Undertow: A compilation of short beach stories

by Patricia A. Knight

  Ava tilted her head back and gazed up at the tangle of trees limbs and vines. So many variations of green. She could get used to doing this every weekend, hiking and listening to the rainforest talk, only saying something when there was something important to say. What would that be like? No linen choices to make, no menus selections to determine. . . God, she hadn’t been this unencumbered in, well, ever. For the first time in her life, Ava felt liberated and buoyant, as if she could float off the trail and sail up to the treetops. She chuckled to herself. Wouldn’t that be fun?

  Many minutes later, a dull roar reached her ears. She thought it a trick of the wind or her own mind until they broke through the forest and stood before the tallest waterfall she’d ever seen in person. Not that she’d seen many. Or, in reality, none. Misty clouds danced where the cascading water hit a pool about thirty feet across. Faint rainbows appeared and disappeared in the slivers of sunshine that touched the bubbling water.

  “Wow.”

  “That’s what I say every time I come here. You hot?” Bret had dropped his pack and was already pulling off his hiking boots.

  He didn’t have to ask her twice. She toed off her shoes and waded into the shallow water. The rocks on the bottom were slippery and she appreciated his tight hold on her arm. Bret had touched her more in the last twenty-four hours than Andrew had ever. She liked the way Bret seemed concerned for her well-being.

  A stone ledge covered in a few inches of water offered a shallow walkway around the deeper part of the dark pool. Inch by inch, they made their way to an outcropping of boulders so close to the falls the water’s roar made it impossible to speak and be heard. The water swirled and gurgled at the base of the falls, and drops of water from the turbulence splashed their legs.

  Bret grasped her waist and hoisted her onto one of the large rocks.

  Across the pool, a tour guide was helping two older ladies down onto another large stone mirroring their perch. After the women sat, the guide took measured steps alongside two young boys, about ten years old. The guide laughed honestly when they began splashing each other madly.

  Ava drew her knees up under her chin and stared at the water crashing into the pool. The muggy air enveloped her body. She breathed in the earthy smell, and stared at a group of leaves swirl in the pool’s current. She could sit here forever—watch twigs float, breathe in the clean air, and grow damp from the fall’s mist.

  She felt Bret shift and his body engulfed her from behind. His damp chest pressed firmly against her back, and his crotch connected with her tailbone. Should she move away?

  No way. Fun, remember?

  He yanked his rain slicker from his waist and covered her front, which stopped the splashing from dampening her shirt more. She settled back against his chest without thinking. Bret’s hands circled around her waist under the slicker. The smell of his warm skin mixed with the wet smells of the rainforest pulled her further into her magnetic haze. Her eyesight softened and her shoulders dropped. Time seemed to stop.

  His warm palm pressed the tender skin of her belly. He’s touching me. Whoa! She bolted upright. Time restarted.

  “Easy, Ava,” he said close to her ear. She let him pull her back against him once more.

  “They’ll see,” she said, doubting he’d hear what she said.

  “They won’t see,” he spoke into her ear anyway.

  They stayed that way for long minutes. She grew weary of the same position and began to reposition herself. He held her fast.

  His mouth found his way to her neck and for a few seconds she was lost to the aching in her breasts and his lips gently sucking on her neck.

  “When you’re on vacation, you should only move for a very, very good reason.” His voice came across as a whisper, though she knew he had to have spoken it loudly for her to hear. He said something else but she couldn’t focus on his words because his clever fingers had worked their way inside her bra. He pinched a bare nipple. “Ah,” she cried out.

  “You can tell me to stop,” he said into her shoulder. She grasped his forearm through the rain jacket and slowly shook her head no.

  He understood. As he rolled her hardened peak between his thumb and fingers, her eyesight blurred again. He tightened his grip around her waist.

  She pushed her legs forward and pressed the small of her back snug against his growing hard-on. A light rumbling murmur from his throat vibrated against her back. His appreciation for her movement made her want to press her butt closer to him.

  She sucked on her bottom lip, wishing they faced one another. She wanted to taste his lips, press her crotch against him as hard as she could.

  Ava reached under the jacket and unbuttoned her canvas shorts. Why not? She was on vacation. And a free woman. If he didn’t acknowledge her wanton act, she’d tell him she wanted to loosen her shorts.

  “Put your hands around my knees,” he said.

  She circled her arms around his strong thighs, hooking her hands under his knees.

  His hand slipped down to her inner thigh. Okay, he understood her blatant invitation to go lower.

  When his fingers slipped under her panties and touched her bare flesh, she gasped. He wasted no time parting her folds and dipping his finger into the growing wet. Thankfully, the roar of the waterfall swallowed her small murmur of appreciation. Only the drops of water hitting her overheated face kept her from boiling over.

  His finger slipped inside while his other hand moved back to her breast and pinched her nipple again. She prayed the rain slicker would say positioned. If it slipped, the young boys across the way would get an illustrated introduction to sex. And then he’d stop. God, she didn’t want him to stop.

  Her head fell forward as an orgasm overtook her. He mouthed her shoulder as if he tried to hang on to her. Good thing. Otherwise she’d pitch straight over the side of the rock into the water.

  As she caught her breath, he slipped his fingers free. His wet hand glided over her belly, leaving a damp trail, marking their activity. His rigid cock pressed into her back, a mark of her own carnal effect on him.

  Another guide with yet another tour group joined them in the clearing. A wiry black man, the tour guide, lifted his chin at Bret. His gesture broke her orgasmic spell.

  “Don’t,” Bret said in her ear before she could release her grip on his legs and try to zip herself up. “Abel, how are you doing?” Bret’s voice boomed over the waterfall roar.

  “Good, good,” the man shouted.

  “Wife?”

  “Round as a ripe melon.” The man flashed a smile and drew a large air bump over his taut abdomen.

  “Abel’s having his third son this month,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Oh.”

  Bret continued his conversation with the guide . . . and his constant rocking of his cock against her back. She felt another build of arousal between her legs. Bret’s breathing remained steady. Hers did not. She panted. If they’d been alone, she’d definitely wrestle around to straddle him.

  When the guide turned his back to focus on his tour customers, Bret nuzzled her neck. “Ready to go again?” he asked.

  “W-what? Your friend is watching. I shouldn’t have . . .well, no!”

  He chuckled. “You’re the boss.”

  She released her tight grip on his legs. The conflicting emotions of shame and lust heated her from head to toe. She was such a hypocrite.

  After she buttoned her shorts, Bret eased the slicker away and helped her down to the ledge. “Thanks. My legs are jello. I’d be head over heels into that water if you didn’t help me.”

  “My pleasure.” And there was his mega-watt smile again.

  No, I’m pretty sure the pleasure was all mine.

  “Hey, boss man.” Another guide with yet another group hailed Bret. The tourists joined the now-thickening crowd around the pool. Where did they all come from? The forest, so secluded and private before, suddenly felt like the National Mall on July fourth. She silently chastised herself. So she didn
’t like sharing Bret? One orgasm and she already had designs on him? Get a grip.

  The guide flashed a pure white smile against his caramel skin. “Mr. Wright, good to see you.” He waded over to where they stood and shook Bret’s hand.

  The man’s words banished the last remnants of her orgasmic haze. Mister Wright. She felt she should know his name. She turned to Bret. “You aren’t a bartender.”

  “No.”

  “General manager?”

  “Not exactly.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Owner.”

  She examined the water as it lapped against her ankles. When she was working, Ava had little time for gossip or business news in her field. But bits and pieces of what she knew stacked up in her mind. Bret Wright. Derek.

  “Holy shit. You’re . . . you’re Bret Wright. Derek Damon Wright’s brother?”

  “So?”

  So?

  Damn tequila. Her mind must have stopped working entirely. Night clubs, resorts, touring companies—anything travel and leisure oriented from the Caribbean to New York—and the Wright brothers probably owned it or a piece of it. Her brain lacked the space to catalog everything. Bret was rich. Like filthy rich.

  “Oh, my God. I only paid a thousand dollars for you!”

  “I’m not letting you keep that pledge.”

  “Oh, yes, I am. In fact, I’ll double it.” That still wasn’t enough.

  He snickered.

  “That’s right. Laugh at me. What’s $2,000 when you have more money than God?” She flushed.

  His face fell. “I’m not laughing at you.’ He drew her into a hug. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  She pushed him away and backed up. Which was really, really stupid, because that’s how she ended up in the pool, on her ass and drenched from mortified head to humiliated toe.

  Bret and the nearest guide dropped into the water to help her out, while another man splashed over with a towel. She drew it around her and glared at Bret, ignoring the two men who slowly began to back away. They must sense something was about to go down.

  She refused Bret’s arm when he offered to help her to drier land.

  “Why are you angry?” he asked.

  “You’re…you’re like Trump and not a bartender, and, and…” Her feet made an annoying squishing sound as she plopped her way to the beach.

  When back on land, she turned to him and glowered. She had no words to describe the scattered cloud of emotions swirling inside. She no longer felt free. She felt like a complete idiot.

  “You’re not one of those ‘money makes people evil’ people are you?” His smile showed he teased. Funny how his smile calmed her anger a little bit—which promptly made her angry again.

  “No. You don’t need money to be that.” She’d seen enough in her day to know financials had little impact on certain personalities. She pushed her feet into her tennies and straightened.

  “Ava, what is it then? I didn’t lie to you.” He scooped up her wrists and ran his thumbs along the delicate skin. His action sent an annoying pang to her feminine parts. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”

  “I’m angry because now you have potential.” She stomped her foot. Her shoe made a ridiculous sploosh. “You were supposed to be my bartender fling, dammit. You were supposed to be someone I didn’t have to take seriously.”

  His mega-watt smile returned. “I have potential?”

  “Argh.” She stomped away.

  They hiked back in silence. She climbed in the jeep and took off her clammy shoes, still stewing. As she beat them alongside the jeep frame to loosen grains of sand, she could feel his intent gaze on her.

  “You’re not going to stay mad at me,” he declared.

  “Oh, no? Why’s that?”

  “Because I have potential.” He grinned and started the jeep. “And I’m taking you to dinner to make it up to you.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You don’t have to, but then we won’t get to finish what we started.”

  Oh, my. “Fine. But just so we’re clear. I don’t care how much potential you have. You’re my fling.”

  “Your love slave.”

  “Exactly. Nothing but fun.” As they headed down the road, she turned her face into the wind to cool her skin.

  Bret said nothing all the way back to the marina.

  When they arrived, her anger had dissipated. She looked down at her hands in her lap, a little ashamed of her behavior. “You’ve been great. Sorry. I overreacted.” Because he had been great and she had overreacted. Badly. “I understand if you want to change your mind about dinner.”

  “No chance.” He placed a hand on hers. “We’ve just gotten started. I’m dedicating myself to showing you fun, remember?”

  He squeezed her hand and she felt him sending her a message. Ava knew the basics about the Wright brothers. They had a reputation for taking fun to a whole new level. So, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of her promise: Have fun. You’re fun, right, Ava?

  Chapter Five

  Ava stood tentatively by the hostess stand. From thirty feet away, Bret drank in the sight of her leg peeking through the thigh-high slit in her ankle-length skirt. He hadn’t felt this drawn to a woman in years—or never. After today’s activities, he wasn’t sure he could go long without feeling her skin against his own. But as promised, he’d acquiesced to her request to meet at the restaurant.

  The intimate restaurant, Liaison, had been his brainchild. Designed for couples seeking a private dining experience, the venue presented five tables, each nestled in a private alcove of glass at the end of his resort’s long pier. The windows’ tint changed based on the sunlight streaming in, ensuring a perfect sunset or sunrise view from all three sides at an acceptable brightness.

  Bret timed their dinner so they could watch the sky turn from a single wash of blue to bands of red and gold. He’d requested the windows be cracked open at the top, twelve feet above them to let in the sound of the water lapping against the pier’s pillars. He also gave strict instructions to his staff not to hover.

  Ava’s gaze wandered over the restaurant. Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling and then from right to left. Her assessment so focused, she didn’t seem to notice him standing inside one of the tiny alcoves. What did she see? Did his choice of dining venue measure up? For the first time in a long time, he cared deeply what a woman thought of his choice for their date.

  Bret stepped toward her before Ava became more engrossed in the venue’s details. He wanted her focused on only one thing tonight—him.

  “All that fresh air today did you good. You look beautiful, Ava.” He kissed her on both cheeks and then jutted out his elbow in invitation.

  She gave him a wry smile but took his offered arm. “Flatterer. Are you sure you’re not really a bartender?”

  “Not since college.”

  As he led her to the largest, centered alcove, he nodded to the server who held back one of the gauzy privacy curtains and they stepped inside. “I hope your friends aren’t too upset I’ve been monopolizing you.”

  “Marguerite and her Island God are taking Shel out. Apparently they’ve all hit it off. Oh, wow, that’s some view.” She walked to the window to gaze down thirty feet into the water.

  Good. She likes it. “Where are they going? I could—”

  She turned to him and raised her hand. “No, you don’t need to swoop in and get all owner-y. They’ve gone off-resort to some shack on the other side of the island—”

  “Mim’s.”

  “You know it?”

  “Everyone does. I eat there at least once a week. Their mussels blow ours out of the water.” He held out her chair.

  “That’s humble of you.”

  She nestled her behind into the cushion. Besides those legs, she also sported a perfect tush.

  “Truth,” he said and tore his gaze from her body. Focus, Wright.

  “Well, Mr. Truthful, I doubt you ever had to bartend in colleg
e.”

  “Oh, yes, I did.” After taking his seat, he snapped his napkin into place.

  She looked skeptical.

  “Okay, we’re getting this out of the way right now. You look suspicious, and that look doesn’t go with the skimpy top you’re wearing.” An outfit he’d hoped he’d later have the pleasure of taking off her. “Here it is. I own this resort and eight others. I also manage my brother Derek’s holdings in the Caribbean. My strength is business turnarounds. My weakness is boats. I own four. Two houses, one here and the other on St. Barts. No private jet. Yet. I don’t like leaving often. I like it here. It’s uncomplicated.”

  Her eyes moved from holding suspicion to horror. Was his life that bad? He cupped her chin. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I doubt you get nervous, ever.”

  “I’m anxious I won’t get to see you after you leave.” The most base truth inside him had somehow tumbled from his lips. No tequila required.

  “Everyone has to leave here eventually.”

  “Not everyone. You don’t.”

  She humphed. “Why, you need an event planner?”

  “No. What I need is for the Ava that thought I was a bartender to return to me.”

  He would never reclaim the easiness she felt when he was “just” a bar monkey to her. But if she was going to defer to him, it had to be for the right reasons—not because of money or stature. He wanted her deference for something more important, something he was going to try with her tonight.

  “I’m not out for your money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I never thought you were. But you weren’t so guarded, either. I put my pants on one leg at a time like any other man. Use that public speaking trick. Imagine me in my underwear. That should put us on equal footing,” he said.

  Ava’s eyes widened and then narrowed again. “Trust me. That won’t help,” she muttered.

  He lifted a bottle of white wine from the ice bucket to the side. He needed a drink to calm his raging hard-on. Ava’s outfit didn’t help. Her nipples pressed against her skimpy top, the air conditioning doing its job beautifully. Yes, she needed to be nude. Soon. If she wanted him. He wasn’t yet sure.