by Colet Abedi
As I step out the door and start to walk back up the path toward the restaurant, I’m stopped by a voice.
“You didn’t show up at my party.”
God.
My heart slams against my chest. I look around and see Clayton leaning against a palm tree smoking a cigar. He’s lit by the moon and looks sexy as hell. I can’t seem to find my voice. I just stare at him. He takes a puff and blows it out. I’m entranced.
“You didn’t answer my question.” His accent is more pronounced now and sounds very English, I wonder if that’s because he’s been drinking. I find my voice.
“It sounded more like an observation than a question.”
He smiles. “Both.”
He watches me like a lion ready to pounce. His gaze moves over my legs again.
“Your dress is too damn short.”
I immediately try to pull it down to cover more of my thighs, but it’s impossible, so I stop myself.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think the length of my dress is really any of your business.” Really, what does my dress length have to do with him?
I don’t think he likes my response because his eyes narrow and he has that predator look on his face again. I feel like I’m some tasty morsel he’s ready to take a bite out of. He looks me up and down, taking his time, examining every inch of me. If he’s trying to make me nervous, he’s succeeding.
“I always get what I want, Sophie.”
I feel a jolt through my body. I know he’s warning me or maybe even commanding me, but God, hearing a man sound so confident is the biggest turn-on ever. I dare myself to reply.
“How would you like me to respond to that?”
“However you like.” There’s a definite edge to his voice.
I hold my breath and watch him throw the cigar out into the sand and step toward me. Oh my God, he’s coming close. He’s invading my space. Moving in all around me. His body, his fiery strength, wraps around me like a protective shield against the world. Before I know it, his hand cups my face and he leans into me. I feel the heat move through my body again.
Electricity.
An inner pull. Whatever you want to call it. I’m just drawn to this man in every way. I don’t understand it, but there’s something about him that calls to me on a primal level. That’s the only justification I have for allowing him to get so close to me so fast. I want him to touch me. I want him near me. My body craves it, calls out to his in a dance as ancient as time.
“Do you know how sexy you are?” His lips, a breath away from mine, whisper like a soft kiss in the wind.
I’m incapable of speech or movement. I’m addicted to the look and feel of him. I’ve never wanted anything more. He leans in and I’m flush against him, so close that I can almost taste the sweet softness of his lips. I want him so bad it almost hurts. His hand cups the side of my face and I’m literally imprisoned by his grip. His hands move up my cheeks and through my hair, pulling it back softly until my lips are turned up for him to take.
He stares down at me, our eyes intertwined as we just gaze at one another. It is the most intimate and intense feeling I’ve ever had. I could stay like this forever.
My hands move of their own accord and grasp his upper arms. My lips part. I can’t comprehend the feeling I have in his arms or the sense of fulfillment I know this man will give me, but for once in my adult life, I just go with it and trust my instincts. Haven’t all the books I’ve read taught me to believe in what my soul knows?
For whatever it’s worth, I know in my very depths that he was meant to come into my life. He calls to me. If it’s the alcohol that gives me the extra courage, I don’t know. His lips softly brush against mine.
I feel energy surge through my blood and suddenly my entire body is on fire. Erik is right. From one single brush of his lips, not even a deep kiss, I know that Erik is so right. This man is completely X-rated, not even R. Straight up X. And I want every last bit of it.
“Clayton? Clayton?” Eduard calls out as he comes into view. I jerk away from Clayton’s arms, completely mortified.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I’m mortified. I can’t look either of them in the eye. What must Eduard think of me?
Many colorful nouns come to mind.
Hussy. Ho. Tramp.
“No, you weren’t interrupting! I was just heading back to the table.” I know I’m bright red and I need to get away. Clayton’s hand reaches out and grabs mine, stopping me from going anywhere.
“We’ll walk back together.” He doesn’t ask me. He commands. I’m all for women’s lib, but I have to admit that the way he sort of just takes control of everything is a turn-on. “Do you need something, Eddie?”
“Cigar?” Eduard looks uncomfortable. I think it’s the way Clayton’s pinned him to the spot with his gaze. I pity him. I’m uncomfortable too, but Clayton’s holding my hand, and judging from the grip, I don’t think he’s going to let me go. God, even the touch of his hand makes me warm inside.
“I left them at the bar.”
Eddie nods and lowers his eyes. I guess he even intimidates his friends. I look up at Clayton and am overwhelmed by his intensity. Standing there holding his hand, I feel like a complete hoochie mama, so I try to pull my hand out of his grasp, but he only tightens his grip and I feel that charge again. He looks down at me, his expression serious.
“You’re not escaping.”
My mouth goes dry. Erik and Orie told me that he’s a hunter and Lord, they were so right.
I am good and trapped.
5
We walk back to my table hand in hand and I almost laugh at the expression on Erik’s face when he sees us. It’s classic. I know I’m going to get a lecture from him about how I should be acting aloof and I fully intend to defend myself. I try again at the table but Clayton stops me cold when he says, “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’m taking Sophie for a walk on the beach.”
I look at him in surprise.
He’s what?
Stars? Ocean? Night?
Alone?
That’s a recipe for disaster for me. I can’t. I won’t be able to concentrate on a conversation. I’ll just be obsessing about whether he’ll try to kiss me. And about how it will feel. Lord, I’m losing control over my mind!
Erik will save me. He has to save me. But wait. Clayton didn’t ask, he just said. Like it was a done deal. I get the feeling that this man really doesn’t ask permission for anything in his life.
“As long as Sophie is cool with it,” Orie answers because for once Erik is shocked into silence.
Clayton doesn’t wait for me to respond whether I’m cool with it or not. “I’ll see her to her villa.”
I realize I’m standing there like a deaf mute and that I haven’t said two words the entire time.
Erik finally speaks. “We’re headed to the club, 15 Below, to check it out. It’s apparently the only underground club in the Maldives. It’s right over here. Do you guys want to join us before you go on your walk?”
I know he’s doing this to make sure I’m okay. And you know what? I love him for it. I need time to think. If I go for a walk with Clayton I won’t be responsible for my actions.
“That sounds fun,” I answer before Clayton can. I know he’s irritated; I can see it. He doesn’t seem like the club type of guy, but then I’m not the club type of girl either. Since he always gets his way (or so he told me), this new turn of events can’t be sitting too well with him. The pleaser in me wants to make him happy, so I say, “We can check it out and then maybe go for a walk after?” Crap. Why did I say that? Because deep down, you do want to be alone with him, my mind says to me in an accusatory way. Well, who wouldn’t? Look at him.
“Alright,” Clayton says quietly. “We can go to the club for a moment.” He smiles at me and my heart flutters again. God, he’s good looking, I don’t miss the fact that he said “for a moment.”
“Great. I’m just going to ge
t the check,” Erik says as he holds up his hand to get the waiter’s attention.
“It’s been taken care of.”
We all look at Clayton.
What?
“That is completely unnecessary—“ I’m shocked that he’s done something so generous and extravagant and so damn gallant.
“It’s done,” he says with finality, looking at me. He squeezes my hand, I think to silently tell me not to argue with him. Erik looks like he wants to, but then thinks better of it.
“Thank you. That was very generous of you and, as Sophie said, totally unnecessary.”
Clayton shrugs. “My pleasure. Shall we?”
Erik and Orie get up and walk toward the path that will take us to the club. Clayton starts to follow but I put my other hand on his arm to stop him. I feel his muscle tense beneath my touch and I wonder if he feels the same magnetic pull I do–if he’s as in tune with me as I am with him.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” I say softly. When that intense gaze of his meets mine, I have to look away. He makes me so damn shy.
“But I did. And I do. And it’s nothing, really.”
Nothing? It had to have been at least a five-hundred-dollar dinner.
“Sophie. I thought you wanted to go to the club, or have you changed your mind? Would you rather take a walk and talk?”
No, I’d rather not talk. I’d rather just kiss. But I guess talking is good. Talking will let me ask questions, get to know him before I hand myself over on Erik’s silver platter.
“No, let’s go to the club first. I don’t want Erik and Orie to get upset. And maybe you should invite your friends as well?” I motion toward Eduard and John, who are sitting at the bar. I have yet to meet the women.
Judging by the look on his face, Clayton doesn’t seem too concerned whether they come.
“Alright. Let’s tell them where we’re going.”
Downstairs in the club, there are about twenty or so people, including us, but then I guess only the guests of the island would be here so it’s no surprise that it’s not crowded. For a small island in the Maldives, it’s a pretty cool-looking place with a huge, fully stocked bar and a big dance floor with intimate tables set all around.
Clayton has gotten the group a table and everyone’s ordered drinks. I’m having a Campari Americano and thoroughly enjoying myself. I’ve met the two women with Clayton, Jane Billworth and Elizabeth Maitland, John’s sister. They both speak with very posh English accents and at least Elizabeth is not as snobby as I originally thought. Jane, on the other hand, is blatantly unpleasant. Her eyes glaze over when Clayton introduces me and I can tell she doesn’t like me. Erik and Orie, on the other hand, she clearly approves of. Their comedy soon gets her all giggly and I know she’s happy to hang out with them.
I learn from Elizabeth that they’re all from London (including Clayton), except for Eduard, who lives in Madrid. I wonder why Clayton’s accent isn’t as pronounced as theirs. They all grew up with each other and went to boarding school together. She hasn’t offered me any further details. I look over at Jane again. She’s quite pretty; with her blond hair and blue eyes, she looks like a Barbie doll. She’s sitting to the left of Clayton and I notice how she keeps watching him or touching his arm whenever she has a chance. I wonder if the two ever dated and it rubs me the wrong way.
Clayton excuses himself and goes to the bar, where he talks to the mixologist. I watch as he points to a bottle and the bartender pulls it down. My gaze is drawn to his perfectly muscled arms. He’s so tall and broad, his body is just not normal. It’s like every girl’s fantasy. I need to pinch myself because I still can’t believe that he’s singled me out and has held my hand. He hasn’t paid much attention to me since we got here, but he did make sure that we were sitting next to one another. I wish I had chosen to take the walk instead. I feel a hand on my arm, distracting me from my thoughts.
“I’ve never seen Clayton take to someone so quickly. Or so completely like this. He’s usually politely distracted,” Elizabeth, who is to my right, leans in to tell me this. Her smile looks genuine, so I think she’s being honest. I’m thankful the music is so loud that no one else hears. Jane, I notice, has gotten up and walked over to the bar to Clayton.
“Really?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. Better to be skeptical than hopeful that I’m the first.
“Really.” Elizabeth brushes her strawberry-colored hair out of her face and smiles warmly. “And don’t worry about Jane. She’s tried to land Clayton since they were sixteen but he wants nothing to do with her. She’s one of those woman who can’t take rejection … or a hint.”
The idea of the pretty Jane relentlessly hitting on him is unsettling.
“I’m being honest, Sophie. This is totally out of character for him. Completely. We’re all actually quite in shock over it. Truly.” Elizabeth tells me earnestly, “I mean, when Eduard said that he walked upon you two kissing—”
My face turns bright red.
“Oh my God. I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t mean to say that – ” Elizabeth is just as mortified as I am.
“We didn’t really kiss,” I say quietly then look away. “And it’s okay. I know how I must look.” I want the floor to open and drop me through it. I am that girl who has no shame, and people talk about me. I’m so mortified.
Elizabeth puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t say that. I’m not judging you. I would probably do the same in your situation. Clayton is pretty,” she searches for the word, “impressive. Don’t worry, he’s like a brother to me. I’m just saying that it’s okay. I could tell he was attracted to you the moment he saw you in the lounge at the airport. Anyone could. And you him. Oh no, the look on your face, I’m just putting my foot in my mouth. I’ll stop now.”
I actually laugh. I do like her and her candor. “It’s okay. Thank you, Elizabeth.” I mean seriously? What I am supposed to say?
Thankfully, Elizabeth gives me a moment to myself and my eyes immediately search for Clayton. He’s still at the bar and is giving Jane his full attention. Great. I pick up my drink and take a long sip, trying to distract myself and get my buzz back, hoping that will help. Eduard walks back from the bar and sits down. I study his features for the first time. He has a beautiful face in an artistic sort of way. He’s got perfect symmetry. I’d love to paint him.
“Clayton just bought the bottle of fifty-year-old Dalmore. Let the party begin!” He seems thrilled by this.
Obviously it is a big deal. I have no idea what Dalmore is but I can’t wait to find out and I can’t wait for Clayton to make his way back to this table and sit down next to me. I try hard not to look back to where he’s standing with the lovely Jane.
“Wanna dance, Sophie?” Erik shouts at me with his eyes narrowed, probably pissed that I keep looking over at Clayton like a loser. He raises a brow. It’s clearly a challenge.
“Sure.” I’m up for it. At least we won’t be the only ones on the dance floor. There are some other people dancing as well, a couple of tall guys who look Slavic and some girls who just look wasted.
Erik comes around the table and grabs my hand and wraps his arm around my waist to escort me to the dance floor.
“I had to save you from the stalker stares you were giving him,” he whispers in my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I giggle.
“It’s okay. I forgive you. Even though I know I’ve taught you better.”
I roll my eyes.
“What’s Dalmore?” I whisper up at him as we walk to the dance floor.
“Very old Scotch. It’s gotta be a least ten g’s.”
“As in ten thousand dollars?” I say in disbelief. Who spends that much on one bottle of alcohol? The thought is staggering.
“That’s what rich is, babe.”
I am so out of my league on so many levels that I don’t know what to say. I decide then and there that Clayton is too rich for me. Too posh. Too handsome. Too everything. I didn’t grow up poor
or from the wrong side of the tracks but holy hell, the money he throws around is insane. And completely unnerving.
We reach the dance floor and Erik starts busting his moves. The one thing I’m pretty confident about is my ability to dance. I can move. Really shake the hips, dance my ass off, move. And when I’m slightly intoxicated, everything gets even better because all my inhibitions disappear. Erik and I have partied with each other enough to know how to work it – and we do.
I try not to think of Clayton or Jane or how rich he is or the fact that he might be watching me and I just dance. Soon, the group of Slavic-looking guys are moving around us, or me, to be exact, forgetting about the girls they were trying to pick up before. I dance with one of the guys because I can. Because I’m single and yes, because a part of me wants to make Clayton feel jealous, if he’s even watching. It’s terrible, I know. He’ll probably ride off into the sunset and marry Jane but this can be my shining moment.
The guy I’m dancing with leans in closely, a bit too close for my liking, and I get a whiff of his alcohol-infused breath. Gross.
“What’s your name?” he asks in a thick accent that I think is Russian. From the corner of my eye I watch Orie grab Erik’s arm and pulls him away. That’s my cue to join them.
Ugh. But since I’ve used him, I have to be polite. “Sophie.” I intentionally don’t ask him his name.
“I’m Mikhail,” he says.
“Nice to meet you,” I respond politely.
“You’re really hot, you know. I’ve had my eye on you since the restaurant.”
Huh? Was he even at the restaurant? I didn’t look at any of the guys there because all my attention was focused on Clayton.
“Umm, okay.” This is awkward. My rash decision to make Clayton jealous has put me in a seriously uncomfortable situation. Why can’t a dance ever just be a dance with a straight man? It always has to be or lead to something more.
Okay, it’s time to politely end this. I brush my hair away from my face and am about to excuse myself when Mikhail puts his hand on my arm.
“Let me buy you a drink, beautiful.”
Before I can say a polite, “no, thank you,” I’m pulled away from Mikhail into a rock-hard chest. The arms that I was studying and fantasizing about wrap around my waist, his hands, those gorgeous hands with their long, well-shaped fingers, splay against my belly, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body. And heat. There’s that damn heat again.