Bahama Mama

by Tricia Leedom

  His hands settled on her ass and lifted her so she was sitting astride his hips. She dug her fingers into his hair and cupped his head, taking control of the kiss. The grunt of pleasure he made in the back of his throat made her heart leap. She never wanted to stop kissing him.

  His hands found the hem of her skirt and slid underneath. Warm, slightly calloused fingers shoved under her panties and grabbed her bare ass cheeks. Only a thin scrap of fabric and his cotton-blend pants separated them as he pulled her down onto his erection.

  Shocked by the contact, Molly’s lust-fueled haze faded a bit and she pulled back. A pair of glittering blue slits gazed back at her above cheekbones that were tight and flushed with desire. The pulse beating between her thighs throbbed with the realization that Anders wanted her. She only had to unzip his fly and slide her panties to the side and— No, they shouldn’t. Anyone could come up to the roof at any time.

  Massaging her ass, Anders flexed his hips, deliberately grinding against her. A wave of pleasure careened through her body, and white stars burst in her brain. She gasped and clutched his shoulders to hold herself upright.

  He cupped the side of her face and kissed her again, thoroughly owning her mouth before he said against her lips, “Want to get out of here?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, half dazed. “Like a tail with its cat on fire. Wait, I got that one wrong.” She giggled. “Maybe we should call an Uber.”

  “Good idea.” Anders slid her off his lap and climbed to his feet. “Grab the bottle.”

  She picked up the Glenlivet and took his hand. Her head spun like a pinwheel when he pulled her to her feet, but she collected herself and followed him across the roof and down the narrow stairwell. She was still holding his hand when they made their discreet exit out the back door.

  Molly was drunk. Once they’d stepped out of their romantic bubble and headed for the street, it occurred to her just how drunk she was. She couldn’t remember how they’d gotten to her apartment, but she recalled Anders calling an Uber on his cell and both of them cracking up over the silliness of word Ooo-berrr. Who came up with words like that?

  Anders found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. The glare of the recessed lighting above the dinette table hurt her eyes. She headed for the kitchen, kicking off her high-heeled sandals as she went and returned with a bottle of tequila and two glasses.

  “This is all I’ve got.” She set the glasses on the table and took a swig from the bottle.

  Anders leaned against the lumpy wall looking very big, slightly mussed, and sexy as hell. When the corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted in a roguish smile, her stomach tightened and fluttered in anticipation. He pushed away from the wall and came toward her. She watched him, mesmerized by the fact that he was in her living room and they were about to get it on.

  Anders accepted the bottle from her, took a deep swig, and set it on the table.

  “I’m not a groupie,” she blurted, wanting to make that clear. “For the record.”

  “Good. Because I don’t mess around with groupies.” He swayed a bit and caught himself on the back of the chair.

  “You’re drunk.” She giggled.

  “So are you. Want me to leave?”

  “No.” She shook her head slowly and then reached out and touched his chest like she had earlier, her palm flat against a rock-solid pec. His body heat radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  How did they get to the apartment again? The roof. They were drinking on the roof of Dixie’s. Talking about their kids and their exes and Ooo-berrrs.

  “I’ll stay then.” He covered her hand with his and stepped closer so that he was looming over her.

  “You’re so tall.” Her gaze took in his long, lean torso and broad shoulders before settling on his face.

  He bent to pick her up and her legs slipped around his waist. Then his mouth came down on hers, hot, probing, and insistent. He carried her toward the bedroom, pulling back from the kiss just long enough to ask directions.

  “To the left.” She pointed and whacked the wall with her hand.

  He was already ducking inside, shoving the door wider so its metal bumper bounced off the baseboard. He pressed her up against the wall and they unintentionally turned on the light and ceiling fan above her bed.

  As Anders kissed his way down her throat, she stared at the spinning blades until her eyes lost focus. She shut them tightly and tugged on his shirt, urging him to remove it. He didn’t. He was too busy touching her. His hands were everywhere. On her breasts, in her hair, on her ass. He pulled away from the wall, taking her with him, and they stumbled back against the open closet door.

  He was nibbling a spot behind her ear when she opened her eyes and found his slanted blue gaze staring back at her from his poster. He looked like sex on a stick lounging back against the door of an old beat-up red pickup truck. If Anders were to turn around and see the poster on her bedroom wall… Her stomach tightened, dreading the thought. Jiminy crickets! How embarrassing would that be?

  Trying to play it cool, she patted his shoulder. “Put me down. Put me down.”

  When he complied, she slid down his body until her bare feet hit the tile floor. Unbuckling his belt to distract him, she booted the cat-shaped doorstop aside with a silent apology to Smudge. Then she grabbed Anders by the waist of his pants and pulled him just far enough to kick the door shut.

  The slam brought his head up and he looked at her funny.

  “Messy closet.” She shrugged and pulled his mouth back to hers.

  He picked her up again, but this time he tossed her onto the bed and followed her down.

  This was happening. She was actually going to do it with Anders Ostergaard. It was a shame she couldn’t think straight nor would that damn fan stop spinning. Or was the room spinning? She wasn’t sure of anything—only that she didn’t do one-night stands. But this was no ordinary one-night stand. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event, like winning the lottery or being invited to ride the fucking space shuttle. Tonight, she was flying to the moon.

  He was all over her and then inside her, pumping away, and she wished her brain wasn’t so muddled. Wished the linen fabric of his shirt didn’t separate her hands from his hot skin. Wished he’d removed his pants. And shoes. And her dress. The fan and room kept spinning. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the lean, hard body working overtop of hers. He smelled so damn nice.

  She felt the darkness tugging at her consciousness and desperately tried to hold on at least until he was finished. “Don't stop,” she begged him as the booze won the battle and dragged her into oblivion.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I'm back,” April announced as she came through the gate and padded barefoot toward the pool. “Sorry about that. My very pregnant stepmom is about to pop. She dropped the TV remote and couldn’t pick it up.”

  Cheyenne was already in the pool, shoulder deep in the heated water. A phone call from April’s friend Greenlee had interrupted their conversation in the car, and then April was called away to help her stepmom just after they got to the house, so Cheyenne was busting to tell her what she’d discovered. But first, she wrinkled her nose. “That was the emergency she texted you about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No offense, but don’t you have servants for that sort of thing?”

  April shrugged. “They go home at night. My dad doesn’t like anyone in the house after ten unless they’re friends or we’re having a party.”

  “Gotcha.”

  April stopped by the pool’s edge to remove the T-shirt she wore over her swimsuit. Cheyenne tried not to compare herself to April, but it was hard not to when April was wearing a skimpy white bikini that was practically see-through and Cheyenne was shaped like a twig. Of course, April’s melon-sized boobs were fake, but she was still blonde, beautiful, and had a ridiculously tiny waist. Cheyenne used to be jealous of April, but now that she knew her better and had seen the way creepy old men ogled her, she almost felt sorry
for her friend.

  April waded into the pool and dove gracefully into the water before coming up in front of Cheyenne. “So, you really think the treasure is buried in the Bahamas?”

  “I do because the name for the Bahamas comes from ‘Baja Mar’ meaning shallow sea. And the riddle mentions Alice, which is the name of a town in North Bimini where Hemingway spent some time in the 1930s. I think the Firefly Emerald could be buried near Alice Town.”

  Last October, when Sophie came to Key West to look for her father, Cheyenne discovered a map hidden inside the medallion he’d given to Sophie. On the surface, it was just a map to Ernest Hemingway’s favorite fishing spot, but there was a riddle written around the edge of the paper that Cheyenne believed might be the real map to the mythical treasure called the Firefly Emerald.

  “How does the riddle go again?” April dunked her head in the water to smooth her long hair back off her face. Cheyenne had shared the riddle out of frustration just a few days ago and was actually starting to get somewhere now that April was helping.

  Riddles weren’t Cheyenne’s thing and she had no idea where to start. April suggested she think outside the box, break down each line, and make a list of all possible meanings and how they link together. When Cheyenne discovered the Alice Town/Baja Mar connection, she did some research and learned that Hemingway had spent some time there and, boom, she had her link. This was the discovery she couldn’t wait to share with April.

  “The riddle goes like this:

  How I long for those halcyon days,

  Alice basking upon my chaise.

  Money came and money went,

  But time with me was well spent.

  The Devil’s light so near and yet so far,

  It rests beneath my baja mar.”

  “The Devil’s light.” April turned quickly in the water and accidentally splashed Cheyenne in the face. “Oops. Sorry. It’s just that’s what I wanted to tell you. I think it refers to the Firefly Emerald itself. I Googled the phrase and learned that ‘Luciferins’ is the term for the light-emitting compound found in fireflies. The word is derived from the fallen angel Lucifer and one of the many terms for fireflies is fire devils.”

  “I think you’re on to something.” Grinning, Cheyenne splashed her friend back.

  “Hey. Uncool.”

  “You started it.” Cheyenne giggled.

  “That middle part is vague.” April sank down in the water and floated backward. “It could mean anything. The ‘me’ could be talking about a person, place, or thing.”

  “You said the riddle’s point of view usually comes from the answer itself, right?”

  “Yep.” April reached over to scoop up a drowning bug and carried it to safety. “So, we need to brainstorm how everything we know fits with that middle part. And it would help if we knew who exactly Alice was. It could be the town you mentioned or a person…”

  “Sophie’s father, Mitch, is a treasure hunter. He told me he knows a guy in Bimini who wrote a book about Hemingway, but it’s out of print.”

  “Well, that stinks. Maybe Mitch can give you his phone number and you can call the guy and ask him some questions.”

  “Maybe.” Cheyenne grew quiet as she contemplated the riddle.

  April interrupted her thoughts. “Is everything okay with you and your mom?”

  “Huh?” Cheyenne looked up in surprise and then shrugged it off. “Yeah. She’s just pissed I invited my dad to our party.”

  “You mean, you actually did it? Oh, gosh, Chey. Why?”

  Guilt crept up the back of her neck, but a flash of annoyance swept it away. “Because I want to see him. And my mom won’t let me go to California on my own. She won’t let me go to Miami either. She won't let me go anywhere because she doesn’t trust me.”

  “She’s probably just worried about you. That’s what parents do. My mom used to worry about me all the time, even when she didn’t need to.”

  It was difficult not to see reason when April explained something to you. She was just so kind and understanding. She was the big sister Cheyenne always wished she’d had. But Cheyenne wasn’t ready to admit she was wrong. “I guess,” she grumbled.

  “Do you know what happened between your mom and dad?”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “Just my mom’s side of it. I’d like to hear what my dad has to say. Give him a chance, you know? But my mom thinks he’s going to hurt me like he hurt her. And he might, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Cheyenne raised her chin a notch, acting braver than she felt inside.

  “Maybe she—”

  A small plane appeared in the night sky, its growling engine growing louder as it came toward them, flying low. They both watched the plane circle the property before it dropped dangerously lower and skimmed the trees.

  “Are they gonna crash?” Cheyenne’s heart was in her throat as she watched the plane head for the wide canal behind April’s house.

  “No, it’s a seaplane.”

  The aircraft started to fly away, but then it turned and came back, ducking beyond the forest of royal palms, inky black against the deep violet sky.

  “It’s landing,” April said, stating the obvious.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No clue. That’s our plane, but my dad’s home.” April headed for the steps, looking off in the direction of the canal. She climbed out of the pool, dried herself off with a plush white beach towel, and wrapped it around her waist.

  Cheyenne followed her and stood dripping on the concrete as she patted her face dry. “Your family owns a seaplane? For real? Can I check it out?”

  “Sure. Come on. Grab your stuff.”

  Cheyenne grabbed her small backpack, which contained the dress she’d changed out of, her PJs, and a change of clothes for tomorrow along with the book she was reading. She stopped to pull her waterproof beach shorts over her navy one piece and stepped into her Keds sneakers. Then she left her beach towel on the chair and followed April down the long, stone path that led to the dock.

  As they walked along, Cheyenne admitted, “I feel bad about fighting with my mom.”

  “You should tell her that.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments. “Do you really think I was wrong to invite my father to my birthday party? My mom doesn’t want to come now.”

  “It stinks that she’s making you choose, but she has been the one who’s been there for you since you were born.”

  Cheyenne’s shoulders tightened with guilt. She lowered her head and nodded. “Yeah, she has.”

  The sound of men’s voices made both girls stop and look toward the bend in the path. It was shrouded in darkness and bracketed by a hedgerow of sea grapes. The big round leaves of the plant blocked their view of the rest of the path and the dock beyond it.

  Two men came around the bend. As they walked up the path, the tall, fit man dressed in black was calm and focused on their destination, while the much smaller man at his side was freaking out about something. The nervous guy was skinny and fair with big wire-rimmed glasses propped on his long nose. He kinda reminded Cheyenne of the cartoon dog, Mr. Peabody.

  “Give me more time. I just need more time. I can fix this. Don’t do this, Jonas. Please.”

  The man called Jonas didn’t reply. He didn’t even seem to be listening. He gave off a vibe that made Cheyenne think of a grumpy pit bull. The really muscly ones used for illegal dog fighting with ripped ears and a ferocious temper. She eyeballed the leather straps crisscrossing his chest and the pair of wicked looking knives protruding from the holsters attached to them, and a sliver of apprehension trickled down her spine. The gun on his left hip somehow seemed less daunting than those knives. She stepped back, deeper into the shadows.

  April kept walking down the path and didn't stop until the man in black spotted her. He stopped then too and they stared at each other. Something as subtle as a lightning bolt traveled between them. The electricity in the air made Cheyenne shiver with goose bumps. April tilted her h
ead and gave the tattooed gangster a flirty smile.

  Oh my God, what is happening? Was her sweet, gentle friend actually interested in the guy? How’d April even know someone like him? He must work for her father. But, oh man, Mr. Linus would so not be cool with this.

  With her wet blonde hair slicked back from her face, her skimpy white bikini top clinging to her curves, and the towel wrapped around her legs, April looked like an X-rated mermaid. Pale and kind of magical in the moonlight. Her hands fisted into the towel at her sides as she just stood there letting the hard, scary mercenary check her out.

  “You have to understand; it wasn’t my fault.” Mr. Peabody was oblivious to the drama unfolding right in front of him. “You know that. You have to help me.”

  The man in black turned his head sharply, threatening violence with just a look. “Shut it.”

  Mr. Peabody stopped talking.

  “Jonas,” April said brightly. “What are you doing here?”

  “He’s one of Linus’ goons. That’s what he’s doing.” The anxious little man didn't know when to quit. He was gonna eat Jonas’ fist if he didn't stop talking. Please stop talking.

  “I said shut it.” Jonas’ voice was gravelly and harsh, more frightening because of his soft tone.

  Peabody shut his mouth, but the worried expression on his face deepened as he struggled to remain silent.

  “You work for my father?”

  Jonas’s black gaze returned to April’s face. He nodded curtly.

  “I didn’t know.” April’s chest rose and fell rapidly as if she’d just finished first in a swim meet. Her voice had a breathy quality to it. “Will you be staying long?’

  Was that a note of hopefulness in her voice? Oh, geez, what was April thinking?

  Jonas didn’t respond, but Peabody started up again. “Your father is an impatient man. He wants me to work magic, but I’m not a wizard I’m a scientist. Cujo and his friend back there,” he gestured in the direction of the plane, indicating they weren’t alone, “they can’t think for themselves. They just take orders like the dogs they are.”