Caribbean Cowboy: Under the Caribbean Sun, Book 4 Read Online Free Page B

this clear, neighboring islands were visible, as well as the town bustling at the base of Mount Ballyhoo. Not that it would be considered a mountain anywhere but here. Things were always held to a different standard in the middle of the sea.
    He climbed off the bike with as much grace as he could muster and stretched, willing the raging hard-on in his jeans to behave. If Janny thought he’d brought her up here for a quickie, it would never happen. Not that he would mind that in the slightest, but he’d taken her here on the strange notion that it was something she needed to see. He needed to recall it as well. Everything about growing up here hadn’t been awful. Just stifling.
    He removed his helmet and ran his hand through his hair, glad he hadn’t bothered with it in months. It was long enough not to stick to his head or stick out at strange angles. Some women even found long hair sexy. Maybe Janny did. He turned and swallowed hard at the sight of her bare thighs stretched across his bike, her hands clutching her bunched-up skirt. Her dazed expression and crooked smile had him leaning in for a quick peck as he undid her helmet and hooked it to the back of the bike.
    He held out a hand, noting how soft her skin felt beneath his calloused palms. He’d have to keep a gentle touch. She climbed off, leaning on him as she dropped her skirt.
    “It’s like the ground is still moving.” She took a deep breath but didn’t move away. The cooling engine ticked behind her, grounding him in a moment so still he thought he could hear the waves surge against the rocks at the shore.
    He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands had chilled from the ride, so he slipped them between her and his jacket to warm them. He rested his chin atop her mass of dark curls and relaxed for the first time in a week.
    Nothing mattered up here, away from the expectations of family, the stress of trying to wrap his head around his very together sister’s shotgun wedding, or the pressures of having to take a week away when the ranch needed him.
    She crossed her arms over his and leaned against him. Just a man and a woman, the wonder of a Bering Sea sunset and the possibility of pleasure. They watched the sun fall into the ocean, shades of reds and orange bleeding into a lavender sky. Like an overprotective parent, the sun never drifted too far in the Alaskan summer, the sky barely darkening enough for the moon to appear.
    “Where are we?” Janny asked, her voice quiet in the stillness.
    “Bunker Hill. Unalaska tourism consists of Dutch Harbor, birding and this.” He motioned toward a round Quonset hut half buried in the ground. “The island was an artillery battery for the US Army in World War II. Most everything is gone or housed in the museum down by the airport, but galvanized steel has a way of staying put.”
    She spun in his arms, her pale eyes shimmering in the twilight. “So this is your battle of Bunker Hill?”
    “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He winked because it played right along with the corny-as-hell line.
    “Good.” She rose up on her toes and he met her halfway, tasting her full lips. He held her tight with one hand and moved the other up, glancing the side of her breast as he trailed up to the nape of her neck. He pulled her closer, threading his hand into her tangle of wild curls so he could feast on her mouth.
    She tasted like expensive, exotic places, feminine wiles and whispers. Like a drug that heated him from the inside out until he burned from it, for it. He let the kiss slide to her ear and down her neck as he tried to figure out a way to take off her dress so she’d be wearing nothing but her heels and his jacket. The vision blinded him and his cock strained urgently against his jeans.
    “I have this fantasy,” her voice slipped over him like silk.
    “Yes.” He slid a hand behind her, tracing the seam of her one-shoulder dress and praying he’d find a zipper soon.
    “I haven’t