Meagan’s eyes darted away from me. She focused on the window and—my guess—on the alluring figure of Peter laughing with Ann and Gerard about something.
“If he doesn’t feel the same way…no, don’t interrupt. If he doesn’t feel the same for me I’d rather not have six days left to spend with him here. This way we can enjoy the trip no matter what.”
I supposed I could see her point, though I didn’t see a chance in hell that Peter would reject her. Nevertheless, I decided not to push. She had to do this in her own way.
“Okay.”
“Does that mean you’ll go to Nigel’s without putting up a fight?”
“I suppose I have to. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I’m telling you Stella, he’s a good guy. You should give him another chance. What did he say that bothered you so much?”
I waved the question off. “It’s not important. I’m probably being hyper-sensitive anyway.”
Seeing she was making leeway, she grinned and went in for the kill. “So this means you’ll give him another chance?”
“Another chance at what?”
“Being your friend for the week.” She winked again. “Maybe more.”
She looked so hopeful and endearing with her corkscrew curls tumbling around her face, I didn’t have the heart to refuse her. Throwing up my hands I announced, “All right, you win.”
She slid from the booth, a wide grin splitting her face. “Good. ‘Cause he’s outside with the others.”
~*~
8:01 p.m.
I hate Nigel Browning.
There. I said it.
How I’d been so attracted to the creature when I first saw him, I couldn’t figure out, because not even a niggling of those feelings remained. Okay, so he was a good-looking man. A very good-looking man, big deal. He was also the most annoying person I’d ever been around. He was good at miniature golf. He was good at hang gliding. He was good at climbing the dunes in Nags Head, and he was good at naming the various small sea creatures that wandered up the shore behind our house. The man was good at every damn thing he did and it was getting on my nerves.
When we were playing golf he persisted in coming up behind me and trying to tell me how to hold my club. Every time I went up to putt, he’d tell me my position and angle were all wrong and that I’d be lucky to get the ball within two feet of the hole, which of course made me more determined to get the ball in the hole from that very position. But more times than not, he was right.
He was also the fittest of our group, climbing the sand dunes at a cheerful jog and looking over his shoulder every now and again to make sure we were all still there. The only one of us who had any hope of keeping up with the showoff was Peter and he refused to leave Meagan’s side.
Whose idea was it to go to the stupid dunes anyway?
Oh yeah, I just remembered. I could lay that idea at the feet of Gerard, Jim, and Katarina. They had wanted to hang glide. Nigel—of course—knew a guy who spent his summers giving lessons to the tourists. Seemed all Nigel had to do was flip open his handy, dandy mini cell phone, punch in a few numbers, and Ricky Stein was more than happy to trot on out to the dunes to give Nigel’s friends a few lessons.
Argh! And Nigel had cajoled, bribed, insulted…had basically done whatever he could to get me strapped in and airborne.
“You’ll love it Stella,” he promised, eager to strap me in himself.
The hang gliding had been a disaster. I don’t know whether it was the fact that I didn’t build up enough speed when I was running or if the wind wasn’t strong enough, but instead of flying like an eagle, I dropped like a stone.
Now, it was just after eight and somehow I’d allowed the creature to strong-arm me into helping him carry dessert out to the beach where we’d eaten dinner around a bonfire.
In all honesty, though, I can’t say exactly how much help I actually offered. I was sitting at the breakfast bar, watching as Nigel cut thick wedges into the creamy cheesecake he’d brought from home. Fat strawberries, smothered in a rich berry sauce, had been oozed over the top of the delectable treat. It looked wonderful and smelled even better. I was sure just inhaling its sweet, luscious aroma was adding a good five pounds to my weight. There was something about the smell of strawberries and cheesecake that never failed to make my stomach whine in eager expectation.
My hunger dissipated a bit when he tore the cap off a bottle of low-fat whipped cream.
“Low-fat?” I asked, wondering what other Jake-like traits Nigel had.
His blue eyes caught the overhead light when he looked up and saw I was watching him. A slow grin spread on his face. “You’ll never know the difference.”
Of its own accord, my lip curled. I may have mumbled something like, “Ick,” but I don’t remember. If I did, it was pure reflex. “Why even bother with whipped cream if it’s low fat?”
“Because it tastes good and it’s less fattening.”
I rolled my eyes. Seemed like a waste.
I watched silently for a while longer, seeing how adeptly his fingers moved as he held the knife in one hand and used the other to brace the pie pan. Small globs of strawberry filling were beginning to stick to his fingers and I had a sudden urge to go to him and suck his fingers clean.
I squashed the thought immediately. I was not letting the arrogant bastard win this bet. Dear God, this was one measly week. Couldn’t I control my urges for one week?
“Well?” he asked.
I looked from his hands to his face. “Well, what?”
“You’re not going to answer my question?”
“I don’t like low-fat food. Give me fat. It tastes better.”
Nigel cut another wedge into the pie as he spoke. “I’m not talking about the whipped cream. What I want to know is if I’m wearing you down? You haven’t been able to get your eyes off of me all day.”
I snorted. “Whatever.” The fact that he was telling the truth was irrelevant. The simple act of staring at the man didn’t mean I wanted to take him to bed. He was good looking. I wouldn’t have been human if I didn’t stare a little.
Perhaps I was the first woman who hadn’t fallen eagerly at his feet. If that was the case it was too bad for him.
“You know you were,” he was saying, “Just like you were a few seconds ago.”
“Look Nigel, you’re an okay guy. I mean, I don’t not like you,” I explained. “I’m indifferent to you and your charms…such as they are.” I added a shrug to give credibility to this little speech.
He didn’t seem convinced. He set the pie aside and came around the counter to stand in front of me.
Though he’d held his hair in a rubber band for most of the day, it had come loose when he was helping the guys build a pit for the bonfire. The golden strands fell over his shoulders and framed his face. Despite the length of his hair and its honey and platinum streaks, it didn’t soften his face. There was nothing feminine in the blue eyes that surveyed me with undisguised desire or the lips that turned up in a smile whenever he caught me staring. Nigel was pure male, and he knew it. Further, he knew that I knew it. Hell, in his white T-shirt and black Levis, Nigel looked better than most men did on their best day. He was a feast for the eyes. Nevertheless, I focused on a finger and strove for the aforementioned indifference.
“Indifferent?” he asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, you’re very good looking. Just not my type.”
He lifted a finger and held it before my face. Red strawberry juice dripped down the sides.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. Then shut up when he began to show me.
Slowly, torturously, he let his tongue slide from between his lips, pressed the wet finger to his mouth, and licked. “Mmm,” he crooned, edging closer. “That’s delicious. You should try some.”
I couldn’t pull my eyes away. His tongue was pink and moist, and remarkably dexterous. It glided over one finger, slid along his palm then up the rough ridges of another.
“What exactly is your type?”
“Type? Huh?”
“Type of man? You seem distracted, Stella.” He placed a damp finger on my chin and angled my face until I was staring into his eyes.
I shook my head wildly, trying to dislodge his hand, but he gripped my chin and held it firm.
“I just know it’s not you,” I blurted.
He came closer. I could smell that damnable Zest soap on his face as he eased himself between my spread knees. He didn’t touch me, as some men would have. Save the hand on my chin and the press of his hips against my inner thighs he didn’t touch me at all. Nor did he use his body as a means to display male dominance. He merely watched me. Eyes intent on my face, breathing slow and deep, he watched the varying expressions of what must have been confusion and lust cross my face.
“What are you doing?” I asked again.
“Proving a point.”
His other hand came up. I could see from the corner of my eye as he raised it to my face then pressed his thumb against my lips. The taste of strawberry and berry juice registered a moment before I realized what he was doing.
“You have sauce on your lips,” he said, and then came forward.
Chapter Five
His movements were slow and measured. There was nothing hasty about this man. I imagined everything he did he’d calculate down to the second. In a few ways he was like Jake, but even as Nigel’s head dipped low, I realized he was more unlike Jake than he was like him.
I closed my eyes at the first touch of his tongue against my berry-smeared lips. Expectant tingles danced up my spine and I found myself leaning toward him, despite my resolve to be unmoved by the man.
He licked my flesh, flicking his tongue methodically over my sensitized skin. The roving movements stimulated my nipples. I could almost feel the tiny peaks distend and harden. Suddenly I wanted his hands on them, wanted him to touch me all over. More than that, I wanted him to cease with his sensual licking and delve inside for a full taste.
I leaned forward and reached for him.
He stepped back and grinned. “Indifferent? I don’t think so.”
Just then, the deck door swung wide and loud voices filled the room.
“Shit!” Someone complained.
I slid off the barstool, more in surprise than anything else. Nigel turned to face the deck door, which Ann had just burst through. She swore again.
On her heels was Katarina, and then Meagan followed closely by Peter, Gerard and Jim.
Nigel glanced at me over his shoulder. His expression was one of curiosity, as was mine. Then I took another look at the mass of bodies parading into the kitchen and smiled. Everyone’s hair was wet and plastered to their heads. Their clothes were saturated, so much so that none of them were daring enough to traipse through the house when said house’s owner was there to see them track water over the wood floors. Instead of running to change, they huddled together at the door, teeth clattering and mouths spewing colorful expletives.
“Let me guess,” I began. “You decided to skinny dip but forgot to take off your clothes.”
The only one who found this remotely amusing was Nigel. The others rolled their eyes and cursed more vehemently.
“Well, are you going to stand there indefinitely or are you going to change?” Nigel wanted to know.
Meagan shivered and cuddled closer to Peter. “We’re wet.”
“We’ll mop the floors. Don’t worry.”
That said, they scattered.
Nigel walked to the edge of the kitchen and watched their progress through the dining room and toward the stairs. “So much for cheesecake on the beach.”
10:02 p.m.
I glowered at nobody in particular. Despite the change of venue, I was still smarting from the way I’d allowed myself to be duped by that arrogant ass of a man. Indifferent? I don’t think so, I mimicked silently. The jerk. I would not, could not allow myself to be taken in by him. It was all a routine. No doubt seduction was a skill he’d been honing since puberty.
Rat bastard!
“What kind of movie?” the creature was asking everyone. “I’ve comedy, horror, suspense…and romance.” He said the last with a decidedly grim expression.
As could be expected, everyone called out something different.
We were on the first floor recreation room. It was an enormous, festive looking space. As soon as I stepped inside I felt I’d crossed a portal into Disney Land. That the space had been created with families in mind was obvious. From the bright wall sconces to the colorful lights rising from various pinball machines and arcade games, I knew Nigel had spent a lot of money decorating this house. Though, at two thousand dollars a week, off-season—who knew how much he charged in the summer months—I was willing to wager he could afford it. And the man had three houses like this in the Outer Banks… Nigel had to be swimming in loot. The bastard.
A large plasma screen television, DVD, and a cabinet full of movies sat against the north wall. He had so many movies I doubted that even if we were spending the entire summer here we’d have time enough to watch all of them. How much had all those movies cost? Hundreds? Thousands?
Past a pool table and dartboard and beside a wall of windows, Nigel’s decorators had built a tiki bar complete with faux palm trees, colorful theme—margarita, martini, lager—glasses, and teak bar stools. Since the windows looked out onto the ocean one truly got the feel of being in a summer paradise when at the bar. All that was needed to complete the feel was alcohol. Gerard, Peter, Jim, and Nigel had taken care of this last detail. They’d made an outing to the liquor store a few hours ago while the girls and me touched up our makeup. They’d gotten vodka, rum, beer, wine, brandy, and whiskey. I wondered who exactly was going to drink all this booze in five days.
“What do you want to watch, Stella?” Katarina was asking.
I tucked my legs underneath me on the overstuffed armchair I was sitting on and hugged a pillow to my chest. “A romance.”
Katarina, standing at the cabinet next to Nigel, put her manicured hands on her hips and declared, “See, Stella wants to see a romance too.”
“Big deal. That’s makes two of you.” Nigel continued to scan the movies. “So far that’s two for romance, two for comedy, and four for horror.”
Katarina threw her hands in the air and turned to face the room. “Come on. Do you really want to watch a horror movie guys?” The guys nodded. Every one of the men were allies in this. Katarina was wasting her time. Nevertheless, she began interchanging genres, combining them in ways that didn’t exist in the movie industry. “How about a romantic horror, or a comedy suspense, anything but straight horror.”
Gerard approached the tower of DVD’s and nudged Katarina aside. “Give it up.”
Seeing Katarina’s distress, Jim spread his arms and offered his lap. “Come sit, beautiful.”
Unwilling to forget his defection so quickly, she approached him then sidestepped his arms and settled on the loveseat beside him. “Can’t believe you voted for horror,” she muttered.
For the next five minutes Nigel and Gerard announced available horror movie titles, all of which someone inevitably shot down for some reason or another. I was content to remain silent. I was too busy surveying the seating arrangements to wonder what we’d be watching.
A sofa, loveseat, and armchair were positioned around the television. Currently, Meagan, Peter, Ann—and eventually Gerard—were settled on the sofa. Katarina and Jim were on the loveseat, which left me on the armchair and Nigel with nothing to sit on. Perhaps he’d be happy enough to sit on the floor, but somehow I doubted that. I figured chances were good that he’d try to sit with me.
He could dream on.
“The Ring, it is,” I heard someone say.
I sat bolt upright, set my feet on the
carpeted floor, and began to protest. “No way. That movie looks scary. I don’t want to see The Ring. I’ve been going out of my way to avoid it.”
Shaking his head, Gerard looked at me and frowned. “Don’t be such a pussy, Stella.” Saying this, he removed the DVD from its case and set it in the player.
“I live alone,” I explained, as though this would be a logical explanation to a man.
“So do I.”
“You’re always at Ann’s.”
Gerard shrugged then retreated to his seat.
While this exchange was happening, Nigel was making his way around the room turning out lights.
“Who has the popcorn?” Meagan was asking.
“There’s about three bowls, just find one,” Gerard said.
“I want a beer. Get me a beer, Gerard.”
“You just had a beer, Ann.”
“Well I want another.”
When Gerard rose to go to the bar, various other requests for liquor arose. Before he could protest, Peter got to his feet and went with Gerard to help.
As the second movie preview began, Gerard and Peter returned and handed out drinks. I took the chilly bottle of Sam Adams from Peter’s outstretched arm and was about to thank him when a hand on my shoulder made me jump. I spun around and wasn’t surprised to find myself staring into Nigel’s sea blue eyes.
“What?” I demanded.
“No place else to sit. Make room.” Saying this, he proceeded to slither over the back of the chair and glide down behind me. I would have protested if I wasn’t so relieved. Truth be told, I’m a coward. Ever since the “Exorc…argh! I still can’t write that word. Ever since seeing that horrible movie where the little girl gets taken over by a legion of demons, I didn’t do all that well with horror movies. I hated watching them. They scared the crap out of me. And The Ring in particular, with its creepy little girl villain, reminded me too much of that other movie. I just knew watching it would give me nightmares for weeks.
When Nigel’s long legs slid around my hips I happily made room. Bet or no bet, Nigel was going to be my best friend for the next two hours.
THE CHRONICLES OF STELLA RICE: APRIL Page 4