I could hide my erection, but I face it head-on. No way to hide it. Why try? And now, she knows what I want. I’m the one who shackled myself by giving my word. What the fuck was I thinking?
I never accommodate anyone. Why then did I break out the kid gloves for this woman?
Since I don’t understand whatever the fuck it is I’m doing, I ignore it. We’re here to snorkel and damn if we aren’t going to do exactly that. I grab at my crotch again, shifting to a more comfortable position.
Not that it’s possible.
Quinn is out of her shorts. Her red string bikini is on full display. She’s even more arresting in those tiny scraps of fabric. I swallow my lust and focus on sailing.
We share silence well. I’m not used to that with a woman. She’s happy to stretch out, teasing me with her tight, toned body, while I pilot us to our destination. It’s a cove I know well on the private side of the island reserved for my exclusive enjoyment only.
The sails come down and I drop an anchor. A little past noon, we have all afternoon to explore the coral reefs below us.
“I need to set a second anchor before we go into the water.” I grab my fins and facemask.
“Why?”
“Because if that anchor comes loose, there’s no way in hell we’ll catch the boat.”
We’re anchored a couple hundred yards off-shore. It would be a long swim to the beach if the anchor came loose and we lost the boat. I’m a strong swimmer, certain of not only my ability to make it ashore, but my ability to tow her there as well. From the toned muscles in her legs, she may not need my help. Two anchors are sufficient when not leaving a spotter on board. I place a total of three.
When I surface after placing the last anchor, Quinn is ready.
“All secure?” Her bright eyes shimmer with excitement.
“Jump on in.”
She puts on her mask and fins, then takes a giant stride off the boat. It’s something divers are trained to do and tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
We spend the next few hours exploring the reefs, diving as deep as our breaths allow, and thoroughly enjoying the day. We break for a late lunch and I open the champagne. Our conversation moves easily, speaking about nothing of importance.
Together, we lie side by side on the netting spanning the twin hulls of the catamaran and watch the clouds roll by, picking out shapes and making up stories. It’s amazing how easily I relax in her company.
As for the snorkeling, there’s no reason to worry about Quinn. She’s confident both on the water and beneath the surface. I can’t wait to take her diving and spend time exploring some of my favorite dive sites around the island.
The day passes. I grow more and more comfortable in her presence, lowering walls I never let down. Well aware of the danger, I can’t help but breathe freely in her presence.
With the sun dipping toward the horizon, we call it a day. My intent was to take her on a sunset dinner cruise, but our casual boat ride is far superior and the sun is setting up to put on an amazing display across the sky.
“This has been one of the most relaxing days of my life.” Quinn’s emerald gaze settles on me, soft and gentle, her face brightens with joy. The wind whips at her hair, drying it as we sail, and I return her smile.
“For me as well.”
“Don’t you wish you could stay here forever? Wrapped in this bubble of time and never have to go back to the real world?”
“There are times.”
Like now.
I’d take this moment and wrap it in forever to spend time with her for the rest of my life. No entrapments. No lies. Just her sweet smile and radiant eyes, which promise more than I’m willing to bear.
“Tell me about your job.” She stares off at the horizon, eyes scanning the oranges, yellows, and reds which herald the beginning of our evening light show.
“There’s not much to say.”
“Oh, come on. I told you about mine, but you’ve barely said a word about yourself.”
She’s right about that. My questions began with gentle probing, growing more inquisitive. Despite the euphoria this day brings, and my joy in spending time alone with Quinn, I can’t escape the very high probability she’s playing me. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t try to take a piece of me, in one way or another.
How can I spin this and answer her question without answering it?
“What do you think I do?”
“You want me to guess?”
“I do. You’ve spent the day with me and have probably figured out a few things. You must have some guesses. I’m curious, Miss Hayes, what is it you think a man like me might do to make a living?”
“That is a very dangerous game.”
“How so?”
“What if I inadvertently insult you?”
“You’d never do that.”
“Okay.” An impish grin settles on her face. “I think you won the lottery and are out spending your millions after quitting your job.” Her brow arches.
“A pauper turned prince?” My hand flies to my chest as if wounded.
“There’s no way you’re a pauper.”
“And why’s that?”
“I come from a blue-collar family. You’re different. You come from wealth.” She taps her chin. “The question is whether you were born into it, or whether you acquired it yourself.”
“What if it’s both? Does that alter your opinion of me?”
“Not really.” She gives a slight shake of her head. “But it explains a little.”
“What’s that?”
“Your comments about commitment. Since you’re making me guess, I’m going to assume it’s more than a little money. I would imagine, for people like you, it’s difficult to get to a person’s true motives.”
“How so?”
“Well, let’s go for the obvious first. Here’s the most pertinent question. Are your friends your friends because of the money, or because they value your company?” She lifts her first finger in the air. “The same goes for the women. Are they there because they want to date you for you, spend time with you because they’re attracted to you, or are they there for the money and the status being associated with you brings?”
“Go on.”
“Since you’re not fat and ugly…”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” Laughter bursts out of me.
“I’m not stroking your ego. You wanted me to guess, so I’m laying it all out. I’m being serious.” And she is—being serious.
I’m a puzzle she’s unraveling. There’s no sense in having fun at my expense, but rather working through her theories. I get the impression this is how she tackles problems at work. Her mind fascinates me.
“You’re an attractive man. One of the cool kids in school. Women would flock to you solely based on your looks. For you, though, it’s a more complicated question.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“We’ll lay it all out.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Women come easily to you. You don’t need to put in any effort to get a woman like our fat and ugly man.”
“I’m not sure where this comparison is going.”
“Hang on… It’s not earth-shattering.” She lifts her hand up, palm out, telling me to let her finish.
I lean back and grip the wheel. “I’m all ears.”
“The fat and ugly man, whether he has, or doesn’t have money, will work much harder to find his one true love. He’s more selective because he needs to be and he doesn’t have a ton of options to wade through. Therefore, it’s both easier and harder for him. When he finds his one, the chances are pretty high she loves him for who he is, rather than what he has, whether that’s his looks or his money.”
“Go on.”
“For the popular, esthetically pleasing man,” she gestures toward me, “women flock to him. And let’s face it, most people are shallow assholes. Men and women. I’m not discriminating. They’re out for themselves.
If that means status from dating the hot guy, or even better, the status that comes from dating the rich, hot guy, they’ll do whatever it takes. This leaves our rich, hot guy with droves of potentials but nobody who’s really interested in the man behind the looks—or money. My assumption is this would make a person jaded.”
“Jaded?”
“Yes, he’d never know if a girl was there for him, or for what he can offer, and that is a horrible position to be in.”
I lift my finger. “Or… It’s the perfect position to be in. Why should a man settle for one person when he can have his fill?”
“Because…” Her eyes pinch together like I missed something crucial.
“There’s nothing wrong with playing the field.” My tone is more defensive than I intend.
“But don’t you want to find your one? The person who loves you for yourself. Who would still be with you if you weren’t insanely attractive?” She gives a shake of her head. “Life is hard. Things happen. I want someone who will be there for me through better or worse. Whether that worse is sickness or an accident that leaves me crippled or maimed, or when I’m old and wrinkly. Beauty never lasts. Don’t you want to know the person you’re with will be there with you through the good and the bad?”
“Interesting words coming from a woman engaged to a cheating douchebag.” When her lower lip quivers, I realize how insensitive my comment was and how out of line I am in making it. It was a defensive move because she hit every nail on the head.
Hearing her so easily dissect my life hits a nerve. Regardless of my feelings, she doesn’t deserve that from me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No. You’re right.” Her arms cross over her chest and she shifts away from me. “I’m the foolish girl who believes in love and happily-ever-afters. I should be more like you; a person with a hard heart who doesn’t give a fuck about other people. Fortunately, I’m not like you. I care about the people I’m with. I don’t use them, and if that makes me a chump, I’d rather be a chump than someone who treats people like disposable commodities.”
“Quinn…” I place my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs me off.
“And that is why I’ll never kiss you. Unlike you, I don’t use people.” Her comment stings, but what she doesn’t say is what hurts the most.
Now I know exactly what she thinks of me.
She puts on her shorts and moves to the front of the boat. She tries to hide the swipe of her thumb across her cheek, but I feel the sting of her tears in my heart. My words weren’t meant to hurt, but they cut deep. It’s evident in the slump of her shoulders and the way she won’t meet my eye.
Way to fuck up a perfect day, asshole.
Nineteen
Quinn
The rest of the ride back to Euphoria is awkward. Mostly because I’m too caught up pouting over nothing. Hawke reminded me of my broken heart and how blind I’d been with Scott. It’s a truth I didn’t need shoved in my face.
I pretty much ignore Hawke, and yes, I’m fully aware how immature that makes me.
He’s the one who wanted to play that stupid game and have me guess what he does for a living. I warned him, but his arrogance got in the way.
Then my mouth got in the way.
He shot back at me.
And now, we’re not speaking.
Way to end what was an otherwise perfect day.
Nevertheless, that dig about Scott was cruel.
Our snorkeling-sailing adventure concludes in stilted silence. Other than water rushing along the twin hulls and the wind snapping the sails, our conversation is virtually nonexistent.
Hawke guides the boat through the surf and several attendants rush up to drag the catamaran past the water’s edge. While they loop in a line to a sand anchor, I put on my top beneath Hawke’s pensive stare. We may not be speaking, but he says a hell of a lot with those eyes. They’re full of regrets and the remnants of our simmering passion.
Talk about throwing cold water on the heat building between us.
“Quinn.” He drags his fingers through wind-tossed hair. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” The boat rocks beneath us, rising with an incoming wave, dropping as it recedes. The sun puts on a fiery display, its daily ritual where it relinquishes its supremacy against the darkness.
I’m done with the crying thing. I moved through anger. Now I’m sitting on regret, feeling like an idiot.
“I know.”
“Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m the overly sensitive one. Wanting something, and having it, are two completely different things. I consider myself fortunate I discovered the truth before things went any further.”
Not sure if I’m talking about Scott, or Hawke, I turn my back to Hawke and jump off the boat. Water splashes on my legs as I look back at him. Tall and as imposing as ever, his expressionless face is unreadable.
He joins me on the sand with a splash. “Did I ruin a chance at dinner?”
I hesitantly look up at him. “I don’t know if I’m up for dinner, to be honest. I want to take a shower and… I don’t know. Hit the pool? I might grab something from the bar and call it an early night.”
He regards me with hooded lids. “At least let me walk you to your villa.” The swirls of emotion I see in his eyes makes me gasp. He’s not willing to give up, but won’t push too hard. I sense he’s holding back, moving cautiously with me. If I were any other woman, I’m sure he would’ve defiled me in the most delicious way several times over by now.
His pull is undeniable, and I answer with a nod. By the time we round the last bend leading to my villa, my emotions settle out. Dinner is back under consideration.
“I’m not upset with you.” I place a hand on his arm. It’s the first time we’ve touched in hours.
“You sure about that?”
“Honestly, your comment was a bit harsh, but the person I should be mad at is Scott, not you. You’ve been incredibly kind, helping me get my mind off the asshole. I appreciate it. If I hadn’t met you, I’d probably be weeping in my room, crying on the beach, or drowning my sorrows in too much alcohol. I need to not do that. I’m very thankful for the distraction. And I didn’t mean to say the things I did about you. I know very little about you and made broad generalizations. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“You’re nothing like I expect, Miss Hayes. And you may be giving me more credit than I deserve. I took you out because I want to get in your pants. You make my actions appear much more gallant than they are. I’m waiting for you to cave-in to my charms and give me the kiss I can’t stop thinking about. I’m a rather self-serving bastard.”
Laughter spills out of me. He’s honest and I love that. Not afraid to own up to his needs, I wonder if he doesn’t realize the truth.
I’ve given him every indication I’m not interested in pursuing anything further with him, yet he still took me out. Today is easily one of the best days of my life.
“You very well might be, but for me, you’ve been nothing but a gentleman. I appreciate that.”
“A gentleman? Hmm, I’m not sure if I’d agree with that statement, but then, I am holding back. Have I changed your mind about dinner?”
A soft laugh escapes me, but I cut it off abruptly when a man steps out of the front door of my villa. A man I know entirely too well.
“Scott?” My voice cracks.
“I take it that’s the rat bastard?” Hawke practically turns his words into a growl.
“Shit.” For whatever reason, I reach for Hawke’s hand and give it a hard squeeze. “What do I do?”
“That depends… Do you want to fix things with the asshole or end them forever?”
“End them forever.”
Like there’s any question what I want.
Scott shields his eyes from the setting sun while the blood in my body grows cold.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t want to see Scott, let alone speak to him. I definitel
y don’t want to be alone with him.
“Let’s give him a reason to walk away.” Hawke takes my hand and spins me until I face him.
“What…” That’s all I have time for before his mouth unexpectedly crashes down on mine.
Twenty
Quinn
Hawke slams his lips to mine and knocks nearly all the wind from my lungs. I gasp, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the kiss. The powerfulness of his kiss. The exquisite, toe-curling, mind-numbing, intensity of his lips locked to mine.
There’s no time to react before his tongue presses against the seam of my lips. I should clamp them shut and deny him access. I should push him away. Instead, I sink into the wave of sensation and ride a surge of adrenaline. In his arms, I fly apart.
The demand behind his passion can’t be denied. Harder and harder he claims the kiss he’s not supposed to take. His hand drifts to my hip, settling there before pulling me close.
I inhale sharply as I press against his hard chest. His chiseled perfection can’t be real, but my fingertips confirm the truth. I splay my hand across his muscles, intending to push him away, but I let my fingers linger where they feel the racing of his heart and the quickening of his breath.
A teasing nibble parts my lips. Our tongues caress, gently at first, cautiously, then more fervently. That’s all it takes to lower my defenses. He sweeps me away. Part of me tries to think through this and urge myself to push away.
But I don’t.
I don’t want to.
My body trembles. Shivers race up and down my spine. Our breaths mingle as my heart flutters inside my chest.
I need to stop this kiss, but I don’t.
His hunger heats the simmering lust brewing between us, bringing it to a full boil. That ice in my veins melts beneath the inferno of Hawke’s kiss, and warmth spreads throughout my entire body.
Dark and sultry, he tastes a little bit of salt and sea, with something deliciously dark layered on top. I sense he holds back from taking what he wants. I feel his hunger. It’s all consuming. Hawke desires far more than a kiss.
Hawke: Christmas in Paradise (Billionaire Boys Club) Page 13