“Uh… Hi. London.” He says my name deliberately and I see recognition light his fiancée’s eyes. “This is my fiancée, Bonita.”
My smile’s genuine. I can be adult as fuck. “Nice to meet you.”
“Why are you here?” he asks, his voice full of suspicion.
No. He thinks I expanded from stalking him at the grocery store. As if I don’t have better things to do. Like run a company that I swear he found intimidating. Besides, it’s his fault he got me started on locally made juice that’s only sold at one place.
My smile tightens, but I keep it in place. “I’m on a date.”
Jonathon humphs as if I would be on a date. “Where is he?”
I bristle at his scornful tone. “I’m standing outside the bathroom. Where do you think?” I ask flatly.
He recoils, not used to me talking to him like that. He shakes it off. “He just happens to be in the restroom outside the theater I was in. Look, London. It’s over. It’s been over for a long time. Get that through your head. I don’t want to see you again—”
A tall form appears at my side and a strong arm slides around my shoulders. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but if you keep talking to my wife like that, you’re going to be minus a few teeth and a lot of dignity.”
Jonathon’s mouth snaps shut as he stares at Jacobi. My husband is a solid three inches taller and infinitely harder, though his thunderous expression is the hardest thing on him right now. Bonita squeaks and presses closer to Jonathon’s side.
I put on a sugary smile. “Jacobi dear, this is Jonathon.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “You remember me telling you about him?”
His look turns deadly and I want to preen. I still can’t help but explain. “Anyway, he thinks that because he’s run into me twice at the farmer’s market that I’m obsessed with him and not that I just really love the store brand of cashew milk and the specialty watermelon-papaya juice.”
Jacobi doesn’t ease up, his glare stabbing into Jonathon. “You live in the same area and shop at the same place and you thought she couldn’t get over you? What the fuck, man? Worry about your own girlfriend and leave my wife alone.”
Jonathon’s face turns beet red. I try hard not to laugh in his face and that of a shocked Bonita. I settle for a smug expression as Jacobi twines his fingers through mine and leads me away.
“That was cathartic,” I whisper.
“Want me to drain his bank accounts?” Anger rages through his face. All because I was insulted. I didn’t think I was that type of girl, but turns out I am. I love it.
“No. You’re on legal restrictions, remember?”
His expression relaxes. “Right. Sorry I took too long. I checked in with Cannon.”
“Any news?”
He shakes his head. “It’s all quiet. We don’t have to go home right away if you don’t want to.”
When he says home, I no longer picture my penthouse. “I’d like to recreate what that couple behind us was doing.”
Chapter 11
Jacobi
I untangle myself and gently shake London awake. “Hey. The morning is the best time to be in the water.”
She frowns and pries an eye open. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“Come on, California girl. You’re the morning person.”
She grumbles and rolls over. “I was a morning person because no guy kept me awake at night like you.”
That’s right. “You need more swimming lessons if you’re going to frolic in the ocean.”
“I wasn’t frolicking, I was floating.”
“Even worse.”
She gives me a dubious look. “Is it?”
“I don’t know. But you’re not a strong enough swimmer yet.”
Her lips purse and she eyes me. Her hair is an adorable mess around her face, but everything that occurred to make it that way form the sexiest memories I’m going to keep my whole life. “If I have to learn to swim, then you have to learn to dance.”
Whoa. I’m not ready for a negotiation. Especially about dancing. “Knowing how to dance won’t save my life.”
“But it might save all the guys I’ll be dancing with at the clubs because then you won’t be glaring them to cinders from the sidelines.”
“I didn’t do that in Cabo.”
She rolled her eyes and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “Because the guy I was with was no less than eighty-five.”
“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t sweep you off your feet.”
“That literally means he couldn’t have swept me off my feet.” She cocks her head. “We can find someone to come here and give lessons if you don’t want to go out.”
She’s willing to stay here where we can control the music, the people, but more importantly, where I can control who takes pictures of her. Still, regret snakes through me. She’s been off my property once since we got married. She likes being out. She likes navigating her company’s business in person. She’s a social butterfly even if her circle of friends is intimate.
I’m none of that. The least I can do is learn to salsa. “Okay. We can clear the furniture in the living room.”
Her eyes light up and I one hundred percent don’t regret this agreement. “I’ll get my swimsuit.”
“Or… we can swim nude. It’s a private beach.”
“Or… I might not learn to swim if I have your little fish in my face.”
“London. Little?”
She grins and hops out of bed. “I haven’t seen it in the cold water.”
“Oh. You will.” But I keep my trunks in place. As much as I’d like a replay of that first time in the resort’s pool when she fell apart in my arms, I’d rather she develop stronger swimming skills.
“You want to teach me how to surf too?” she calls from the bathroom.
“Walk before you can run, belle.”
She comes out in a tankini, tying the top to the bottom. It’s a good choice, but no less distracting than the skimpy bikinis I’ve seen her in.
Outside, she stares at the sky. “Think it might actually rain?”
“Maybe. I didn’t check the forecast.”
She leaves her towel on a lounge chair and keeps walking. I follow behind her. She stops at the edge of the water, the tips of the waves lapping at her toes. “Now what?”
“Keep going until you can float. I’ll swim beside you and coach you on the strokes.”
She goes in deeper and executes a clumsy shallow dive. I can’t help but smile. Water is her weakness. The dance floor will be mine.
I have her swim back and forth, in shallower water than I’m used to. I easily sidestroke next to her. After a face full of waves in the first few minutes, she picks up my coaching. Each lap she does is better than the last until I’m swimming next to her.
The clouds thicken and the water grows choppier.
“Time’s up,” I say loud enough to cut through her splashing.
She pushes her hair back and stands up. I stay on my back and stroke closer to shore, only to keep my eyes on her longer. She moves powerfully through the water, her exhilarated expression lighting up her eyes.
“I can see why you swim every morning.” She lowers her voice. “When’s the surfing lesson?”
“The next time the water’s right.” When I get over the fear that the ocean will swallow her whole.
We walk up the beach and the wind kicks up. She grabs her towel and wraps it around her shoulders, but as the first droplets start to fall, she doesn’t rush inside. “Rain on the water.”
It takes me a moment to recall that I told her one of my favorite sounds is rain on the water. “You don’t have to hang out here and get rained on to hear.”
“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed the rain.” She takes my hand and we sit on the edge of the fire pit.
The drops fall faster, harder, until the deluge drowns out any other noise. Nothing but rain hitting the concrete pavers and the water. Waves crash to shore. There’s no lightn
ing, just a steady fall that soothes my eardrums.
“It rained the first night I stayed in this house.” The sound is exactly the same. “I was used to traffic and sirens, but it was so peaceful. And doesn’t happen often. If I catch it, it feels like a treat.” Something special. Just for me.
That’s the same feeling I had when I first saw her picture.
Her fingers tighten around mine and she leans into me. The rain lightens, but clouds stretch for miles. It’s going to last for a while.
Her body shudders next to mine and when I look over, goosebumps dot her skin.
Instead of coaxing her inside, I hook my arms under her legs and behind her back and carry her in.
“I think it’s a perfect day to stay in bed.”
“I agree. After we shower.”
From her grin, she knows exactly what I plan in the shower.
* * *
London
Of course he’s good at dancing too. Only a week of lessons, but he quickly picked up the steps. I still swallow at least three mouthfuls of water each time he takes me out for lessons. Some mornings, I even follow him into the gym and do some weights.
After our morning workout and swim, he eats his spinach feta omelet Chef Big Boy made him and I have a yogurt and banana—and a homemade raspberry strudel because Chef’s instructions also include whatever I ask for.
The dance teacher Penni recommended arrived two hours ago, with Penni right behind him. She showed up the last two times too. Sweat rolls down my face and my feet hurt, but Jacobi’s working with Pierre. The dance teacher’s dressed in leggings and a baggy T-shirt like he was called out of an audition. My husband, in basketball shorts and a loose T-shirt, looks like he can dance all afternoon into the night. They work on the waltz, a dance I don’t know well.
Penelope yanks me into her arms and leads me through a waltz. “I know better than to try to practice with him,” she says so only I can hear her over the music. “He’s got eyes only for you. I feel like he’d hiss if I tried to touch him.”
Pleased that it’s so obvious she notices, I step on her toes and she winces. “Sorry. I can’t believe he’s even willing to learn.”
“Magic pussy does that to a man.”
“Penni,” I hiss.
She shrugs like it’s an obvious and accepted term. “Do I lie? True love is just finding a partner who wants your particular magic pussy for the rest of their life.” She taps my hip to get me to step in the right direction.
The rest of our life. This marriage is a sham, but it’s starting to feel real. I wake up with him every morning. We workout together, have breakfast. Then I work at the island and he works in his office. Sometimes we have lunch together, but we always have dinner together. And go to bed together at night.
Penni interrupts my thoughts. “Gonna tell me why you and Diana aren’t talking?”
“Why do you think we aren’t?” I haven’t told anyone. Diana and I exchange professional emails and that’s the extent of it. She’s been heading up the in-person meetings I can’t make it to.
“She wasn’t around when you invited us over and you haven’t mentioned her at all. She hasn’t even texted or called since I’ve been here and you two are inseparable.” Glancing over her shoulder, she steers me to the other side of the living room. “Is it the marriage?”
“Somewhat.” I debate about what to tell her. “It’s a long story, but there’s bad blood between our parents, mine and Jacobi’s.”
“So, like a Montague and Capulet thing?”
I try to recall my Romeo and Juliet, but fail. “Sure, but without the deaths.”
“Who did who wrong?”
The song’s winding down and we’re as far away as we can be without leaving the area. “My dad, mostly.”
Penni grimaces. “Dads suck sometimes.”
“Yeah.” She has her own history with her father. I now have mine.
Pierre restarts the song and gestures to me and Jacobi. “Now, for you two.”
Jacobi holds his hand out. I accept and he twirls me into his arms. I laugh, and we bumble through a few steps before we get into a rhythm.
He smiles down at me. “This isn’t horrible.”
There’s something in his tone. “But?”
“But it’s not the bumping and grinding in the clubs.”
“No, it’s not. I used to go to those more in college. Dad and Diana had me take more traditional dance lessons for when we went to their friends’ weddings.”
“Not the twerking-type weddings?”
I giggle and misstep, but he guides me right back in place. “Definitely not.” We dance several more steps. “I don’t miss them.”
He lifts a brow and spins me. I don’t know if spins go with waltzes and we both get off-step. Pierre snaps his fingers to the beat so we can start again.
“Miss what? The clubs?”
I nod. Those will never be his scene. Too chaotic. Too unpredictable. Too many people. “I always liked partner dancing better. I never had a partner I could relax and have fun with.”
“Your stuck-up ex didn’t dance with you?”
“Only if the right people were watching and he could network. So, no.”
He keeps holding my gaze as he calls out, “Penni. Where can I take my wife to dance?”
“Ooh, there’s a place in West Hollywood that caters to the non-electronic music crowd. You two should go tonight. You know what, I’ll take you.”
I exchange a glance with Jacobi. We aren’t at the going-out-on-a-whim stage yet with Sully and all.
“I can make that happen,” he says softly.
We could go tomorrow. We could go next weekend. But I’m caught up in the magic and I nod. “But I might need a foot massage first. I don’t know how Penni can do this for a living.”
“I’ll give you one before and after.”
After our teachers leave, we get cleaned up and ready in record time, mostly because I shower in my own bathroom and avoid a sex delay. Penni sends the name of the place and I punch it into Jacobi’s GPS while he notifies Cannon and Kase of what we’re doing.
I can barely contain my excitement at going out again. I can handle a date week with Jacobi, especially if we’re sleeping together every night.
The dance place fits Holland’s style much more than ours. I’m in a twirly sundress and Jacobi’s dressed much like the night we went to the movies. Penni meets us in the parking lot, her willowy frame in a sweeping midnight blue sequined fabric and slit up the side to her hip.
“I’m so glad you made it.” She squeals like she didn’t just see us a couple of hours ago.
“Did you compete in that dress?”
She rolls her eyes. “Juan Pablo thinks lighter colors attract the judges’ eyes better, but I bought it anyway.”
She makes her partner sound like a diva, but he’s the disciplinarian behind their duo. And I know how oblivious Penni can be.
Inside, Jacobi scans the place with a bemused expression. The music’s loud and the crowd is boisterous, but nothing like a dance club.
Penni waves to a man in the corner. He’s sitting with Pierre, who raises his drink to us. “They saved us room. I call dibs on Pierre’s partner. The guy dances like a wet dream. He’s won big competitions and I think he hasn’t been coming into the studio because I bug him for all the deets.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about us vying for his attention.” I never think of myself as a novice dancer until I’m around Penni and her friends and coworkers.
She elbows me and whispers in my ear. “Oh, I know he’s not going to let you out of his sight, or his hold.”
I ease into the corner booth next to Pierre and Jacobi takes the end.
Pierre introduces us to his partner. “Jacobi and London, this is Myles. He’s a much better dancer than me but will never brag about it until he has a few more drinks.”
Myles blushes and waves off Pierre’s compliment. “Please. I’m better with Latin, but Pierre
here slays ballroom.”
Penni takes a sip of her margarita. “I can’t believe you got Myles out tonight with the national competition around the corner.”
“Yes,” Pierre says, his tone full of sincerity. “He should be resting after his long days of practice.”
“Try to keep me away from ballroom night where I can watch you shine firsthand.” Myles slides out of the booth. He stands and holds his hand out for Pierre. “Besides, I need to refill my creative well and tango for fun.”
“I get the next dance.” Penni’s foot taps to the music.
“Oh, honey,” Pierre drawls, looking around. “You’re not going to be free for one single dance tonight.”
She blushes as she follows them to the dance floor. This is my friend in her element, but she never elaborates about how good she really is. Aside from her looks, the avid dancers here tonight will be drawn to her. She’ll be asked to dance plenty.
Jacobi isn’t smiling. His gaze is clocking our group, the dance floor, and the rest of the dancers. His gaze softens when they skip over Pierre and Myles. He likes them, and Penni too. If he can at least enjoy the company, I’ll feel better about dragging him out.
I put my hand on his arm. “When do you want to test out our foxtrot?”
His expression says never. “The next song.”
Since the other three have abandoned us for the dance floor, I ask, “Is Cannon outside?”
“He followed us from the house. So far, it’s all clear.” All sense of ease is gone. He’s back to brooding Jacobi.
“If you want to go home—” I don’t think it’s the footwork that’s on his mind, but who might be watching him… me.
“Should we hit the floor?” He nudges me out. “I didn’t learn just to let you sit in a booth.”
We dance three songs. People glide by us, tossing out words of encouragement. Whenever Penni, Pierre, and even Myles twirl close to us, they coach us on our steps and form. Jacobi takes it all in stride, his gaze never leaving mine.
Redeemed: Ruined and Redeemed Duet - Book 2 Page 10