He slid his hand down the back of her thigh, gripped her chair, and slid it closer.
She caught herself against his legs, and met his sudden stare.
“How about we skip the lines?” he said.
The heat in the room shot up ten degrees. Both of his palms were against her thighs but they had yet to do anything but sit there.
“Lines are for people who don’t know what they want,” she told him.
A smirk played on his lips.
“That doesn’t define us.”
No. She’d pictured him close since he told her his name. Monica slid her hands over his and moved them up her legs. She didn’t like lines or games. “Do we have a definition?”
He took her lead, moving his hands along her bare skin, sending tendrils of anticipation over every nerve in her body. A squeal escaped her lips when he gripped her hips and plucked her off the chair and into his lap as if she weighed nothing. She gripped his shoulders for balance and enjoyed the feel of his hands holding her ass.
His clever move had her straddling him and terribly needy without even a kiss. “We don’t need a definition.” Trent’s heated breath blew across her lips, his stare so charged she couldn’t look away.
Monica leaned forward, not wanting to wait for whatever made him hesitate.
Trent, the big tease, leaned back. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer. Her lips met his, all heat and tongue and it was Trent’s turn to moan.
Everywhere he touched was on fire. His hand found skin under her T-shirt and skimmed up her waist, burning a path to her br**sts and through her bra.
“You feel amazing,” he managed to say as his lips left hers to kiss her jaw, her neck.
The hard pack of his muscles met her palms.
“So soft,” he uttered.
Monica wiggled closer; the chair quickly became an obstacle to the pleasure of pressing her body closer to his.
His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear and the quivering that was hovering low in her belly turned into something palpable. “Oh,” she whispered.
Trent released a soft chuckle and repeated the kiss to her neck.
Somewhere in the back of her head, Monica heard Ginger bark. Trent was lifting her off his lap and placing her on the kitchen counter. She reached for his shirt, to help rid him of the barrier.
Ginger barked again.
Damn dog.
One second Trent was reaching to remove her shirt, her only thought was how quickly they could cover each other skin to skin, the next Trent was pulling her shirt back down and pulling her from the counter.
That’s when Monica heard the noise.
People. Kids… Ginger barking.
Monica met Trent’s smoky gaze. He was breathing as hard as she was.
“Trent?” someone called from the hall leading to the front door.
“Company?” Monica whispered.
He ran a hand over her hair and pulled his own shirt down. They didn’t have time to recover much in the way of composure before a family piled into the room.
Ginger ran around the room, a playful bark in her throat. A man Monica recognized was half carrying a woman into Trent’s home.
“Reynard, Kiki?”
One look from Reynard to Trent and Monica knew the man understood exactly what they’d interrupted.
Color rose to the cheeks of the woman Trent called Kiki. “We’re too early,” she said.
“No. No.” Trent flashed a sympathetic glance toward Monica and grasped her hand. “It’s fine.”
Monica forced a smile to her face and felt her libido cool as if ice water had been dropped on her from the sky. One of the children, not five, ran up and hugged Trent’s knees. “Uncle Trent.”
Clearly, the family wasn’t related. Yet this child had some affection toward her would-be lover. “Micha. This is my friend Monica.” The boy smiled up at her.
“Monica you remember Reynard from your first day on the island.” Trent continued the introductions.
Oh, now she remembered. “Nice to see you again,” she managed.
“We’ve come too early,” Kiki said again. “We should go.”
Trent tugged Monica’s hand. “No. Please… I told you to come.” Trent turned toward Monica and explained. “Their home was destroyed by the earthquake. I asked Kiki and Reynard to stay here.”
“Oh,” Monica said.
Micha had engaged Ginger in a game of fetch with a plastic bone. The other children were all smiles and completely oblivious to any tension in the room.
Kiki leaned on her husband for another couple of steps. Monica took notice of her pale skin and obvious discomfort and promptly dismissed her own sexual frustration. “Are you OK?”
“Just out of the hospital,” Reynard told them. “The doctor said she needs a bed and rest.”
Monica passed a half smile to Trent. The same frustration inside her swam behind his eyes. “Guest room?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“Come with me.” She walked Reynard and his wife to the room she previously occupied.
So much for their private oasis and alone time. The population in the house quadrupled in minutes and all thoughts of intimacy were now on hold.
Dammit!
Chapter Twelve
Trent helped Reynard unload his family’s possessions from the truck and into the house.
“Are you sure it’s OK we’re here?”
Trent hoisted one strap over his shoulder and picked up another sack. “I won’t hear another word about it, Reynard. Like I told your wife, I’m going to be leaving soon. I have little to worry about here if the house is taken care of while I’m gone.”
The stress behind Reynard’s eyes started to fade. “I will pay you.”
Trent shook his head. “You’ll save your money and rebuild your home.” However, Trent wasn’t sure how possible that would be or how long it would take. The economy on the island had never been great. It would be even worse now.
He turned to walk back into the house. Reynard’s hand grasped his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“I’ll keep my room until I leave,” Trent said as they walked into the house. “And keep you informed about my plans while I’m away.”
“When will you go?”
Trent thought of Monica and shook his head. “I’m not sure. Week or two at most.” He’d told Jack Morrison he’d keep an eye out for his sister-in-law and Trent didn’t go back on his word. He’d be lying to himself if he said he was sticking around only for his promise to a virtual stranger. The fact was, he wasn’t ready to see the last of his nurse.