Wherever It Leads

by Adriana Locke

  “Why dates?”

  He shrugs, settling into the pillows. A mood settles over his face, a more somber one than I’ve seen this evening. “I don’t really have girlfriends.”

  My spirits sink and I mentally chastise myself for that.

  He’s a rebound, Brynne. Re. Bound.

  “Relationships mean a commitment and that means I can’t do whatever I want. Not other women, because I have no problem with monogamy. Just that I have to be responsible to that person. I can’t come and go as I please. It lends some idea to the belief that there might be more in the future, like marriage or something, and that’s all more than I’ve ever wanted to manage. I just want to work and have fun when time allows,” he shrugs, looking at me cautiously. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all.”

  Even though I say that, it is a bad thing. Because even though he’s a rebound, a part of me really enjoyed being with him and hoped, secretly, maybe, that I would see him again after this. Really, though—I’m not sure if I could handle just seeing him occasionally.

  “Why do I feel like an asshole now?” he asks.

  “I have no clue,” I laugh, more to keep the conversation light than anything.

  He laughs and kisses me gently, a soft, leisurely motion that stirs the butterflies in my stomach. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, as he tries to interrupt the conversation. I let him and enjoy the sensation of being enjoyed.

  “So you don’t want a girlfriend, which I understand,” I lie. “So who do you spend time with? You said before you don’t have a lot of friends either.”

  “No one, really.”

  The way his eyes fall makes my heart go right along with it. The loneliness is palpable, and I wonder why he chooses that, because he clearly does. Anybody would love to be around him. There’s nothing not to love.

  “No one?” I whisper, treading lightly at the look on his face. “Really, Fent?”

  “I didn’t have friends growing up. I was the outcast for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fit in with the other kids and they never accepted me. So I spent time by myself or with my parents.” He pauses and gazes into the distance. “My dad would take me on these hunting trips a couple of times a year. It was just me and him in the wilderness. My mom insisted we take the meat and donate it to a homeless shelter or to a tribe or whatever where we were. So we did that. Other times of the year, Mom would take me, like I told you, to the ballet and musicals and to the things she loved. I was their friend and they were a helluva lot more interesting than the kids my age, jacking off to Playboy. Not that I didn’t do that too,” he winks.

  I want to wrap him up in my arms and kiss away the pain that I know is buried just under the surface. Fenton is so dynamic and social; it must be so difficult to be alone all the time. It’s heartbreaking to consider.

  “So you have no family or friends at all?” I ask, praying for him to admit to an aunt or cousin or something.

  He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess, but I’m not close to them in an everyday kind of way. They don’t live near me and our lives don’t really cross more than once or twice a year—if that.”

  My mind immediately goes to my parents and Brady and Presley and my chest tightens for him. I can’t imagine my life without my family.

  “You must be really lonely,” I say wistfully.

  “I miss my parents, of course. But really,” he takes a deep breath, “I like it better this way than having someone hold me back or tie me down. And,” he grins, “There’s no one in my life that can question me. I make the rules.”

  Beaming, I roll back onto my side. He looks confused and it makes me giggle.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Well, I just questioned you and made the rules and you followed along. Just pointing that out.”

  “So?”

  “So. That makes me the boss. I’m everyone’s boss’s boss,” I sigh dramatically. “That is such a powerful position.”

  His laughter barrels through the room. “You may have been in charge of . . . what was his name?”

  “Grant.”

  “Grant, yeah. But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of me, rudo.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” I wink. My attempt at humor dissolves and I’m picturing Grant sitting on our doorstep this morning. I hate the idea of seeing him and know I’m going to have to figure out a way to keep him away from me when I get home. The idea is draining.

  “Hey,” he says, tilting my chin so I’m looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I was talking to Presley earlier and she said Grant came by today.”

  He stills. “Is that so?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “What did he want?”

  I shrug and then bring the blankets up a little higher around me. Fenton is watching me, assessing every reaction, and I try to stay completely unaffected.

  “Is this normal behavior?” Fenton finally asks.

  “Not really. He pops in and out at times, but I haven’t seen him in a while and . . .”

  “And you are uneasy about it. I can tell.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “He probably just got drunk or something and wanted to reminisce.” I don’t quite believe that, but it’s a realistic theory.

  “Do you want to get a hold of him?” he asks cautiously.

  “No.” I turn my head to face him. “I don’t. Grant McDaniels is nothing to me.”

  “That’s his name? Grant McDaniels?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulls me against him. The blankets form a barrier, one he doesn’t look thrilled with. “Are you sure this guy is safe?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s safe,” I scoff. “I was with him for years.”

  Fenton’s features tighten and he bites his tongue, both literally and figuratively.

  “He might be safe, I think, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him. There’s a lot of strife between him and my family right now, and it’s just . . . it’s a difficult situation.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Honestly? No. Because it’ll make me sad and I don’t want to be sad. I just want to enjoy lying here with you, okay?”

  He squeezes me tighter and plants a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s entirely okay with me.”

  The bed is empty beside me. I glance at the clock and it’s early afternoon.

  I stretch, letting my sore muscles warm up before I hop out of bed. Every part of my body aches deliciously with memories of being wrapped around Fenton in various positions three times from yesterday morning to the middle of the night. It was well worth the discomfort I’m feeling today.

  I twist to my left and then to my right and a dopey smile plays across my lips. I lift his pillow to my face and inhale his lingering scent. My body immediately hums, sparking awake with the promise of the man that’s made it feel alive more than it ever has.

  Flopping back, I cringe. I could get into deep trouble here if I’m not careful. It’s too easy. Being with him is entirely too comfortable. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s sexy-as-sin and adorable-as-hell. And he doesn’t do relationships.

  Rebound, Brynne. This is a rebound. Enjoy it this weekend and move along with life.

  Just the thought makes my spirits drop, and that, in turn, makes me feel stupid. He may be man candy in every way, but that doesn’t mean I need to turn into some cheesy addict.

  Even though he gives the best oral.

  Tossing the blankets back, I swing my legs off the bed.

  Stop it. Just slow this train wreck down a few clicks.

  After making a quick stop in the ensuite, I look for some sign of him. Just like yesterday, there’s no note, no text, no mention of when to expect him back. I grab a glass of juice, jump in the shower, letting the hot water work the soreness out of my body, and then decide to do a little window shopping in the casino below.

  I pull out a cu
te blue dress that’s more casual than a lot of things I brought. I brought a bright yellow bikini that would look really cute under it. Tossing my things around in the suitcase, I come up empty handed. Staring at my luggage, I realize I don’t see any of the five bikinis I brought.

  Dashing into the closet, I look on the rack where I hung the one up from yesterday.

  Gone.

  “That fucker.”

  “Who?”

  I spin around to see Fenton leaning against the doorframe. His red tie is loose, his jacket missing, his hair a mussed-up, yummy mess.

  “The thief,” I say, hands on my hips, trying to hide my desire to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss the hell out of him.

  “We have a thief?”

  He watches me with complete sincerity. Like he has no clue what I’m talking about.

  “We do. He stole all my bikinis.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yeah,” I say, traipsing over to him. “And nobody likes a thief.”

  “You know what else nobody likes?” He shoves off the frame and wraps his hands around my waist lacing his fingers together in the dip at the small of my back. “Girls that can’t listen.”

  “I’ve never been a good listener,” I sigh dramatically. “I just make things happen . . . like calling the concierge and having them bring me another one up. And I charged it to your room since you stole my others. Thief.”

  He smacks my ass, making me yelp.

  “What was that for?” I laugh.

  “Did you really have them bring you another one?”

  “No. But I hadn’t ruled it out.”

  He chuckles, a sinful smirk on his face. “You’re going to make me crazy, you know that?”

  He drops his lips to mine, and in a split second, has me forgetting all about the bikinis and focused solely on getting him out of his suit. He breaks contact way too soon.

  “Any plans for the day?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’m taking you somewhere.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. So get changed. The car is probably downstairs.”

  My mind starts racing. I’m not close to being ready to go anywhere. “Where are we going?”

  “Just something fun and away from this bullshit.” His shoulders stiffen as he spits out the last word.

  I run my hands over his shoulders and roll them around. He exhales harshly, sighing.

  “Bad day?” I ask

  “You can say that.”

  “No fire extinguishers again?”

  He laughs, swiping my dress off the counter. “There are too many fires, rudo. Is this what you were going to wear?”

  “Yeah,” I mock, taking it from him, “with my yellow bikini.”

  He turns and walks out of the bathroom. “It’s under the kitchen sink. Now get ready.”

  “Oh, now you tell me!”

  Wheeling around, he gives me a look of complete seriousness. “Yes. Now I tell you. Because you’ll be with me.”

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, watching the city slip away from view. The landscape turns into an arid, flat picture with no fancy billboards or flashing lights. It’s hard to believe we are just barely outside of Las Vegas.

  I glimpse over my shoulder to the other side of the car. Fenton is scribbling on a notepad, the pen flying back and forth across the page. His attention is trained on whatever he’s writing, his jaw pulsing as he gets whatever he’s thinking down on the yellow legal pad.

  A purple Polo shirt stretches across his chest, constricting just a bit at his biceps. His legs are clad in steely grey swim trunks that hit just at the end of his toned thighs. My mouth waters at the mix of businessman and playboy and if some hired hand wasn’t driving us a foot away, I’d be unable—and unwilling—to resist temptation. He catches me admiring him and grins.

  “We’re almost there. It’s not too much longer,” he says.

  “Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can sit this close to you looking like that and not touch you.”

  He glances quickly at the driver and then back to me. “Want to make a pit stop?”

  “Can we?”

  Laughing, he puts his notepad on the floor and unbuckles my seatbelt with a deft hand. I slide into the middle, his lips meeting mine in a soft, slow gesture. He winds a hand through the side of my hair, pulling me closer to him. His supple lips feel so comfortable against mine, and when I finally pull back, I’m breathless.

  That kiss wasn’t a reset button kiss.

  The thought strikes a bit of terror in me. My fingertips fly to my mouth and I gulp back a sliver of fear that this fuckfest, for lack of a better word, is starting to evolve. My emotions, which are supposed to be cut and dry in a rebound kind of way, are now feeling like they’re being strangled by a grapevine with a killer body.

  I’m not supposed to feel things when I kiss him. I’m not supposed to look in his face to see if his worry lines are forming around his eyes. I’m not supposed to care.

  But I do. The realization that my time with him is going to end, and probably soon, slithers into my consciousness and chokes me.

  Fuck my life.

  His brows pinch together as he takes me in. “Are you okay, rudo?”

  “Yeah,” I profess as lightheartedly as possible. “I’m great.”

  He doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me either.

  Being great would mean things were going according to plan and this little adventure would give me a swift kick in the butt to refocus. Why couldn’t he be the cool, asshole alpha type? Or a hot mess in his private life? Why did he have to go be all kind and swoony and tender?

  Fenton surveys me, the greyness of his irises sweeping across my features. “You know, I thought I had you figured out. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “You’ll never figure me out. I’m a woman.”

  “Why do I think you go out of your way to make sure I don’t figure you out?”

  “Where’s the fun in having things figured out?” I tease. “I’ll keep you on your toes. Make you work for it.”

  “For what, exactly?”

  A zip races through me at the timbre of his voice, the huskiness that’s brimming with an innuendo I’m afraid to pick up. I can’t let myself fall for this man with no safety net and he’s made no qualms that he doesn’t want more than a fling.

  His gaze heats, scorching my defenses, and I realize that there would be no such thing as a safety net with Fenton Abbott.

  The water stretches both directions and goes as far as the eye can see. It’s a beautiful azure, the light breeze sweeping across the lake and dragging the fresh air with it. I take a deep breath, feeling the peace of the water, something that’s always made me feel a sense of serenity, roll across me.

  Boats cut lazily through the surface and people linger along the banks, dipping into the stores and cafes lining Lake Las Vegas. I take in the view, the exotic Mediterranean feel, and convince myself we didn’t get into a car and drive to the Amalfi Coast. We are still in Nevada, just a stone’s throw from the Strip.

  In front of us sits a large boat. A yacht. A golden vessel with black accents and tinted windows, something that looks like it should be docked and waiting on royalty, not me.

  I watch as Fenton talks to a man in a white suit on deck. The man is about my age, blond hair, and definitely cute. I can imagine Presley going ga-ga over him, and maybe I would be too, if he weren’t standing next to Fenton. If the blond were on his own, it would be hard not to look at him. Now it’s hard to even see him.

  I take them in, watching Fenton explain something, and then turn to me. He studies me, hesitating, before waving me over.

  I step onto the dock and make my way across. Fenton takes my hand immediately and gives it a gentle squeeze. He laces his fingers through mine and tucks me under his arm.

  “Brynne, this is Lucas,” he notes. “He’ll be taking care of us today.”

  “Madam,” Lucas nods. He begins to offer his hand a
nd then quickly changes his mind. “I hope you enjoy your time on the Ajax.”

  “Ajax?” I inquire, glancing up at Fenton.

  “It’s the name of the boat,” he reveals, the sun highlighting auburn strands in his hair I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Oh. Thank you, Lucas. I’m sure we will. It looks incredible.”

  Fenton’s hand splays against my ribs in a sweet, yet slightly territorial gesture. Lucas takes another step back. It makes me giggle, and when I peer up at Fenton, his brows pull together.

  “It’s our prized vessel,” Lucas continues, ignoring Fenton’s gesture, “And one we are delighted to have Mr. Abbott and yourself enjoy this afternoon. If we can get you anything before we set sail, please let one of the staff members know.”

  Lucas disappears inside and Fenton turns me in his hands to face him. He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “I thought we could do this today. Just get away from the city and have an afternoon that’s just the two of us. Is that okay?”

  “I think it’s fantastic.”

  He seems relieved, the lines on his face disappearing. He traces my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pinning me in place with his gaze. I notice Lucas standing in the doorway waiting on us, but Fenton is unhurried.

  His scrutiny is nearly unbearable. My hand trembles as I lay it on top of his.

  “Mr. Abbott? We’re about ready to set sail,” Lucas calls, breaking our moment.

  Fenton grins. “Let’s go get settled.”

  The Ajax moves easily through the water. It’s a beautiful, cloudless day, and now that we’re an hour into our sail, the water traffic has waned and we’ve found a little cove to drift around. It’s private and besides an interruption from Lucas to refill our drinks a couple of times, we’re alone. Fenton seems to relish it.

  He’s stretched back on the deck on an oversized lounge chair lined with marshmallow-like pillows. His aviators are over his eyes and I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or just relaxing, but it’s a sight to behold either way. His skin has beads of sweat dotting its golden ridges and I fight the urge to let my fingers explore the lines of his chiseled abs. Again.