by Colet Abedi
“I wouldn’t mind giving you a first experience as well,” I tell him with a resigned sigh. “But I’m starting to think that might not be possible.”
“You already have,” he replies cryptically.
I feel my stomach drop through the floor and before I can ask him what he means, Giselle walks out onto the veranda with a colorful tray filled with assorted fish, lobster, and shrimp that could feed a family of five.
“I hope you guys are hungry,” she says with a friendly smile as she sets the platter on the table.
“This looks delicious,” I tell her appreciatively.
“Giselle is an incredible cook,” Michael tells me with a wink. “I’ve been trying for years to make her give away her secret recipes, but she guards them with her life.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Sinclair.” She blushes from the praise. “But I am happy you enjoy my food. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and get the rest.”
Giselle leaves us and Michael serves a generous portion on my plate.
“It’s so much food,” I tell Michael as he continues to fill my plate. There is absolutely no way we will be able to even eat a quarter of this meal.
“I ask for it,” he says, giving me a small grin. “We always take all the leftovers to a shelter not far from here. Nothing goes to waste.”
If possible, I fall in love with him even more. How can one man be so bloody perfect?
“Everything you do,” I say to him in a bit of awe. “All of it… I wish there were more people like you in this world.”
“I’ve been lucky,” Michael sounds almost embarrassed. “Giving back to the people and the planet is the least I can do.”
“It’s still incredible,” I tell him loyally. “I know a lot of people who don’t share your sentiment.”
“It’s nothing.” Michael waves off my compliment. But that’s the thing. It’s not nothing like he says. It’s incredible. Admirable.
And most of all—it’s humbling.
My entire life I’ve been around wealthy individuals. I’ve never seen anyone give back the way this man does. And now that I work for him and see it first-hand every day, my appreciation for him and all that he is and has done has only grown.
Giselle comes back out with a large bowl of pesto linguine and a colorful salad that looks to die for. My mouth waters at sight.
“Bon appetite,” Giselle tells us. “Please save room for dessert. I made your favorite soufflé.”
Michael closes his eyes as if he’s in the throes of ecstasy and I can’t help but laugh at his boyish enthusiasm.
“God, I missed you, Giselle.”
“Enjoy,” she says with a wink before leaving us alone on the veranda and closing the door behind her.
I serve Michael some pasta and then put some on my own plate before diving in. Michael is right. The food is heavenly. We’re quiet for a few moments, eating in comfortable silence.
“This is delicious.”
“The best,” Michael agrees, taking another sip of wine. He watches me as I eat and I smile as I motion to his plate.
“She spoils you,” I tell him. “She must really love you.”
“She’s good to me.”
“I would venture to guess that you’re good to her as well,” I say, licking the decadent taste of pasta off my lips.
“Maybe,” he says, his gaze lingering on my mouth, his expression ravenous, like he’s hungry for more than just food.
I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair, the desire to have him again assaulting my senses.
“I have nine more questions I get to ask you.” His head tilts to the side, studying my face.
“You do. What would you like to know?”
“Everything.” His voice is fierce with longing, wreaking havoc on my nerves.
“Everything cannot be asked in nine questions alone,” I reply teasingly.
“No?”
“Doubtful,” I say.
“We’ll see about that,” Michael returns before jumping right in. “So tell me, Abigail, what’s your greatest dream in life for yourself? A secret one that no one else knows.”
My heart thumps in my chest as I think about his question.
My secret dream?
You. I want to blurt out to him.
Michael has always been my secret dream. Since I was a child, he was the dream I wished for and held close to my heart. Up until the moment I told Danielle about my crush, Georgie was the only person in the world who ever knew.
“I don’t have one,” I tell him softly.
“I’m not buying that for a second.” He shakes his head. “Everyone has one secret desire.”
“Even you?” I ask.
“Even me,” he admits with a ghost of a smile.
I sit in silence for a moment and mull over my life. I think about all the dreams I’ve had over the years, and then I open up to him in a way I never thought possible.
“I wish I knew what I was born to do,” I admit candidly. The words seem to rush out of me as if they were locked away in a secret vault for years. “Everyone around me has a purpose. They have a path they’re on. And I don’t. I never really have. I feel like I’ve been lost in the wind, just fluttering about trying to find my way. My purpose. Hoping that something will call out to me and I’ll just know that it’s it—like someone lifting a sign up and saying: Abigail this is for you. This is what you were born to do. And I promise you’ll be happy and feel fulfilled by it.”
Michael’s gaze is enigmatic as he watches me.
“I guess my dream is to feel like you do when you talk about your work,” I tell him shyly. “I want to know what that’s like. To have that passion and drive for something that I’ll just know was for me.”
Michael remains quiet when I finish, and I pick up my fork and twist a roll of pasta around, looking for a way to occupy the silence.
I feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my life. More than I did after sleeping with him. This is something different.
I just bared my soul to this man.
“Look at me,” he commands in a husky voice.
I lift my gaze and meet his. The blues of his eyes seem to permeate my heart.
“Can I give you advice?” he asks politely.
“Of course.”
“I think you put too much pressure on yourself,” he says slowly. “I think some people are born knowing what they want and others have to search for a while before they find it. It doesn’t make you any less special or wonderful. It just makes your journey more adventurous. You get to try different things. You get to experience life in ways that people who are set and know what they want can’t. I think your situation is unique and exciting. And I believe that’s the way you should start looking at it as well.”
His words give me pause.
I have never looked at my life the way he just painted it.
I’ve always come from the glass-half-empty side instead of full. I’ve always been quick to point out my flaws, not my perfections.
“The world is yours to take, Abby. You just have to decide where you want to fly,” Michael says as I continue to think about his words.
His advice makes sense, somehow dispelling my insecurities of what I always believed to be my greatest flaw.
“Thank you,” I tell him gratefully. “I’ve never thought about it quite like you just pointed out.”
“Because you’ve always been too busy judging yourself,” he tells me knowingly.
“You might be right, ” I admit slowly. Because I can’t lie. Because he’s right.
I have.
Always judged myself. I’ve never been good enough. Smart enough. Pretty enough. Capable enough. I’ve allowed myself to be a victim of Davis. A victim of my mother. Of every circumstance in my life.
How horrifyingly awful of me.
Michael smiles as he watches the realization slowly begin to dawn on my face.
“Another first?” he asks rather arrogantly.
I look up at him and meet his penetrating blue gaze. An understanding flickers between us. He gets me. More than anyone I’ve ever known.
He understands.
And he’s not judging me.
“Unequivocally, yes,” I tell him with a smile.
Michael looks pleased with himself.
“And you?” I ask him.
“What about me?”
“What’s your secret dream?” I prod.
“I didn’t lose the game,” he returns with a chuckle.
“No, you didn’t,” I agree giving him a tender smile. “But it’s a question I’d really like to know the answer to. I think it’s only fair.”
Michael is silent for a minute as the light from the sunset illuminates his handsome face. I soak in his perfection, wishing I could stop time and remain in this intimate moment forever.
I wait with baited breath for him to answer.
“I don’t have one,” he finally admits to my surprise.
“You just said…” I laugh good-naturedly as I shake my head in dismay.
Michael’s gaze darkens as it pins mine.
“What if I told you my dreams have been answered?” he asks slowly as my heart melts with desire.
“From what I know about you?” I return as a myriad of emotions flood my mind. “I guess I’d believe you. But still, I’d like to know what they were.“
“If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll tell you before we leave Costa Rica.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Surfing is definitely not on my list of things I want to do ever again.
I cough up salty ocean water as I drag my feet to dry land. Somehow I manage to keep hold of my beginner’s surfboard as the water rushes around my sore calves. After a night of unbelievable passion, Michael convinced me to take my first surfing lesson with him this morning.
I hate it.
Like loathe.
Despise.
Never-want-to-do-again hate.
For the life of me, I can’t understand why anyone would want to jump on a board and skid on top of the water before being toppled over by an angry wave. What bloody torture. Who invented this sport anyway?
“Abby!” Michael calls out from his surfboard, beckoning me to come back into the water.
I shake my head and shout, “I’m going to just lay out here!”
I need to catch my breath.
Michael gives me a thumbs-up and paddles back out to wait for another wave.
I throw my surfboard on the sand and plop myself on the towels we spread out when we arrived. My body aches all over. I’ve always thought I was in good shape but from the way my muscles are quivering from the strenuous exercise, I begin to doubt my earlier beliefs. Regular exercise is definitely something I’m going to have to add to my list of activities when I get back to London.
The heat from the sun hits me hard and within minutes my skin is tingling from the strong rays and I feel immensely better. I lean up on my elbows to take a swig of my water and watch Michael expertly catch a wave back in. I sigh in pleasure and wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. I’m pretty sure if he puts his mind to something, he can learn to do it better than anyone.
When he reaches the shore, he tips over into the water and quickly runs out holding his surfboard at his side like a pro. He reaches me in no time, his breathing barely labored from the exertion. So unfair! I could barely make my way to the towels.
He smiles down at me as he puts his surfboard on the sand.
“How did you like it?” he asks with a wide smile, his enthusiasm contagious.
“I didn’t.” I give him a deadpan stare that gives the opposite reaction than I had hoped for as he throws his head back and roars with laughter.
I’m too tired to be embarrassed.
“You didn’t have any fun?”
“Not in the least.” I am enjoying the current view as I sit back and admire the display of raw masculinity that stands before me.
He hunkers down next to me and leans over my body, the water from the ocean drips on my bare skin causing shivers of excitement to rush up my spine as he stares down at my face, blocking the sun with his wide chest.
“That’s too bad,” he says with a tender smile as he traces a line down the side of my cheek. “It’s my favorite sport.”
“By all means, enjoy yourself,” I tell him breathlessly.
His lips find mine in a long, satisfying kiss before he pulls back to stare into my eyes. He looks thoroughly amused.
“I had wanted us to enjoy an activity together,” he admits with a shrug.
“I thought we already had,” I reply teasingly, referring to the sexual marathon we had participated in the night before.
His gaze turns heavy as it flicks over my body.
“How remiss of me,” he says huskily, his eyes smoldering with desire.
I lift my hand to cup his cheek. His stubble tickles my skin as he rubs his face against my palm.
“I want to take you to town for dinner tonight,” he tells me. “Do you think you’ll be able to stay awake?”
He’s referring to the fact that I almost fell asleep on my soufflé last night. I had barely gotten two bites in before I felt as though I hit a brick wall and needed to lay down.
“I’ll be fine if I can take a nap.”
“I might have to let you do that on your own.” His eyes lazily caress my body. “I don’t know if I can lay in a bed with you and keep my hands to myself.”
My heart slams in my chest and I can’t stop myself from pulling his face back down to mine to give him another kiss. The things he says. The way he makes my body sing. So far this trip has been too good to be true.
His hand moves up my stomach to palm my breast, teasing my nipple until I moan in pleasure.
“Michael,” I whisper in longing.
“Abigail,” he whispers back against my lips.
“We’re on a beach,” I remind him trying my best to remain as modest as possible even though it’s virtually impossible with this man. “Anyone can walk by.”
He sighs against my mouth before robbing me of his touch and flipping on his back. I immediately regret my words, leaning up on my elbow to stare at his half-naked perfection.
“God, I needed this,” he says with his eyes closed soaking in the sun.
“You’re a bit of a workaholic,” I admit.
“I like what I do.”
“I can tell.” I trace a line down his stomach. His hand snakes out and stops my onslaught.
“Behave,” he says gruffly. “Or I’ll forget we’re on a beach and have my way with you.”
My heart speeds up at the possibility.
As if he can read my mind his eyes slowly open to stare at me. There’s a desperate need in his eyes, enough heat in his gaze to light the jungle on fire.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper to him.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll let you,” I admit with longing.
I hear him silently swear before he abruptly stands up and offers me his hand. I stare up at him in confusion.
“I don’t want to surf.” There’s no bloody way I’m getting back on that thing.
“We’re not going to surf.” A primal look comes over him as he stares down at my body as if he owns it. “We’re going to walk back to the house. And then I’m going to fuck you until you don’t have any energy left in your body and you can think of nothing else. And then I’m going to tuck you nicely into bed and leave you alone so you can rest up for tonight.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice.
***
After spending a few hours fulfilling his promise, Michael leaves me so I can take a much-needed nap. I sleep like the dead. When I finally wake up, it’s late in the afternoon and I’m feeling refreshed. I take a quick shower and slip into a simple blue maxi dress that falls to my ankles. I leave my hair down and put on blush and mascara before checking my appearance in the mirror. Luckily, I haven’t bu
rned and am sporting a golden tan that gives me a healthy glow.
Before I head out, I grab my phone and check for text messages and missed calls. I’ll have to sift through my emails later as well. I know I’m probably inundated with work emails I have to answer and I know I’ll have to dedicate a few hours to respond to everyone.
Danielle and Georgie both texted to see how things were going and I write back to both saying everything is amazing, even adding a few happy face emojis to let them know how great it’s all going. I know it’s late at night and they’re probably sleeping so I promise to call them both the following day to talk.
When I listen to my voicemail, I’m surprised to hear my mom has left a message. Since my rather dramatic breakup with Dimitri, a feeling of dread washes over me whenever I hear a message from my mom. It’s not like she’s had anything nice to say since that moment in my life. Or ever, really. The woman could have a doctorate in how to make your child feel inferior and inadequate. But regardless, she’s my mom—the only one I’ve got—so I force myself to listen to her message and brace myself for the disappointment I will no doubt hear in her voice.
“Abigail.” Her voice rings through the phone. “It’s your mother. I believe you’ve forgotten you have one since I barely ever hear from you. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
Her voice is laced with sarcasm, and I try my hardest not to roll my eyes.
“I believed you couldn’t hurt me any more than you already have but as my luck goes, that is just not the case.” I hear her sigh dramatically into the phone. “Davis has just informed your stepfather and me that you’ve been conducting yourself in a way that is so unbelievably shocking I had to call you and hear it from you directly.”
My breath hitches as I wait for her to continue.
Even her voicemails to me are long and drawn out, like she has some strange need to torture me more than any human should have to bear.
“He told us that you are having an affair with Michael Sinclair.”
My heart stops beating.
Like literally, stops.
Shock waves ripple through my body as the reality of her words slowly wash over me.
Bloody Davis strikes again!