Alex
I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since 2004, when Boston banned smoking in businesses, restaurants, and bars, but tonight, sitting here taking in Stone-Cold Blondie at the bar, I needed a hit of nicotine.
Damn, the woman was stunning in all caps with several exclamation points. Since arriving in the middle of the night, I hadn’t laid eyes on Blondie, and she was the most beautiful woman. Unfortunately, from the daggers shooting out of her eyes, I was the last person on the planet she wanted to talk to. Not to sound like a braggart, but this was a new world for me.
I checked out the woman’s wavy curls tumbling down her back. Red, pouty lips. Curves.
I swallowed and raked my fingers through my hair, needing to do something with my hand. I was the type who stayed in motion, bossing others around, not at the mercy of someone allowing me into their circle. I wanted this woman to let me in. I needed it like breathing after everything in my life had crumbled to shit. Being alone scared me more than I’d thought possible, and it wasn’t until recently I’d realized how good I’d had it but foolishly pissed it away because I thought my work took precedence over everything else. I couldn’t spend another night alone. Not in paradise. Not at home. Not ever.
The waitress returned with a glass of chilled white wine and two bowls. One with mixed nuts and sesame sticks; the other with green and dark-purple olives. Was this their fare for American guests? Or were cocktail bars around the world the same?
“Thanks, you’re a doll,” I said, knowing I was being watched and regretting my carefree attitude.
The waitress grinned but didn’t dawdle, luckily.
I noticed Blondie observing me with an expression that could only mean two things. Jealousy and wanting. Now, those were the first encouraging signs. This could be fun if done right. I speared a Kalamata olive with a toothpick and brought it to my mouth, hesitating to ensure I had a captive audience. Blondie didn’t break eye contact. Not for a second. I ran the plump and meaty olive over my bottom lip before placing it onto my tongue.
Blondie uncrossed and then recrossed her legs.
Another welcome sign.
Now it was time to up the stakes.
But what should the next step be?
Clearly, Blondie was interested, but so far, we had only stared at each other with visible interest in our eyes, because I was certain my expression made it clear I wanted Blondie. Needed her. What was my next step to propel us together? Think, Alex. I hadn’t put the moves on a woman in so long. Rusty didn’t begin to describe my wooing skills.
Talking.
Wasn’t that what women wanted? Open dialogue?
No, first, I needed the woman to come to my table. Away from the leering bartender, who kept sneaking glances down Blondie’s dress. I didn’t like the creep. Not one bit. Also, if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t used to this dynamic. Not in complete control. It was petty, but I needed a semblance of some power, or I wouldn’t be able to move forward at all.
I painted on my sexiest smile that didn’t show any teeth and waved to the nuts and olives as if offering Blondie an invitation she couldn’t refuse.
She sipped her drink. Even the reddish color in the glass turned me on. Was there anything sexier than a beautiful woman sipping a sophisticated drink? The challenge grew exponentially, and I didn’t have much experience with women playing hard to get.
What to do?
Give in and go to her?
Or stand my ground and make Blondie come to me?
Fear of wrecking my chance froze me in inaction.
Chapter 5
Jamie
Inside, I fumed. Why in the world was the woman playing hard to get? And, why did I find her act so fucking hot? It’d been one of my weaknesses: finding a woman who knew her worth alluring. Confidence. Ooh la la.
It presented a problem, though, because I also wanted to stake claim on my own worth, especially given the status of my marriage falling apart because I hadn’t stood up for myself until it was way too late. Or so I thought.
This was a battle of wills.
How could I keep the upper hand but still get the ball rolling by approaching, knowing I had to make the next move? Beckon her with a note? No, that was too high schoolish. Send a drink? But she’d just gotten a white wine.
There was the olive trick again.
Jesus! Did she know the effect it had on me?
Her bewitching expression said yes, she knew exactly how it was impacting me.
Damn it all to hell.
I got to my feet, swept my drink into one hand, my bag in the other, and approached the table.
“Hello there,” the woman said in a sultry tone.
“Hi.”
“I was wondering what I was going to have to do to get your full attention.”
I took a seat at the table without being asked.
“Want one?”
I studied the olive speared on a toothpick, trying to decipher the message. No, don’t give in so soon. “And miss the show?”
Her face pinked, but I couldn’t determine if it was from embarrassment or for some other reason. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” I offered my hand. “I’m Susan Vance.”
“Is that right?” There was a confused tilt of her head, some type of calculation taking place in her eyes.
I held her gaze, doubling down on my persona for the night. “It is. Are you going to tell me the name of the woman who’s been putting on an X-rated show with olives?”
“Tracy Lords.”
“The adult film star?” I feigned shock, stifling my urge to call this woman out on her obviously fake name.
“I believe the actress spells her name with an I. I spell mine with a Y.” The confidence returned to her steely eyes.
I placed a finger to my chin. Matching my fake name officially upped the stakes for the night.
“Are you a Hepburn fan?” she asked.
“Who doesn’t love Audrey?” I batted my eyelashes.
“Oh, I do, but I was referring to Katharine.”
“I think I’ve seen one or two of her films.” I dropped my gaze to the nuts, selecting a cashew.
She clutched the left lapel of her jacket. Perhaps she resorted to this since there was no fabric over her heart. The white blouse underneath was open, giving a hint of a black bra. “Are you trying to upset me?”
“Not being a Katharine Hepburn fan is upsetting to you?”
“Your drink is getting dangerously low.” She pointed to the glass. “Can I buy you another Manhattan?”
“I’m pondering why you switched the topic, but I won’t turn down another cocktail. The night is young.” I hefted a shoulder in a carefree way, doing my best not to reveal her act simultaneously irritated the fuck out of me and turned me on.
She stood, her six-foot frame dwarfing mine. “Manhattan or something else?”
“If you had to choose a drink for me, what would it be?” Tracy started to speak, but I cut her off. “Don’t tell me. Just order it.”
“A woman with spunk. I like.” With the grace of a woman used to her height and heels, she twirled around and strode to the bar.
While waiting for my drink, she fiddled with her phone, out of nerves, perhaps, keeping her back to me. Had she arranged to have a connection before getting to the resort. Was that why she’d been gone all day, hunting for a SIM card? If it was a power move, I appreciated the effort, because the ass view was something to be admired. Was this a deliberate way to dangle another temptation? Hopefully, she wasn’t all power suit and no follow-through. Because I craved to explore the woman’s body. Every inch of her, and it could take all night.
She returned with another Manhattan. “No reason to mess with a classic.”
“I secretly wished you’d stick with what I like.”
She stared deeply into my eyes. “Don’t be shy. Always tell me what you like. I’d hate to disappoint you.”
“I’ll keep that
in mind.”
She leaned closer. “Even if you lied to me.”
I placed a not-so-innocent hand on my chest, wondering what she was calling me out on. “Moi?”
“Susan Vance.” The name was spoken with a gotcha tone.
“Yes, that’s my name tonight.” I continued with the lie, which was hard for the likes of me.
There was a burst of laughter. “It’s also the name of a Katharine Hepburn character in Bringing Up Baby.”
I sensed my face turning you got me red, but at the last second, my mind latched onto a nugget. “If I remember correctly, I said I’ve seen one or two of her movies.”
“Does that mean you’ve seen Bringing Up Baby?”
“Yes. It’s a classic.”
She squinted, giving me an intense stare. “What’s the other one?”
“The Philadelphia Story, Tracy Lord.” I leaned on the table, knowing my dress allowed for more than a peek at the goods.
“I haven’t seen that one.” There was a trace of deceit in her expression, while looking right where I wanted.
I sipped my drink. “And you call yourself a fan?”
“I’m bold that way.” Her gaze smoldered.
“I’m confused, though, there must be thousands of Susans in the world. Do you assume all of them are named after the character in the movie?”
“Only one in particular.”
“Me?” I placed a hand under my cleavage, boosting it upward slightly.
“Let’s just say I pegged you as a Katharine Hepburn fan the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Is that right? What about me says that?” I glanced down at my outfit.
“You have a certain je ne sais quoi like her.” She waved a hand in a hoity-toity way.
I ignored the gesture, which I assumed was a designed distraction to irk me so I wouldn’t focus on the important issue at hand. “Is that why you used one of her character names? To impress me?”
She laughed, not confirming or denying.
“In what other areas are you bold?”
“The dance floor.” She looked to the wood floor off to the side of the bar, presumably for dancing.
“Feel like busting a move?”
“There’s more to dancing than just gyrating.”
“Do tell.” I took another gulp of my drink.
“It’s not something you can explain with words. It’s more of a show you thing.”
I scouted the dance floor again. “No one is dancing.”
“Sadly, there isn’t music either.”
“Shame. I do love cutting a rug.”
“Why do you hate rugs?”
I smiled. “Ah, that depends on the rug in question.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her expression was one of deciphering my true meaning. “You staying at the resort for a few days?”
“I am.” I shifted in my seat. “What brought you to tropical paradise?”
“I wanted to check out the scene.”
“Is it to your liking?”
She made a show of giving me the once-over. “Very much so.”
Chapter 6
Alex
I licked my lips. I didn’t give a crap that the woman at the table lied about her name. Nor that she fibbed about being a Katharine Hepburn fan. The only reason for me dressing up in this unbearable heat and humidity was to have an unforgettable night.
“How’s your drink?” I asked.
“It has a different flavor this time.” She took another sip as if ensuring she wasn’t losing her mind.
“I asked for dry and sweet vermouth. It’s an old bartender trick to make the perfect Manhattan.” I kissed my fingertips with a flourish.
“Did you use to tend bar?”
I tossed an arm over the back of my chair. “In another lifetime.”
“Please, you’re not old enough to say in another lifetime.”
I grinned. “I didn’t know there was a set rule for that.”
“There absolutely is. Only someone in their fifties can talk about bygone days with a wisp of nostalgia like that. You don’t look like you’re even close to fifty.”
“How old do I look?”
“It’s dangerous to tell a woman how old she looks.”
I tucked some hair behind my ear. “You don’t seem like a woman who’s afraid to take a chance. More like the type to make brazen statements and back them up. Am I wrong?”
“Nicely played, Mrs. Lord.”
“Mrs.?” I jacked up an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m married?”
“Tan line.” She jerked her chin to my hand.
I looked at my bare ring finger. “My fingers started to swell, and I hate that tightening feeling. Can I see your finger?”
“I haven’t taken mine off.” She raised her left hand.
“I see that. What should I make of that knowledge?” I steepled my fingers.
“I don’t hide things.”
“Intriguing. The question is: does your spouse approve of you cruising a resort bar far from home for a one-night stand? Is that what this is supposed to be?”
She held my gaze for several thudding heartbeats. “You have high hopes for where this is leading.”
“I don’t hide things.”
“Touché.” She hoisted her glass in appreciation and took a tiny sip. “You’re thirty-nine. Maybe having a mid-life crisis.”
“Spot-on,” I said. “But you haven’t answered my other question.”
“About my spouse?”
I nodded.
“It’s a new part of our agreement.”
“Is that right?” I sipped my wine to combat the sudden dryness of my throat. “What if your spouse isn’t on board?”
“She should get her act together, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Do you think she can?”
“Do you?” Her gaze seared mine.
“I can’t imagine anyone not stepping up for you.”
“Lucas said something along those lines.”
“Lucas?” Confusion blurred my vision.
“The bartender. He also thinks I deserve happiness. What do you think?”
“I absolutely agree. What would make you happy right now?”
“Action.”
“Has your spouse not given you what you need?” I motioned to the surroundings.
“I need more from those in my life.”
“Such as?”
“I want to feel like I’m the only woman. I need to know I’m sexy.”
“Have you not felt that way?”
“I can’t remember the last time she touched me that way.”
“Life can—”
“Look around you. This is a place where you don’t let life get in the way. There are no work demands. No family. Just two women. Connect the dots.” She jabbed her fingers in the air, three times in a line.
“Do you need another drink or…?” My eyes drifted to the wooden walkway, which could be seen from the table, leading to the quaint cabins for guests.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“I have all the time for you.”
“Are you sure about that, or do you have to get back to the room for a goodnight call to check in with work? I saw you on the phone, ignoring the rules of the place. No Wi-Fi.”
“Nope. I would like to point out, though, the longer we sit here, the less time we have for forgetting about the things back home.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s eight-thirty.”
“Are you worried I’ll turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”
I moved closer. “I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you for much longer.” I stuck a hand in the air to flag down the waitress and supplied my cabin number. “We best get you tucked in, Cinderella.”
As she stood, a whiff of jasmine tickled my nostrils. “You’re wearing my favorite scent.”
“I’m not wearing any perfume.”
“I guess that means you’re the one for me if this is your natural
smell.”
“You’ve probably used that line on hundreds of girls.”
I released a full-throated laugh. “Hundreds. My, my, my. You have extremely high expectations for what’s about to happen.”
“I don’t like to settle.”
“Nor should you. Ever.”
Chapter 7
Jamie
Standing on the deck outside the cabin, I gazed into the woman’s eyes, wondering if she would make a move and soon. Granted, we’d only just settled on this part of the night, but I didn’t want my nerve to falter.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, presumably to check out if there were any witnesses, before taking two steps toward me, causing me to step back until pressed against the door. She didn’t waste time and captured my lips. It wasn’t a nice to meet you kiss. It was a let’s not dance around what we both want kiss. Full of heat. If there were a rating scale for levels, this kiss ranked up there with the Carolina Reaper pepper, which was two-hundred times hotter than the jalapeño.
I appreciated her take-charge attitude in this regard. And having a woman who couldn’t keep her hands, or lips, off me was another added bonus. Jamie the personal assistant needed to feel alive again. This kiss was waking up dormant areas inside me. Hell, I might be experiencing sensations I’d never felt before. It was all so new, while also feeling so very right.
I dropped the room key.
She leaned down and swooped it into her hand, then straightened her jacket and vest. Unlocking the door, she said, “After you,” and made a sweeping gesture.
“You have an amazing ability of switching from taking charge to being überpolite.”
“It’s a skill I’ve mastered seducing hundreds of women all over the world.”
I goggled but caught myself from overreacting. “You should write a tell-all.”
“A true womanizer never spills.”
I laughed. “What about a how-to then?”
“Are you wanting tips for more marriage-free nights?”
“It’s quite possible.” I set my bag down on the chair by the door.
She started to speak, seemed to think better of it, and settled on, “Maybe I should start a podcast.”
Summer Loving Page 16