When Destiny Calls

by Eric Asher

  Taking a long drink, I try to decide if she told me where she’s going because she wants me to follow or if it’s a slip of the tongue. Either way, I’m not leaving tomorrow without seeing her again.

  The sun is setting and with its fall, the breeze coming in from the water chills the air. A short burst of wind whips through the bar. Faith’s dark brown hair is wound in a loose bun on top of her head and long wisps of it blow with the current. I’m stuck on her, and I can’t look away. Closing her eyes, she tips her head back and breathes in the salty air. Her expanding chest and the pink framing her arched, ivory cheekbones suggest she finds pleasure in it. At the same time, goose bumps break out on her arms and her nipples pebble into hard points under the thin triangles covering her tits. Sweet Jesus, what my mouth and tongue could do to them.

  It’s painful, but I manage to drag my eyes up to hers and ask, “You like to sing?”

  She straightens, opening her eyes so they settle on mine. “Mickey roped me into it a long time ago,” she says while shrugging. “I’d do just about anything for him, so when he asked me to sing I agreed.”

  Jealously flares hot and deep. Her voice wrapped around someone else’s name doesn’t sit well with me. I have to know what I’m working with here. During my research I didn’t find anything about Faith having a boyfriend. This is news to me. “Are you and this guy exclusive?”

  Her smile holds a secret; it’s sly, and I have an urge to take her mouth with mine and suck it until she only remembers my name. This instant feral attraction isn’t something I’ve encountered often, if ever. I can’t remember when a girl left me wrung out and weak just from sharing the same space.

  “I think you and Mickey might like each other. Why don’t you come along?” she finally says, laughing when I choke on the beer sliding down my windpipe.

  “You want me to meet your boyfriend?” I ask on pitch, miming Michael Jackson. Thriller is cool and all, but I usually don’t reach his heights.

  “I think I remember you asking to spend time with me. Monday night with Mickey is the only way you’ll get to. Your choice.”

  For a second time, I’m speechless—another unfamiliar reaction. But her gaze draws me in and I’m cooked. Leaning in, she eyes me up, a good, long, thorough, eye-fucking look, and I’m standing to attention. She stares at my mouth and I’m drawn to hers. When her tongue skates over her thick bottom lip, I have to physically hold back a groan. I want that mouth all over me, fucking everywhere.

  “There’s something about you, Cowboy,” she whispers with a husky voice. “I’ll let you come along, and if Mickey likes you I just might break one of my rules.”

  “I’m not much into threesomes with dudes named Mickey.”

  She laughs. “That implies a couple of things. One: You think we’ll have sex tonight, and two: That I’d even consider a threesome,” she says, the smile still lighting her face.

  She has the face of an angel and my world stands still. A fuzzy goddamn haze blurs the edge of my vision and I can’t see anything but the sweet thing in front of me. I’ll be damned. Granddad said this would happen when the girl of my dreams walked into my life and I’d do anything to keep her in mine. Well shit.

  This changes everything.

  “I’ll break it to you gently, Faith.” Lifting off of the stool, I get close. Her sweet, fuckable mouth is a second away from mine. “We are having sex tonight, just you and me and the sheets, and maybe the sand, and the shower, and quite possibly a table or a wall.” The rush of breath she expels rolls over my lips and I dive in, catching her off-guard. Keeping my eyes open I watch her expression, starting with the flare of surprise and relaxing into the feel of me. My mouth molds against hers and I drag my tongue along the line of her lips, tempting her to open for me. God, she tastes of heaven, and its hell to hold back.

  Her low mewling is nearly my undoing. If she keeps this up, I'm going to throw her on the bar and take what's mine.

  “Don’t make a sound,” I whisper in warning. Hazy with lust our lips brush together, neither willing to break the connection. It feels too good. Her eyelids part but remain heavy, and sexy as all fucking hell.

  “Get your things and let’s go meet Mickey,” I say, throwing money on the bar to cover my beer and willing our night to begin.

  FAITH

  Thoughts are jumbled and suspended altogether while his mouth moves over mine. The light glint of his tongue weakens my knees, and I’m lost wondering what it would feel like if we really delved into each other: Santa’s coming to town anticipation, Fourth of July firework explosions, or a combination of both. Both, I think. No, I’m sure of it. Somewhere I realize he’s told me to get ready to go, and yet I can’t bring myself to move.

  The frenzied buzz of his silenced phone sounds off on the bar top and he breaks from me to reach for it. Checking the caller I.D., he answers with a small smile. “Hi, Boss-Lady.” Chuckling into the phone, he brightens with laughter. “Yeah, it’s all good.” Listening for a minute, he nods and catches my eye. “Tell the big guy everything’s fine. She hasn’t shown any indication of violence so far.”

  I huff and it spurs me to move, finishing my end-of-shift routine to clean up my space. “I will, yeah, tomorrow morning. See you then.” Without waiting for me to ask, he says, “My boss. She’s just checking to make sure you haven’t harpooned me and tossed my body out to sea.”

  “Be sure to pass along my thanks for the idea. I’ll keep it in mind if you get out of line,” I say, while grabbing my small bag from under the counter and a tank top from within it. Sliding it over my bathing suit, I shout a brief farewell to my co-workers, Brett and Todd. I step out from behind the bar and Kyle meets me at the end, hands stuffed into the low-slung jeans hanging from his hips. For the first time I realize his lean physique. He’s strong. The muscles ripping under his tight tee, across his chest and bulging his biceps are proof of that, but he’s not bulky. Broad shoulders narrow into a tight waist with long legs that clearly pronounce him all man, sexy and tall, reaching to at least six-two.

  This man could rip me apart, and I don’t just mean physically. I’ve fought hard to keep my life in a compact box these last two years, leaving little room for anyone but a select few people I trust. Now Kyle pops out of nowhere with his sinful smirk and hard body, and I want to let him in. But how does he know my name?

  “I think the better question is who’s going to check to make sure you leave me in one piece?” I mumble, while staring at the evidence of rippled abs.

  “Faith, I get it. I've asked you to take a chance on me,” he says, running his hand through the current disaster he calls hair. “I will never hurt you—never. It’s probably hard for you to believe that because we just met, but I need you to know it’s my job to protect, and I’ll do that for you too.”

  He’s all heartfelt promise and seductive man at the same time. I’m not fooled into believing what’s between us will last more than tonight, though. What I do know is I trust him. For whatever reason he’s silently screaming sincerity, and I believe every word. I may end up in the marsh in tiny pieces, but something is telling me I won’t.

  His eyes are piercing, imploring for my understanding. My answer is to nod and turn, keeping on track to meet Mickey. Bright colored beach houses and sand give way to a board walk. Bars and restaurants pepper the lane; muddled voices with the occasional high pitched laugh, surround us on either side.

  As we weave in and out of the ambling crowd and bicycles lazing by, I ask, “Who do you work for?” I’m curious what boss checks on their employee in the late evening, where he clearly told her he was going to pick up a woman.

  He shrugs. “Technically I work for the government, but I guess you could say I provide protection for people they tell me to.”

  “So, you’re in the Secret Service?”

  He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “You’re not going to tell me who you work with?”

  “I would if I could, but I ca
n’t talk about them. It’s kind of like a non-disclosure agreement. I swear, I’d tell you if I could.”

  Although it’s strange, I believe him again. “Are they why you’re visiting the island?”

  “Yes and no. I’m here with them, but I’m not working this weekend. On Saturday night I came to the Tiki Hut for a drink to get away from the group. I’m with them all the time. I was looking for a breather and instead I found you.”

  “So you’re stalking me? Maybe I should run away now before I get lost in the underbrush,” I tease, knocking into his shoulder with mine as we walk side by side, although because of our height difference I hit his mid-arm.

  “I assure you, if anyone is in danger of losing something here it’s me.” His voice is rough again, and I love the grate of it on my nerves. It’s so jagged it smooths out all of my edges.

  The hum of town eases into dimmed street lights and closed shops. Left with only an occasional tourist, we walk in a relaxed silence, until I ask, “Kyle?”

  “Faith?”

  “How do you know my name?” I peek in his direction to gauge his reaction to the question. I’m curious. When coming to the island I began using Harper, my middle name, as a fresh start—a way to bypass the media that could have followed me here.

  Stopping abruptly, he turns and leans in until our chests almost touch. A shiver runs down my spine, not from chill, but the heat radiating from him to me. A small smile tips the side of his mouth, which I’m beginning to learn is his signature smirk. It transforms his naturally intense features into those of a cocky, fun-loving, beautiful man. We entwine our fingers, and mine graze over the hard ridge of his thighs. I have a glimpse of what it’d be like to have free rein to touch him everywhere. Hot and hard.

  “Would you believe it just came to me? I sat in the sand watching you for days. Your hair would float behind you in the breeze, whip when you turned, and I imagined my hands in it, pulling and tugging until your mouth was turned up, waiting for mine. While I watched you, the wind whispered your name in my ear, and it felt right. Like it’s lived in my heart for thirty years and I just found it.” He grows serious, moving closer until my suddenly hardened nipples graze against his cotton-covered chest. Shit. This man is trouble, and I want to buy into it. I’m easily falling for his lines, the mint-flavored scent of his breath and the taut ridges of his body pressing closer with each passing second.

  “When I kiss you, really kiss you, it’s going to be slow. So slow you’ll feel everything you’ve been missing and didn’t know you were. I'll take gently, until you beg for it rough. Then I'll give until you plead for me to stop,but I won’t. Not until you’re there, panting out my name, and I’m sure it’s living in your heart too.” His nose scrapes against mine, just enough for the shiver to grow into a small quake.

  His grin broadens, taking me with it. “Is that too creepy?”

  With a smile like that, nothing is creepy. It’s provocative, distracting to the point where I can’t remember the question I asked or why I asked it. This man—I’m held in his trance. I have an unnatural willingness to free-fall, follow his lead wherever it takes me.

  “How can you do this to me?” I ask, mesmerized, a flush creeping up my chest. It’s not driven from embarrassment, but desire and need.

  “What am I doing to you?” he murmurs, running his nose along mine again. I long for his mouth, not this tempting, taunting bullshit that’s driving me crazy, building a slow, pulsing burn in my groin. I don’t doubt for one second he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  Pulling back just enough for our eyes to connect, we gaze at each other. Under the soft glare of a street light, for the first time I really look at him. Almost non-existent freckles scatter in a haphazard connect-the-dots across the top of his cheeks and the straight line of his nose. No one would notice them unless they were as close as I am now. His eyes, once thought to be colorless, have shards of ice radiating from a light pool of blue. Dropping down to his mouth, a Cupid’s bow lies atop a thicker version of the same. Without a doubt, I want it on me.

  “I can’t think when you’re this close.” I find the strength to push away, the breeze cooling the intensity between us. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  Not wanting to separate completely, one of my hands remains tangled with his. The island is small enough that we’re at O’Toole’s in minutes. It’s set inland, behind a thick overgrown thatch of mangrove trees in an old part of town where mostly locals hang out. I rarely drink where I work, so this bar became a favorite of mine, not just for the anonymity but the company too.

  Music washes over us as we near the door, old country twang playing in the air. Immediately the beat hits me and I start singing with Johnny Cash,“Ring of Fire”—one of my favorites. O’Toole’s is the kind of place you come to relax and let worries fade away, good people and good times.

  Glancing at Kyle, his smile says it all. This is his kind of place too. I know it’d be easy to fall into him and get lost. A part of me wants that to happen. The thought of losing myself, even if it’s only one night, is more tempting than any proposition I’ve received this year. I want this.

  My forced solitude has been an interesting companion. It allows for hours upon hours to contemplate what went wrong. What should have happened or could have if different choices were made but it’s a lonely existence.

  When I came to the island, I made three simple rules: don’t get involved, don’t allow any man in my bed and never fall in love. Ever. These rules served as protection. Rules to ensure I’d never experience the complete devastation that forced my departure from New York. I don’t intend to break them with Kyle.

  Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the thick air of the bar greets us, as does a gregarious “there she is” from Mickey, but I pause to think. Can I bend a rule? Can I trust myself to get involved for one night: only tonight?

  KYLE

  I was convinced I’d hate any man touching Faith, but I’ll make an exception for Mickey. Not because I’m interested in a threesome. He reminds me of my granddad: thick gray hair, knowing hazel eyes and a calculating grin. As he approaches, he takes his time to check me out, I assume to make sure I’m good enough for his girl. Faith laughs as the two of us drag out our stares. Both willing to protect her from anything, gates of hell included, and he wants to make sure I’m not trying to take her there.

  Breaking the stand-off, I offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mickey.”

  His gaze lands on the extended offer for a second before he must decide I’m not the devil. Looking at Faith while shaking my hand, he says, “Kyle you say?”

  Nodding, her cheeks flush when she says, “He’s visiting until tomorrow.”

  “Hmmph, a traveling soldier.” His eyes are back on mine; he’s clearly displeased I’m short lived. “You can call me Mick, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Come on, let’s get a drink,” Faith says, tugging on my hand. I’ll be damned if I won’t follow her and that round ass anywhere. I smile and thank Christ Mick’s behind us.

  O’Toole’s is a box, a long rectangular room with a bar stretching against the far side. At the end is a small stage, elevated by two steps, which houses a microphone and all the trappings needed for karaoke. The walls are lined with photographs of castles and sprawling emerald landscapes. Ireland is my best guess. A large green, white and orange flag hangs on the opposite wall of the stage, flanked by red, white and blue. I’m glad O’Toole is representing both countries.

  We're pressed together by bodies as we maneuver through the packed space. Some turn and stare, their eyes following us as we go. I’ve yet to let go of Faith’s hand and I’ve no plan to. Not until it’s forced, and even then I may go after it. She’s leading us to a table next to the bar and in front of the stage, a perfect place to watch her sing, something I did at the beach for the last two days. This time my view will be unhindered.

  When she sits, I pull a chair next to hers, not allowing for any room between us. The le
ngth of her thigh presses into mine, the energy passing between us palpable, it’s intense and real.

  Leaning in close, her breath whispers next to my cheek when she asks, “Do you want a beer?”

  Somehow holding in the groan growling in my chest, I turn, our lips almost vibrating together. Damn this girl, she’s temptation personified. Maybe she’s the devil and I’m an angel cast into the fiery pits of hell to keep her company. It was apparent to me when my world stood still I’d go anywhere for her. Hell included.

  Lifting her wrist to my mouth, I hover, letting my breath warm her skin before my tongue flicks the sensitive spot. When my lips seal around her pulse point, I suck until I hear her gasp. “That’s two out of seven. I’m going to spend the rest of the night finding them all, Faith. And before we’re through you’ll never feel more alive than when I have you in my mouth.”

  “Fuck . . .” she whispers.

  Her lips part and mine lift at the corner. “Exactly.”

  For one second I question whether I pushed her too far. Precisely ten seconds later, a knowing smile is my answer. Faith’s warming up to the idea; it’s swimming around in her eyes and the way her breath hitches when I say it out loud. Check, please. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince her to bypass one Monday with Mick.

  The waitress appears, taking our order and Faith’s attention, giving me the perfect opportunity to study the lines of her back and neck. Faith is lean, long limbs with a hint of strength running through trim muscles. Her hair is whipped up into a mound on top of her head. I prefer it down, ready for my hands. Without much thought, I pluck out the pins holding it together. After the second one, it falls in silk waves past her shoulders, ripples of chocolate velvet. My dick twitches in appreciation. Fuck this shit. I need to get her out of here and to a place where I have free rein to appreciate everything about her. My mind wanders when she turns, flicking her eyes to Mick for just a second before coming back to mine.

  “I like it down,” I say, rolling a piece between my fingers. It’s the first time I’ve felt this perfect blend of velvet, so soft I could sleep on a bed of it for days.