by Mia Caldwell
I laughed. “I know that’s mostly the pina coladas talking, but thanks.” I looked like I was barely wrapped up in white medical tape, but in a good way. The sun had darkened my skin so that the contrast with the white was strong. A neckline that, on Kiera, showed a sexy cleavage, had hoisted my breasts up like scoops of chocolate ice cream in a white ceramic bowl. And yeah, my ass looked ready for a Big Sean video. If I were able to shake it like that, which I was not. I can dance, but I’ve never mastered the art of the ass dance. It doesn’t come up a lot in my line of work.
But hey, it looked like I knew how to use it and that gave me a serious confidence boost. I put on my big silver hoops and some strappy sandals and headed out.
Dylan was waiting for me in the lobby. His eyes bugged a little, like a cartoon character’s, when he saw me come in. He was wearing a different Hawaiian shirt, this time buttoned from mid-sternum, with cargo shorts and flip flops, like last night. Must be nice to get dressed as a guy.
“Wow, Drea, you look amazing. You should wear this every day.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling, “but it’s not very practical. And I don’t think my clients would take to it.”
“You need different clients, then.” He slipped his arm around my waist and steered me toward the door. The smell of booze was mixed with the tobacco and I was disappointed that he’d already been drinking. I was hoping for a lower key evening, at least to start.
“So where are we going for dinner?”
“The Palm Pier. My favorite place where I’m not cooking. It’s on a pier over the water, great seafood. We can walk, it’s not far.”
The night was perfect. The air was warm and the humid breeze felt like a caress on my more-than-usual exposed skin. I was ready to flirt and have fun and move on. I was pretty sure of it. I wondered what Walker would think to see me in this get up instead of the sensible gear he’d always seen me in. It’s fine. Think about him and let it go. You don’t know what he’d think because you barely knew him. But you know what this man that is with you thinks, because…and pay attention here…he is WITH you.
I took Dylan’s hand as we walked along the wooden path. No electricity between us, but that was okay. I hadn’t had it before meeting Walker, either. Electricity’s of little use to me if it’s in someone else’s house, right? Besides, I had more in common with Dylan. He made good food, too, didn’t wear expensive clothes…and probably some other stuff.
The hostess that seated us clearly did not like Dylan. And she was not trying to win any points with me, either. She looked me up and down and gave me a look that said “figures.” She tried to seat us near an inside wall, but Dylan insisted on a table near the water. The sides of the restaurant were open, letting in the breeze and the sounds of the water lapping at the pier.
“Can we get two rum and cokes?” he asked her without asking me if I wanted one. I don’t even like them, but I figured I’d just let it go. I don’t have to drink it.
She brought them quickly, but practically threw them at us before walking away wordlessly.
“What was that?” I asked when she walked away. “She’d have seated us in the restroom if she could and then dumped these on our heads.”
“She’s a bitch,” Dylan said, opening his menu. “A stuck-up bitch.”
I let it drop. That sounded like a story I didn’t want to hear. The restaurant world is small even in a big city, so I figured that on an island, everyone knew everyone else’s business. I opened my menu, too.
From where I was sitting, I could see the hostess stand and I could see the girl that had seated us giving the waitress an earful, looking over at our table now and again as she talked. When she came over, the waitress was kind of stone-faced.
“Know what you want?” she asked flatly.
Dylan seemed oblivious to her attitude and he smiled at her, saying, “Yeah, I’ll have the swordfish and she’ll have the snapper.”
“Wait,” I said, startled, “I wanted the grouper with the mango salsa.” I looked at the waitress, who nodded and crossed out what she’d already written.
“Nah, babe,” said Dylan, taking my menu, “You want the snapper, trust me, I’m a chef!” He smiled that disarming smile, but I wasn’t, well, totally disarmed.
The waitress was just looking at me with her eyebrows up and pen poised.
“Fine,” I said, “Snapper.” She gave me a complicated look and crossed out and re-wrote my order. I like snapper, too, and Dylan had eaten here before. Not a battle I wanted to fight right now. Still, the warning light that had begun to glow with the “she’s a stuck-up bitch” comment was getting a little brighter.
Or, to go with our old metaphor, that puppy might have growled at me.
“So,” I said, eager to change the subject, “Where are you from? You weren’t born here, were you?”
“Nah,” Dylan said, “I was born in Atlanta. Then I lived in Miami, but now my ex-wife is living in that house.”
“Oh, you were married? Do you have kids?”
Dylan drained his drink and set down the glass. “Well, that’s kind of where the ‘ex’ part comes from. I never wanted kids and she did. So when she got knocked up, I hit the road. I’d been pretty clear and she tricked me.”
“Oh,” I said. I had no idea what to do with that. As the child of a father who’d “hit the road,” he didn’t really have my sympathy. And that warning light was glowing bright. Looks like I’m going to be leaving this dog in the pound.
The restaurant was filling up, clearly this was a late-night dining spot and it was getting louder by the minute.
“Um, what kind of music do you like?” I half-shouted, hoping to steer this sinking ship into the shallow waters. To bring in yet another metaphor.
“I’m not picky,” said Dylan, picking up what I had thought was my drink, but which I was happy to let him have. “I like Nickelback, Li’l Wayne, Jimmy Buffett.”
“Wow, that’s all over the map,” I said, not saying the map of shitty music.
Dylan was glaring at the hostess and I don’t think he even heard me. I decided to just drink my water, eat my food when it came, and get out as soon as I could.
The waitress brought our food saying, "Enjoy your snapper" to me as she set down what really looked like the grouper with mango that I’d wanted.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling at her. She cut her eyes at Dylan and raised her eyebrows. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was trying to say, but I nodded in what I hoped was an “I got you, sister” way.
She probably didn’t need to be so subtle, because Dylan tucked into his fish like a starving man. I took a bite of mine. Overcooked. Canned mango. Cilantro overpowering everything else.
Eh, why drag it out. I went to the restroom and didn’t sit back down when I returned to the table.
“Look,” I said, “I think I’m going to just go. Thanks for dinner, but I don’t think this is working and you’re pretty clearly distracted.”
Dylan looked up at me, mid-chew, his grey eyes dark. “Did that bitch say something to you?”
“Who? The hostess? No. I just feel like I should go is all.”
He stood up, his move sudden and kind of menacing. I stepped to my side of the table to pick up my wrap from the back of my chair and Dylan closed on me.
“She’s a lying bitch,” he hissed, clearly drunk, swaying a bit.
“Okay,” I said, trying to dodge around him. He kept blocking me, and the tables were so close together I had no where to go. The edge of the pier was behind me, closer than I’d have liked.
“Look,” he said, “I’m a nice guy. I want to show you a good time.” He was way too close, I was feeling panicked.
“I’m sure you are,” I said, “but I just need to go.”
“No,” he said, “You are going to stay…” he kept talking but I couldn’t hear the words over the sound of a boat motor near the pier.
So I just shoved at his chest, tired of talking, tired of being nice. I may as well
have been pushing against the wall. Even unsteady on his feet, I couldn’t budge him.
“MOVE!” I shouted over roar of the the boat.
Dylan grabbed my arm, hard, and I swung my other arm back before he could grab it, fully intending to slap him, for all the good it would do.
But when I swung my arm back, suddenly there was something heavy in my hand. Without thinking, I just swung it forward, hitting Dylan squarely in the chest with a heavy metal saute pan. All Clad.
I turned around.
Behind me, standing in a motor boat, wearing a tuxedo and grinning like a mad man, was Walker Alexander.
His hand was outstretched and I grabbed it, jumping down into the boat. I looked back up onto the pier to see Dylan sitting on the floor, looking stunned and the hostess and waitress applauding me.
I turned back to Walker, who was still holding my hand. “Where did you come from?” I asked, staring into those green-gold eyes.
“Dinner meeting,” he said, smiling. He wrapped me into his arms and I let the pan fall to the bottom of the boat. As his mouth closed on mine, I heard cheers from the restaurant behind me. I felt like cheering myself.
His scent, the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth, it all felt so familiar, like we’d known one another forever. But my knees still buckled with the thrill of the new.
Lowering me onto a seat, he said, “Let’s get out of here,” and steered the boat away from the pier.
As the adrenaline cleared away, I realized I was right back where I started. “Cut the engine!” I shouted to Walker.
He turned the boat off, leaving us bobbing in the swells.
“Thank you for the well timed rescue. It was very dramatic. But I need some answers.”
“I know.” Walker sat down across from me. “Look, what you heard Celia say into the phone was all lies. She was trying to drive you away. And,” he added, “she was pretty successful.”
“How did you hear about it then?”
"Rosa overheard. She told Mother. They both like you. So Rosa told my mom out of anger, knowing that Mother wouldn’t want me to marry Celia or hurt you. And Mother called me, also angry, demanding that I explain myself. So I went to Celia, really angry, and she admitted it." He took my hands. “All lies. I did not have sex with Celia and I sure as hell didn’t agree to marry her. Good god, no.”
It was a lot to take in. I hoped with all my heart that it was true.
“So you came to Aruba to tell me?” He nodded. “How did you find me?”
“I have people.”
“Why did you bring the pan?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. It was a silly idea. It just seemed like I should. Turns out, I was right. I’m glad you didn’t hit him in the head with it, we might have had to flee to international waters.”
“Man, that felt good,” I said.
“Why were you with that douchebag?”
I shrugged. “He seemed nice last night, I just wanted to have some fun, Kiera would be disappointed if I didn’t have some island sex.”
Walker smiled. “Does she care which island?”
I cocked my head.
“It’s just I have a house, but it’s on Bonaire.” He gestured out to sea. “I thought I could make you some pudding, like I promised.”
I was finding it hard to breathe again. He was back, he was taking me to his island getaway.
“Is this your boat?” I asked.
“It is now,” he said with a wicked grin.
“What does that mean? Did you steal it?”
He laughed again, “No, quite the opposite. I over-paid for it, but there was traffic in Oranjestad, so a boat was the quickest way to get to you.”
My man bought a boat so he could get to me. That’ll make a gal weak in the knees. Good thing I was sitting down.
“So, can we go now?” he asked. I nodded and he fired up the boat motor.
I leaned back and watched the stars as we sped toward the nearby island. When the stilling of the motor woke me, I realized I’d dozed off. It took a minute to get my bearings. Oh yeah, on a boat with Walker. As it all came back to me, I was flooded with warmth.
“We’re here,” Walker said. He threw a rope over the dock and secured the boat to it. “I called ahead so the house would be open and aired out. It gets pretty stuffy when I’m not there.” He vaulted effortlessly out of the boat and reached down to help me.
“Sorry, this dress isn’t exactly made for climbing,” I said, struggling to get my legs up.
“It doesn’t need to be,” he said, eyeing me appreciatively as I got to my feet on the dock. “This is a whole new Andrea.”
“Nah,” I said, “Same Andrea in Kiera’s dress.” oh yeah! Kiera! “Oh crap, I need to call and let her know where I am. She’ll be worried if I don’t at least turn up by morning.”
“Does she have a phone?”
“No, but I can leave a message at the hotel. Can I call from your phone?”
I placed a quick call to our hotel to leave the message for Kiera. She probably wouldn’t even think to check until lunch tomorrow. We headed up the dock and as my eyes adjusted, I realized just what I was seeing.
The dock led to a beach so white it seemed to glow in the moonlight. From the beach, a pebble mosaic path wound up, lit on either side, to an enormous house. As we got closer, I could see that the part facing the water was all open. The house was made of white stucco that, like the beach, seemed to glow in the moonlight.
“Wow,” I said, starstruck.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” said Walker. “I wish I got to spend more time here.”
The open room we walked in to from the path had a fire pit on one side and a hot tub on the other. I worked in fancy houses all the time, but this was unlike anything I’d ever seen in real life. It was the sort of thing you’d see on TV and think “Real people don’t live like that.”
Yet here he was, real. And with me.
I followed Walker into the kitchen, gawking like a tourist at the teak furniture, the fine linen curtains, the marble floors. The kitchen took my breath away. Industrial appliances, all gleaming, the countertops were all inlaid with shells and beach glass, coated with a shining surface.
I was stroking the counter by the sink when Walker stepped in behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “So,” he murmured in my ear, sending jolts clear down to my toes, “do you really want pudding?”
I lifted my hand and laced my fingers into his hair, pulling his head closer. “Yes”, I whispered into his ear, "Make me some pudding. Hot."
A stiffness grew against my rear when I said that and I pressed back against him to let him know I knew it was there. But I just said, in my most sultry voice, “I didn’t get to eat dinner.”
His hands clutched my hips and pulled me tight against him before releasing me.
“Okay, temptress,” he said, “Please get the milk from the fridge while I get started.”
When I’d made him pudding–what seemed like months ago–in his mother’s kitchen, there had been an air of light flirtation, a will-they-or-won’t-they. Now, it was an air of oh, they WILL and everything felt like foreplay.
We stood side by side, taking up very little space in this cavernous kitchen. I separated the eggs, letting the white stream into a bowl. Walker whisked–carefully–as he poured in the milk. He’d taken off his tux jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The muscles in his forearms stood out, I’ve always loved a good forearm.
Once all the ingredients were in the pan and there was nothing to do but stir, Walker pulled me in close. I leaned into him as his hand ran up and down my side, slowly. Over the rise of my hip, into the dip of my waist, up my ribs. His fingers brushed the sides of my breasts before heading back down. Every nerve was alive, but I willed myself to be still. Drea had had her shot at it. Time to let Andrea take over again.
As the custard began to thicken, Walker dipped in a finger and lifted it to my lips. I licked the hot pudding and then sucked his finger into my mouth,
swirling my tongue around it, the way he’d done to me.
“You’d better eat this fast, if you’re going to,” he growled. “I can’t wait much longer.”
“I think I’ll let it set up,” I said, pulling him to me. “Let it…get stiff.”
“Mmm,” he purred, “Let’s leave it here. Let’s go.”
He pulled me to a staircase hidden behind a door in the kitchen. It was wide and airy like everything else and led right into a bedroom fit for royalty. No time for a house tour now, though, and pulled me into the room, walking backwards as he kissed me.
He pulled at the zipper in the dress, but it was stuck. With both hands, he ripped it from my body.
“Kiera’s” I said, not actually caring.
“I’ll buy her five new ones,” he said, letting the ruined dress fall to the floor. “Oh, Andrea,” he moaned, kissing the tops of my breasts. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”
He led me to the bed and pulled back the covers. I climbed in, the smooth sheets cool under my skin. I watched Walker take off his shirt and pants. He had the lean muscles of an athlete.
He climbed into the bed and pulled me to him. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. To think that I almost let you slip away…” He kissed me, his mouth insistent. I felt like I was on fire. All the turmoil of the last few days, not to mention the frustration of wanting to hook up, but just not being able to do it, like I’d been cockblocking myself.
Pulling back, Walker looked at me again, running his hand down my neck, down my arm. He brushed his fingertips across my belly, causing me to quiver. I was well past ticklish. When his hand came up to brush across the mounds of my breasts again, I murmured, “That comes off, you know.”
“What?”
“My bra, it comes off. Do you need a hand?” I smiled at him, knowing it would feel like a challenge to his ability to do everything.
“I got that dress off and it didn’t even want to come off,” he said. “I can show this bra who’s boss if I have to.” He reached around to unhook it. “See?”
I shrugged the straps down as he pulled, relishing that feeling of being freed from constraint.
The firmness he had pressed against my leg grew harder still and a moan slipped out of his throat. Holding a breast in each hand, he lowered his head, sucking a nipple into his mouth. My back arched up as he pulled. A noise between a growl and a moan came from my throat. With the gentlest of nibbles and the strongest of pulls he coaxed my nipples harder than they’d ever been. His fingers caressed the side that was not in his mouth. I writhed beneath him, wishing his mouth could be on all of me at once.