by Lila Monroe
“Ruby?” Will says, but for once my aim is decent. The lock clicks over, the door pops open, and I’m slamming it behind me before he can get out another word.
For a second I’m afraid he’s going to knock, and I have no clue what I’m going to do then. But he doesn’t. I throw myself onto the bed, immediately immersed in that fluffiest of fluffy duvets, and cover my face as I groan.
What is wrong with me? How could I be falling into that same old vibe with him—after just one day? Do I want my heart stomped on all over again? What has he been thinking of me this whole time—that I’ll be an easy score, because he knows he had me back then?
It’s nothing real. It’s just muscle memory. I rub my eyes. No more chats, no more drinks just the two of us. I have to ignore it. Because there’s no way in hell I’m making the same mistake twice.
Chapter Six
“So, what did you get up to last night all on your lonesome?” Maggie says teasingly as we fill our breakfast plates from a buffet that’s more extravagant than I’ve seen at some Hollywood after-parties. “Find yourself a cabana boy so you wouldn’t be too lonely?”
I am not looking at Will. I am definitely not at all aware of the guy I nearly let all up over my lonesome yesterday night, standing ten feet away by one of the tables with a cup of coffee and a considering look he keeps casting my way.
“Nah,” I say. “I grabbed a drink at the hotel bar and turned in early.” It’s totally true if you don’t count lies by omission.
“I’m so sorry we took off without you,” Brooke says at my other side.
We head back to the table—I scoot a little ahead so I can direct us to one at the opposite side of the room from Will. “Really,” I say for the thousandth time, “it’s okay. You had no idea how long I was going to be wrapped up. I’m sorry I had to duck away. Today I’m all yours. What’s the score on wedding prep? Where do you need me?”
If I’m assembling centerpieces or judging bridal hairstyles, I won’t have room to be thinking about … things I really shouldn’t be thinking about. I flew all the way down here for Brooke. Now I’ve got to actually be here for her.
“Actually,” Brooke says, “I don’t think there’s much left to do, at least not the sort of thing where extra hands help. The resort is taking care of a lot.”
It figures my plans would be foiled by Will again, if in a roundabout way. “There’s really no way I can pitch in? I’d love to, honestly.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not even really pitching in today. I promised my parents I’d make it a family day, so they’ve got some whole thing planned for us”—she lifts her chin toward Maggie and Lulu, who’s just plunked into the seat beside her sister—“and the other cousins and grandparents and everyone. Which is good, because the last thing you need is to be doing more work. I wanted you to get here right from the start so you had the time to relax!”
Correction: The last thing I need is more time to sit around and stew over my near-mistake last night. But then Lulu chirps up, “You should totally check out the spa! I heard it’s, like, the best in the country.”
I wouldn’t normally be inclined to trust Lulu’s advice, but that piece sounds reasonably solid. Having my body worked over by strangers will at least be distracting. Maybe it’ll even release some of this tension I’ve apparently got all pent up.
Before I invite Will to do it …
“The spa sounds great!” I blurt. “I’ll do it.”
After breakfast—and maybe checking my email and voicemail and drafting a contract or two—I head on over for that relaxation I’ve been promising myself. The spa buildings are along a wooden walkway from the main hotel: a domed stucco building in pale peach that jives remarkably well with the lush vegetation all around it. I walk past the glass doors into a reception room painted in the same pale pastels. Harp music laced with the rustling of leaves in a breeze winds through the room. Okay, this isn’t my usual style, but it’s got that Zen I’ve been hunting for.
“Walters,” I say to the woman at the front desk, and she directs me down the hall with a beaming smile. I’m so pleased with myself that I’m getting this unwinding thing down that I make it halfway down before I realize I can’t remember whether she said five doors on the left or on the right.
Eenie, meenie, miney, moe … I choose left. The handle turns, so I march right in—and find myself face to, well, back with one of the most sculpted backs I’ve seen outside of a Sports Illustrated shoot, laid out on a cushioned massage table.
Oops.
And also, hello.
I pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of him. All the unmentionables—which given the looks of the rest of the guy, are probably very mentionable—are hidden under a folded sheet, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty to admire. Like the tattoo on the guy’s left shoulder blade: a very distinctive black-and-red compass rose.
Will’s tattoo.
Will’s voice, comes, slightly muffled from his position face-down on the massage table.
“I’ve been waiting all week for this. Pretty sure my knots have knots. Just give it to me, no holding back.”
I should whip back out of the room, yank the door shut behind me, and pretend this never happened. But instead my mind jumps back to last night. To Will’s playful chiding about my weakling status. I glance down at my arms—which are toned if not buff, thank you very much—and a little voice I probably shouldn’t listen to says, Why not?
I march over to the massage table and grab the bottle of oil. I’m not completely unfamiliar with how this goes. I slap my hands together, lean over that sculpted back—God damn, when does he find the time to hit the gym enough to maintain a body like this?—and dig the heels of my hands in on either side of his spine.
He wants it hard? I can give it to him hard. I’ve only got, ooh, six years of bitterness and resentment stored up in here.
“You can dig deeper than that,” Will chuckles as I press down. His skin is smooth and warm—and tight, yes, those solid muscles are very, very tight—and I feel my body warming with it.
Not good enough? Fine. I jam my thumbs into those hollows above his pelvic bone where I always carry half my stress, with as much force as I can. How’s that for digging deep?
Will lets out a low, satisfied groan, and my stomach does a flip.
Down, girl. Focus on mashing those thumbs all the way up his back and not on the noises he’s making as if I’m screwing him here on the table. I’m doing this to make a point, not to … to … Why am I doing this again?
Because he’s a jerk and a jackass and he deserves to be pummeled … even if from the sounds of things there’s nothing he’d enjoy more.
“That’s great,” Will says, “but I want you to get in there even deeper. Just get up there and walk all over me, all right?”
Up there. I glance up and note the bar stretched across the ceiling. An invitation to literally stomp all over the guy who bruised my heart? Who can turn that down?
I kick off my sandals, scramble onto the stool, and balance myself on the edge of the table, grasping the bar. Looking down at Will’s prone body, I wonder for a moment if I could actually hurt the guy. Then I notice the rippling muscles, and take it back. Besides, when did anything I do ever hurt him the way he hurt me?
I place my foot down, and then the other, so I’m standing on his body. I take a few experimental steps, digging my heels into his back before a shriek from the doorway stops me dead.
“What are you doing!” a woman yelps from the doorway, her eyes wide.
Will flips onto his side, the sheet slides—and then I can’t even look at that undiscovered country, because his gray-green gaze has pinned me in place, standing there over him still clutching the ceiling rod. “Ruby,” Will says, still staring. “What the—?”
I open my mouth to explain, but there’s basically no rational explanation for this. So I don’t.
“I, uh—I was just leaving.” I scramble down. “That,” I say
, with far more confidence than I have any right to fake, “should settle any arguments about my upper arm strength.” And then I dash out of there before the shitload of trouble I’m dodging gets any bigger.
From the way my face is burning, I suspect I really need that facial now.
Chapter Seven
After my close encounter of the nearly naked kind with Will, I figure I’m safest spending the rest of the day somewhere as far away as possible. I can’t tell him to take a hike, so why don’t I set off on one? The resort brochure boasted about the nature trails on its extensive grounds. Just a few hours in which I can’t possibly stumble on him unprepared—that’s all I needed.
I tug on my sneakers and stop by the front desk to ask for a recommendation. The chic woman I saw Will chatting with yesterday is back there discussing something on a computer screen with one of the staff. She’s on the payroll too? I guess they might have been talking business. On the other hand, if she works here, he must see a lot of her. Possibly in more ways than one. Has she seen as much of him as I did this morning?
Nope, not letting my mind head back over there. “Hi!” I say brightly to a younger woman who’s standing by the Guest Relations sign. “I’ve got the whole afternoon free. What hiking trail is the best for the scenery? It’s okay if it’s a bit of a challenge.” The better to keep my mind from wandering where I’d rather it didn’t boldly go.
She brandishes a map. “If you’re up for it, try this one,” she says, pointing to a path marked with a purple line. “There are some steep parts, so a lot of people skip it, but that means you’re more likely to see the local wildlife, and it takes you to a waterfall that’s spectacular.”
“Great!” I say, and shove the map into my shorts pocket.
I pass a couple other guests heading in when I set off, but as soon as the purple trail diverges from the others, it’s just me and the natural splendor. Possibly striking out into the wilderness in the peak heat of mid-day wasn’t the smartest move ever. My skin is damp with sweat before I’m halfway to the waterfall. But it’s definitely distracting.
I stop here and there to chug from my water bottle and take in the sights. There are flowers in colors I didn’t know existed blooming amid the trees—some of my Instagrammer clients would kill to get their hands on those—and I spot a rainbow of a bird that might be a parrot. A little brown-and-white monkey chitters at me before swinging off farther into the trees, too fast for me to snap a picture with my camera phone. The air is hot and a tad humid, but somehow the lush green scents of the jungle make it feel refreshing too.
I definitely don’t let the slick perspiration on my hands remind me of rubbing that massage oil into Will’s back. Or notice how that leaf matches the curve of his thigh when the sheet slid back, and that banana hanging beneath it—
Ahem.
Getting away into nature like this kind of does feel like exploring a new planet, even if Will’s teasing comment rankled me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been anyplace where I couldn’t spot a high rise if I turned around. If only there was a colony of remarkably human-like, hedonistic aliens waiting at the end with exotic sweets and handsome men eager to feed them to me, my day would be complete.
Because I am not the female equivalent of Captain Kirk, I’ve got no such luck. But when I spot the waterfall, I can’t say I care. My breath catches as I stare up at the glittering torrent, flowing over tan and pinkish stone from a cliff side far overhead. It cascades into a pond that’s a near-perfect circle, bordered by gleaming rocks and shaded by those massive ferns. Now this is paradise, all right.
I walk up to the edge of the pond and sigh as the cool spray dabbles my skin. Ugh, my sweaty clothes are sticking to my skin now. I eye the sparkling water of the pool and the path I just walked up.
I haven’t seen another soul since I headed up. Everyone in their right mind is probably lounging around for siesta hour now. No one will know or mind if I take a quick dip …
As soon as I’ve decided, I’m stripping off my clothes. I set them off to the side with a rock resting on them to hold them in place—I’ve watched enough movies to know you’ve got to be careful shedding clothes in unfamiliar terrain, if you ever want to wear those clothes again—and slip into the pool.
It’s fucking perfect. The water washes off all the grit of the hike in an instant, warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to wipe away all memory of that sticky heat. I paddle around, stretching new muscles and working the burn out of the ones that carried me up here. Then I duck under the waterfall and rinse out my hair. It patters over my head with a pleasant tickle. I’m laughing as I swim back out.
“Hello?” a voice calls out.
My heart stops and stays stopped for at least an extra second because that voice sounded way too familiar. I look to my clothes and consider making a dash for them, but before I have the chance, a just-as-familiar figure appears at the end of the path.
Will pauses and gazes down at me. I’m suddenly twice as aware of my lack of clothing, with a rush of embarrassed heat that the liquid around me can’t cool. I scoot back toward the waterfall, dropping to my chin as I tread water and hoping it’s not so clear he can see what’s underneath the ripples.
“Are you following me or something?” I blurt out. Isn’t there anywhere on this property I can get away from the guy?
“You know,” Will says, “you were the one who hijacked my massage. I do have to give you credit, though—it wasn’t a bad start. Maybe I should have you give it another shot sometime.”
He gives me that grin that makes me want to scream. Not a bad start, my ass. I remember those moans … Okay, probably better not to be remembering them at this exact moment, considering my level of exposure.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” I grit out. I deserve a medal for not actually screaming, I’m pretty sure.
“I needed to stretch my legs,” he says. “This is my favorite hiking route. Partly because I usually have it to myself.”
Of course he does. “Well, I’d be happy to vacate the area if you step away for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know.” He props himself against one of the trees closest to the pond and folds his arms over that well-muscled chest, still with the far-too-satisfied smile. “I’m thinking maybe the addition of a nude water nymph is an improvement.”
Oh, God. Is he not even going to let me get out? I’ve got to maintain a little dignity here. Which means no, Ruby, you should not let your eyes wander from that impressive chest to the other areas you now know are equally impressive in those fitted slacks down below.
I jerk my gaze back to his face, hoping he didn’t catch that slip. “I needed to cool off,” I say.
“Understandable.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be an audience involved.”
He shrugs. “And yet, here I am …”
I’d splash him if I didn’t suspect that would require propelling more of me out of the water than I want to be putting on display. He deserves it, though. He doesn’t even look sweaty. Where does he get off, hiking all the way up here and still looking completely unaffected?
For a second I consider suggesting he join me. But even if that goes well, it is definitely a bad idea—did I learn nothing from last night?—and if it doesn’t … I don’t want to see him laugh as my attempt at propositioning falls flat on its face. I already know too well what that experience feels like.
I fish around with my foot toward the bottom of the pond. Maybe there’s some convenient vegetation I can use as a temporary cover-up?
Nope. Will cocks his head, looking increasingly amused. I glower at him. He offers a little wave, and all at once I don’t give a flying fuck. Since when do I let Will Cassidy or anyone else dictate what I do? I’m not that kind of weakling, and I’ll be damned if I start cowering now.
“Do you remember that time back in college when I said I was hungry enough to eat one of the Endless Buckets at Fernando’s Wings, and you dared me to actually do
it?” I say, easing closer to the pond’s rocky bank.
Will’s expression turns vaguely confused. He doesn’t know where I’m going with this. “That was one big bucket of wings,” he says.
“And I ate every last one of them, didn’t I?” I ask. “That was the rule, to get the certificate and the gift card. It took me two hours, but I made it through.”
“You did,” Will grins. “I got a stomachache just watching you.”
And I’d had one for most of the next two days, but that wasn’t the point. “Then you really should know by now,” I say, testing my foot against the bottom and finding a spot where I can touch down, “that you’re never going to win playing chicken with me.”
I climb out careful and steady, resisting the urge to bolt for my clothes. I don’t look at Will—so what if he’s here? It’s nothing to me—but I see his jaw drop from the corner of my eye and have to smother a smile. A Sports Illustrated swimsuit model I am not, but running around keeping my clients in check has also handily kept me in shape. I pause to wring out my hair, standing there fully naked at the edge of the pond, and Will is still completely speechless.
I do let myself smile as I turn away from him to retrieve my clothes.
Panties, bra, shorts, and T-shirt. I manage to keep up the same unhurried pace as I dress, even though I can feel Will’s eyes on me the entire time. Even though the thought of him watching me leaves me hot from heat to toe. I step back into my sneakers and swivel toward the path, glancing at him for the first time since I got out of the water.
“Enjoy the view,” I say, mentally high-fiving myself for that line, and saunter off down the path without looking back.
Chapter Eight
Our second dinner at the resort is a much more casual do—everyone sitting around patio tables by the outdoor grill, where the chef is frying up a spread of burgers that leaves my mouth watering after my afternoon workout of sorts. Brooke is back from her family outing, leaning against Trevor blissfully as he plays with her hair, her freckles already darker from the sun she’s getting. Maggie is debating the merits of buttercream icing versus ganache with unexpected foodie Colin, and Lulu has draped herself on Brad’s arm while he straight-facedly answers her “fitness” questions. There’s been no sign of Will since I put on that show for him by the waterfall, which means even I’m pretty relaxed.