Beyond Me

by Jennifer Probst

  Suddenly, her gaze locked on mine. I sucked in my breath as recognition dawned on her face that I had been studying her. She stiffened but met me head-on, raising her chin slightly. I dove deep into a sensual heaven of swirling emotions I craved to figure out. She was so damn expressive, her thoughts flickering over that gorgeous face as she decided what to do next. I waited. Would she smile? Duck her head? Avert her gaze and pretend the connection never happened?

  I raised my brow and upped the stakes.

  One second. Two. She gave me a dismissing shake of the head and turned her back on me.

  "Bro, she just dissed you!" The guys hooted, but I didn't care.

  "It's a challenge." The gorgeous, sleek line of her spine begged me to run my tongue down it until I stopped at the sweet spot. "Maybe I'm tired of the same type of women all the time."

  Rich hooted with laughter. "Gorgeous, smart, sexy women who want to do anything for you? Yeah, cry me a fucking river. I still think you won't get anywhere with her."

  Adam poked my shoulder. "When was the last time you got rejected? It's good for everyone once in a while."

  "She won't reject me." The knowledge she was meant to be mine roared in my blood, but it was such a ridiculous feeling I decided to ignore it. She was probably playing games, and once I delved deeper, she'd be like all the rest. I was so sick of disappointment and emptiness beneath the surface. Not that I was any better. In fact, I was probably the worst culprit of all--an empty shell sucked dry of anything real for a long, long time.

  "Care to make a bet?" Adam challenged.

  "What type of bet?" I asked.

  Rich drained his beer and looked triumphant. "Great idea. We bet you can't bed her within the week. We'll give you five days."

  "Are we starring in some crap spring break movie?" The crudity of such a bet was disgusting and I waved my hand in the air, dismissing the idea. "I'm not into shit like that."

  Rich cleared his throat. "Because you know you can't succeed?"

  "Because it's a scummy thing to do. And none of your business."

  "What if I put up something you've been wanting for a while?"

  I turned my head. Rich seemed pretty confident I'd jump at the offer. I'd known him and Adam since high school. Our parents belonged to the same clubs in Florida and were all close friends. We'd grown up as trust fund babies, given pretty much free reign and anything we wanted. We sailed yachts together, travelled through Europe, and had been kicked out of too many schools. Seemed like a fucking great life until we got older and realized most of America didn't live that way. That there were things like real jobs and consequences and morality. My parents had none of that. They gave to charity because it made them look good, but turned their noses down at anyone who needed to scramble or get a bit dirty. When I hit about nineteen, I figured out they didn't like me much, and as long as I didn't embarrass their public image, they couldn't care less where I went or what I did. I did all the normal shit kids do to get attention--screwing up and trying to make their lives miserable because I couldn't please them. In return, they threatened to pull my money once in a while, and continued to freeze me out.

  Once I reached drinking age, their attorney contacted me while they were travelling London. He had me sign on the dotted line, and all of my trust fund money was released, with a legal disclaimer that once it ran out, they weren't responsible for me. I got the big picture. I was on my own.

  Of course, I'd always been on my own. I just hadn't realized it.

  I jerked my attention back to my friend's proposal. "Trust me, Rich, I doubt you have anything I want that much."

  He gave me a smug look. "How about Whit Bennigan?"

  I cocked my head. I'd been heavy into art my whole life, but done nothing with it. I calmed my mind by going to museums, studying art history, and immersing myself in the visual world of professional artists. I had a room stocked with my paintings, but no one had seen them. No one really cared to. Whit Bennigan was one of the most famous painters in the south, and was making a name for himself to rival powerhouses. Using an edgy style with bold colors, he was a mix of old and new and was a master when it came to manipulating light. I'd read everything I could on the reclusive man.

  "What about him?" I asked suspiciously.

  "He's a close friend of my parents. He owes them a favor, and I could collect. What if I was able to score you a private lesson with him?"

  I jerked back. "Are you fucking kidding me? One hour in the room with this guy could change my whole approach. There's no way you can bring that, Rich. You're full of shit."

  "I'll bring it. You get Miss Snobby Pants into bed within five days, and I'll get you that lesson."

  I turned and studied her. Back ramrod straight, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, looking at something I couldn't see out in the distance. I wanted her. Would've gone after her with or without a stupid bet, but at this point, what did I have to lose? I needed to have her, and a lesson with my mentor would be an added bonus. "What if I fail?"

  The guys laughed. "We get your bike," they said in unison.

  Ah, shit.

  My motorcycle was Harley, custom made, and sweet as sugar. It had an engine that revved like a thing of beauty, was badass black and chrome, and had every extra gadget I could squeeze on there. It had taken more than a year for them to make it to my specs, and it was my pride and joy.

  "She still worth it?" Adam asked.

  Yeah. She was. This was a bet I couldn't lose.

  "Are we on?"

  I turned to Rich, who'd asked the question. Glanced at the girl. And nodded. "Yeah. We're on."

  Without hesitation, I pushed myself away from the bar and headed toward her.

  HIS VOICE was rich and deep, and made my stomach flip when I thought of all the things he could whisper to me. Naughty things. I felt my cheeks go pink. Damn that inner voice. Now I looked like some crazed idiot.

  "Umm, sorry, I thought you were someone else."

  He made a point to look at the empty space around me. "Who?"

  I frowned. "Someone," I said stubbornly. "Did you need something?"

  He laughed. His eyes were even more spectacular close up, an aquamarine so clear and blue I felt like I could dive in and get lost. His hair was curly, and the color of yummy bittersweet chocolate. The strands fell over his forehead in a messy sexiness that looked made up. Yeah, he was way too perfect. Even his cheekbones and jaw were sharp and definitive, giving him an older, commanding look. Way out of my league. I self-consciously tucked a long strand of my hair behind my ear.

  "You're the real welcoming sort, aren't you? What's your name?"

  I paused for a beat. Just enough to get my point across--I was in charge of this conversation. My body disagreed as a strange heat pumped through my veins and itched under my skin. "Quinn. Quinn Harmon."

  "Hello, Quinn Harmon. I'm James Hunt. It's nice to meet you."

  I gazed at him with suspicion from under my lashes. "You too."

  "Are you always this open and cheerful on break? I haven't seen you around--do you go to school in Florida?"

  "No, I'm with two of my girlfriends for the week. We're from Chicago."

  "Ah, the Windy City. I've been there a few times. State University?"

  "Yes."

  The conversation was painful, but he seemed delighted by my one-word answers. I wondered what his game was. Those full lips quirked slightly upward as if my crankiness made him happy. No wonder I couldn't get laid. I was more comfortable having a conversation regarding misplaced false teeth and what foods had to be avoided because they cause gas. Maybe working in an elderly home in my spare time wasn't such a great idea. Of course, soon I'd move into rehabilitation and be around alcohol and drug addicts. Probably not much better.

  "Am I boring you already?"

  I blinked. Did my blush deepen? "Oh, sorry."

  He waited for more but I stopped. Stared at him. Our gazes locked and a weird, tight tension pulled between us. I forced down my impuls
e to take a step closer to soak up his body heat. He didn't smell of beer or smoke, but the clean scent of pool water and soap. "Are you enjoying the party?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  "Did you bring your friends?"

  "No, they kind of dumped me this afternoon at the Cove Suites, and this girl was handing out flyers, so I decided to check it out. Don't know who owns this place, though, do you?"

  A wicked gleam sparked in those blue eyes. "Some rich kid probably."

  "Must be nice," I muttered.

  "The Cove Suites isn't cheap. It's one of the most exclusive hotels on the island."

  "Oh, my friend Mackenzie treated us. I'm just a poor working student, but she insisted we stay there and get our own rooms. She's pretty generous."

  "And your other friend?"

  "Cassie? She's the serious type. Pretty brilliant, a bit more reserved."

  "That leaves you? What do you bring to the group, Quinn?"

  My throat closed up and I had no spit left. The way he said my name, his voice dropping low in a kind of caress, made me think of dark rooms and bedsheets and him naked. I hurriedly took a sip of warm beer and grimaced. "I'm the helper, I guess. Workaholic. All sorts of fun stuff."

  He frowned, as if my remark didn't please him as much as my one-word answers had. "You don't like your drink," James stated. "Let me get you something else. What do you like?"

  "Sex on the Beach," I blurted.

  That grin was back. His teeth were very white and perfectly straight. He must have worn braces for years. Damn, even his teeth were sexy. "I like that too," he murmured.

  Oh, wow, and now I had that image in my head--him and me entwined in the sand and his hands running all over my body, making me feel things I never had. I freaked out at my reaction, which kick-started my big mouth. "Just the drink."

  "Too bad." He turned to go to the bar, but then I remembered I didn't know him at all, and the one rule I made my friends pinky swear on is to never, ever accept drinks from guys. Too many crappy stories on the Internet showing how a girl can be raped or manipulated.

  My arm shot out. I wrapped my fingers around his bicep. His tight muscles jumped a bit under my touch, and his sun-warmed skin was slightly damp. Those eyes flared with a touch of lust. Wow, did he feel it too? "What is it?"

  "I don't take drinks from strangers. I can get it myself."

  He studied me for a while, as if trying to decide if I was smart or completely paranoid. "That's a good rule. Never know what jerks are out to drag you into bed."

  I laughed nervously. "Well, I usually don't have that problem, especially around Mackenzie and Cassie."

  "I disagree." His gaze focused on my lips, and I pressed them together to combat the jump in my belly. Nerves? Or was that arousal coming up from the deep dark caverns of my body to finally introduce herself?

  "You haven't seen them," I pointed out.

  "Don't need to. I've seen you."

  Oh. Wow. I had nothing for that comeback. He was a master at this. "Does that usually work?"

  He cocked his head. "What?"

  "Lines. You're quite...smooth. Are you trying to get me into bed?"

  The delight was back, dancing on his face. "Did it work? Will you go to bed with me?"

  "No."

  "Then there's your answer. Come with me to the bar for a drink, and I'll see if I can up my game for you."

  He had the nerve to snag my fingers within his and lead me to the tiki bar. I planned to yank back from his touch, but he was so warm and strong, I decided to let it slide this once. Now I was beginning to like him, which was much worse. A player with a sense of humor was disastrous.

  Unless...

  I dove into the deep end and went for it. I'd have to see how the rest of the encounter went, but this was the reason I came for spring break. Sex. Sun. Sand. Relaxation. Maybe this was a sign.

  James pounded his palm on the wood top. The guy playing bartender gave him a high five and winked at me. "Sex on the Beach, Rich."

  "Niiice." Rich grabbed a glass and began working the bottles. "I finally get to do something creative. This is a beer crowd."

  I watched him pour and mix with deft motions. Nothing funny got dropped in there, and when he slid it over, I took a sip and sighed. Perfect. My new fave drink. Mackenzie got me hooked on them the first night, and I had no desire to break my new habit. At least, not this week. "Thanks. I'm surprised there's a real bartender here and not just some kegs and wine set up."

  Rich laughed. "Nah, we do things right, don't we, James?"

  James gave him a weird look. "Guess this rich kid runs a top class show."

  As if they had spoken in code, Rich nodded and moved to the end of the bar. I was suspicious, but then James swung his full attention toward me, and I blanked out the rest of my thoughts. I finally understood what happens when sheer lust overcomes your brain.

  You become an idiot.

  "So, Quinn Harmon, any big plans for your break?"

  "No. Just hanging with my friends and resting by the pool. School and work have been a bit intense lately. How about you? What school do you go to?"

  He waved a hand in the air like his story wasn't important. "Schools are all the same. What are you studying?"

  "Counseling. I'm specializing in alcohol rehabilitation but also have experience with senior care. That's where one of my jobs is."

  "Ah, that's what you mean about being the helper in the group. The field pays crap, you know."

  I gave a little laugh. Like I didn't know that. "Yeah, that's why there are so many job openings. Money isn't everything. That's not my goal in life."

  His stare intensified. I'd never had the feeling of a man's focus on me full power. Like he wanted to delve inside and explore me completely. It must be one of the ways he maneuvered himself into a girl's bed. Goosebumps broke out on my skin even though the sun was hot. "What is?" he asked softly.

  I blinked. "Making a difference."

  He pulled back, as if my answer surprised him. Maybe he thought I was some weird do-gooder nerd and not worthy of his coolness. Whatever. I wasn't about to change who I was just to score a hot guy. If so, I would've made that move in high school, but I was past such nonsense. "What do you do?" I challenged.

  A shadow passed over his face. He stiffened, and I knew my question bothered him. Before I could delve further, he flashed a grin so blinding and white I got distracted. "Everything. I don't believe in being tied down to a job so I can die a slow death in some cubicle. Don't you want a broad range of experiences?"

  I snorted. "Sure. I'd just need someone to finance it first."

  "Get creative. Take a risk. You're young, live a little."

  "You sound like my friend Mac. She's always telling me to loosen up and go for it." How many times have I longed to do something outside my comfort zone? I was always left behind on adventures to take care of my dad. To make sure I covered that extra shift and didn't let anyone down. To confirm I was able to save enough money to get through another semester of tuition. I was a twenty-one-year-old stress case. But I had accepted my fate a long time ago, and I despised whiners. I learned to take what I had and make it work for me. Cassie called me an old soul trapped in a hot young body. Many times I agreed. Except for the "hot" part.

  Still, talking with James made those feelings stir again. Forget about rational decisions or how things would work out. How sweet to grab the moment and let it take you wherever you wanted. Was it possible for me?

  Damn, I wanted to find out.

  As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, he leaned forward. His breath struck my lips, and I was transfixed by the shimmering heat in those baby blues. "Maybe we should run away together," he murmured. His hand reached out and he touched a lock of my hair. He rubbed it between his fingers as if he liked the texture and feel. "Do something crazy."

  My heart beat and a tight ache throbbed between my legs. Wowza, it was like my body woke up after being Sleeping Beauty and was suddenly horny a
s hell. "Like what?" I whispered back.

  "Ditch the party. Find somewhere private. See what happens."

  Oh yeah, that was all code for sleeping together. Usually, I despised lines and playboy guys, but I'd never been so tempted before. It was spring break. A vacation from myself. There was no tomorrow or commitment or any of those issues to work out. Just fun. I heard Mackenzie's silent whoop in the background, telling me to go for it, and I opened my mouth to say--

  I was suddenly pushed from behind. I jerked around. The pretty blonde from the pool laughed wildly. Her bikini top gaped loosely open to show half a bare breast. "Oops! Need anotha drink," she slurred, toppling onto the bar countertop, those impressive boobs distracting most of the guys gathered around. Her boyfriend or whatever was laughing, and ordered another shot of tequila for her. I frowned as I looked at her beautiful face, kind of twisted up, her green eyes halfway vacant. She was past drunk and into danger territory.

  I knew I should mind my own business and get back to Mr. Steamy and his lovely offer. Instead, I grabbed the guy's arm. "No, she shouldn't have any more alcohol. She's had too much."

  The guy laughed. "No worries, sweetheart. She's fine. She's with me."

  That made me even more nervous. Did she really know what was going on? He put his arm around her like she belonged to him, but she obviously had no idea what was happening, clutching the end of the glass counter like she hoped the spinning would stop. I spoke louder. "No, she's not fine. She could be on her way to alcohol poisoning. Look, let's get her up to a room so she can lay down for a bit."

  The guy narrowed his gaze. The jolly laughter faded away. "Hey, James, who's the do-gooder? I got this covered. Cool?"

  I glanced over. James studied the couple, his mind seeming to shift, and I knew he was going to let the whole thing go and try to get the focus back to us and the sex he was hoping to have with me. The girl knocked over my drink, and I watched the peachy liquid spill over while the girl went into hysterics, her hand loosely laying in the puddle. My temper reared. "Not cool," I answered. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch here, but she needs to lay off for a bit. Or she's gonna-- "

  A retching noise broke through the air. The girl let out the contents of her stomach over the bar while catcalls of "ugh" echoed loudly.