Find Her, Keep Her (A Martha's Vineyard Love Story) (Love in the USA)

by Z. L. Arkadie

  “No, that’s not it. You didn’t sound ‘disingenuous’ at all.”

  We’re staring into each other’s eyes, and it feels as though I’ve known him for longer than less than an hour.

  “Come to my birthday party tonight,” he finally says. “It’s going to be fun. You’ll forget about this douche who made off with your skanky best friend.”

  I sniff and chuckle. Hearing it put like that makes me feel better, even if he’s not a douche. However, she may be a skank. The jury has always been out on that. I shrug. “I’ll try.”

  He crimps his eyebrows as though he’s thinking very hard. “You’ll need water.”

  When we get to the water aisle, he piles three twenty-four packs of sixteen-ounce bottles in the basket. When I tell him there’s no way I can carry that back, he offers to drive me to the house.

  Now I’m crimping my eyebrows. He’s weighed me down on purpose. The only reason I go along with his little scheme is because I do need the water, and since all the store clerks seem to know and like him, he must be harmless.

  Chapter 2

  Persistence Pays Off

  Of course pretty boy stranger drives a sporty burgundy BMW with the top down. He opens the passenger-side door and insists that I get in and make myself comfortable while he puts the groceries in the trunk. I’m not surprised by how delicious the inside of his car smells; it’s a mixture of brand-new leather and vanilla. I cozy up against the soft leather seat and strap myself in.

  “By the way”—he leans over as he straps himself in—“you look stunning in that dress. Very sexy, and yesterday in the black jeans and shirt too. And”—he digs into his pocket—“you left this on the table.” He’s holding up the gray card I left behind sort of on purpose. He’s grinning as if I’ve been caught in the act of trying to elude him. “My name is Belmont Lord. You forgot, didn’t you?”

  I take the card but drop my face, embarrassed. I had no intentions of seeing him again, let alone attending his party. “Maybe.”

  He chuckles and winks before backing the car out of the parking space.

  I’m still so embarrassed. I want to sink into my seat and disappear. For sure he’s through with me now. So I give him the address to where I’m staying, believing this will certainly be the last time we’ll speak because come hell or high water, I will avoid him.

  “Did you rent a car?” he asks.

  “A Mini Cooper,” I reply, still jumpy.

  “But you walked to the grocery store?”

  “And to breakfast,” I add. “Why drive where two feet can carry you? I’m a travel writer. It’s easier to get a feel for a place if I walk.”

  “Ah, so she’s a writer…” he says, adding to that list of details about me he’s keeping.

  “Yes, I am. Why did you ask?”

  “If you didn’t have a car, then I would be willing to chauffeur you around.”

  “Oh.” I was not at all expecting that response. We grow silent again. “So what do you do for work?”

  Belmont Lord glowers up the road as if I’ve touched a nerve.

  “Is your job legal?” After witnessing his expression, I feel like I have to ask.

  He chuckles. “What if it weren’t? What if I were a criminal?” He lifts his eyebrows teasingly.

  I shrug. “Then that’s your business. I’ve consorted with criminals before.” It sounds like I’m patting myself on the back for being worldly–which I am. “They make the best tour guides.”

  “You and criminals? I don’t believe it. There’s not a bad guy in the world who would be able to keep his hands off of you.”

  I roll my eyes. That was supposed to be flattering, but it’s not.

  He must’ve seen my reaction because he laughs. “I’m an independent contractor.”

  “What kind of contractor?” I ask, narrowing one eye suspiciously.

  He laughs again. “Not that kind. Construction. I also do real estate development. And this summer, my brother and I ran a luxury liner from Martha’s Vineyard to Boston. Actually, he started it, and I had to clean up his mess.” He mumbles that last bit.

  “Oh okay, that sounds slightly miserable but legal.” Surprisingly, I smile at him. Goodness gracious, he’s making me feel pretty good.

  Belmont reaches over to squeeze my hand that’s sitting on my lap. I’m expecting him to remove it, but he doesn’t. Suddenly, I’m nervous again because of how natural his touch feels.

  This is crazy!

  He’s crazy!

  I’m crazy!

  “Thanks for doing this for me—taking me home, that is,” I say to remind him where we’re supposed to be going because he turns off of Main Street and heads in the wrong direction.

  “Hey, do you mind if I stop off to buy a plant?” he asks, showing me that charming smile of his.

  “A plant?” I gulp.

  “The nursery’s right off Edgartown Vineyard Haven Road. It’ll only take a second.”

  I hesitate. I still don’t understand why he’s trying to drag this out. “Okay.” I sigh.

  That answer seems to satisfy him. He squeezes my hand one last time before letting go to navigate the steering wheel.

  The drive takes way longer than “a second,” but the twisting and turning roads do help me conclude that Martha’s Vineyard has a lot of colonial-style houses on it–tons of them built on just about every plot of land. Most of them are unoccupied now, but I imagine they’ve been occupied all summer long.

  I was wrong in assuming that the island is quaint. A lot of the natives drive huge trucks. Traffic is pretty regular too. The fields of forest, which hide the spectacular beachfront homes, could make a car ride like this one feel monotonous.

  “Getting an eyeful?” Belmont asks to claim my attention.

  I look at him. He’s still smiling. He does that a lot—smile. I think he’s a happy guy, and that’s great. Adrian hardly ever smiled. He complained a lot, usually about the show runner or producer, or the other writers in the writing room–and me. He used to complain that no one thought he had a girlfriend because he’s always going to functions alone. There were even rumors that he’s gay, which I can definitely believe. He’s in great shape, and he has nice white teeth and fingernails. His cayenne-brown skin is smooth as a baby’s bottom because he uses sunscreen and moisturizes every day. He looks waxed, plucked, and powdered. As Stanford says on the television show Sex and the City, “How can anyone that gorgeous be straight?”

  “Ah, you’re sad again,” he says as the car comes to a stop at a sign.

  “No,” I reply, but I’m too jumpy for it to be true.

  “Good,” he says, leaving it at that.

  I think he’s going to hold my hand again, but instead, he opens the glove compartment and takes out a small slip of paper with a list written on it.

  He makes a right into the parking lot of a plant nursery, parks, and hops out of the car. I’m not sure if he wants me to come with him until he walks around the front of the car to open my door for me. I slide out and we walk side-by-side toward the colorful flowers and robust green plants lined up in neat rows.

  “What can I get for you, Belmont?” a petite, red-faced woman with a button nose and small eyes asks in the customary New England accent.

  “How are you doing, Nance. Looking for this here.” He uses the same regional dialect that I didn’t think he had.

  She scowls at the list. Whatever’s written on it seems to puzzle her. “Oh, go to Oak Lanes.” She hands it back to him.

  “You’re the best, Nance.” He rewards her with that charming wink of his.

  I wonder if he intends to drop me off at the house before he goes on a wild goose chase for the mysterious plants on the list.

  As we walk back to the BMW, I say, “Well, good luck finding what you’re looking for.”

  “It’s right up the road. It won’t take long.”

  I could insist that he drops me off first, but the key to being a successful travel writer is to go with spo
ntaneous flows. I never know where they’ll lead me. I’m torn between giving in to my natural curiosity and the incessant need to be alone so I can press the resume button on crying my eyes out.

  The car is back on the road, passing more dry trees and foliage. I’ve already noticed that the thick forests lining the roadways act as woody fences. I kind of find that disconcerting. It seems residents definitely have to pay for paradise on this island.

  “So where have you traveled?” Belmont asks.

  I can tell he’s trying to start a conversation, any old conversation. “Just about everywhere. Except here.”

  “No?” He sounds intrigued.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “There’s a lot of beauty on the Vineyard. I’ll take you around to see it.”

  “No!” I panic. “I have to get back.”

  He laughs. “Not now—later. But why do you want to get away from me, Daisy? I like this, hanging around you.”

  I sniff at how weird that sounds, mainly because I like being with him too. Strange, but I do.

  “So your boyfriend made off with another girl?” Again, it sounds as though he’s forcing conversation.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, his loss.”

  “How do you know that? I can be aloof and unfeeling. I’m not a good girlfriend. So whatever you’re trying to do here, you should really rethink it.”

  “You haven’t been aloof and unfeeling in the last”—he looks at his expensive watch—“forty-five minutes.”

  “That’s because you’re a stranger,” I mutter.

  “Your name is Daisy, and you live in Santa Monica, California. You’re a writer who just lost her lover and friend. If you were a stranger, then I wouldn’t know any of that. If you were aloof, you wouldn’t have told me any of it.”

  There. I saw that. The way his eyes fell to the material pulling across my breasts. He’s turned on by me. Therefore I can’t trust his assessment.

  He turns the car down a long dirt road flanked by more dead trees with gray trunks and bare, wiry branches.

  “I thought the trees would be greener.” I’m deliberately changing the subject.

  “They were destroyed by caterpillars back in 2007. Hundreds of acres, gone.”

  “So what’s being done about it?” the writer in me asks.

  “Last I heard, they were waiting to see if the forest recovers on its own.”

  “But it’s been five years.”

  The car rolls to a stop. “You want to go for a walk through them?” he asks, which worries me. It probably shows in my eyes because he says, “I’m not a serial killer or anything. You don’t have to be afraid of me, Daisy. I’ll never hurt any part of you.” He pauses. “I like the way you do that.”

  “Do what?” I squeak nervously.

  “Part your lips.”

  I become aware of what I’m doing and close my mouth. His eyes veer down to my chest, and I see what’s caught his attention. My nipples are betraying me by shoving against the fabric of my dress. I instinctively cross my arms. He chuckles and starts driving again. Eventually, he stops the car after circling a red brick paved motor court.

  “I’ll be back,” he says, watching me intensely. “Don’t run off into the woods without me.” He’s grinning at his bad attempt at a joke.

  “I won’t,” I reassure him. He’s still ogling me. “What?” I squirm under the magnetic power of his stare.

  “You’re really beautiful. I’ve never been this close to someone as beautiful as you.”

  I’m moved to laugh once and very cynically. “I doubt that.” I sniff. I mean, it’s just another corny attempt to flatter me.

  “You don’t believe me?” he challenges me.

  “No, I don’t,” I assert.

  “It’s true.” He surprises me by taking my chin and putting a tender kiss on my parted lips. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  My mouth is still open in surprise as he hurries out of the driver’s seat and trots up the steps to the front porch. He turns back to grin after he knocks on the door.

  I’m still stunned by what just happened. That was the softest, warmest kiss I ever had, and I can still taste him in my mouth.

  I’m more confused than ever. My mind works feverishly to remember Adrian’s face because all I can picture is the way Belmont stares at me. Those hazel eyes ignite a burning in my thighs. They could make my heart beat faster if I let them.

  Maybe I’m subconsciously craving sexual intimacy. That could be it. I haven’t had sex in three months. Adrian was satisfactory in bed. He was never as good as the guys are in the movies. It’s rare that I watch films but when I do, I always notice how women moan and sigh and suck air between their teeth, writhing like they just can’t take anymore. I always wonder if that could be real. Jeez. I shake my head like a rattle. Why am I even thinking this?

  The driver’s door opens, and he’s back behind the wheel. I stare out the window at the front door of another colonial-style house covered with gray shingles.

  “Got it,” he says.

  “Good,” I reply, still too embarrassed to look at him.

  “Hey, if I moved too fast with the kiss…”

  “No, you didn’t,” I say, cutting him off.

  “Ah.” He chuckles. “I see.”

  I flick my face in his direction. My God, what sort of spell has he cast over me? I want to go into full make-out mode with this guy. “You see what?” I swallow the nervous energy that’s trapped in my throat.

  “I shocked you.”

  “Oh.” I face forward. I can’t stand to look at him any longer. Plus, he’s right; he did shock me.

  I watch as he carefully puts a brown bag in the glove compartment. I’m not stupid. It’s apparent he was on a quest for marijuana. The car starts up.

  “So, you’re coming to my party tonight?” he asks.

  There he goes with the party talk again. “Who’s going to be there?”

  “You don’t plan on coming, do you?”

  I shrug. “It depends.”

  “You’re coming to the party, Daisy. If you don’t show up by eight, I’ll come get you.” He lifts his eyebrows flirtatiously.

  “You’re pretty bossy for someone I just met an hour ago.”

  Belmont studies me as if he’s mesmerized. “I just don’t want to stop getting to know you, Daisy, that’s all.”

  I drop my face bashfully. Could this really be happening?

  I learn a little more about Belmont Lord as he drives me to the house on Water Street in Edgartown. He’s lived in Telluride, Colorado; Las Vegas, Nevada; Dallas, Texas; and even Venice, California. He’s traveled all over the world. We were comparing destinations when he pulled into the driveway of my rented house.

  “It’s cliché, but Paris is my favorite place in the world,” I reveal.

  “I can see it.” He’s watching me while wearing that naughty grin.

  “You can? Why is that?” I’m eager to hear his answer.

  “I can always spot the lonesome American girls walking down L’Avenue des Champs Elysées. They’re wide-eyed, bushy-tailed, beautiful—and brave.”

  “Wow,” I mutter with a catch in my throat. I love what he just said.

  My skin runs hot. I need air. I push the car door open as fast as I can. I hear his door open, but I’m out and standing before he can reach me. Now we’re facing each other. My heart thumps. He’s at least six inches taller than I am. I feel dwarfed by him.

  “I’ll help you with the water,” he whispers hoarsely.

  I think I’m having the same effect on him that he’s having on me, and he’s the one making all the moves. Belmont Lord is a bold man who goes for what he wants, and I wish it didn’t turn me on so much.

  “Okay,” I croak.

  He stares at my chest, and my nipples betray me again. He catches a breath before hitting a button on the car remote to open the trunk. He’s the first to step away. We unload the water and the rest of my groceries, setting t
hem on the island in the middle of the gourmet kitchen.

  “This house is pretty decent, but you’ll like mine better,” Belmont says as he looks around the kitchen. “I know who owns this place. How much are you paying for it?”

  “Three thousand a week, I think. My travel agent found it for me,” I reply, even if that was sort of an inappropriate question.

  “Your travel agent? What’s her name?”

  I pause. “Leslie.” I wonder why he wants to know.

  “Leslie…?” He’s waiting for me to say her last name.

  “Birch.”

  “Leslie Birch found you a bad deal, Daisy. It’s off season. You should’ve only paid half that price, but I can fix that for you if you like.”

  “No, it’s too late.” I sigh, thinking about the money I could recover if I say yes. I never had a guy offer to do something like that for me, not even my father.

  He nods as he thinks. “The party’s in Chilmark,” he says abruptly. “That’s where we just left. Do I have to come pick you up tonight, or are you coming on your own?”

  There he goes again. “I told you I rented a car.”

  “And you’re going to use that car to drive to my party.” He grins. He’s beating this subject until it bleeds.

  “Yes,” I answer truthfully.

  “Now that’s what I want to hear.”

  Before I can blink, he’s kissing me again. He pulls me into his body, and we’re kissing so deeply that moans escape my throat.

  “May I?” he whispers.

  I open my eyes. “May I?”

  “May I touch you?” he asks.

  “Touch me? Where?”

  His hand slides up my waist to squeeze one of my breasts, and he pinches the nipple between two fingers. “Here,” he sighs.

  I suck in a sharp breath of air between my teeth. The sensation makes my thighs tingle. “Oh, there.”

  After a moment, Belmont comes to himself and takes a step back. “Hell, I should go. I’m sorry, Daisy. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing to me. This is not my usual M.O.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, still breathless. “This isn’t mine either.”

  I’m still a little flustered after he writes his address on a notepad and informs me that any GPS should take me straight to his house. He also reminds me that if I don’t show up by eight o’clock, then he’s coming to get me.