your accommodation," she said in accented English. "Your bungalow has one of the best views on the island."
"How many guest bungalows do you have here?" Cole asked.
"Only six on the whole island. The other five are occupied," she said, closing her registry book. "But don't worry that you'll run into anyone if you don't want to. Privacy is our promise."
The man and his WrestleMania shoulders ushered them out a side door and down a long sandy path, which was bordered by lush ferns and palm trees on either side. Above them curious monkeys crouched on branches, a menagerie of birdlife hooted and cooed, heady combinations of floral scents filled the air and Taryn wanted to sigh. These surroundings would make for fabulous visuals and audio. All she needed was that final nod. She hoped Cole would be a good sport and admit this ultraexotic location and her idea were winners...that is, when he got over the next surprise.
A few minutes later, they arrived at their bungalow. While the porter continued on to drop their bags inside, a previously tetchy Cole seemed to enjoy a change of heart.
"I must say, I had my doubts." He scooped up a handful of powdery sand and let it filter through his fingers while surveying a bay that spread out before them like an endless throw of mirror-blue silk. "Not the Hilton but that is an exceptional view." He spotted a calico hammock waiting on the bungalow's porch and rubbed his shoulder. "I can picture myself swaying in that. In fact..."
But as he moved toward the steps and that hammock, Taryn crossed to block his path.
"I'm afraid you have a task or two to perform before you can lie back," she said.
"We'll take an hour to rest up before we start on your survey work."
"I'm not talking about that. When a person comes to this Polynesian island, there are certain...requirements. Duties."
"What do we have to do?"
"Not we. You."
He threw another glance around and coughed out a laugh. "Like hunt down a wild boar? Descend into the fiery bowels of a live volcano?" When her expression held, his smirk died. "Please tell me that volcano isn't live."
"Remember I said that this island's name means happy. This place is also meant to be a sanctuary where individuals come to know and appreciate others and, more importantly, understand themselves."
He waited then finally shrugged. "And...?"
"Women here, Cole, are adored and revered. They're waited on hand and foot."
Trying to absorb the concept, he repeated her words. "Women are waited on here..."
"Yes. Hand and foot."
"So where's your slave?"
"Standing right there."
Cole actually looked over his shoulder. When he realized the joke was on him, he slowly turned back. She'd had fun imagining this moment. He'd invited himself along to see for himself. Like the emperor with his new clothes, Cole had gotten his wish. If he had half a funny bone, he'd take it on the chin. Hell, he might even laugh. But his expression fell flat.
"Other than the view and that hammock," he said, "you're not scoring too many points."
A bristle ran up the back of her neck. At times he could be so darn negative. "You don't have to stay if you can't handle it."
He challenged her gaze for a long moment then bent to slip off his loafers and wiggled his toes in the sand.
"But if I leave you here all alone," he said, "who will brush your hair? Peel your grapes?"
At that moment, that man with his amazing tan and billboard chest passed by. When he sent a dazzling helpful smile her way before leaving by the path again, Taryn sucked down a breath and gathered her thoughts.
Cole wanted to know who would peel her grapes?
Winding her arms over her waist, she angled her head and shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone."
From the way Cole's shoulders squared, he was back to unimpressed mode. "I thought you were selling this as a family show."
"I'm sure a lot of underappreciated mothers would love a slot."
"What's in it for the poor lugs who have to tag along?"
"Quality time to reflect?"
"While they're fanning the revered ones with palm fronds, I suppose."
"And all while enjoying that view." When his unimpressed look held, she spelled it out. "This island's magic lies in its reversal of social domestic norms. It encourages men to truly nurture their women, which will hopefully ultimately deepen and strengthen their relationships. You've heard of the saying, with sacrifice comes great reward? In the work comes the reward. The payoff."