Tempted in the Tropics by Tracy March

her.
    She squeezed her eyes closed. “Please tell me you didn’t see my boobs.”
    Lane tried not to laugh. “Did you just say boobs?”
    She popped open her eyes. “Boobs, breasts, mammary glands…whatever the hell you doctors call them. Please tell me mine weren’t out there.”
    “Turn around. I’ll tie you back up, even though that sounds a little kinky.”
    She turned. “Stop teasing me—and avoiding the question. Tell me what you saw.”
    He got to work on the tie. After it was secured and she’d fussed over straightening the triangles in front, she faced him.
    “A man never peeks and tells.” He smiled slyly.
    She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh crap. You did see them.” Her words were muffled, but he understood her just fine. She looked up at him, pleading with those big, golden-brown eyes.
    “I liked what I saw,” he said. “But it wasn’t anything too private.”
    She lowered her eyebrows.
    He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I promise.”
    Seeming somewhat satisfied, she lowered her hand from her mouth, but she kept biting her bottom lip. Thanks to her, he’d seen plenty of stimulating sights today, but that sexy lip-biting was what finally got him.
    “Do we have a truce or not?” he asked.
    She nodded. “You did save me from flashing my boobs to all of St. Lucia.”
    He was the only one around, but he wasn’t going to argue. “So we can kiss and make up?” The cliché was out of his mouth before he even thought about its implications. Now he was the one in an awkward position. His pulse raced as he waited for her reaction.
    She cocked her head and grinned slyly. “We can kiss…”
    He slowly drew her close to him, flattening his hand at the slick small of her back and pressing her to him, her curves straining against his muscled torso. She could probably feel his heart pounding, its rhythm even faster now that they were skin-to-skin. He swept his fingertips softly across her velvety hairline, down a soaking lock of her hair, and gently twisted the end around his fingers.
    He cupped her head in his hand and touched his lips to hers—featherlight until he couldn’t resist her any longer. Beneath the St. Lucian sun, with a wisp of a tropical breeze, he kissed her with all the pent-up desire that had built within him since he’d first laid eyes on her. She parted her satiny, supple lips and he deepened their kiss, each sweep of her tongue sending a new wave of pleasure pulsing through him.
    Having a fling with her while they were on the island was feeling like a better idea all the time. Tempting and temporary. Perfect.
    He lifted her off her feet again, just as he’d done in the Black Water Pool, and cradled her to his chest, his lips never leaving hers. She clutched the back of his neck and arched her body, kissing him as if she knew exactly how he wanted it and was eager to give it to him.
    Lane had never felt this much passion in a kiss—not even with Stephanie, ever. Somewhere in his foggy mind, he wondered what else he’d been missing. Clearly Paige had some kind of magic that he was eager for more of, but if she kept up what she was doing right now, he was going to explode or go blind. Maybe both.
    Someone with a deep voice cleared his throat loudly, and Lane reluctantly drew away from their kiss. He and Paige glanced up at a sight that ruined the mood in a heartbeat. At the edge of the pool stood a squatty, balding, middle-aged man whose large, hairy belly hung so far over his tiny Speedo that from a certain angle, it might look as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He had his arm around a large woman his age who was a head taller than him, and just as round with glaringly white skin. The pattern on her old-fashioned skirted one-piece bathing suit looked like a wallpaper design from the seventies. She fanned herself with a bright pink wide-brimmed hat.
    The man whistled and smiled lasciviously at his wife. “I mean to tell you,” he said with a