I scoff, grabbing hold of her ass and pulling her forward up my body to my chin. That’s not happening anytime soon. Marriage plans aren’t in my future. Not yet at least. I’d rather fuck until I can come up with a plan on what my future’s gonna be. She giggles as I swipe my tongue over her, hand still moving melon towards her mouth like my actions mean nothing. “You’re insatiable. Don’t you want to go out? See some of the island?” I can’t be bothered to answer. The only thing I’m concerned with is the taste of her, this heat, and the relaxation that’s beginning to ebb into me day by day.
I’m about to get back into the one thing we’ve been doing all this time, when she abruptly pushes at my head, gets off me, and walks back into the house again.
“Get dressed,” she calls. Dressed? Into what? And why?
I peer over my shoulder at her again as she comes out, a sarong now wrapped around her waist and a top being pulled over her head. She stands and looks at me, fingers working her hair up into a casual bun.
“The fucking?” I ask, mystified at this change of direction as I push up my sunglasses and point at my dick.
“Later. Up. We’re going out.”
The groan that leaves my lips has me tipping my glasses back down again, my refusal to move evident. Out means socialising with people, being part of reality. I’m not doing that here. Here is for me and her alone. No one else invited. It’s enough that I’m ignoring every email, phone call and message that’s being left for me, Quinn’s included, regardless of his ever-growing agitation that I’m not responding.
Screw him. He made his bed; he can fucking lie in it.
“We can do that thing later if you get up,” she says. I raise a brow, my head leaning to the side towards her. “Banana?”
“You said you wouldn’t.” Which was more stimulating than I thought it would be when I threw the fruit at her and gave her a choice. Maybe I won’t next time.
“Well, it is my holiday. You’ll have to be more insistent, see where it gets you.” Her hands land on her hips, teeth snapping at me for some unquantifiable reason. “Lo obtendras si trabajas lo suficiente.” Work hard enough? I’ll get it either way.
“Haras lo que te digan.” Both her eyebrows shoot up, surprise etching every feature as she saunters over. Damn right. We’ve already discussed her doing as she’s told.
“Now, why would an American accountant speak Spanish?”
“International.” Her eyes pinch to slits, a smile climbing up her cheeks after she’s thought for a few moments.
“Hmm. Guess I’ll have to watch my mouth then.”
“Or put something in it?” She snorts and crosses her arms, tilting her head.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not telling me the whole truth about who you are, mister.”
I roll off the deck-bed, frowning, and crick my neck around to walk away from wherever she’s trying to go with this line of questioning. She’s damn right I’m not. And I’m not the only one either. She’s hiding a past as much as I am. I can see it in everything she does. I’ve spent years analysing people, making them do what I want them to without them knowing I’m pushing them there. It’s not just numbers and calculation, never has been.
I frown at my own thoughts and walk past the desk on the way to the bedroom, partly infuriated with my own past. It’s all been coercion and intimidation. Underhanded threats and quiet manoeuvring. The latent visions of that life make me glance towards my open laptop and snarl, annoyed with its presence in this holiday. A fucking life of immoral obligations and dishonest technicalities is what I’ve led. Let alone the damn seedy side of debt repayment that came with it. Why is my laptop open?
I stare at it, trying to remember using it this morning. I haven’t, or I don’t think I have. Not that it’s on, no one could get through my security, but Jesus this relaxing must really be screwing with my brain if I can’t remember booting up.
“Nate?” I carry on for the bedroom, pulling my cream slacks from the drawers. She walks in and lingers behind me, a sigh of her own thickening the air around us. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and start getting changed, unwilling to discuss anything that’s addling my nerves. It’s not relevant to Gabby, not part of whatever this is between us.
Holiday. Calculated fucking.
“You could talk about it…if you wanted?” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. I sigh and drop the shirt I was picking up, wondering if talking about it would help me see a little more clearly. I hate to admit it, but I fucking miss him. Miss the business and the order of things. I feel like I’ve been cut in half, part enjoying the freedom and part ready to concede and walk straight back to it.
I twist to her, watching her fiddle with her sarong. She looks a little lost, uncomfortable with what she’s asking for. I’m not surprised; she’s as jittery as me when it comes to reality. I’ve not asked anything of her other than simplistic daily chatter and fucking, but I can still see that sorrow she’s drowning each night with drinks.
I turn back and pick the shirt up again, shaking my head.
“It’s not relevant. Come on, you’re right.” I shrug into the linen and rub my hands through my hair. “We should go out. Explore.”
“Okay.” She looks me over until I smile at her and reach for my phone.
“I’m just gonna check on some things first.” For some reason I can’t fathom.
“I’ll just go get my bag then. Five minutes.”
She walks away, probably as happy that the conversation’s finished as I am. This can’t be anything more than it is, and either of us dipping into that territory is stupidity. Whether I like it or not, I’ve got a life to get back to after this. Fuck knows how, or under what rules, but it’s coming regardless. I can’t just walk away from Cane life like I should. It’s in my DNA, built in, irrespective of Quinn’s actions.
I scroll through the endless emails as I wait for her, bypassing everything that’s immaterial, and concentrate on anything of vague importance. Quinn’s answering most of those at least, sorting through the garbage and keeping on top of it. It annoys me more than I’d like to admit, his tone violating all my usual intricacies. If there’s one thing my brother isn’t, it’s smooth.
Brash fucker.
Still, it works well enough for him, and infers he’s managing without me, but that last message he sent worries me. My fingers flick through the screen, straight back to the words he sent yesterday—the only ones I’m remotely interested in.
- I’m sorry. Come home.
Since when is Quinn sorry about anything? I can’t remember him ever being sorry about one damn thing in his life. And although he fucking should be, it’s the last thing I expected him to say to me. I expected intimidation, fury or even manipulation to get me back there. Not this nicety.
Although, he did beat the crap out of me. Perhaps he is sorry. Maybe he needs me for something. I frown, confused about that damn loyalty again, and glance back to my laptop. Maybe I should check the accounts, work out what’s going on. I walk over and slam the lid closed as it should be, then tuck it into the safe behind the desk, snorting as I walk away.
Not my problem.
“You ready?” she calls, head poking around the hall door and one leg creeping around the corner, as if teasing me into fucking again.
I pocket the phone and abandon my feelings on Quinn with the same move, choosing to look at something that makes me feel happy for once in my life instead.
She does.
Everything about her. Smile, legs, attitude. She’s a breath of fresh air in a world that’s been filled with nothing but tension my whole life. I chuckle and look down at the strappy high heeled sandal, gold bracelets around her ankle dangling gracefully.
“This isn’t the way to get me out of the door, Gabby.” Her leg stretches, toe pointed as the ankle swirls around.
“Ah, but bananas?”
“Plural?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Her leg trails back out of the door slowly, head following smoothly as if she’s some kind of gymnast. Everything’s so subtle with her, fluid, like she walks on air. She’s flexible, too. I mean, how does she get into those positions? Whores creak and groan, as if they’re forcing themselves into whatever fucked up display I can think of to get me off. It’s always so mechanical with them. Some twisted thought enters my head and I make them do shit, my warped sense of appropriate in Cane life enjoying their torment. But that’s not what’s happening here. Here is fun. Pleasure. The feel of her under my hands is becoming like liquid silk, loose, as relaxed as we’re both hoping for.
I listen to the sound of her heels clipping the floor, wondering what other shapes I can get her into later, then look down at myself. Fuck, I’m hard, and more than amused that my mind’s clear within five seconds flat of focusing on her rather than anything else.
Shame it’s not my reality.
“So, you think the blue?” she says, holding up a top she’s found at a small market. I nod, not giving one fuck about the colour of the top. As far as I’m concerned, she looks best in nothing at all, make up included.
After a water taxi to the mainland, we grabbed an open top Jeep and made our way up into the hills. Sightseeing, she calls it. Attractive as it is, it’s yet another canopy of trees spread out in front of me. I’ve seen enough of them in Mexico to last me a lifetime, all of it hindered by drug cartels hauling Cane money around. But watching her enjoy herself is relaxing nonetheless. She wanders everywhere, fingers trailing over objects as she talks to the traders. I pull out my smokes and walk away towards the Jeep, ass resting on the hood, so I can watch her some more as she negotiates over price. I don’t know why she’s bothering; it’s not like she can’t afford it. She’s here after all.
The sudden thought has me wondering what she does for work. I haven’t asked, nor have I cared until now, but who the hell is she really? No one gets here without a substantial amount of cash. And the clothes she has are all designer labels, regardless of the innocuous baggage she has at her villa. I noticed it the other day when she was sleeping. One small black bag, well-travelled, and completely at odds with everything else lining the guts of the wardrobe. Christ, I don’t even know where she lives. My real life lingers in my mind again, all the scepticisms and concerns rallying me back to Cane before I can stop them. And that laptop being open has pissed me off. I didn’t open it, and I always close it if I do. She must have been snooping.
She wanders back to me after a while with an armful of goods that she dumps into the back of the Jeep. I narrow my eyes, intrigue making me do shit I should not be doing.
“Where do you actually live?”
“What?” she questions, coming around in front of me, a smile on her face as she slides her arms up to my neck and fingers my hair.
“Country? And what work are you in?”
“I thought we weren’t doing that.”
“I want to know.” I do. For whatever reason, I’m pissed at not knowing now.
“I don’t like you smoking. Doesn’t mean you’ll stop, does it?” My hand drops the smoke, foot stubbing it out as I take hold of her hands and pull them away from me.
“Better? Now, give me some answers.” I take a few steps back, expanding the distance because of whatever fucking emotion is irritating me. “And did you try to use my laptop this morning? It’s not how it should be.”
She tilts her head at the move and frowns, some part of her annoyed that I’m asking and the other infuriated with me for daring to push her away.
“It hasn’t bothered you before,” she says, hands on hips. “And no, I damn well didn’t. You’re out of your mind if you think I’d do something like that. Has the sun got to your head?” I keep staring, intent on some answers to prove I’m not losing my mind, but her sharp answer does seem sincere. Still, I want to know where she’s from. “Where do you live, Nate?”
“Not relevant.”
“But where I do is?” She crosses her arms, anger making her cuter by the second.
“Yeah. It is.” She glares for so damn long I almost drop my returning stare.
“Screw that.” She turns and gathers her sarong up, ass sliding into the Jeep before I can stop her. “That’s not what this is, Nate. We agreed.”
The engine starts, so I keep leaning on the hood and look away from her, fully intending to stand here until she gets back out and answers my damn questions. She can mutter in Spanish as much as she wants, I’m not moving. I grab another smoke, and not caring at all how long this takes, I light it with a long pull. That’s another good thing about holidays—no time constraints.
I’m suddenly shunted forward, my body knocked off kilter as she drives a foot forward straight into the back of me—hard. I spin on her, barely stopping every instinct I have from grabbing her out of the damn thing.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Get out of the way or get in,” she snaps, white knuckles on the steering wheel. “Your choice, Nate.”
“Did you just drive the damn Jeep into me?”
“Yep. I’ll do it again, too, if you keep up with that attitude. Stupido.”
She revs, the Jeep springing forward an inch or so more. My brow raises as I watch her lithe frame filling my vision, dust lingering in the air and a cunning engrained in her features that has me questioning all kinds of shit now it’s started between us.
Intrigue has me walking straight back to the hood again, stomach braced against it.
“Who are you, Gabby?” She revs again, enough for me to check the pressure against my abs. “I want to know even more now you’re being secretive.”
“I’m the girl you met in the bar. That’s it, Nate. Nothing more.” Is she hell. I watch the way her mouth tightens, tension coming from the same places I hide it. “Are you getting in or not? I wasn’t planning on killing anyone today.”
The last of it brings a smile to my face for some fucking reason. Seems like the woman of my dreams is hiding something she’s not willing to spill. I chuckle at the thought of both dreams and secrecy, and climb up onto the hood, feet walking me over the top of it until I drop down into the seat next to her.
“Not killing anyone today, huh?” She smiles and looks me over, hand crunching the gears into place as she pulls away.
“Not today.”
“You gonna give me anything at all?” She sighs and turns her gaze towards me for a second before turning back to the road to find the next junction. I twist to watch her, damn near infatuated, my elbow braced on the doorframe. “’Cause I’ll get it out of you one way or another eventually.” She frowns again, marring what is normally so damn beautiful. The look of it annoys me, making me check whatever thoughts I’m having back to the holidays I’m aiming for. Calculated fucking is what we’re doing, nothing more. Why romance seems to be hanging around in my mind, confusing itself with deviancy, I don’t know. “It’s what I do, Gabby. My job.”
My life.
Every fucking day.
Only this time it’s becoming fun.
Chapter Nine
Nate’s questions today have reminded me how superficial our relationship is. We’ve fallen into a casual routine that doesn’t need explanations or context. Who needs to know all the details of one’s life to have a holiday romance? Except with every day we spend together it feels less and less like a romance that has an expiry date, and today has just proved that.
“When you’re thinking too hard, you frown. It spoils that beautiful face of yours.” His tone is cautious. Testing.
I don’t take my eyes off the road, careful not to jolt us over one of the potholes on the tiny road too hard.
He’s seen my playful side, although teasing him with the Jeep might not be his definition of play. And he’s seen my heart, too, no matter how much I’ve kept it from him. It’s here with us both, seen every day through our actions in this cocoon we’ve created. We’re carefree, unlimited by the real world outside of this. But
if he thinks he’ll get answers from me about that outside world, he’s delusional.
I’ve spent years looking out for myself. Relying on anyone else to hold the secrets I do? That’s not something I can fathom right now. And I’d never betray Nate’s trust—at least not past where we’re at in this holiday relationship—even if every fibre of my being screams at me to let Nate in, if only an inch.
Everyone has something they don’t want the world to know about, and I can’t afford for Nate to know my secrets. I’d never touch his laptop, but I can’t shake his comment from this morning.
“Care to suggest something to put a smile on my face?” I say, still navigating the twisting bends down the hill. I need to forget about the world that’s waiting for me and concentrate on every second I have left on this island. With Nate.
“You know I have plenty of ideas.” He moves his fingers down my thigh and gathers the fabric of my skirt to expose my skin. “But it’s a long half hour back to the resort. I’m impatient for a smile.”
“Touching me while I’m driving back to the taxi? I appreciate the offer, but…”
Nate grabs the wheel, steering us down a narrow mud trail lined with trees on either side. My foot hits the brake causing us to skid a little before we jolt to a stop.
“I said you frown when you’re thinking too much.” He reaches under his seat and yanks at a lever, sending his seat back a few inches. “Hold onto the top rail of the Jeep, ease yourself over me and keep looking out the windscreen. We’re gonna fuck a smile onto that pretty face of yours.”
“Nate, this—”
His lips collide into mine, silencing the mini-protest I had prepared. There’s been tension between us since his first question slipped past his lips. Maybe sex is what we need to settle things back down. I pull back to search his eyes. Honesty and passion spill from them, telling me he’s serious about this.
“You’re not doing as you’re told, sweetheart.” My heart plummets to my stomach as I turn off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. For a moment I look about, only hearing the background hum of insects around us in the relative remoteness of the island. My lips curl up as I look back at Nate. “That’s my girl.”
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 7