“Hey,” his voice is deep and melodious, but my nerves are skittish, and I just want to get off.
“It’s dangerous,” I offer my feeble explanation to the dark grey cotton stretched across his chest. I can’t meet his eyes. I’m afraid of the disappointment I might see there. It’s clear that he’s a born adventurer who only needed a small push to discover that. And here I am, having another meltdown.
Stone leans down and presses his lips to my ear. “You don’t have to jump if you don’t want to. You aren’t a coward if you change your mind. But maybe this is your chance to rewrite your own history. Prove that the story you’ve been telling yourself about what you’re capable of is incomplete. Fear doesn’t rule you, Regan.” I lift my gaze to his.
His eyes are a calming swirl of molten dark earthy brown, flecked with gold that have a look of such certainty in them that even before he starts speaking, my anxiety slows down. I’m safe.
“If I die, I’ll haunt you.”
He laughs. “I’ll hold you to it.” He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around to face the door again.
I’m actually going to do this. Buoyed by the first real flare of exhilaration I’ve felt since we got in the Gondola to ride up, I walk over and get strapped up.
The patient instructor makes quick work of putting me in my harnesses and binding my ankles. He shows me all of the safety protocols and explains each of the ropes, and clasps as he fastens them. “No one will push you and you can’t just fall out; you have to jump.”
“Leap of faith, Goddess,” Stone calls, clapping like a sports fan getting worked up as his team takes the field.
I turn around, press my fingers to my lips and raise them in the air in a salute of solidarity and a wish for good luck. Stone lifts his hand, palm open. “I’m pretending you blew me a kiss.” He mimes catching it and pressing the closed fist to his chest.
I burst out laughing. The door creaks open and I know it’s time. But when I turn to face them, it’s giddiness, not fear, causing a riot in my heart.
“You’re all set. Don’t close your eyes on the way down. The view is part of the experience,” the instructor says as I line my toes up to the edge of the door.
I’ve been so afraid of dying, of failing, of being alone that I haven’t taken a risk in ten years. While I was busy being careful, the whole world passed me by. This feels like making up for it all at once.
The countdown begins, and I clear my mind. When they get to 1, I launch myself off the gondola, and the world rushes up to embrace me. Is this what it’s like for newborn babies taking their first breaths?
The thumping pulse of my steadily increasing heart rate becomes one with the wild symphony of rushing water, bird calls, and the roaring wind. I fall and fall; it’s a smooth weightless plummet. And yet, I could swear I’m flying.
And then, it’s over. I bounce a few times as the cord loses velocity. I stretch my arms wide, letting the breeze rush through my splayed fingers, as I take in the swaying palm trees, the lazy lapping river, and the seemingly endless stretch of stone that I’ll remember as the place of my rebirth.
I close my eyes on the way up and savor the exhilarating fullness of triumph. I’ve only had a glimpse of the glory waiting for me on the other side of my fear, and I’m already ravenous for more. The rush of pure adrenaline is instantly addicting. I want to do this all day so I can hold onto the euphoria and pride, I’m feeling. Stone was right. If I can do this, I can do anything. Including divorcing my terrible husband.
The sample-sized bites of happiness I’ve survived on won’t satisfy this new hunger.
I want everything.
Now.
Starting with Stone.
The instructors pull me back on to the gondola and give me a round of high fives as I crest the opening. Two of the crew members help me climb back on and for a minute, I just sit, catching my breath.
“Come on, let’s get that off,” Stone’s big hand cup my elbows and he helps me to my feet. As soon as my legs touch the glass bottom gondola surface, they tremble and send me swaying. Stone’s grip tightens on my arm and holds me steady. “Woah, got you,” he murmurs in my ear. One of the guides drops to his knees and starts to loosen my harness and Stone and I exchange a grin.
“You made that look easy. And I know it’s not. I’ve done this twice before, and it gets easier. But my first time I almost bailed. And it wasn’t anything as badass as jumping from a gondola. You were afraid and you did it anyway.” He strokes my arms with his thumbs, his eyes telling me before he mouths. “Proud of you, Regan.”
My smile, so wide my cheeks hurt, it’s the highest praise anyone could give me. “Me, too,” is all I can manage. I’m tongue tied under the weight of his praise and don’t know what to say.
But when he asks, “How do you feel?”
I find my voice instantly. “Transformed.”
Chapter 22
Jealous
Stone
“Come dance with me, Stone,” Regan calls from the dance floor, her smile brighter than all of the oil lamps burning around our camp.
“No, go ahead. I like watching,” I force a grin and she pouts. I hold the smile in place until one in the seemingly endless stream of geriatric men who are our fellow campers grabs her by the waist and whirls her around to her irritating shriek of delight.
I force myself to watch him, twirl and fucking dip her. It’s punishment and conditioning exercise all at once.
I thought I was doing her a favor today.
I thought it would be fun to coax her into my bed tonight. That I’d had this wild fantasy with the woman of my dreams and go back to life as I knew it.
Then, I jumped off that gondola.
As I’ve done every time I’ve bungeed, I focused on one thing I want more than anything else as I stood at the ledge. The thing that I’m going to never take for granted again if I survive. Because, no matter what I said to Regan, I know that anything could happen. Not just here, but anywhere. I’ve seen babies go from looking perfectly healthy to being dead in minutes. I don’t take anything for granted.
The first time I bungeed I thought of my brothers. I’d been slacking on calling them regularly and vowed to remedy that. The second time, it was my fellowship.
Today, I expected my thoughts to be focused on the job I’m waiting to get a confirmed start date for. This wasn’t just the culmination of years of sacrifice and hard work. This job, and the prestige attached to it, will also go a long way to proving myself worthy of my stepfather's priceless gift – the last name he gave us when he adopted Dare, Beau, and me. He also left us each a small fortune in annuitized trusts and college tuition funds.
I’ve only touched that money to pay for school and to put a roof over my head. But until I could be a credit to his name, I lived on what I earned. This job is my chance to make him proud and to show that we were worthy of his gift. That I’m nothing like my mother.
But as I stood at the open door, poised to jump, all I could think about was her. I plummeted down thinking that if I didn’t get to hold her hand all day again, kiss her in an alley again, bury myself inside her again, that I might as well die now.
I rode back up to the gondola, exhilarated by the knowledge I had her all to myself for the next few days. And when they pulled me back inside, I pounced; kissing her until we both couldn’t breathe. Any reservations she’d had before we came seemed to be gone. She kissed me as ardently as I kissed her. On the two-hour drive to Balandra, she spread her thighs so I could finger her while I drove. I leaned back when she lowered her head to my lap to suck me off. We held hands like our lives depended on it.
But, by the time we were walking down the pier to catch the boat that would take us from La Paz to the Island Isla Espiritu Santo, reality started dropping reminders.
We were halfway to the boat when we heard a woman’s panicked voice calling out “Regan!” over and over from the dock. She dropped my hand like it was on fire. And we turned toward t
he shout. It was coming from a woman standing by the food stalls on the dock. Regan watched her, eyes wide with fear, until a little girl broke through the throng of people and ran into her anxious mother’s arms.
We laughed in relief, but we didn’t hold hands while we walked the rest of the way. She sat on my lap for the short ride over. With the wind whipping our faces as we flew through the water, and her warm body burrowing into mine, I started to relax and think about all the ways I’d have her tonight.
Then our boat captain started singing a song I’d never heard before, and she said, “That’s Marcel’s favorite song.”
That brought reality back into focus in a way that I didn’t like.
A lot has changed in the time since we last saw each other. But one thing is as true as it was when I was ten - no matter how much I want her; Regan Wilde isn’t mine to have.
By the time we got to our tent, all I could think about was the way she’d looked on her knees the night I stabbed that asshole.
It’s not that I don’t know if she wants me. She’s been giving me come-hither looks all night. But I think she’s still buzzing on the adrenaline from her jump and those looks aren’t enough to convince me that she wants me as much as I want her. It’s self-preservation more than pride. It’s going to make me crazy if I walk away from this wondering if she wasn’t just rolling with it. I don’t just need her to say it. I need her to initiate it.
“Excuse me, sir,” A soft hand lands on my bare shoulder. I turn and look up into the smiling, but anxious face of a young woman. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my sister and I are having some trouble with our tent flaps.” She trails off, biting her lip and watching me with expectant eyes
“Okay, did you ask the Jorgens for help?” I ask in as patient of a voice as I can manage when she doesn’t say anything else. The camp is staffed with a husband and wife team who are supposed to be available twenty-four seven.
“We can’t find them. And... you’re the only other person not dancing,” she grimaces in apology. I glance around and give a groan of self-loathing when I realize she’s right.
“You look so upset, I hated to bother you—” she begins again. I stand up, shake off my self-pity and smile in apology.
“You’re not bothering me and I’m happy to help.” I stand, relieved to have a reason to end my self-flagellation. “Give me a second,” I say and jog out to where Regan is holding court on the dance floor.
I tap one of her shimmying shoulders and she turns around, a wide grin already on her face. Delighted surprise brightens her eyes when she sees me, and she flings her arms around my neck. “You came,” she croons. Her soft body is warm and slightly damp from sweat.
“This is so much fun, I’ve made all these new friends and I’m so happy.” She squeals and tries to draw me into a dance. If I hadn’t been beside her at dinner, I’d swear she was drunk.
I pull her hands loose and hate myself a little when her smile dims. I glance back in the direction I came from. The young woman’s watching us with a fretful expression. I hold up a finger to signal that I’d be right there.
“Who’s that?” Regan’s voice has lost all of its glee and her eyes are narrowed in suspicion and trained over my shoulder.
“I don’t know her name. She needs help with her tent.”
One of her dark arched brows lifts in question and she turns her gaze back to me. “Isn’t that what that couple’s for?” She crosses her arms and taps her foot.
“She can’t find them. I’m going to help.”
“Well, that’s nice of you I’ll see you back at the tent, then?”
I frown at the tight smile she gives me. “It won’t take that long. I’ll be back.”
“Why?” She is still smiling but her eyes broadcast her irritation.
“For you,” I say, biting Captain Obvious on the tip of my tongue back.
“Don’t bother, you’re not interested in dancing and that’s all I want to do. I’ll see you at the tent.”
She dismisses me with a shout of “Muevolo!” before she twirls away from me. A loud cheer erupts from the gaggle of men she’s got in her thrall and the sound grates on my nerves like sandpaper. I don’t give a shit if they’re all old enough to be her father, I want to break every single one of their jaws.
I debate throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to the tent, and using my mouth on her until she’s begging me to fuck her
But I’m not going to make a fool of myself for her again. Each step costs me a sliver of sanity, but I leave walk away without looking back.
I follow the girl, who introduces herself as Riley, to her private campground, which happens to be the one right before ours. She talks the whole way, she and her sister flew to Cabo from Silver Spring, Maryland and are on a road trip that’ll take them all the way back home.
It takes less than five minutes to help them fix their tent flap and when Riley invites me to stay for a shot of the tequila she and her sister bought from some place that’s supposed to be legendary, I don’t say no.
Her sister is starting medical school in the fall and when I tell her I’m in the middle of my fellowship, she peppers me with questions I’m happy to answer.
By the time I leave their tent to make the short walk to our tent., it’s almost midnight. I’ve had enough tequila that I’m in a good mood again.
The light glow from inside alerts me to Regan’s presence. A flash of memory from the glimpse I had of her - teeth flashing, hair flying like a flock of ribbons, her hand in someone else’s - eviscerates my tequila induced enthusiasm. Uncertainty sends my nerves skittering, and I hold my breath as I pull back the flap and peek inside.
She’s laying on one of the plushily dressed twin sized beds in our tent. Her legs are crossed at the ankles and propped on a stack of the blue throw pillows. I stare at the bare soles of her slim feet. They’re the only part of her body I’ve never seen and just like the rest of her, I find them remarkably well formed. A dusting of white sand clings to her heels and toes, but her high delicate arches are clean and smooth.
I walk to stand next to her. My eyes trace the outline of her long legs under the clinging floral patterned fabric of her dress, the curve of her hips, the delicate, ringless hands that rest on her flat stomach, the swell of her breasts, the small dark mole that sits in the hollow of her left collarbone calls me name.
I bite my lip to hold back a groan and reach down to turn off the small solar lamp on the table beside her bed.
“Don’t.” Her hand covers mine, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Shit. I thought you were asleep.” I say, dumbly.
“I bet you did.” Her voice is flat, and she studiously avoids meeting my eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking a step back to avoid being whacked by her legs as she swings them over the side of the bed.
“I’m going to take shower,” she announces. Without any warning, she pulls her dress straps down and tugs it off her body. She’s completely naked underneath it.
I think about all of those old men who touched her tonight, and see red.
“Were you like this… all night?” I ask, my voice tight with irritation.
“Yup,” she chirps and then bends over to rifle in her bag giving me a full view of her naked ass and the lush dusky flesh between her legs.
“Regan, what are you doing?” I growl.
She stands with her light pink silk robe in one hand a bemused frown on her face. “Oh, I figured since you’d seen it all before you wouldn’t mind. Sorry.” Her voice is clipped with irritation. She slips the robe on strides toward the front of the tent.
“Regan--”
“Don’t wait up,” she calls just before she disappears through the flaps.
I sit on my bed, feeling like I just got hit in the head with a two by four. What the hell just happened and why the hell is she mad at me?
A few seconds later, the sun shower that’s right to our tent comes on. For five torturous m
inutes, I listen to the sounds of water splashing and imagine her hands moving over all the places I want to touch.
When the shower cuts off, I pick up my book and pretend to read. When she walks back into the tent, I manage a casual, “How was the water?”
“Hot,” she sighs with deep satisfaction and it takes all my willpower not to look at her. The flutter of fabric my periphery draws my gaze to her. But I keep my eyes on the floor where her discarded towel lies in a sodden heap at her feet.
Only when she turns so I’m looking at her heels instead of her pretty pink -painted toes, do I let my gaze roam up.
Her pink silk robe is belted tightly around her body. Before I can appreciate the way it hugs her still wet skin, she loosens the belt and shrugs it off. It slides down her lean, graceful back in a torturously slow unveiling of her delectable figure.
It molds to the curve of her hips and ass, right below then the twin dimples at the base of her spine and the tattoo that sits in between them. It hangs there for a few seconds before gravity flexes its muscle and the rest of her body is revealed.
When she bends over to pick up a bottle of lotion from her bed, I want to howl from the effort it’s taking not to reach for her.
And, as addled as my brain may be, I know better than to even try it. So, I close my eyes.
But it’s no good. The scent of lemon fills the tent. The whisper of her hands sliding over her bare skin only makes the torrid images in my mind more vivid. I imagine her fingers gliding over her jutting dark nipples, cupping her supple round breasts, sliding between her thighs, running over her shoulders, smoothing the rest of the lotion over the curve of her neck… By the time my fevered imagination has worked its way over her body, my balls are aching.
I open my eyes just as she steps into a pair of white lace panties and pulls a white tank top over her head.
She turns around, and I look back at my book, staring unseeingly while I pretend not to feel her eyes on me.
“Thank you for today. It’s the best day I can remember having, ever,” she says quietly before she dims her lamp and climbs into her bed.
The Rivals Page 81