by Webster, K.
“Rodrigo has been upgraded to a category two hurricane,” Carter says, gripping my shoulder and ending my fantasy.
He motions for Eduardo’s office just beyond the kitchen. Now that everyone’s eaten and resumed drinking, I slip away with Carter. Mamá sits at Eduardo’s desk, her brows furrowed as we listen to the man on the radio warn of the winds that could reach up to one-hundred-ten miles per hour.
“When?” I ask, coming to stand behind Mamá.
“Tomorrow night.” She looks up at me and frowns. “Will it get worse?”
I hope not.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“What’s happening? What is he saying?” Sheridan asks from the doorway. “Answer me, dammit.”
Her brown hair has been swept over one shoulder now that I’ve stolen the hair tie. It exposes the long, delicious column of her neck. I’d love to run my tongue along her skin to see if she tastes salty like her fucking attitude.
Before Carter can open his mouth to play peacemaker, I push past him over to her. She’s slightly swaying, which is no wonder with all the tequila she’s been sucking down.
“Looks like a category two hurricane now.” I resist the urge to kiss her supple lips. “Don’t worry—”
“Don’t worry?” she hisses, her face turning red with sudden anger. “You kept me from going to my destination only to trap me in this shithole and now we’re all going to die!”
I wince at the shithole comment, knowing it’ll upset Mamá. This place is her baby. Her life’s work. To have someone speak so lowly of it to her is aggravating.
“We’re not going to die,” Carter placates.
“It’s not a shithole.” My fiery glare burns into her. “You should apologize.”
Her lip curls up. “I won’t ever apologize for telling the truth.” She shoves at me, but it only ends up making her bounce back because I’m unmovable. “You’re an asshole kidnapper and now you can add murderer to the list!”
“Oh, Jesus,” Carter groans.
“Get this woman back to her room, mijo,” Mamá snaps. “She’s drunk and disorderly. She’ll upset the other guests.”
Forgot to mention, I’m conveniently security, too.
“I can take her back,” Carter offers, trying to dismantle the bomb that’s about to go off in three, two, one—
“Excuse me!” Sheridan screeches. “I am not drunk! I am not disorderly! I will stay right here and listen to the radio!”
“Enough, little bee. You don’t even know Spanish, so you can’t understand a word of what he’s saying anyway.”
She continues to argue, but Mamá is pissed and I need to get her out of here. I sigh before grabbing her and hoisting her over my shoulder, which is beginning to feel like a pattern for us. She kicks and screams for me to put her down. Rather than upset the guests, I take her down the back hallway and out the door. It’s raining now, hard and promising worse weather headed our way.
It’s a short walk back to her room, but we manage to get soaked to the bone. I’m wearing my trunks, so it’s not a big deal. The door is unlocked and we step inside. One half of the room is neat and orderly while the other side has Estefania’s belongings strewn everywhere. I take Sheridan to her clean side of the room and set her to her feet.
“I don’t feel well,” she whispers.
Gripping her chin, I tilt her head to look at her. Big brown eyes are filled with tears and her mascara is smeared. Her smooth hair is a soaked, frizzy mess. She’s pale as fuck too.
“Why don’t you change out of your clothes and lie down?” I offer. “You’ll feel better soon.” I start for the door, but her whimper stops me.
“Is a category two bad if it hits us?”
Fear.
Her voice drips with it.
I’m shocked that she’s afraid of anything. She hides it well if she is. Right now, the tequila has dropped her defenses and a terrified young woman stares back at me.
“The locals are used to hurricanes. We’ll board everything up, stick together, and ride out the storm when it hits.” I walk back over to her and kiss her forehead. “You’ll be safe, Sher.”
She doesn’t correct me for not using her full name.
“Can you help me?” Her brown eyes bore into mine, filled with heat.
Fuck.
I’d love nothing more than to strip this hellion and drive into her just so I can feel her claws and listen to her screams.
But not like this.
Not when she’s at an apparent low.
I’m a playboy pilot, not an asshole.
“Yeah, abejita, I can help you. Where are your clothes?”
She points to Estefania’s side of the room and not her expensive bag at her feet. I shrug and go over to one of Estefania’s messy bags and pull out some silky orange number that most definitely is something Sheridan would never choose for herself. When I turn around, I nearly swallow my tongue.
Sheridan has pulled off the linen skirt and matching top she was wearing and stands in nothing but a white lacy underwear set. It looks fancy as fuck. I want to rip it to shreds with my teeth, and then give one of her perfect tits a bite. As soon as the bra loosens as she unhooks it, I get a hold of myself and stalk over to her. I’m trying to keep my eyes averted as I slip the transparent gown over her head.
“My panties,” she breathes, making my dick incredibly hard.
“Are staying on,” I growl. “When you wake up tomorrow, if you still want to take them off in my presence, come see me. Otherwise, let’s keep them on.”
She pouts and it’s pretty damn cute. “Will you stay with me?”
“I better not.”
Her fingertips dance along my abs and up my pectorals. “I’m worried about the hurricane.”
“It’s just rain for now,” I assure her.
She forces a smile and nods, unable to keep the quiver out of her chin. Well, fuck.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’ve had a helluva long day and would like to rest. I’m going to grab a quick shower first.”
I pull back the covers and help her into bed, trying and failing at not looking at the way her perky nipples strain against the orange, sheer fabric. Once she’s covered, I take the coldest shower known to man to make my hard-on go away. The idea of putting my wet swim trunks back on is annoying, so I opt to stay in the towel instead. I step into the room to find her already fast asleep. Maybe I should just go.
Something hard hits the window and she sits up, her eyes wild. “What was that?”
“Just the storm,” I assure her. “It’s fine.”
Her entire body trembles as she stares at the window like a monster is going to bust through. I walk over to the bed and climb in it beside her. She relaxes when I guide her back down onto the pillows. Then, in a surprising move, she turns toward me and buries her face against my chest.
I’ve never been one to cuddle. Frankly, I haven’t ever been able to sit still long enough. But with Sheridan—fierce yet vulnerable Sheridan—pressed against me, I can’t help but hold her close and inhale her hair. She molds to me in all the right ways like she was made for me.
Dangerous thoughts.
In a few days, the storm will be gone, and so will she.
On that note, I close my eyes.
Sheridan
“Alone for five minutes and girlfriend is already trying to have his babies.”
“I am the worst friend!”
“She looks pretty okay if you ask me.”
“Do you think she likes to share? I’d like to be in the middle of that sandwich.”
“I knew they had chemistry.”
I groan, hating the way my head aches. The voices feel too loud. Too close. Too everything. I’m attempting to roll over but am trapped. Awareness settles around me as I realize someone hard and naked is pressed against me.
Oh God.
Last night was blurry.
Drinks. Dancing. The fight in the filthy office at the restaurant
.
Camilo carrying me. Camilo dressing me. Camilo holding me.
And Camilo fucking me.
Heat floods my body. That didn’t happen, though. I hate that I wish it did. What about David? I stiffen at that thought. This week was supposed to be about him. I was supposed to go to Daddy’s wedding and spend uninterrupted time with David. Make him see how right we are together and commit to something. It’s not like he doesn’t find me attractive. He slept with me, after all. Kisses me on occasion. Takes me to dinner often. We’re meant to be.
Sleeping half-naked with a mouthy, hot pilot is a bad idea.
What would David think?
He’d be disappointed. Just like Daddy.
Shame washes over me and I wallow in self-loathing until I hear the voices again.
“She’s red. Oh, Lord, is he doing her right now? Someone grab the blanket so I can watch!”
I snap my eyes open and glower at the source of the voice. Damian. It’s light in the room, though I can hear the rain still pattering, and he’s dressed like he’s the rainbow meant to chase away the storm. Too many colors. Too bright.
“Why are you here?” I snap, pinning him with a hard glare.
He winces at my tone, but I don’t feel guilty this time. They’re all standing around the bed, watching us like we’re some sort of freakshow exhibit. Carter, Estefania, Kyle, Lawton, and Damian.
“This is all my fault,” Estefania whines. “I should have come to check on you, but Carter said you would be okay with the handsome pilot.”
“I did say that,” Carter agrees. “It wasn’t a lie. They look pretty okay to me.”
Wait. Where did she go last night? I shoot laser beams at Carter and he laughs, shaking his head and pointing at Kyle. Kyle’s eyes widen in fear. Luckily for him, Damian steps in front of him, blinding me with his red sequin tank top and short purple bike shorts. More junk on display today. I can’t deal with this without coffee.
“Can someone hand me my shorts?” a sexy, sleepy voice murmurs beside me. “I seem to have lost them somewhere.”
“Pure chemistry. I knew it.” Carter’s smug grin is going to get slapped right off him. I’d do it now except they’d all see me in this horrible outfit I stole from my roomie.
I roll onto my back, drawing the covers to my chin, and turn to look at Camilo. His arm is bent and he’s resting on his hand, a sexy smirk on his face. Just knowing he’s naked under here with me makes my body tingle and burn.
“Get out of my bed,” I hiss, irrationally angry at Camilo, even though we didn’t technically do anything. “Now!”
He shrugs and then slides out of the bed, his hands covering his crotch. I get a perfect view of his sculpted, tanned ass. Too many muscles. Too hot. Ugh.
“Holy heaven in a handbasket,” Damian whines. “That ass is what people commit crimes over. Marry me, sexy Mexi. Please.”
Camilo chuckles, deep and throaty, as he takes his offered trunks from Carter. He keeps his back turned to us as he pulls them back on, somehow managing not to flash us his dick in the process. Not that I’m looking. Totally not looking.
“Who’s ready for breakfast?” Camilo asks, his almost black eyes searing into me. “I could eat.”
“Out!” I yell. “Now! All of you!” Estefania looks like she might cry, so I spare her. “Not you. You can stay. If you have a dick, leave!”
“If I tuck mine, can I stay?” Damian asks, batting his rainbow-colored eyelashes at me. “Please, bestie?”
“I am not your bestie,” I snarl.
“I am her bestie,” Estefania corrects. “Go. Shoo. Handsome pilots and lovely boys must leave. Goodbye, my friends.” She playfully shoves them out of the room. As soon as the door closes, she turns to me, grinning. “You borrowed my gown?”
“I, uh, it was a mistake.”
“You can borrow anything you like. We are practically sisters.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes because I, for some crazy reason, care about her feelings. “Yeah, whatever. I shouldn’t have worn that…with him.”
“Was he a good lover?”
I take note that she’s wearing the same outfit from last night, her lipstick is gone, and she has a hickey on her neck.
“Wait a minute. Who did you make out with?”
She bites on her bottom lip and squeals before jumping onto the bed beside me. It bounces and I want to puke. “Kyle is an amazing kisser.”
Of all the people she could have kissed, I never would have guessed the quiet, nerdy assistant to the Damian Birch.
“You kissed him? And then…”
“Fell asleep in his arms while listening to the rain.” She sighs. “So romantic.”
My night wasn’t much different, minus the kissing. It was hardly romantic. It was regretful. This place really fucks with my mojo. It’s like the universe is out of balance while I’m here or I’m in some alternate reality. I don’t feel like me here.
“Sherrie-dan?”
I roll on my side to look at her. In the morning light, she seems softer and younger. I don’t know much about her and I feel bad for that. I’m envious of the light easiness in her smile and the unguarded look in her eyes. Was I ever that way? I can’t remember.
“Yeah?”
“I am sorry I did not come to check on you.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter. I never expected her to babysit me.
“It is not. We are in a foreign place and alone. You could have been hurt or frightened. I failed you as a friend.” She frowns, her face growing troubled. “If we were in Costa Rica, and I were to slip away by myself, it could have turned badly. Could have been the same for you here. I am sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I breathe, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I promise. I’m okay. And when we finally make it to Costa Rica and anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll kick their ass.”
She hugs me abruptly, making me squeal in surprise. We both laugh. It’s then I realize I like having a friend. A lot. And in un-Sheridan fashion, I begin asking her about her. Because I care. In this alternate universe, maybe it’s okay to be Sherrie-dan sometimes.
We walk into Eddie’s, following the scent of eggs and hot sauce. Once I got over feeling sick, now I’m just hungry. After a nice long shower, I was able to ground myself again. I pulled on some skinny jeans, my black Valentino Garavani leather booties, and borrowed an off-the-shoulder gray cashmere sweater upon Estefania’s insistence. Best friends share clothes, I guess. I cringed when she rifled through my bag to borrow something of mine, but I have to admit my Kay Unger New York floral jacquard dress looks better on her than me.
“Kyle!”
Estefania waves to her make out buddy, who sits at a table wedged between Damian and Lawton, but she loops her arm with mine, showing me she’s not abandoning me again. Considering Carter and Camilo are sitting at the table too, I’m thankful to have her support.
“Come join the Funky Flyers,” Damian calls out, waving wildly with his rainbow fingernails and bright yellow bangle bracelets.
Camilo is wearing clothes, much to my relief. He’s put on jeans and a red, fitted shirt that showcases his muscular back all too well. Everyone is talking loudly, but it all blurs out as I stare at him.
Why am I so infatuated with this man?
He’s like the most incompatible person I could even dream of hooking up with. Besides, I’m spoken for. Sorta. Almost. Ugh.
“…everyone should plan to spend the night here—”
A portion of Camilo’s words rise above the rest, sending me into a panic. I rush over to him and take the empty seat beside him.
“Why? What did the news say?” I demand, my fingers digging into his ridiculously hard bicep. He flies planes. How in the hell does he get arms like this from jiggling a joystick all day?
He turns to regard me. Up close, I can see speckles of gold in his dark brown eyes that are surrounded by thick black lashes. His lips quirk up on one side.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he p
urrs, his eyes sliding to my lips and then to my exposed shoulder.
“Eyes up here, buddy. Focus.” I swat at his arm, earning a chuckle. “What did they say?”
His playfulness fades when he senses my worry. I hate that I acted like a baby last night, but the truth is, the hurricane scares me.
“No new news, just that it’s imminent. By nightfall, it’ll land. Eddie’s is the safest place here at the hotel, which is why we encourage everyone to stay together.” His features harden. “Don’t fight me on this.”
I recoil as embarrassment floods through me. Am I really this difficult that he would assume I’d want to stay anywhere but the safest place? Feeling hurt, I turn in my seat and pick up a flimsy menu that’s grease stained. Tears prickle my eyes.
Breathe, Sheridan.
You’re a Reid girl.
Tough. Resilient. Brave.
A muscular arm wraps around me and I freeze. I’m invaded by Camilo’s masculine scent that somehow overpowers the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. His lips graze along the shell of my ear, making me shiver.
“I just want to keep you safe, little bee.” His fingers brush down my arm. “I’m sorry if I sounded gruff.”
I relax a little and nod, still unable to look at him for fear of crying. I’m so out of my element. I keep grasping for the real Sheridan and I can’t find her.
“After breakfast, can you help gather supplies?” He pulls away slightly. “We could use someone to boss us around. We’re lazy delinquents otherwise.”
I peek over at him. He’s smiling at me and his brown eyes are soft. I’m thankful he’s helping coast me through my weird mood.
“You do not want me to boss you around,” I warn, smirking.
“Sugar tits,” Damian chimes in, “I would pay good damn money to watch you boss beautiful buns around. As long as you both do it naked. I’m rich. I’m good for it. Name your price.”
We all laugh and it feels good.
Is this how normal people behave?
Laughs and silliness and playfulness with friends?
A yearning settles in the pit of my stomach that I try to blame on hunger or my hangover. I know better, though. I want more than what I’ve strived so hard in life for. The more has always been elusive and murky.