Ravish: The Awakening of Sleeping Beauty - By Cathy Yardley Page 0,15

room.”

“Leave?”

“There’s more to the hotel, right?” He held out his hand to her, beckoning her. “And plenty of spots outdoors. Let’s explore.”

She clutched the sheet to her, her eyes wide. “Ummm… maybe we should stay inside.”

“Why?”

“There are some parts of the island that aren’t safe.” Her gray eyes were troubled, storm-cloud dark. “Better avoided. I can take you to the beach, if you’d like, but otherwise…”

“All right.” He hated seeing her so agitated. He took her hand, tugging her off the bed. “We’ll stay inside, then. You must know this hotel like the back of your hand.”

“Pretty well,” she demurred. She started to open the closet, reaching for a dress.

“Why bother with clothes?” he asked curiously. “There’s no one else here, right?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” she said. “Not up in the hotel, no.”

He wanted to pursue it, but she still put on a dress, pulling it over her head. It was slate blue, making her skin glow ethereally. She slipped on a pair of shoes, then looked at him expectantly. He quickly put on his own clothes, which were piled on the floor. He would feel stupid, walking naked next to her.

They walked out into the hotel, and he found himself holding her hand as they strolled down the empty hallways. He’d never held hands with anyone that he could recall. It felt natural.

“What would you like to see?” She led him to the large, ornate lobby. “Are you hungry? There’s a fantastic kitchen in the restaurant. Or maybe you’d like to try the spa?”

He thought about it. The idea of taking her in a hot tub was intriguing…but, then, so was the idea of experimenting with some food. “Your choice,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.

“Let’s try the spa,” she suggested, her mouth quirking in a tiny catlike smile. “I could use a little…relaxation.”

She led him down to the basement level. The spa, like everything else in the resort, was luxurious, five-star all the way…and empty. They walked past the deserted reception desk to the spa itself, where he could hear the burble of hot tubs and see the redwood planking of a sauna room. “What would you recommend?”

“Hmmm.” She chuckled. “The regimen is sauna first, to loosen up. Then a quick dip in the pool, to tighten things up.” She winked, and he found himself laughing. “Then maybe a massage, for full relaxation. How does that sound?”

“I put myself in your capable hands.” He felt his blood warming, and better still, he felt a peculiar lightness of mood. It was like playing. When was the last time he’d played?

They stripped down again—“Told you we didn’t need clothes” he groused, to which she answered with a light swat on his backside—then headed for the sauna, wrapped in towels. Opening the door was like opening a furnace. The heat was dry and yet almost oppressive. He closed the door behind them as she poured water over the heated rocks, causing steam to billow, filling the room. He sat down, expecting her to sit next to him. Instead, she sat slightly farther away, almost primly. “You’re the one who wanted a change,” she reminded him, tightening her towel around her. “So why don’t we try talking?”

“Talking?” He said it with overemphasized schoolboy petulance, and she laughed in response. “I didn’t agree to talking.”

“Tell me about yourself.” Her voice was smooth, inviting. “Where are you from? What were you like as a child?”

He felt tension creep up his back at the question. “I grew up in New York,” he said. “But I’ve traveled all over. And I guess I was like any other kid.”

She was quiet for a moment, and the heat wrapped around them, filling in the spaces between their words. Finally, she nodded. “What made you so unhappy?”

“Unhappy? I didn’t say I was unhappy.”

She scooted closer. “You didn’t have to.”

He fell silent for a long moment, then took a deep breath of the scalding sauna air. “My parents were—are—very famous doctors. Cardiologists. Their work has always been very important to them. We traveled a lot because of that.”

“We? Do you have family?”

“One little brother—Aaron. Sort of the black sheep of the family.”

She shifted slightly. Perspiration started to trickle down her neck, and he watched it trace a slow, hypnotic line from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts. “What, Aaron isn’t a doctor, like you?”

He let out a startled snort. “No, he’s a doctor—but a psychiatrist. And that hardly counts.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry. I make fun