“Sounds like the beginnings of a bad country song.”
“Exactly.”
Trista flashed a smile at the handsome bartender. “I’ll take a margarita. On the rocks. No salt.”
“Never seen you around here,” he said, making small talk.
“Is that your best pickup line?”
“Stick around. The more you drink, the better they get.” He plucked a bottle of tequila from the glass shelf. “However, it is the middle of February. The only people who are in town now, besides the locals, are snowbirds. And you’re not quite old enough to qualify as a snowbird.”
“I’m hoping that’s a compliment,” Trista said. She knew he was referring to snowbirds as an affectionate term for the elderly winter guests that frequented the Florida beaches during the off-season. “I’m visiting family, if you must know.”
He set her drink down in front of her, a hint of a smile on his face. “My name’s Riker. Let me know if you need something else.”
Trista watched as he turned around to change the TV channel. His jeans were tight in all the right places, the black t-shirt accentuated his muscular arms, and his dark hair hung just below his collar. The deep tan suggested he probably spent his free days on the water. Surfing most likely. His crystal-blue eyes matched the color of the Gulf of Mexico on a calm day. The three-day stubble on his face and deep dimples when he smiled made Trista think naughty thoughts.
She took a sip of her drink. It was one of the best margaritas she had ever tasted. The first hit of the drink was tangy followed by a sweet, smooth finish. Trista considered herself a connoisseur of the margarita; it was her go-to drink of choice. Most of her girlfriends were wine or champagne lovers. Not her. She loved the taste of good tequila mixed with lime juice. Trista hated the ones that left a sour, bitter aftertaste in her mouth, which was usually because the bartender had used a cheap mix and low-grade tequila. She preferred top-shelf brands, like Silver Patron or Casa Dragones. “This is a damn good margarita.”
“Thank you,” Riker said, putting limes in a Tupperware bowl. “Margaritas are one of my specialties. The key is to use lots of real limes…and a secret ingredient.”
She wondered what else he specialized in. “Which is?” she asked, referring to the special ingredient.
“I don’t give away my secrets to pretty women I just met.”
“I’m sure I can get it out of you,” Trista said, her boldness surprising herself. She was being very flirty with him, which was unlike her. What exactly did he put in this drink? She drank three more trying to figure it out. All the while watching Riker work the bar. Wiping down counters, putting away the limes, drying glasses, and sweeping the floor. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved around the bar. Or maybe she just had too much to drink. And was horny as hell. She hadn’t been with anyone since Blake. And that was over a month ago.
“It’s almost closing time. If you stick around for a few minutes, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m a big girl. I think I can make it home in this very rough area of town,” Trista said sarcastically, hopping off her barstool and then immediately regretted it. The whole room seemed to tilt. She quickly grabbed the side of the bar top.
Riker watched her stumble. He picked up his cell phone. “Let me call a cab for Crazy Jack, and then we’ll get out of this place. I can drive you home.”
Trista regained her balance and made it to the bathroom while Riker closed down the bar. The restrooms were at the back of the bar near the pool tables and dartboards. Along the back wall, the owners of the bar had put up pictures of celebrities who had frequented the bar. There were quite a few country singers, TV and movie stars, and politicians who came to Blue Mountain Beach. A few even had second homes here. The pristine beaches and crystal waters were comparable to the Caribbean, but cheaper and more conveniently located. Trista noticed that her picture was still up on the wall. Her hair was darker and wavy, and she was about twenty pounds heavier and ten years younger. The photo had been taken at the beginning of her career. She looked like a totally different person now. She wondered if Riker knew who she was. If he did, he didn’t let on. Trista quickly used the facilities and washed up, splashing cold water on her face. Those margaritas had done a number on her. Thank goodness her beach house was only a couple miles down the road.
“Ready to go?” Riker called from the of the bar as she exited the restroom.
“Coming.” Trista desperately hoped her sister was asleep when she got home. Even after three strong drinks, she wasn’t ready to face Nicolette. All she wanted to do was take a hot bath and go to bed.
Outside, the air was cool and breezy. The smell of briny salt air was comforting to Trista. She felt she’d made the right decision in coming home.
“Well, it was nice to meet you.” Riker watched as she got in her car. “You know, I never got your name.”
“You never asked,” Trista said closing her door. The top was still down on her car. She pulled a baseball cap off the dashboard and put it on.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Riker leaned over and rested his forearms on her door. “At least let me follow you home.”
“I’m just down the road. I’ll be okay.”
“If you insist.” She watched as Riker got in his truck. He tried to turn over the engine, but the truck wouldn’t cooperate. He banged his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. Trista continued to watch as he got out of the truck and opened the hood. After tinkering around for minute, he slammed it shut. He walked back to her car.
“How about a ride home?”
“Get in,” she laughed. “Where am I taking you?”
“I’m across the highway off Sugar Drive. You know how to get there?”
“Yeah, I do.” Trista pushed a button and watched as the convertible top eased back in place. She carefully backed the Mercedes out of the lot and headed away from the beach.
Five minutes later, she pulled up to a large subdivision situated on a lake and surrounded by Point Washington State Forest. The subdivision had several townhome units as well as single-family dwellings. Riker lived in one of the townhomes. Trista knew the development very well. Her father had originally been one of the developers on the project, but she didn’t mention that to Riker.
“Would you like to come in for a drink? It’s the least I can do for the ride home.” Riker smiled, his dimples popping up.
Trista leaned over the seat and brushed her lips against Riker’s. She breathed in his scent. Leather, woodsy, smoke, with a hint of something else. Vanilla? It was heavenly.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since you walked into the bar,” Riker said before kissing her back. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and placed his hand on the back of her neck. She loved the way he tasted. And the way he kissed, slow and gentle. “How about we take this inside where it’s more comfortable?” Riker suggested.
Trista got out of the car and followed him inside. His home was surprisingly clean and organized. Her ex-fiancé, Blake, was never clean—he was actually a pig in more than one sense. Constantly leaving his underwear and socks all over the condo. Newspapers and magazines strewn about the place. Trista employed a full-time housekeeper just to keep up with Blake’s mess. She was glad she didn’t have to put up with that anymore.
“Have a seat,” Riker said, leading her to a black leather couch. “I’ll make us a drink.”
Trista sank down on the soft, buttery leather. She observed Riker as he made his way into the kitchen. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were all situated in one large room, open and airy. The walls were adorned with framed posters of past seafood festivals and fishing rodeos. A large blue marlin hung above the fireplace. It was apparent what Riker’s favorite pastimes were.
As she studied the various artwork, Riker walked back with two drinks in his hands. He handed one to her.
“What’s this?”
“Something light.” Riker took a sip of his drink. “Try
it,” he said as Trista stared into her drink. Taking a sip, she was pleasantly surprised by the bubbles that tickled her tongue. The drink was crisp. “Prosecco?”
“Right.” He flashed a grin at her. “With a splash of peach puree.”
“It’s delicious.” Trista took another sip.
“You know, before we go any further, I think you should tell me your name. I mean, it’s only fair. I told you mine.”
“Trista Carmichael.” She waited for his reaction. Surely he’d guessed by now who she was. But he only nodded, sticking out his hand. She placed her glass on the coffee table before taking his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Carmichael.”
She tightened her grip and pulled him closer to her. “Let’s forget the small talk.” What the fuck am I doing? The sensible side of her was thinking…she was sitting in a stranger’s apartment, drinking some fruity drink, and thinking about having sex. The naughty side of her was thinking…God, I’m so fucking horny. Here’s a handsome guy who makes one hell of a margarita and lives in a decent home plus he apparently has no idea who I am. Go for it. The naughty side won out.
She kissed him again. Her tongue exploring his mouth. Their kiss was warm and passionate, and it drove her crazy with desire. Trista had never felt like this with Blake…or hell, anyone else for that matter. She wanted Riker’s lips to explore every part of her body. His hand reached up her blouse and caressed her breasts through her bra. She moaned when he lifted the bra and slipped his fingers inside, caressing a nipple. They continued to kiss while he played with each breast, gently rubbing and teasing each one.
“Hang on a second,” Trista said, pulling back. She stood up and took off her shirt and bra. And in one smooth movement, pulled off her jeans. She smiled as Riker studied her. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap. He nestled his head on her neck and kissed her before making his way down to her nipple, sucking and flicking with his tongue. Trista moaned as he continued to take the nipple in his mouth, tugging gently then scraping his teeth across it. He had one hand on her back and slipped the other inside of her panties. She could feel his manhood hard, ready to go. He used his finger to explore her, rubbing her clit with his thumb.
“Oh my God, you’re so wet. You feel so good,” Riker said, as Trista tilted her head back and let out a sigh. He was quickly bringing her to an orgasm. She came so hard and so fast that she almost blacked out from the intensity of it. He wasted no time, scooping her up and carrying her to his bedroom.
Trista smiled as Riker laid her down on silky cool sheets. She watched as he peeled off his t-shirt then his jeans and underwear. He was like a Roman god standing before her with hard muscles rippling throughout his tanned body. His cock was large and impressive. He reached over and pulled open the drawer on the nightstand, grasping a foil wrapper. Unwrapping the condom, he rolled it on expertly with one hand before climbing on top of Trista. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh. “I can’t wait any longer. Please,” Trista said.
“Please what?” Riker teased.
“Put your cock inside of me.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, before sliding into her with one long stroke, filling her completely. Trista felt herself melt into the silky sheets. It may have been the delicious drinks Riker made her or the fact that she hadn’t had proper sex in many months. Whatever it was, she knew that she would be seeing a lot of Riker.
Chapter Four
Early the next morning, Trista slipped out of Riker’s bed while he was still sleeping. Her beach house was just a short drive away in Blue Mountain Beach. Trista had bought the house as an investment when she made her first few million dollars in Hollywood. At the time, she was still speaking with her sister, Nicolette. Trista invited Nicolette to live in the home and watch over things while Trista was working in Hollywood. In the beginning, Trista would fly back to Florida during the holidays and see her family. After she had a major falling out with Nicolette, Trista didn’t come home anymore. Hurt feelings and words that couldn’t be taken back still haunted Trista.
Driving down Old Blue Mountain Beach Road, Trista smiled at the sight of the magnificent beachfront estates lining the gulf-front road. She had picked this part of the beach due to its privacy and exclusivity. It was also within walking distance to many of her favorite places. For the Health of It was her favorite juice bar and health food store, and there was Marie’s Bistro, where she could get a delicious sushi dinner, and Sally’s By The Sea, which was a gas station, deli, and sundries shop all rolled into one. Plus Sally’s had the best hamburgers on the beach.
Pulling up to her gated estate, she entered a code for the electronic gate to open. Her three-story beach villa never failed to take her breath away. It was luxurious and opulent—all three stories with stunning Gulf views from every angle. The villa had six bedrooms and eight baths, ten balconies, a lanai porch, saltwater pool with Jacuzzi, stone exterior entry, and a three-car garage, all under an 8,095-square-foot roof. The first floor showcased a balustrade parlor, media room, and wet bar in addition to two guest rooms with spa baths. A grand, circular staircase led to the second floor also with sweeping Gulf views and a great room with gourmet kitchen and dining room, which was perfect for entertaining. Her sister had one of the large bedrooms and spa bath on this level. The third floor was Trista’s favorite. It included a fitness studio, health bar, and makeup studio. Her master bedroom suite had a luxury spa bath and panoramic views of the Gulf.
Trista felt mixed emotions as she pulled into the driveway and opened the garage door. She loved being at the beach, but she dreaded the thought of having to deal with her sister. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized no one was home. The garage was empty as Trista parked her convertible inside. She pulled her overnight bag out of the trunk and headed inside.
First things first. Trista took the stairs to the second level and threw her bag down on the breakfast table in the kitchen area. She popped a K-cup in the Keurig and started a cup of coffee. Taking a look around, she realized that not much had changed. The house was still as she’d left it two years ago.
Trista picked up her coffee cup and checked the refrigerator for creamer. Finding a stocked fridge, Trista added a splash of French Vanilla creamer to her coffee. She took her cup and wandered to the lanai. There was a comfy couch covered in off-white denim fabric, four matching chairs, and a chaise lounge artfully arranged on the patio. A coffee table held a large, crystal bowl stuffed with sand dollars and seashells. Trista plopped down on one of the chairs and rested her feet on the ottoman. She breathed in the fresh, salty air. With a steaming hot cup of coffee by her side, she watched the waves slowly rolling in as seagulls dove in and out of the Gulf of Mexico, searching for their breakfast. She spotted a pod of dolphins just offshore, playing in the water. Their water acrobatics never failed to thrill her. She continued to watch as the dolphins jumped and flipped down the coast. God, she didn’t realize just how much she’d missed the beach. Yeah, California had beaches but nothing compared to the beaches of the Emerald Coast.
She was lost in her thoughts of the mind-blowing sex with Riker and didn’t hear the French doors open.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Trista turned to see her sister standing behind her. Nicolette was wearing a colorful, paisley beach cover-up, flip-flops, and a baseball cap that covered her long, dark hair. Where Trista was blonde, tall, and slim, Nicolette was shorter and struggled with her weight. Trista had inherited her mother’s beautiful looks, while Nicolette looked a lot like their father. Trista knew that her sister was pretty, but her attitude made her ugly sometimes.
“This is my house. In case you forgot.”
“Why are you here?” Nicolette pulled off her cap and shook her wet hair off her shoulders.
“It’s a long story. Why don’t you have a seat?” Trista picked up her mug and took a sip of her coffee. She decided to get right to the point. “I got fired from my job.”
N
icolette’s face softened as she sighed. She sat across from Trista on the chaise lounge. “What happened?”
“They told me that the show needed to go in another direction.”
“Sorry ’bout that. But you can get another one, right?”
Trista shrugged then added, “Blake was cheating on me. It’s over.”
Nicolette looked confused. “Wait a minute. Who’s Blake?”
Trista laughed despite the uneasiness between them. “I guess it’s been a long while since we talked. Blake and I were engaged.”
“Blake is your agent, right?”
“Was my agent. I fired him, but not before I kicked him out. I sold the condo, packed my stuff, and headed here. I got in last night.” Trista drained the rest of her coffee. “Where were you this morning?”
“I spent the night with a girlfriend. We had a girl’s night out, and I crashed at her place.” Nicolette stood and picked up her things. “How long are you planning on staying?”
“Not sure yet. Is that a problem?”
“I guess not. It is your place.” Nicolette checked her watch. “Shit, I’m running late. I’ve got a sales meeting in fifteen minutes and a busy day ahead.” Nicolette waited a beat. “I’m throwing a surprise birthday party for my boyfriend, James, tonight. Here at the house.”
“Don’t worry about me, Nic. I’m planning on relaxing today and going to bed early. I won’t get in your way.”
Nicolette paused at the door. “Party starts at seven. Dress is casual. You can come if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Trista watched as her sister left the room. It was like nothing had happened between them. Nicolette was just like their father in that way. If there was a problem, sweep it under the rug. Forget about it. Trista liked to talk things out. If she was going to stay here for a while then she needed to clear the air with her sister. But they would do that later—after the party. She hated to ruin a good party.
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