Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)

by Stacy Kestwick

I nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

  I started to withdraw my fingers, but he held tight for a moment, until I met his eyes.

  “You grabbing my arm? Absolutely nothing to be sorry about.” He released his grip slowly and I pulled away. The simple action of my fingers sliding across his bicep felt loaded with the way he was watching me.

  I licked my lips and turned away to hide my edginess, peering out the window at the island airport, palm trees swaying beyond the runway and not a cloud in the sky.

  “I guess we’re here.”

  “It’s too bad.”

  “I forgot to ask you,” I said, facing him again, ignoring his remark. “Do you have a card or something? I’d love to see some of your work.”

  He leaned to the side and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, extracting a business card and handing it to me. Bold letters splashed across the top: NICK BENTLEY, photographer.

  Nick Bentley? The Nick Bentley? The huge, big shot, famous photographer Nick Bentley?

  I dropped the card, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. I wasn’t even remotely in his league, and I’d been arguing methodology with him? Mortified wasn’t a strong enough word to begin to describe how I felt.

  “Have you heard of me?” His head was cocked to the side and his voice held only curiosity, not arrogance.

  I nodded, unable to meet his gaze now. “Yeah,” I laughed, self-depreciatingly. “I’ve heard of you.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “No,” I backtracked. “No! I’ve seen your work. You’re amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He tilted my chin up, his touch feather-light, and waited until I made eye contact with him. “You seem pretty amazing yourself.”

  I snorted. Oh my fucking God, I snorted!? “I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve got the same experience as you.”

  “I offered to share my expertise.” His smile deepened. “The offer still stands.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking about his photography skills or his skills with the other, harder issues that we’d been talking about earlier. His smirk didn’t clarify the matter either.

  “I’m sure you’ll be busy.”

  “I’d make time for you,” he countered smoothly.

  “Where did you say your assignment was again?”

  “Oh. I’ll be shooting at a new resort here on the island for a few weeks. Water’s Edge. How ’bout you? Where will you be?”

  I WAS GOING to kill Grady.

  The Grand Cayman resort opening was his big break within the organization. It was his to organize, manage, advertise, handle, oversee—all that stuff. He’d told me it was basically a make it or break it situation. If he rocked it, he moved up to a VP position within the company. If he dropped the ball, he’d remain a mid-level manager overseeing the Reynolds Island property—not exactly their hottest location, even if he had personal ties to the area.

  And he’d told me that he was impressed by my skills—trusted me to come up with a killer campaign.

  How could he not have told me they’d hired Nick fucking Bentley too?

  I guess that faith in me only went so far. I fumed silently as we went through customs and gathered our luggage.

  Once we were situated in the shiny new minivan that would shuttle us to the resort, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I tapped Grady’s shoulder in front of me. He twisted to face me and raised his eyebrows in question. Struggling to keep my voice level and professional, I asked, “Did you hire Nick—”

  I was cut off when a hand shot out—stopping the door from closing all the way. Nick ducked inside and squeezed onto the bench seat next to me, his splayed thigh pressing against the length of mine. The heat of him burned right through my casual, linen-blend pants. I moved my leg over an inch and his followed me, maintaining the contact.

  Leaning forward to the seat in front of us where Grady was, Nick punched his shoulder. “Grady! Man, it’s good to see you again. It’s been what—two years? I was sorry to hear about—”

  “I’ve been great!” Grady interrupted, shooting Nick a look before glancing meaningfully at me. “I caught your show at the Galleria when I was in Chicago last year. I even bought a piece myself.”

  Nick settled back next to me, stretching his arm out along the seat behind my head. What was he doing?

  Grady glanced at me, head cocked in question, clearly wondering if I was going to finish my earlier remark, but I shook my head slightly.

  “So this is the hot new talent you were telling me about?” Nick tipped his head in my direction. “I have to say, I agree about the hot part. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

  My jaw dropped at his boldness, and I flushed from my face down to my chest. Was the air conditioner in this vehicle broken or something?

  Grady rolled his eyes. “Easy, boy. Remember what I hired you to do and lay off the extracurricular activities for a change.”

  The resort opening was Grady’s responsibility, his chance to shine. I guess he didn’t have as much confidence in my abilities as I thought if he’d hired Nick Bentley too. And considering Nick was a fucking legend in the photography world, it was clear who was playing second string here.

  They had a silent exchange, their pointed stares doing all the talking.

  “So it’s like that, is it?” Nick’s voice was light, teasing.

  “It’s complicated. And I don’t need you making it worse.”

  Nick glanced down at me, studying me more closely. I glared daggers into the back of Grady’s head, pretending not to notice Nick’s obvious interest.

  “Complicated, huh? Complications are what make life so interesting.”

  “Nick.” Grady’s voice held a warning.

  “So what’s the schedule for today, boss?” Highly uncomfortable, I tried to change the subject.

  Grady smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “No work today. Settle in, explore the resort some, see what you’ll be working with. Tomorrow is soon enough to start blocking out your shots.” He paused. “I thought you might like to join me for dinner later though? Around seven?”

  “Yes, that’d be great!” I’d wondered if I’d be eating alone.

  “Yeah, Grady, dinner at seven sounds perfect,” Nick echoed, smirking at him. “I can’t wait.”

  Grady narrowed his eyes in warning before facing front again and pulling out his phone.

  I bit my lip.

  What the hell had I gotten myself into?

  AFTER I UNPACKED, I sent Rue a text to let her know I’d arrived safe and sound. Then I scrolled up to West’s number. Rubbing my thumb over the edge of my phone, I hesitated. I knew what I needed to do for my own sanity. For my heart. The temptation was too great otherwise. Even though I was hundreds of miles away, he was still right there in my iPhone.

  Biting my lip, I reluctantly blocked his number.

  The phone mocked me. Practically screamed at me that it wasn’t going to work. His name hovered on the screen, memories of him threatening to overwhelm me. Groaning, I pressed a few more buttons, deleting his contact info all together. It was the only way. I had to have a clean break.

  I threw the phone angrily away from me onto the pillow-top mattress where it bounced harmlessly before settling on the edge of the pillow.

  The giant king-sized bed with its fluffy white duvet and extra pillows.

  Where I’d be sleeping solo.

  By choice, I reminded myself sternly.

  The phone wasn’t the only place West still lingered, though. Pulling out my laptop, I logged on to the complimentary Wi-Fi and ruthlessly blocked West on my Facebook account, not allowing myself to check for any new updates. While I was at it, I blocked Aubrey too.

  Good riddance to her.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed deep. I should’ve felt relief from my attempt to cut him out, but my chest constricted tightly, mocking me for thinking it would be that simple.

  As if my skin would forget that quickly what he felt like, trailing his
fingers down my spine. My lips, what he tasted like. My hands, the way he felt hard and hot and pulsing in my palm as I stroked him. My thighs, the weight of him pressing down on top of me, opening me up.

  My nipples tightened, and a familiar achiness in my core made my hips restless.

  No. West might be gone, but my body hadn’t forgotten. Not by a long shot.

  Frustrated, I forced myself off the bed, hoping to halt my painful wayward memories.

  As I stepped onto my third floor balcony, the salty air played with the ends of my hair while I studied the resort. There were a dozen stucco buildings topped with red clay tiles, two freeform pools, and more palm trees than I could ever count. Peacocks freely wandered the property, and the ocean was a beautiful, clear pale aqua that slowly bled into sapphire in the distance. The bright white sand of Seven Mile Beach was dotted with crisp white chairs and yellow cabanas. Inland, tennis courts cut harsh geometrics into the natural landscape and a scaled-down kids’ waterpark was tucked into a shady corner. One side of the resort was family centered, while the other side catered to couples looking for romance.

  My room was decidedly on the half meant for couples.

  Sighing, I settled onto a padded chaise, cracking open a can of Coke made with real sugar, and urged myself to appreciate all the beauty surrounding me.

  The resort was doing a soft opening for a few weeks before the highly publicized grand opening next month. It was time for the staff to work out the kinks and find their sea legs.

  And time for me to make my mark.

  Trading my Coke for my camera, I raised it to my eye, using the zoom lens to study different angles from my vantage point and mentally marking spots I wanted to explore more thoroughly later. The poolside bar. The activity center where brightly colored catamarans and wind-surfing sails fluttered in the steady ocean breeze. A peacock meandered down a sidewalk and I watched him, hoping he might spread his feathers and put on a show for me, but no such luck.

  Panning back to my own building, a man waving his arm caught my attention.

  Nick.

  Three balconies over.

  Shirtless.

  Whoa.

  I lowered my camera. He was bulkier than I expected—more of a gym body physique than an actual I-use-these-muscles-to-perform-work build like West had. But holy six-pack, Batman. The guy was ripped. And . . . tanned. Did he work shirtless frequently? Would it be a sight I’d be seeing often?

  Maybe he used a gym tanning bed. I smirked.

  My mind followed that train of thought briefly, wondering about the presence or absence of tan lines.

  Not that I’d be finding out.

  Damn, it was hot out here. I took another sip of my soda, fanning myself with my hand and wishing the ocean breeze reached this high.

  A faint clicking sound drew my eyes back up.

  Nick again.

  Taking my picture. I must have been so stuck on his abs I’d missed the camera in his hands. Ducking automatically, I threw my arms across my face, shielding myself and laughing.

  “I’m not fair game,” I called out.

  “Says who?” he shot back. “Grady? I didn’t think he was serious about that on the ride over.”

  That hadn’t been what I’d meant at all.

  “We’re . . .” I struggled with how to finish the sentence.

  “I like the start of that. We’re what?”

  I waved my hand between us. “We’re colleagues or something. I don’t really understand how we’re splitting the work here, but the only we involves us working together.”

  He tipped his head and lowered the camera from his face.

  “We’re not working together so much as parallel. Didn’t Grady explain this to you already?”

  I growled softly under my breath.

  Was every man in my life keeping things from me?

  “Not exactly,” I clipped out.

  “I’m shooting the couples campaign. Dark, romantic, sultry. You’re doing the family one. Bright, inviting, and open. Innocent. Cheerful. That type of thing.” He shrugged one shoulder like it was obvious.

  “I can do romantic,” I muttered, slightly offended.

  “Not like me.”

  Shit, he’d heard me. And what the fuck was that supposed to mean?

  “I’m more than happy to tutor you while I’m here.” He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “Teach you some new tricks. Show you what I know.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my style.” I gritted my teeth.

  “I’m sure there’s not. I bet it’s perfectly commercial and happy. I just meant, if you wanted to explore some other options.”

  I paused, unsure if we were only talking about photography or not.

  He smirked. “Just think about it. I’ll see you at dinner, Sadie.”

  With that, he disappeared into his room, leaving me pondering his intent.

  And his offer.

  AFTER AN AWKWARD meal where Nick flirted outrageously with me, Grady caught my arm before I could escape back to my room. Nick started to linger as well, but when Grady pointedly said he’s see him tomorrow, Nick took the hint and exited ahead of us. Although not until after he gave me a lingering hug where his hand strayed low on my back, making Grady cough in annoyance.

  Leading me out onto the oyster-shell encrusted sidewalk that edged the beach and reminded me of Reynolds Island, Grady steered us toward the pavilion that housed both the evening entertainment and a ballroom for events.

  “I was wondering if you could do me a favor while we’re here.” Clearing his throat, Grady shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

  Expecting a warning to stay away from Nick, I nodded briskly. “Of course, whatever you want.”

  “I, uh . . .” he hesitated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I was hoping you’d be my partner for some dance lessons. They have salsa classes at night and some other ones.” He stopped walking and faced me. “Obviously this is completely platonic, and I’d actually prefer you not mention this to our friends.”

  Thrown completely off guard, I studied him. He wouldn’t quite meet my gaze, and his hand came up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck.

  “Look,” he started. “I understand if you’re not interested. I just saw that they offered lessons, and I know the basics, but I’ve never had a chance to learn some of the fancier, complicated ones that the girls back home know.”

  “The girls back home? Or one girl in particular you’re trying to impress?” One with dark brown hair with hot pink tips who loved to go out to clubs and shake what her mother gave her. I sensed there was something more between him and Rue, despite her claims to the contrary.

  He started to stammer out a response, but I cut him off, giving him an easy out so I didn’t overstep my bounds.

  “Marissa, right? Isn’t that her name?” That was the anime pixie looking girl who’d been by his side when we met.

  He blinked at me and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, confusion written all of his face before he caught himself. “R-right. Marissa—”

  “Grady.” I interrupted him again, my heart softening a little at his obvious discomfort. “I’d be honored. But only because I want to help the girl you were thinking about.” I paused and waited for him to make eye contact. “Not Marissa. The other girl.”

  “There is no other girl.” He watched me warily. “Just Marissa.”

  “Okay.” I humored him and laughed softly. “Sure. We’ll do this for her. She likes dancing?”

  “Uh, yeah. Loves it.” He sounded uncertain, and I knew he was still thinking about Rue and not our conversation. “Besides, I thought you could benefit too. There’s a certain guy who knows all these dances already from his fancy upbringing. How much would it shock him for you to show up at the Gala with some new moves of your own?” His voice lowered and his eyes took on a gleeful sparkle. “Plus, can you imagine how pissed Aubrey would be if we learned some sexy moves and stole the attention from her at her own event?”
/>   I could indeed picture her face. And, as childish as it sounded, I’d love more than anything to be able to beat Aubrey at something. Maybe West would take a good look at what he was missing out on too. The stupid asshole.

  “Am I dressed okay?” I motioned to my flats and sundress combo.

  “You look fine. I don’t think they care what we wear for lessons. But you might want to practice in heels next time. I would think it feels different? I don’t know how that works actually.” He hesitated. “You know he isn’t giving up on you, right? He told me you ended it, but I don’t think he plans on listening.”

  “He ended it. Not me. And anything he said otherwise is just another one of his fucking lies.” The flat tone of my voice was meant to discourage the line of conversation.

  “What? West said you took something the wrong way, but he was going to explain it and he thought y’all would be fine.”

  “Oh, really? He’d just explain it and things would be fine?” I laughed. The idea of that happening was ludicrous. “Considering I’ve blocked him from contacting me, I wish him luck with that.”

  Grady frowned. “You know nothing is going on between him and Aubrey, right?”

  I huffed out another laugh and raised my eyebrows. West had fooled Grady too.

  “Sadie.” His voice was serious. “I’ve never seen West look at another woman the way he looks at you. You and her, there’s no competition. You’re it for him. Don’t let her fuck you two up. Don’t let her win.”

  “She can have him. If it’s a competition, I don’t want the prize anymore.”

  He shook his head, but I raised my hand to stop any further arguments.

  “Truce for tonight? You don’t mention him, and I won’t mention who you’re really taking these classes for.”

  Relief filtered across his face. “Deal.” His lips quirked and he stuck his arm out for me.

  Tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow, I tugged him forward along the sidewalk again. “I think we have some dance lessons to get to.”

  Aubrey may have snagged West, but Grady was right. Stealing the limelight from her during the Gala? I definitely wanted to see her face when that happened.