Resort Getaway With A Bodyguard (Rich & Rugged: A Hawkins Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Ellie Hall

  I understand.

  You don’t.

  Look into my eyes and you’ll see a reflection of your pain, it’s my own mirrored back to you.

  He lifted his eyes to hers. Sure enough, the agony of whatever tragedy had befallen her was there and whatever caused it was much bigger than a lousy boyfriend who’d broken up with her over text.

  And despite his better sensibilities, the knowledge of that almost wrecked him.

  Chapter 5

  Cece

  Earlier that morning, Cece had not expected to stand opposite Blake in the doorway to her thatched roof cabana on some island she’d never heard of until that day. She certainly didn’t expect to see the giant, brawny guy she’d seen once fallen in love with while in such a raw state.

  As they remained there, the energy shifted between them, softened slightly. The shared pain of loss brought them closer together.

  Cece didn’t know if she could trust him and her wound was too fresh to tell him what had happened, even if he dared her, but it was important that he knew that she felt what he did. He wasn’t alone even though it appeared as if he’d tried his best to isolate himself from the rest of the world.

  It didn’t take her long to realize why she felt compelled to let him see her vulnerability, especially considering he’d broken her heart. It was the first and only time she’d felt that way about a guy—when they’d kissed, her foot had popped. She felt so strongly about him then so crushed, she’d written a song about her heartache. It took a while, but she’d also penned the girl power anthem in response as she built herself back up, finally healed, and moved on.

  He’d caused her pain. She transformed it into something powerful.

  The last thing she wanted to offer was understanding or forgiveness, but when he told his story, cracking himself open, that was exactly what she did. She knew all too well what it was like to bear it all alone.

  They continued to stand there; the air charged between them. His broad chest rose and fell. His jaw tensed. His lips twitched. It was as though he braced himself for an attack.

  Instead, she met him with neutrality. She couldn’t offer him a smile just yet, but she spared him her anger. “Thanks for dinner and your honesty,” Cece managed to say. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

  “Thanks for your forgiveness. You know that I don’t deserve it.”

  She wrinkled her nose, not exactly sure what he referred to. “I didn’t say that I forgave you.”

  His eyes flicked to hers. “No, you didn’t say it. You sang it, Cecelia.” With that, he disappeared down the lantern-lit path.

  Like a snap of the fingers, the moment of authenticity between them dissolved and he returned to being his regular arrogant self.

  His comment echoed, punctuated by her full name Cecelia. She groaned, irritated that he knew the song she’d written was about him. Through an agonizing amount of therapy, she’d learned that holding onto her sadness, anger, and resentment only hurt her. She parlayed that newfound understanding into the girl power anthem and sang about letting go and forgiving—but not forgetting—in Never Again/Not You.

  Blake was aware of it. He was infuriating. The way he said Cecelia wasn’t endearing. It was more like a command, a term of ownership. Like he knew he’d conquered her heart and could then brand himself king, lording over her.

  She stood there a moment longer, reflecting on how he’d rescued her from the ocean, the focus in his eyes while evaluating her state, the meal he’d made, and the dares, bringing her full circle back to the water She couldn’t swim. But she’d learn. He’d teach her. When he’d pulled her from the ocean and she came to, he had the same focus in his eyes as he did when he told the story of his father. It was as though he believed that by concentrating hard enough and doing everything right, it was up to him whether someone lived or died. She knew better.

  When Cece stepped away from the entrance to the cabana, she sensed Blake’s presence inside the vast open room as though he was still seated on the couch, at the table, filling the space with his energy, his vulnerability, and his anger.

  He was a big guy, tall and strongly built. She’d experienced that first hand when, dripping wet, he’d hovered over her, relief in his eyes when she’d gasped for breath. His wet shirt clung to his muscled chest and arms. Even though he’d taken to the role of a beach bum with the long hair and unshaven face, it certainly didn’t appear as if he did any amount of bumming around. She imagined the only time he relaxed was when he watched the sunset—and even then, he’d thrown himself into harm’s way to help her.

  As she paced through the room, it was as if she couldn’t escape him: he’d pumped her heart when her body couldn’t; he provided oxygen when she wasn’t able to draw a breath. Though she couldn’t remember those moments, he’d revived her.

  Had he always been with her? A magnet planted between them that first time they’d met, drawing them back together? She told herself she was over him. She was. She’d declared it to the world, even though no one except Serena knew that he was the subject of her song. Was he somehow still a muse?

  Parting the draped netting, she flopped onto the bed. It was the only place in the room she could escape him since he hadn’t ventured there. But she couldn’t break free of her thoughts, which repeatedly circled back to Blake Hawkins.

  All of those years ago, she may have experienced love at first sight, but whatever flame burned between them had been extinguished when he’d disappeared. As it turned out, despite his valid reason for not returning her texts. His father died. She knew the agony of losing someone she loved and not being able to do anything about it.

  A new thought slammed into her as the waves had earlier. He knew the song was about him, which meant every time he heard it, he was reminded of the events surrounding his father’s death. Of course, she hadn’t known what happened so creating a time capsule of that tragic period in his life wasn’t her intention. But thinking about it from his perspective made her wince. However, he didn’t have to shut her out and not respond when she’d tried to connect with him. She would’ve been there for him, right?

  After they’d met, she was about to start her first world tour. She was swept into her new life as a successful musician. Perhaps it would’ve been too much and she’d have been the one turning her back on him.

  But none of that mattered. She wasn’t interested in Blake Hawkins or falling in love or romance. The list of her difficulties was long: grieving her sister, not being able to write new songs—never mind sing. On top of that was her obligation to the record company, the canceled tour, and the paparazzi.

  Hours ticked by. Across the room, her phone vibrated against the table. She added another item to the list: her recent breakup.

  Jaxon sent six texts after Blake so rudely took her phone and messaged her ex. He’d written:

  What bodyguard?

  Who is this?

  Cece, if you’re reading this, I want to talk.

  You’ve never not texted me back.

  What’s going on?

  The last one was sent at midnight his time—probably after he was done DJ-ing and the party was underway.

  If you read this, I miss you.

  She waited for that flicker inside, the little lift of butterflies in her stomach to tell her that she missed him too. They didn’t take flight. When she and Jaxon had kissed, her foot had never so much as hopped, never mind popped. So what did it matter? She didn’t miss him.

  But she did miss sleep and when, as usual, it didn’t take her to dreamland, she picked up her phone and answered Jaxon. She didn’t want to be alone. I’m here. Are you awake?

  The little dots on the bottom of her phone didn’t appear, signaling he was replying. He’d probably passed out after a late-night DJ session.

  They hadn’t been together for long. She certainly didn’t love him or envision a future with him. There had been little substance between them. Then again, after Blake and several instances of being misled and ta
ken advantage of because of her fame, fortune, and influence, she hadn’t allowed herself to truly get close to any guys even though she was never without a boyfriend.

  Her phone finally beeped. Jaxon’s name popped up on the screen. He was a distraction from her pain and because sleep continued to evade her, she gave into the interruption.

  He wrote I’m at Blaze.

  It was a club downtown that he’d brought her to once before. Part of their role in the entertainment industry were public appearances at new restaurants, attending clothing and product launches, and participating in other high-profile events. It was a little-known fact, but celebrities were paid to silently endorse a place or product by virtue of their presence or use of the item.

  Jaxon was often asked to go to clubs, which she hated. Her attendance was often requested at product launches, like the skincare line, which he hated. They tried to compromise, which meant she sometimes went to clubs, like Blaze.

  Come meet me or we could go back to my place he wrote.

  He always wanted her to go back to his place. Another little-known fact, she wasn’t that kind of woman.

  She replied What did you want to talk about?

  Can you speak with your manager about getting me put back on the tour? You know I was counting on that.

  I was too. Her stomach sank.

  How about brunch in the morning and we can go talk to her together. She’ll understand. He meant that he’d try to flirt his way back onto the tour because that’s what he did to get anything and everything from women. He wasn’t especially skilled at it and because of that, mostly she ignored it and considered him harmless—just a flirt. Considering he was voted one of the hottest guys alive, the women forgave him.

  Come on. I need to see you. I miss you, baby.

  Her muscles tensed. It may have been the fact that he’d broken up with her. Or perhaps in his breakup text, he’d mentioned that he missed her hair. Or maybe it was his use of the word baby, bringing to mind Blake and the warning text he’d sent Jaxon. Blake had said that he wanted to make sure she had a comfortable stay. Sure, the bed was comfortable and the accommodations were excellent. Although she’d intended texting Jaxon to be a distraction, it had made her distinctly uncomfortable. She felt used in a way. But that’s how people succeeded in the industry, using each other to get a leg up. Had she ever done that? Her mind wandered through memories of various interactions and she concluded that she hadn’t, except for Blake. She’d used her pain over the sparks that flew to pen not one, but two top songs that remained on the charts years later.

  You still there? I’ll come get you in the morning Jaxon wrote.

  To him, the morning was more like noon. For her, dawn was still far off. But he wouldn’t be picking her up in his obnoxious blue and yellow boy racer with the giant spoiler on the back. Not unless it could float.

  She replied You can’t. She didn’t want to see him. Perhaps it was the island air rearranging her cells and molecules, reorganizing her interests and priorities, but she didn’t want to see him.

  Someone else’s face, with a layer of scruff along the jaw, brown eyes, and freckles on his nose floated into her mind. Like a bubble, she popped it. She wasn’t on the rebound. She wasn’t on the market. She wasn’t interested in dating or flirting or romance. She was in mourning; she had been in mourning since the moment she realized Serena wasn’t going to make it.

  An agonizing ache gripped her. Despite what she’d said to the contrary, the hope that she’d offered to everyone around her after they’d received the news, Serena included, and the confidence she’d portrayed in her sister’s recovery in the face of the odds, was false. She’d known the truth all along. She’d sung her way out of the trailer park, creating a life of security and abundance for Serena and herself. Life was good, but she knew all too well that good things never remained. All along, she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for tragedy to strike.

  She shook her head, feeling confused and all kinds of wrong. That was why she’d waded into the water the day before. To drown the truth. She knew her sister was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to wash it from her mind, her heart, and when she surfaced, she’d be free again.

  What do you mean, baby? Jaxon texted.

  I left. I’m on Lizzie’s family’s private island in the Caribbean.

  She clicked off her phone. There was nothing more for her to do. Feeling emptier than ever, at a loss, she dropped to her knees and surrendered her fears and confusion, her heartache and sadness to God.

  Hours passed. Cece’s mind churned with the revelation of her hopelessness, the interaction with Jaxon and Blake and a dozen other things she struggled with. Sleep continued to evade her.

  As the sky lightened to the pale gray of dawn, Cece plunked a hat on her head, grabbed a new pair of sunglasses from her luggage, and stepped into the day that hardly felt new. It was like time had become one continuous piece of rope tethered to when she’d learned of her sister’s diagnosis and then every awful, helpless, hopeless moment after that. It was fraying, thinning, but it was all she had left to hold onto.

  And she was alone.

  Despite her fatigue, in the light of day, the resort grounds were gorgeous and immaculate. The lanterns along the path were polished copper, the paths themselves were mosaics of seashells and sea glass. The flowers bloomed and the beach was practically bleached white by the Caribbean sun.

  She plopped down in the sand even though there were several private, covered lounge areas along the beach.

  Lost in her thoughts and reflections, she didn’t notice the man approaching until he lowered into the sand beside her.

  The scent of soap and sunblock, of summer, flooded her senses. When she’d met Blake, he smelled of soap and snow, of winter. He’d changed. She felt like something in her was shifting as well but she was afraid to let go of the familiar resentment she’d clung to for so many years. In fact, she didn’t know who she was anymore.

  “Good morning,” he said. His voice was low, languid. Blake Hawkins was a study in contrasts: long surfer hair and an incredibly toned body. Beach bum voice and a commanding posture. Sharp eyes and soft lips. Never mind Captain America or Iron Man. He was like a living, breathing Thor.

  She focused her attention on the sea. “Morning.”

  “I don’t get a good attached to my morning?” he asked, seemingly well rested. His hair was damp and she imagined he got up early, worked out before the sun rose, and then showered.

  She, on the other hand, was not well rested. “That remains to be seen.”

  “Why so grave?” he asked. “Did you sleep poorly?” His eyes danced over her, lingering at her downturned lips. “I take it you didn’t sleep.”

  She shook her head.

  “Was the bed okay? The pillows? Were you too hot? Too cold?” He paused as though none of that was possible because the resort was clearly meticulous about the finer details. “Ah, you texted with the ex-boyfriend. What was his name? DJ Dimwit? DJ Deadbeat? DJ Dumb—”

  She tipped her head side to side.

  He smirked. “Here’s the question. Did he make you happy?”

  She snorted.

  “Should I take that as a no?”

  “Generally, I wasn’t an unhappy person. I had my faith, my family, my music, and everything that came along with that.”

  “You used the past tense.” Clearly, he was well rested and astute.

  After Blake’s confession about his father the night before, her own story of losing her sister begged itself free. She needed to talk about it, to share it with someone. He’d understand. She’d been in therapy and knew the power of talking things out, but shame held her tongue. She’d somehow given up on Serena. Sure, she’s showed up at every appointment, was there before and after. She’d held her, she’d paid for everything available that could’ve possibly held a cure. But some part of her had given up hope and that part had survived while Serena had not. The guilt and
shame smashed over her like the waves the day before.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered.

  Either Blake didn’t hear over the caw of the seagulls and the lapping of the waves or he gave her the space to continue. “I had everything. Now, I have nothing.”

  “If you’re referring to your hair, it’ll grow back. If you mean about the ex, he’s not worth taking back.”

  But that wasn’t it. Not by a long shot.

  When she didn’t answer, he asked, “If you don’t know who you are, well, what kind of person do you want to be?”

  “I don’t know. But apparently, I’m the kind of woman who escapes to a cabana with a thatched roof in the middle of the Caribbean Sea when things get hard.”

  “It’s more common than you’d think. And there’s a difference between running when things get hard and taking care of yourself because things are hard.”

  When did he go so wise?

  “I still haven’t gotten used to this lifestyle. I was a girl who grew up in a trailer park. I’d never really known my father. When my songs became hits and I made the papers, the internet, and every media outlet known to humanity, he crawled out of the woodwork, hoping for a relationship. It quickly became apparent that by relationship he meant he wanted money. My mother worked three jobs when I was growing up to support us. When we were old enough to fend for ourselves, she’d crawled into the woodwork along with a bottle of gin and never emerged. She died of alcohol poisoning shortly after. In high school, we found faith and that was our saving grace.”

  He was quiet for a moment as the words settled between them. She’d never told anyone about her troubling past. However, she’d do anything to avoid her feelings in the present. She hadn’t meant to share her sob story, but something needed to come out.

  The sun had lifted over the horizon, a reverse of the night before as they sat there. It made the water shimmer and painted the sand gold. Her skin grew warm.

  “Who do you mean when you say we?” he asked after a beat.

  Before Cece could figure out a way to avoid answering because it hurt so much, his eyes darted to the sky.