“What do you mean, a man like me?”
She drops her arm and sits up. “I’m a tragic mess. If I’ve given you the wrong idea, I sincerely apologize, but I’m not looking for something like that.”
This doesn’t happen to me. Women don’t pull away from me.
But she’s on her feet, brushing the sand off her hands. Glancing down at me, she sucks in her lower lip.
“Goodnight, Hawke, maybe I’ll see you around.”
I watch her walk away, stunned by how our evening ends. So much for fucking her brains out. Yet again, she leaves me stiff, engorged, and crazy with lust.
I almost follow her, but I turn away at the last moment. No fucking way will I give chase. Instead, I plod back to my bungalow, strip out of my clothes, and jerk off to thoughts of all the filthy things I want to do with Miss Quinn Hayes. And they are fucking filthy.
Thirteen
Quinn
So what if I’m a chicken shit?
It’s not the first time I’ve run from something which scares me.
Kissing Hawke scares me, or rather, letting him kiss me. He’s not the kind of man who lets a woman kiss him. Oh no, he’s the kind of man who dominates and controls. Frankly, that scares the shit out of me, nearly as much, or more, than it excites me. I can’t explain it, but I want him to take control. I’ve never met a man strong enough, confident enough, determined enough, to break through my walls and step up and be a man.
I’m all for women’s liberation. I’m a fucking brilliant scientist, but when it comes to man vs. woman, there’s no arguing against basic physiology. One gives. The other takes. And damn if I don’t want him to take and stake his claim.
I’m very much afraid of the passion brimming in his eyes. He strikes me as a man who gets what he wants, or takes it outright. But I don’t want to be discarded on the other side of all that passion.
All kinds of red flags go up.
First off, why me?
While not on purpose, I’ve inadvertently done everything humanly possible to be unattractive to someone of the opposite sex. It’s not like I’m trying. This simply isn’t my day to shine. I’m supposed to be grieving my heartbreak.
I don’t trust Hawke Sterling. Whatever his motives are, they have nothing to do with any attraction toward me. It can’t.
I freaked out on the plane. Drank myself under the proverbial table until I was barely conscious. I press my knuckles against my forehead because I distinctly remember puking on the plane. I drag my hand down my face and pull at my chin.
How embarrassing.
What in any of that gives him the hair-brained idea he wants to kiss me?
This is why I don’t trust men. None of it adds up. My gut says he’s up to something, and my gut never steered me wrong; except with Scott. Hell, my gut wasn’t even at the wheel. How wrong did that turn out?
But back to Hawke Sterling. Gah! Even his name inspires images of masculine dominance. It’s a powerful name. It holds weight. There’s no question of where he stands when it comes to being in charge. He’ll allow me just enough to think I’m in charge, before yanking me back to reality.
Not that he would’ve won that silly bet. Tic-tac-toe might be a kid’s game, but I’m pretty good at winning. There was zero chance of losing and having him claim that kiss.
So, here’s the million-dollar question.
Why did I run?
I don’t know, and, honestly, I don’t care.
That’s a lie.
I spend all night wondering how Hawke’s lips might feel pressed against mine. How he might taste as he plunders my mouth. How it will be fundamentally different from kissing Scott with his weak lips and uninspired kisses.
Would Hawke stop at a kiss? I know the answer to this. He won’t. It’s ingrained in his basic makeup. He takes, claims, possesses… And holy hell, I want to feel what that might be like.
All damn night, my mind whirls with possibilities.
Not good at reading people, that kiss comment came out of nowhere. I thought we were sitting on the beach staring at stars and playing a dumb kid’s game of tic-tac-toe. At some point, things shifted, and I missed the signs.
He wouldn’t ask for a kiss if he wasn’t interested? Right?
But if he wanted a kiss, wouldn’t he simply take it?
This is why I hate people. Nothing they do makes sense. With Scott, I knew what to expect and where we were headed. He kissed me and we had sex; uninspired sex, but sex nonetheless. At least until I realized Scott was playing a very different game. What does Scott want with me? He’s not in love with me. Not if he’s fucking Sadie. So, what does he gain by marrying me?
Yet again, I find myself blindsided.
Scott is the reason I ran away from work. He’s the reason I’m hiding out in Euphoria instead of spending the holidays at home with my loud and obnoxious family. Scott took something precious when he cheated on me. My ability to trust is irrevocably shattered.
Not that it matters. The truth is I’m not ready to fall into the arms of another man. Not that it would be anything other than a holiday fling, but still.
I’m not that kind of girl.
And why not? He said you could be anything you wanted.
Hawke’s words come back to me. He’s right about one thing. Nobody here knows me. It might be the perfect time to shed my skin and try out a few things.
I can be whomever I want to be. Whomever? Or is it whoever? Shit, what do I care? It’s not like the grammar police are in my head.
With that thought, I drift off to sleep.
In the morning, I wake to an inbox flooded with messages. Only two are from Scott, begging me to call him. There are twenty from Sadie, all full of tears, regrets, and apologies I can’t accept.
Irritated by the texts and messages, I flip the downy white comforter off the bed and give a good long stretch. I’m in paradise with absolutely nothing to do all day except be lazy.
But I’m not a lazy person. I’m used to being in motion, and I don’t like pity parties. I’ve already lost one day in paradise to a hangover. Time to see what there is to do at Euphoria.
A quick shower leaves me refreshed, and since I’m in paradise, I slip on a red string bikini, a pair of cheeky short shorts, and a loosely woven crochet top. Yup, I’m strutting my stuff to men who don’t give a flying fuck about me. They’re here with the love of their lives.
Which means, I’m a stupid peacock on parade.
I take a moment to explore my little retreat. It’s beach chic, classy, elegant, and yet casual all at the same time. The bed is large, the pillows fluffy, the bathroom absolutely decadent with a large soaking tub and a shower enclosure more than big enough for two.
An entire wall of windows faces the beach. It’s a tiny, secluded cove with a narrow crescent of sparkling sand. It’s almost too perfect. Pounding waves break over an outer reef, spraying foam high into the air. I feel their distant thunder vibrating deep in my chest. That outer reef leaves the inner waters of my tiny cove nearly still. They ripple, sending tiny waves lapping at the shore, but are otherwise mirror-smooth.
Seabirds circle overhead looking for their next meal. One tucks its wings and dives under the water. It crests the surface a few seconds later with a tiny wriggling fish in its beak. A few birds strut along the beach, pecking at small crustaceans who hide in the sand. Past all of it, endless swells of water roll inward from an ocean too big to comprehend. I feel incredibly small looking upon all that splendor.
After closer examination, my cove is clearly manmade. There’s too much regularity to the arched spits of land. The owners of this resort certainly pulled out all the stops.
I wander the beach for an hour looking for seashells until hunger pains pull me back inside. I could order room service, but like last night, the thought of staying alone in this place makes me feel extremely lonely.
People may confuse me, but I seek them out. Not to socialize with; I’m not interested in intruding on some couple�
�s romantic vacation. I just want to be nearby, so I don’t feel so incredibly, achingly alone.
I slip on a pair of sandals and decide food and a little exploration are in order. This takes me on a meandering stroll through immaculately manicured paths and gardens blooming with color. One thing I love about the tropics is they’re colorful year-round with all manner of flowering plants.
It’s a little funny, but the resort has decorated for the holidays, putting out little holiday scenes, but there’s no way to hide that we’re in the tropics. Beautiful butterflies flit from bush to bush, drinking nectar from tropical blooms. Tiny tree frogs ribbit, adding their unique sound to the melody. I can almost forget it’s Christmas.
As for the resort itself, it’s stunning. There’s simply no other way to say it. My suite appears to be one of four secluded retreats, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the resort isn’t over-the-top elegant.
Everything is tied together and yet feels reclusive. There are tons of alcoves and other spaces for couples to find the privacy they crave. I wander past half a dozen couples napping on the grass, sitting at picnic tables, and simply enjoying a timeout from the world.
I envy them but decide it’s not going to ruin my experience. It’s a gorgeous day with barely a cloud in the deep-blue sky. The sun heats my body, bringing beads of perspiration to my skin, but the constant breeze off the ocean keeps me cool.
It’s a perfect day; the perfect day.
I wander by a maze of grottos and find several couples in various stages of physical intimacy. One couple makes me hurry my step. Their soft moans and bodies moving rhythmically in unison leave nothing to the imagination.
The expansive pool welcomes guests to take a soothing dip. Two couples play a game of volleyball, splashing and laughing as they try to score.
I bypass the pool bar and head to the main restaurant. Last night, hunger brought me here, but the romantic atmosphere scared me off. I’m hoping it’s a little less daunting in the daylight.
Fortunately, my suspicions are correct. The cozy ambience of last night is replaced by bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Bright and colorful birds fill the air with song and layered over that is the sound of rushing water in a man-made stream which meanders throughout the resort. The air smells fresh, fragrant, and invigorating. It makes me want to be outside, enjoying the tropical climate.
“Miss Hayes.” The hostess somehow recognizes me, “How may I help you?”
“Um, table for one?”
“Of course.” She picks up a menu and gestures for me to follow. Not one time does she make me feel awkward for requesting a table alone.
She seats me at one of the best tables in the dining room. It’s a corner table out of the main flow of traffic. I’ll have privacy to enjoy my meal in peace and not feel awkward that I’m alone.
Although, in looking around, it appears I’m not the only one dining alone. An elderly gentleman sits on the far side of the restaurant. He snaps a newspaper and sips his coffee. There’s another woman sitting alone, near the middle of the room, with a book in one hand and a mimosa in the other. Her eyes are glued to her book. It must be spicy by the way she keeps nibbling on her lower lip as she reads.
I have nothing but my phone with its unanswered texts and emails clogging up my inbox. I start hitting delete when a man approaches the table. Thinking it’s my waiter, I look up with a smile on my face. I quickly discard the smile for a frown when Hawke Sterling pulls out a chair and sits down like he owns the place.
Fourteen
Quinn
“What are you doing?” My tone is challenging, but wavers with uncertainty.
“I’m sitting down for brunch.” Hawke lifts his hand over his head and beckons with his fingers. Less than thirty-seconds later, my waiter appears. Hawke rattles off an order. “One mimosa. One bloody mary. And bring us a starter of crab claws.”
“Right away, Mr. Sterling.” Our waiter disappears as I gape at Hawke.
“That’s a bit ballsy ordering for me.”
“You think that was for you?” His smile is arrestingly gorgeous.
The golden glow of his eyes melts me from the inside out. He’s cocky, arrogant, and perfectly at ease. If I thought he was handsome in the moonlight, it’s nothing compared to his sultry good looks in the light of day.
“Of course, if you want one of the drinks…” He lets his voice trail off and winks. “I can be persuaded to share.”
“You’re really going to tell me you’re planning on drinking the bloody mary and the mimosa?”
“Am I?” He leans back, all cocksure and tempting.
My decision to run from that kiss comes back to haunt me. What would’ve been so bad about a little kiss?
Before I can answer, the waiter returns with our drinks. He places the bloody mary in front of Hawke and the mimosa in front of me.
“Your crab claws will be here momentarily.” The waiter shifts his attention to me. “Are you ready to order?”
I’ve yet to look at the menu. Hawke steps up, continuing with his bossy arrogance. It’s frustratingly sexy as fuck. “We’ll split the seafood tower and if you could bring us each a serving of fresh fruit. I’ll take water with my meal and she’ll take…” He looks at me, giving me an opportunity to speak for myself.
“I’ll have iced tea with lemon, please.” It feels like an extravagance to be given the ability to order for myself. His bossiness? It’s a hundred times more intoxicating than the mimosa.
The waiter takes our order and leaves us in peace.
“How do you know I’m not allergic to shellfish?” I ask.
“I don’t.”
“Do you commonly order for your dates without their input?”
“That depends.” He leans toward me. “Am I your date?”
“More like an intruder.” My tone is supposed to be harsh, but I can’t help the smile turning up the corners of my lips. He’s impossibly gorgeous, stunning actually, and his take-charge attitude is titillating. Which is weird. I’m usually put off by bossy men who think they know everything. With Hawke, it’s not like that.
It’s way worse.
He triggers deep-seated fantasies I’m not willing to acknowledge.
“An intruder you’re not kicking out.” He rests his chin on his hand and gives me a long, appraising look as he dissects everything about me.
At least that’s how it feels. Beneath his gaze, I’m exposed as he delves for all my most intimate secrets. Terrified doesn’t begin to explain how I feel. I’m not ready for anyone to read me that well.
“An intruder who wouldn’t leave if I asked.” I counter in the only way I can.
“This is where you’re wrong. If you’re not interested in sharing a meal with me, just say the word and I’ll disappear.” He leans back and takes a sip of his drink. “However, if you don’t mind a little company, I’m happy to stick around. We are, after all, the only single people in this entire resort.”
I’ve been avoiding the mimosa. Somehow, if I drink from it, I tacitly agree to his presence. But that’s the thing, I want his company. I’m utterly, and totally, enthralled with Hawke Sterling.
I take the drink and lift it in a toast. “To a beautiful day in paradise.”
“Now, that’s something I can get behind.” He clinks his glass against mine as the waiter returns with a bed of crab claws arranged on shaved ice.
“Thank you, Julian.” Hawke doesn’t look at the man’s name tag. He either has a really good memory, or is excellent at names. “Can you grab us a second round?”
One of my greatest shortcomings is learning people’s names. Hawke seems like a people person, perfectly at ease in the social environment. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s King of Kings in that department.
I take a sip of my drink, more of a gulp to steady my nerves, and turn my attention to Hawke.
Crab claws are one of my favorite dishes, not that I’m going to let him know it.
“Last night, y
ou learned what brought me here, but I don’t know why you’re here.” My statement is issued in challenge, daring him to fill in the blanks.
I don’t know why he’s here alone because it never occurred to me to ask. This is how socially inept I am.
“Are you asking why I’m here, or why I’m alone?”
“Does it matter?”
“It most definitely does.” He stares at me until I squirm. “You’ve earned the unique distinction of being the only woman to run from one of my kisses.”
“I can’t be the first.”
The look he gives makes me think that’s absolutely the truth. Then I remember what he did tell me.
To hide my discomfort, I nibble on a crab claw. And then another. And another. Finally, the silence stretches too long, and I’m forced to answer.
“I didn’t run.”
“You sure about that?” His eyes narrow and his brows pinch together. “Because I’m pretty sure sparks were flying as you beat a path away from me.”
“I don’t know about sparks, but you don’t want anything to do with me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I told you why I’m here.” I upend my drink and suck it dry. I don’t usually guzzle alcohol, but Hawke has a way of getting under my skin. I slam the glass down with more force than I intend. “Why are you here?”
“Ah, finally, she has a good question.”
“Finally?”
“Yes, it’s a rather important question. My answer decides the course of the rest of our time together.”
“The rest of our time?”
“Yes.” His voice turns low, sultry, and serious. “Why am I here alone?”
“I think that’s what I’m asking.”
“No, you asked why I’m here. You didn’t ask why I’m here alone.” He makes a point to emphasize alone, then sits back as if waiting on me to do just that.
Ask him.
Hawke: Christmas in Paradise (Billionaire Boys Club) Page 10