Beautiful Mine

by Jordyn White

How much longer is that really going to last?

  Chapter 15

  Connor

  I feel like I’m playing with fire here.

  I don’t even have to ask Whitney if she has a boyfriend. I know. It’s like the connection between us hasn’t lessened at all, like the time apart never happened.

  Except that it did. And being with her is making it hard for me to pretend it wouldn’t kill me to get involved again, only to have to say goodbye. Again.

  Because the truth is, that pacing, pacing, pacing has been revving through my body more and more these days. I’m trying to make it stop. Not for the first fucking time in my life, I’m trying like hell to make it stop. I don’t know how to do it. How do people stay?

  Earlier, Whitney called me impulsive. She’s not wrong. But that’s something my dad worked really hard to help me be wise about. Going left or right down a street? There’s no harm either way, usually, so it’s fine to take a leap. But if you’re going to, say, take an actual leap, it’s best to check out your landing conditions first.

  I learned that the hard way when I went cliff diving as a preteen and broke my arm on a rock under the surface. If I’d landed one foot to the left, I probably wouldn’t have survived long enough to bury my parents.

  Dad said it over and over again: there’s good impulsive and there’s bad impulsive. The difference comes down to being wise enough to assess the risks. It comes down to being strong enough to walk away if taking that leap means you or someone else can get seriously hurt.

  Like now. Because as I take Whitney through the resort and watch her eyes light up at the things I’ve come to take for granted—she’s even fascinated by the fucking A/V room for Pete’s sake—I feel that powerful lure of taking a leap.

  You know what I mean: the adrenaline of running full out for the edge, the thrill of launching into clear blue sky, and the beauty of falling so fast it’s like you’re flying.

  Flying.

  Only I can’t see what dangers might be at the bottom of that leap.

  For either of us.

  Chapter 16

  Whitney

  As requested, Connor gave me a thorough tour. In between getting him caught up on my life—I leave out the dating part—I get to see just about everything. My favorite parts kept changing as we went along. First it was meeting the head chef of Commoners and getting a taste of the ah-mazing butternut squash soup they were making. Then it was seeing the stunning Grand Ballroom with its massive crystal chandeliers. And then it was meeting their Events Manager—Renee—and watching her team in action as they set up for a wedding on the massive, second-floor, stone balcony with a gorgeous view of the ocean. The balcony can seat up to 200 people!

  Connor and I also played a few games of Mrs. Pac-Man in the teen lounge and got some raspberry truffles from the resort’s little brunch cafe and sweet shop, Sweetbrew.

  The most fascinating thing has been getting a glimpse at what goes on behind-the-scenes. I never thought about what it really takes to keep an operation like this going.

  But my favorite thing? My most favorite thing? Connor himself. Not just being with him, which has been as amazing as it’s always been, but seeing how he is with his staff. He’s friendly and encouraging, but still wears this air of quiet authority they all seem to respond to. It’s a mix that I find incredibly attractive. In fact, the more employees we pass, and they are everywhere, the more amazed I am by who Connor is.

  “How many employees do you have?” I ask as he leads me toward our final stop on the main floor, the administrative offices.

  “That depends on the time of year. We get a big influx of part time and temp workers during the season. Sometimes as many as six-hundred.”

  “Holy cow. You manage all these people?”

  He laughs. “No. We manage the managers who manage all these people.”

  Still.

  “What?” He’s grinning at the way I’m staring at him.

  “I’m really impressed.”

  “Ah,” he says lightly, as we approach a wide, dark-wood door marked Executive Offices. “You didn’t know the wanderer had it in him, huh?”

  I laugh. “I guess not.”

  “That’s all right. It’s a common mistake.”

  “I don’t know. Your employees seem to view you with respect.”

  “They’ve never met the wanderer though, have they?” He winks at me. Oh, I remember that wink. Damn, Connor, you are killing me.

  The fact that he does, clearly, love what he’s doing here is giving me hope, though. It’s also helping me understand why he’s been struggling to make a decision. Between enjoying his work and feeling what I suspect is a strong sense of obligation to his siblings, it’s a wonder this situation isn’t tearing my little wanderer in two.

  I’m not sure it isn’t.

  We go through the door and into a large area that has a central cluster of nice, open cubicle spaces—for employees who do mostly accounting and administrative support work—and an outer ring of private offices. These offices start small—with door tags identifying the Events Manager, Food and Beverage Manager, and so on—and work up to impressive offices well suited for the people who work in them.

  Rayce’s name is on the big corner office with large windows facing the lush front gardens. On either side are offices for Connor and Lizzy, slightly smaller but also with broad windows. Rayce’s office is empty, but my nerves shoot up when I realize Connor is leading me past his own office and straight to Lizzy’s where—yep, there she is, getting up from her desk and coming around as she sees us walk right in.

  “Hey Lizzy,” Connor says. “I wanted you to meet a friend of mine. I’m showing her around. This is Whitney Spencer. Whitney, Lizzy.”

  Lizzy has dark hair and pretty green eyes. She’s wearing a friendly smile that so resembles Connor’s, but when she hears my name her eyebrows shoot up and she seems to give Connor a questioning look.

  If I had to translate this look, I’d say it went something along the lines of, Oh, ho, ho. Who do we have here?

  But then the look is gone and she’s back to smiling at me. She shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You as well. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All good, I hope.” But she doesn’t seem at all worried about how Connor might talk about her when she’s not around. These are the kind of people who make me wonder what it would have been like to grow up with siblings and be such good friends with them later in life. “Is he giving you the grand tour?”

  I nod. “It’s really beautiful here. I’m so impressed.”

  “Thank you. Ah, here’s Rayce.” We turn to see Connor’s older brother walking through the door.

  Rayce certainly resembles his siblings in appearance, but his demeanor is something else entirely. While it’s easy to describe Connor and Lizzy as friendly, Rayce is much too powerful a presence to be defined by such a word. He’s not unfriendly, and gives me a gracious smile as he enters and notices me, but he’s the kind of person who looks like he owns and runs a famous luxury resort.

  Connor introduces him as “Rayce”, but when we shake hands and I say, “Nice to meet you,” it’s awfully tempting to add a Sir to the end.

  “Whitney and I met in Spain last year,” Connor explains. “She works for the Kendrick Refugee Outreach Center in San Francisco and is visiting one of the kids she placed with a family that lives here.”

  “Now I’m the one who’s impressed,” Lizzy says. “They do great work.”

  “They do. Thank you.”

  “Well, since you’re here I think you should join us for our monthly dinner on Sunday.” She smiles and glances briefly at the other two as if to get their opinion about the idea, but doesn’t wait for them to give it. “How long are you in town?”

  “Uh...” I look to Connor to see if this is a serious offer or what. He’s giving his sister an amused smile. “I fly out Sunday afternoon.”

  “We can change it to Saturday then. A
re you free Saturday?”

  “You didn’t ask if I have Saturday free,” Rayce says, but he’s giving her a smile that manages to be both distinguished and fond. It’s easy to see these brothers love their sister.

  “Shush.” She waves a hand at him and returns her attention to me. She’s smiling eagerly. I have to say, she seems so genuine and welcoming that I kind of want to go. But I don’t know. Having dinner with Connor’s family feels like a bit much, like we’d be taking a step or something. We haven’t even had a chance to talk properly. For all I know, that’s as far as this is going.

  “Stop trying to take over her vacation,” Connor says easily, winking at me.

  “Oh fine.” But she’s still smiling gracefully.

  “Thank you for the offer, though,” I say, and mean it.

  Rayce pulls out his phone, which has just beeped at him. He checks the screen. “Excuse me, I have to go. Oh Connor, did Lukas ever send you those numbers?”

  “Yes. I’ll get my report to you Monday.”

  “All right. That works.” He looks at me and I’m a little startled to have his full attention again. “Whitney, it was nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” Sir.

  “We’re off as well,” Connor says. “We’re having dinner at Martini Ranch.”

  Lizzy nods in approval. “Your tour’s over then?”

  “Just about. I still want to show her the gardens.”

  “Well enjoy, you two.” She gives a little wave as she heads to her chair, and I wave back.

  When we’re out in the hall, I say, “Your family’s so nice.”

  “Tell me I’m the cutest one.” He grins. “Even if you have to lie.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to lie,” I say, without hesitation. “I’ve already told you how hot you are.” In fact, you’re driving me crazy.

  “Good answer. I’ll be sure to tell Rayce you said that.”

  “No!”

  He laughs at my reaction. “I’m only teasing.”

  “Good,” I say as we head through the lobby and toward the front entrance. “Because your brother’s kind of intimidating.”

  Connor laughs. “Oh, he’s all right. You know, when he’s not being an ass.”

  I glance at Connor, not sure if he’s kidding or what, because in spite of the laugh, there was something in his tone.

  We walk over to the gardens, which are on the west side of the resort’s front grounds, situated along the edge of the bluff, so there’s a clean view of the ocean. There are winding paths, little waterfalls, a lovely footbridge. It’s beautiful and impossibly romantic. We’ve slowed our pace and are meandering through in silence. For the first time since I arrived, we’re away from people. In fact, it feels like we’re completely alone.

  We took so long on the tour, it’s nearing dinnertime and the sun’s making its descent toward the horizon. In a few more hours, it’ll be sinking into the water, which makes me think of the ocean sunset we once watched in Spain.

  It makes my heart yearn for him, and he’s right here.

  We come to a little labyrinth, laid out with white, rounded stones. It’s just off the main path, and set on a base of firm gravel. Impulsively, I enter it and start following its curved pathway, from the large outer circle, in to the smaller circles. Still in heels, I have to hold my hands out a bit to keep my balance on the gravel.

  Connor stays on the garden’s main path. I sense him watching me. I glance at him. His hands are in his pockets, his intense eyes are on me, and he’s giving me a look that brings a warm flush to my face.

  Heart pounding, cheeks warm, I drop my eyes to the path and keep them there until I reach the center. Only then do I stop and meet Connor’s eyes again.

  And there’s the look I’ve been waiting for.

  The one that says he intends to kiss me.

  It’s the look I’ve been longing for since we started the tour. Hell, since I saw him at lunch.

  Scratch that, I’ve been longing for this since I left his ass in Spain.

  Keeping his eyes on me, Connor steps off the path and into the labyrinth. He doesn’t follow the circular path though. He just steps over the little stones and slowly comes straight for me. A gentle breeze blows through, ruffling the soft fabric of my skirt around my thighs.

  My heart is pounding and I feel a little unsteady on my feet. But I take a step forward to meet him anyway. We come close, bodies just shy of touching, and he puts his hands on my upper arms. I rest my hands on his waist, under his suit coat.

  Neither one of us moves. His eyes are holding me in place. I’m holding my breath. Now I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me or not. Maybe he doesn’t know either.

  But then he bends down and presses his lips to mine, so lightly. My breath catches and my hands gently squeeze his waist. Our lips part just slightly, and our heated breaths swirl together.

  My eyes meet his. In them I see the same confusing blend of hesitation and desire that I feel. We freeze here, searching each other’s faces. I know the split second before he does it that he’s going to pull away.

  “Sorry,” he says thickly, straightening. But he hasn’t let go of me. “I... maybe shouldn’t have done that. Not because I don’t want to,” he says quickly, reacting, I know, to the look on my face. “I just...” he squeezes my arms firmly, like he’s hanging on, and takes breath. “It was really hard ending it last time.”

  I press my lips together.

  “So... maybe we... shouldn’t.” His voice is full of regret.

  Because you still can’t make promises, I think. I swallow past the lump in my throat. God, he’s probably right. I hate this.

  “It was hard,” I say. But as I look up at him, I know it wasn’t hard enough to keep me from doing it again. I want to be impulsive and reckless and take him while I can get him and pay the consequences later. Part of me doesn’t care.

  But maybe he feels differently about me. And I don’t want to rope him into this when he’s telling me he wants to step back.

  “All right” I nod. Agreeing. Hating it. “It’s okay.” I’m suddenly cold and shiver a bit. I drop my hands and rub them on my forearms.

  “Come here,” he says gently, pulling me into him.

  I wrap my arms around his waist, rest my cheek on his chest, and sigh. We stay there for several minutes, hanging onto each other.

  “Can we still have dinner?” I ask. I’m not ready to say goodbye. “Just as friends?”

  “Of course.” He squeezes me. “I want to.”

  “Okay,” I say, just relieved this isn’t over yet.

  Chapter 17

  Whitney

  Martini Ranch has a large bar in the center with a restaurant on one side and dance floor on the other. Though not formal, it has great atmosphere and fantastic food. During dinner, Connor asks me about work again. The tour wasn’t exactly conducive to deep conversation, and he wants to know how I’m really doing.

  How I’m doing, right now, is not so well. But work has nothing to do with it.

  I tell him more or less what I told him on the tour, keeping my most difficult struggles with work to myself. I don’t tell him that in my darkest moments I think seriously about quitting because I feel too weak to stay. I don’t tell him about my dark moments at all. I decide I shouldn’t share the hard stuff. It’s too intimate, and I’m trying to hold back. That’s what we’re doing, right? Putting a fence around things?

  Maybe this really is better. Not so painful.

  Maybe.

  As we finish our meal, I’m starting to feel anxious that it’s all about to come to an end. I’m relieved when he suggests we hop to the other side and either hang at the bar or do some dancing.

  “I don’t know if you like to dance,” he says, but I’m already on my feet and grabbing his hand.

  “I love to dance.”

  He laughs and follows behind. I do love to dance, too, and don’t get near enough of it at home. It’s another non-entity, actually, like my non-existent love
life. As I pull him onto the dance floor, the music pounding in my chest, I decide this is the perfect way to get out some of my frustration. He doesn’t want to kiss me? Fine. He can sure as hell dance with me.

  The DJ is playing “Shots” by Imagine Dragons, and the song is half over. It’s a blast to dance to, though, and I let myself go. Smiling and following my lead, Connor gets into it too. This guy can move. No surprise.

  So that’s what we do. The DJ is kind to me, and plays the fast songs. The ones I can’t help but move to. The ones that are helping me forget. And Connor is right there with me, still in his dress pants and shirt, dancing like the free bird he is.

  We keep our distance. Until we don’t.

  “Naughty Girl” by Beyonce comes on and Connor pulls me in close and throws my arms around his neck. We’re still pumping to the music, but within seconds it’s like something out of Dirty Dancing. Oh, if I’d known he could dance like this, we would’ve done nothing else the entire time we were in Spain. Of course, it’s been so long, I forgot I knew how to dance like this.

  We’re rocking and swaying and everything but grinding. Our bodies are perfectly in sync as we move to the music. My cheeks are flushed and my body warm, and not just from the dancing.

  When the song is over, the DJ switches to a slow song. Connor and I break apart, holding each other’s eyes and panting, deciding what to do next. He could pull a Patrick Swayze and just disappear into the crowd.

  I look away. I run my hand through my hair and try to calm down my breathing. All around us, couples are swaying and we’re just standing here. I take a few deep breaths, my heart rate finally slowing. I’m still not looking at him.

  I’m also not looking at him when he takes my hand and pulls me into his arms. We start swaying. It’s hesitant, almost mechanical. Hell, it’s so bad I’m having flashbacks to the junior high dances.

  Eventually we soften, though, and our bodies meld together more naturally. Our movements are more in tune with the music and one another. The next song begins—“Open Arms” by Journey—and we don’t stop. We aren’t just moving our bodies to the music, our hands are moving too. Mine over his chest, his down my back. I drape my arm over his neck and he runs his hand from my elbow clear down to my waist. Our heads move closer together.