It felt weird, and at times I was damn lonely, but I knew the best thing to do right now was stay out of trouble, and that meant staying far, far away from anything in a skirt. That didn't stop me getting a good look every now and again, though.
Most evenings, I'd set up camp on the loungers by the beach bar and watch the girls walk by. Sometimes I'd buy one of them a drink, but that was it. Last night, a Swedish girl by the name of Inga was laying it on pretty thick, sitting on my lap and sliding her hands closer and closer to the sacred goods beneath my board shorts. But I'd remained a good boy, and simply walked her to her hotel room before pecking her on the cheek goodnight.
There had been a peculiar sense of calm washing over me since I’d become celibate. I was starting to think maybe all those priests and monks were onto something. One thing I hadn't manage to shake, though, was the booze. I was kicking back now with a glass of rum staring out to sea. Beside me, the bar was keeping busy with a steady stream of tourists crowding around in groups to taste the local rum that was made especially in my family brewery.
In among them, my security team were pretending to fit in with the tourists, although they just looked like meat heads in Hawaiian shirts. They looked about as obvious as the nose on my face.
I tried to ignore them and relax, kicking off my flip flops and feeling the sand between my toes. This is the life, I thought. It's hard to imagine I'm in any trouble at all. Feels more like a vacation than being exiled.
As I looked out at the waves, watching the auburn sun dip into the indigo sky, I became aware of a change in the atmosphere. It was nothing obvious, just a feeling that someone was nearby who shouldn't be. It was the same feeling I got when paparazzi were hiding in close proximity.
Instinctively, I looked behind me in search of one of those parasites with their huge lenses sticking out in front of them like substitute phalluses. But there was nothing but a sea gull chewing on a loose piece of taco.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling something was about to happen; like the calm before a storm, like in those critical few seconds before a fight's about to break out.
I looked over at security and saw Stephen, the biggest of the meatheads talking into his earpiece and looking down the beach. Clearly he was sensing something was wrong too. Following his gaze down the beach, I tried to see what the fuss was about.
That was when I saw it.
A figure, dressed in black and at least six-foot-five was approaching quickly. It came lunging at the bar, balaclava pulled down over its face. At first, I was frozen to the spot. What does anybody do in these situations?
Everybody thinks when they witness something like that they'd jump in and be the hero, but when you're right there and it's all happening in front of your eyes, it's like you're paralyzed.
I watched in horror as the figure jumped the bar, something metal glinting at their side. It was then that I realized they were carrying a gun. Someone screamed, the barman dashed out of the way leaving the till unattended. Meanwhile, the tourists all scampered, running for their lives.
"He's got a gun!" someone yelled, and the chaos intensified.
Stephen jumped over the bar in a split-second like a pit bull lunging at a hunk of raw meat. But the figure was too wily and slippery, and slid out his arms as he tried to grab him.
I saw a fistful of cash in his gloved hands, saw that he had almost emptied the till in its entirety. Spurred into action, I dropped my drink and ran at the figure, but as soon as they glimpsed me approaching, they took off, diving back over the bar and running full speed down the boardwalk.
"Get him!" I yelled at my team.
But I was already far ahead of them, running full tilt until my bare feet began to burn on the scorching sand.
"Stop right there!" I shouted.
The figure paid no attention to me. Who the hell is this guy? I thought. He's an even faster runner than I am!
I was so close to catching up with him. Just a few more strides, just one final push. As I caught up, I could see him clearer, could see just how strong and muscular he was beneath his black shirt and sweatpants.
You son of a bitch, I thought. This'll be the last time you commit a robbery on one of my islands.
He was even closer now. All I had to do was reach out a hand and grab the back of his shirt. Just a few more inches. Just one last breath and-
I leaped out to get him, but before my hands could connect with his body, a black BMW came to a screeching halt beside us, the passenger door flung open, and the figure dashed inside. Before I could even process what happened, the car sped off down the beach front leaving the stench of burning rubber in its wake.
I stood stunned, and out of breath, feeling as though my lungs were filled with rocket fuel.
"Jesus Christ," said Stephen as he approached, the rest of my team lagging behind him. "That guy was like Usain Bolt or something."
I looked up at Stephen and his cheeks were red. He looked closing to passing out.
"What do I pay you guys for?" I asked. "Gotta catch the bad guys myself now?"
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and said, "Well with a bit of luck some paparazzi caught it on camera. Then at least you'll be in the papers as a hero for once."
He had a point there, but for the first time in my entire life, one of my shenanigans wasn't captured on camera.
Shit, I thought. If only my dad could see me as a hero. Maybe then he'd cut me a break.
I was lost in this thought when I was aware of the sound of hard shoes walking along the boardwalk. A pair of smart brogues and creased pants came into view along with a crisp, white shirt and a perfect, even tan.
"Hello, I'm Richard Weber," said the man and grabbed my hand to shake it.
"Should I know you?"
He grinned to reveal teeth so fake and white it gave me the creeps. Immediately, there was something I didn't like about the guy. He was smarmy, cocky, and had his black hair slicked back with so much grease he looked like a fire hazard.
But what freaked me out the most was that he was grinning like a maniac, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. They were beady and dark and stared up at me like a shark's.
"I'm the bar manager for the Royal Octavius Hotel," he said. "I saw what you just did."
"Yeah?"
"I was very impressed and wondered if you would like to spend the night in our VIP suite," he said. "Compliments of the hotel of course. That includes you and all your friends."
I watched him for a moment, trying to gauge his real intention.
Does this guy really not know who I am?
"Sure," I said. "That would be awesome." Did I tell him his VIP suite wasn’t shit compared to my villa? Nah.
He grinned again and a shiver ran down my back. The guy looked like an evil mannequin that had been conjured into existence by a magic spell.
"Right this way," he said, leading me over to the hotel.
I couldn't be bothered to tell him I'd been there a thousand times before. Couldn't even be bothered to tell him that I owned the place.
* * *
Stephen and the team were knocking back a few well-deserved drinks. Well, they thought they deserved them. I didn't. They'd done fuck all since we’d arrived.
I took some time to hang out in the back booth and enjoy the coolness and calm of the VIP suite. The last time I was here I had partied with models and actresses. What a night that had been.
Now, I was sat alone in my scruffy flip-flops drinking a beer and watching a cricket match on the flat screen TV above my head. I didn't even like cricket. I didn't think anybody did.
Around me, the suite began to fill up with various hot shots who were all keen on splashing the cash and posing with their overpriced drinks. Let them, I thought. More money for me.
Yet, as I tried to ignore everyone, I was aware of someone entering the room who wasn't as taken in by the splendor of VIP living as much as everyone else. I saw the sun dress first, floaty and whi
te and draped away from her neck to reveal sun kissed shoulders.
Then I saw her face. Perfect, cherub-like features were framed by hair the color of fire. And even from where I sat across the room, I could see her eyes were the color of emeralds. Suddenly, I realized I was mouthing the word wow and wanting to get closer.
Behave yourself, a voice said in my head. Remember to stay out of trouble.
I ignored my brain and found myself sidling up to the bar beside her. She was on the phone, sounding as though she was getting a sore ear from someone barking orders.
"Yes, yes, I got it," she said. "I've arranged all of that and the menu too. I know. Yes, yes I know! Look, calm down. I got everything. You don't have to worry about a thing. No, no, you don't really. I fixed all of that too. Just relax, Chris. Chill."
Her voice was a little rough around the edges but carried a sense of authority you seldom heard in a woman. Well, most of the women I’d been around anyway. And there was something else she carried I rarely saw in a woman; natural beauty. The more I looked at her, the more I realized she wasn't wearing a scrap of makeup.
She's all real, I thought. A real-life living doll.
Her skin was perfect, her hair like glistening, silken lava. And then there was her body. Even through the loose fabric of her dress I could tell she had a taught little figure under there with curves in all the right places.
She was nothing like the blonde girls with the big breasts and fake tans I was used to seeing. She looked like a princess. A real, refined, princess like something out of a Disney cartoon.
I couldn't take my eyes off her, and she was so entrenched in her conversation, she didn't notice me watching.
"Christy," she said. "Will you relax and just go get a drink or something? I've got everything covered. That's why I'm here, remember?"
Obviously, she was getting her ear roasted by whoever was on the other end of the line, but her feathers remained unruffled. If anything, she looked a little bored.
"Look, I gotta go, okay? Catch up with you in a couple hours."
She hung up, rolled her eyes, and slipped her phone into her purse.
"Double scotch and ice," she said to the barman and once again I was blown away.
A woman who drinks neat scotch? She's tougher than I realized.
Climbing up on the bar stool, I caught a glimpse of her dainty ankles that led down to a strappy pair of sandals. Why am I looking at her ankles? I thought. I've never given a shit about a woman's ankles in my life.
Make a move now, I told myself. You can't let her go.
Moving a little closer, I tried to formulate the best pick up line. I opened my mouth to speak, hoping to charm the pants off her, but before a word could escape my mouth, a voice interrupted me.
"Lizzie!"
A guy in a black suit and sunglasses came bounding into the room, arms outstretched to hug her with his Rolex catching the light.
I'd seen men like him hundreds of times before. Flash, cocky, thought the whole world owed them a favor. Just because they had a little money, they thought they were kings.
He can't be with her, I thought, horrified. The guy's an obvious douche bag.
She seemed to think so too, because she turned around, saw his face and said, "Oh shit. Not today."
"Is that how you greet your fiancée?"
"You're not my fiancée," she said in a clipped tone. "Leave me alone Adam.”
"Aw, come on. I knew we'd bump into each other eventually. How long are you here for?"
"All week," she said through gritted teeth.
"Me too!" he beamed, and she looked as though she was ready to punch him. "So, where's my hug?"
"You're not getting a hug. You're not getting anything."
But he wasn't giving up. Whether she liked it or not, he was snaking his slimy arms around her.
"Hey, get off me," she said. "If you must know I'm waiting on my date."
"Oh, are you now?” He said, his whole face darkening. “So where is he?"
I took one last look at him, knew that I could never ignore a damsel in distress, and leaped forward. It's my time to shine!
"Sorry I’m late," I said. "Hi, honey."
For a second, she looked up at me, totally confused, then the penny dropped, and she said, "Hi. I've been waiting for you for ages. Where have you been?"
She hugged me hard, and I took in the scent of her hair that smelled like peaches and sunshine. The guy was watching us intently and I could feel the heat of his hatred burning into my face.
"This is your date?" he laughed, waving a hand over me. "This beach bum?"
I laughed back. If only he knew who I really was.
"Yeah!" she said. "And he isn’t a bum. Now take the hint, Adam."
Adam glowered at us. It was obvious he was the kind of guy no one said no to.
“Are you gonna just stand there staring at us or are you going to leave like the lady asked you to?” I asked.
He took one last look at me, unable to hide the disgust on his face.
“I'm leaving,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're making a huge mistake, Lizzie.”
“No Adam, you were my huge mistake.”
We watched him walk away, staring at me the whole way out the door.
“Wow,” I chuckled. “He really hates me.”
“Good,” she said. “And thank you.”
Her grip around me loosened, but her eyes remained focused on mine.
“I mean it,” she said. “Thanks for coming to bail me out like that.”
“It's a pleasure,” I replied. “Really it is.”
Lizzy
"Okay, well..."
I waited for him to leave, but he wasn't budging. If anything, he looked as though he was settling in for the long haul.
"So, can I get you a drink?" he asked. "Another scotch on the rocks?"
"No, actually I've got loads to do. Supposed to be meeting the bar manager to arrange something."
"That creep?"
"I've not met him yet."
"Lucky you."
He relaxed back against his bar stool making sure to give me a full view of his body. I hated to admit I loved what I saw. He had the kind of deep tan from someone who lived on the beach and never spent a single day of their lives cooped up in an office. And he had the kind of muscles people only got from intensive training at the gym. It was impossible to ignore the distinguished v-shape that formed a perfect arrow down into what he hid beneath his shorts.
Then there was his face. High cheekbones sat beneath piercing blue eyes with long, luscious eyelashes. He was pretty alright. Maybe even too pretty, and his phenomenal looks were offset by his laid-back charm and confidence. I wouldn't go so far as to assume he was arrogant. He still had a long way to go before he was like Adam, but he was almost there.
Holy shit, I thought. This guy is hot. He looks like he's just stepped out the pages of a Hugo Boss ad, and he's right here waiting to buy me a drink.
From the waist down, my body was telling me to dive right in and say yes. But my brain was telling me to calm down and get on with all my maid of honor duties. Right then, the last thing I needed to be doing was getting distracted by a guy, even if he was smoking hot.
"You have a peculiar accent," I said. "Where are you from?"
"Oh, a tiny place. You won't know it. So, can I get you that drink?"
But it wasn't just his accent or his looks that made him stand out. It was his clothes. He was the only guy in the entire place without a shirt. He looked as though he'd just rocked in straight off the beach. I was half expecting to find out he'd parked his surfboard out front.
Looking down, I saw his flip-flops, his blistered toes covered in sand, and wondered how the hell he got in this place. I thought this was for VIPs.
"So, don't tell me that asshole was really your fiancée," he said, leaning in closer.
I could smell his cologne mixed with the subtle hints of sweat and the sea salt in his hair. It was
an intoxicating combination.
"Ex-fiancée," I corrected him. "The emphasis is on ex. Not that he's listening. He still thinks he's got a chance with me."
He sipped on his beer and set down his bottle.
"Okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it. You're too good for him."
"I know. I mean, he's an asshole and a cheat. I'm better off without him."
"A cheat?" he asked with a frown. "Don't tell me he actually slept with someone else?"
"With numerous someone else’s," I said. "But I don't want to bore with you all that. I doubt you want to hear about it."
"No, I really do," he said, and he moved even closer still.
His hand made its way to my lower back, and I could feel the heat from his skin through my dress. It dawned on me that he was the only man apart from Adam who had touched me in years, and it made my cheeks burn. Yet as much as I enjoyed the feel of his hand on me, I found myself pulling away. I didn't need to be drawn into another guy's orbit. I needed to forget all about men entirely.
I wriggled out of his grasp and sank my top lip into the burning amber scotch. It relaxed me right away, and I relished its scorching sensation at the back of my throat.
"I heard him call you Lizzie," he continued, with no sign of him leaving me alone. "Short for Elizabeth?"
"Yep."
"As in Queen Elizabeth?"
"No," I laughed. "I'm not much of a royal."
I turned my attention to the TV and watched a guy in a huge woolly sweater pitch a ball across the field. Who the hell watches cricket? I thought.
“So, you sounded like you have a lot on your plate,” he said.
His voice sounded like it was made of melted chocolate. It landed in my ears and dropped straight into my panties. I tried to ignore how much I was attracted to him and turned my attention to texting Christy.
He's too good looking to be a nice guy, I told myself. He's even more gorgeous than Adam. He has to be a jerk!
Still, I kept sneaking sideways glances at his abs. I'd never seen a six pack so taught or pecs so defined. I had the overwhelming compulsion to lunge over and run my tongue over them, and bit down on my lip to stifle the urge.
Royally Damaged Page 4