Playboy in Paradise: The Complete Set

by S. L. Scott

  His smile gives him away, but with a nod of his head and raised eyebrows, I can tell he’s totally turned on. “Like I always say, ladies first.”

  “Since I don’t have any underwear on, I guess I’ll take the shirt off.”

  He licks his lips watching as I remove the shirt over my head and toss it across the room. His pants drop to the floor and without another word, we christen the couch… and the kitchen counter… and the shower.

  What can I say, I missed my surfer.

  71

  Evan

  “I don’t want to,” I say, standing firm.

  “Evan?” Mallory pouts, which makes her puckered lips quite a distraction. She puts her hands on her hips, and demands, “Do it.”

  “No.”

  “Honey, please.”

  “Fine.” I give in because it makes her happy, which makes me happy. Also, because when she’s happy I get sex and I like sex, so it benefits us both.

  “Wow! That was easy.”

  “You can be very persuasive when you stick that bottom lip out like that,” I say, toying with it.

  “Good to know. I’ll pocket that information away to use at a later date.” She winks at me.

  “I bet you will. C’mon on. Shake a leg, lady.”

  “Oh, who’s all showy and shit now?”

  “I am.” I laugh as I push off with the tip of my ice skate leaving her in my icy dust.

  “Just so you know, I used to skate competitively when I was little,” she announces, chasing me.

  “Prove it.”

  “Are you really challenging a girl from Colorado when it comes to ice skating?”

  She skates by me, slapping my ass in the process. Moving ahead, she spins backwards and ends with a little flourish of her arms and a bow.

  “Okay,” I say, clearly losing to the ice skating queen when it comes to the rink. “You win.”

  She comes to a skidding stop in front of me, chest-to-chest. Grasping my shirt tightly with her gloved hands, she asks, “What’d I win?”

  “You’re looking at it, baby.”

  She pulls me down by my sweater so my lips meet hers and kisses me. “Well, that’s better than an Olympic medal.”

  We start skating again and I get a good, solid grope of her ass. “I should think so.”

  She bursts out laughing. “No one will ever mistake you for humble. That’s for sure.”

  “Sarcasm is a defense mechanism. Do I make you feel defensive?”

  She moves to skate next to me, slowing her speed to adjust to mine, and says, “You said that to me the first day we met and I thought you were so full of BS.”

  “I was.”

  She laughs, but looks away, her smile fading. “Sometimes I do use sarcasm to hide some uncomfortable feelings. God, now I sound like a feminine product commercial.”

  I give her hand a little squeeze. “Hey, everyone does that. The sarcasm part not the feminine product commercial part.”

  A smile graces her pretty face, bringing my own back to mine.

  As we round a corner, she says, “You’re going to make a great Psychologist one day. You know that?” With a little hip bump, she pushes off, skating ahead.

  I watch her, my girl unknowingly captivating everyone’s attention. My gaze slides down the curves of her body from behind, from her shoulders down lower to the small of her waist and over her hips to her ass. She’s changing. I see the woman she’s becoming. I don’t think she does yet, but I do. She’s incredibly sexy. I already had a problem with guys checking her out, but looking at her now, I can tell I’m gonna have some serious jealousy issues to deal. Mallory is stunning and that much is obvious to everyone, except maybe her.

  We skate until I wipe out and accidentally take her down with me. I’m finished after that and by the way she’s rubbing her ass, she is too.

  We grab a bite to eat near Central Park West and decide to take a stroll since we’re here. She’s never been to New York and enjoys the sightseeing. It’s a whole new city when seen through her eyes, maybe even un-tainting it a bit for me along the way. I hold her hand, pressing her forearm under my arm as we walk. The quiet moments don’t need filling. Instead, the time is used to let our thoughts wander.

  Sometimes I wonder if my need to consume Mallory the way I do is healthy. Sometimes. But really, I just don’t give a fuck because feeling like this is air for me. I come alive just being near her. So to say that I’m happy about her saying yes to marrying me is a gross understatement. It’s more like giving a pardon to a dead man walking. Relief, love, happiness, and every other emotion I thought was beyond the realm of possibility floods my senses.

  The funny part is that I didn’t plan to ask her. Well… not yet anyway. I wasn’t planning on proposing, but when I saw her standing there in my office so unexpectedly, she took my breath away. My only clear thought was that I need to be tied to her and she to me. That thought replayed over and over in my head, so by the time I had her scent filling me and her body pressing against mine, the words ‘Marry me’ rolled off my tongue. It may have surprised her, but I just left it there, floating between us.

  Her ‘No’ didn’t sting. She knew I’d said it unintentionally, so that made it a bullshit proposal and she deserves more than that. But when she came back into the gala, my chest tightened, my entire future wrapped up in her. Out on the dance floor, with that gleam in her eyes, I knew it was right to ask again.

  This time, ‘Okay,’ flowed from her lips without missing a beat, but her confident ‘Yes’ made me the happiest man alive. I still owe her a proper proposal though.

  She sits down on a park bench and I sit next to her. “You’re different here,” she says, looking me over.

  “Good different or bad different?” I ask with a sideways glance, shoulders hunched forward, tucking my hands into my pockets.

  Her eyes focus forward, observing the park surroundings. “Well, beyond the obvious—”

  “The obvious? That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not bad. Nothing I haven’t told you already. You’re leaner. Not skinny, just leaner muscles from the running and you really need some sun.”

  “I miss surfing and climbing the cliffs. I miss Hawaii.” I steal of glimpse of her. She looks cold, but relaxed. “There are a few places that get decent swells this time of year a few hours from here, but I haven’t had the time to go.”

  “You’re also calmer,” she states, admiring the park in front of us.

  Not sure what she means, so I ask, “Is that good or bad?”

  “Both.”

  “Hmm.”

  She slides closer and leans her head on my shoulder. “You smell different here too.”

  We continue with our game of questions. “Is that good or bad?”

  “You always smell good. You just smell different. You use different soap and cologne—”

  “I didn’t really use cologne in Hawaii.”

  “I know. Back on the island, you were all sweat and ocean and sex. Also, I might say this all wrong, and I don’t mean to offend you, but you’ve grown up a lot.” She smiles at me and adds, “And it’s not good or bad, it’s just who you are. I love all these new and old sides of you.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders. I can tell she’s getting cold. “Let’s go. I want to take you shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “Just c’mon.”

  I flag a cab and have him drop us off at the corner of Fifth and 56th Street. Taking her by the hand, I pull her reluctant body toward the door. She’s resisting the forward motion with every step.

  “What is this place?” She asks nervously.

  “Harry Winston.”

  “It’s a jewelry store.” She isn’t asking.

  But I decide to confirm it. “Yes. The best.”

  “Like where the stars get their jewelry for the Oscars and stuff? That Harry Winston?”

  “I don’t know about all that. I just know they’re the best.” I finally manage to ge
t her inside the door, feeling her grip tighten in my hand. Facing her, a panicky tone comes out as I whisper, “I know we haven’t really talked about the proposal much since last night, but I was—”

  “I still want to marry you, Evan. It’s just… I’m no good at this kind of stuff. I don’t know anything about rings or expensive things.”

  “You know what you like and I want you to have a ring you like, or even better, love. It’s forever, remember?”

  “Yes, forever.” She nods. “Okay, show me what you were thinking.” She angles behind me as if forcing me to be the brave one and go first.

  A salesperson approaches, greeting us after thoroughly eyeing us both up and down twice. He leads us to a large, intricately carved wooden desk. We sit and after introductions and a quick discussion of what we’re here for, he asks, “Price range?”

  “Um…” I hadn’t given much thought to it, but I’m willing to drop some cash on quality jewelry, especially on a ring that my girl’s gonna wear for the rest of her life.

  “I don’t want to know,” she says, nudging me from the side.

  The man pushes a pad of paper and pen across the desk and I scribble what I think is acceptable. Guess we’ll see what that gets us.

  As he takes the paper, he smiles. “Very nice.” He glances at Mallory, who’s hiding her face against my shoulder. “Do you have a certain diamond cut in mind already?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I do. “I think she would like a more classic cut.”

  “Please excuse me. I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving us to seek out rings in the case on our own while we wait.

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Mallory says.

  “Listen, baby, I could’ve just surprised you, but I want you to have what you want—”

  “I can’t be wearing a ring without telling our friends and family first.”

  “So let’s tell them.”

  “Are we ready for that? Are we ready for the scrutiny and the lectures about how young we are?”

  “I’m not pushing marriage tomorrow or anything like that, but this means a lot to me and if I have to defend my actions, then I will. So yes, I’m ready for the lectures and the scrutiny. I say bring it on.”

  She sighs then smiles. “I just feel wrong doing all of this behind my parents back, you know. My mom has always said it’s not official until you have a ring and a date. Silly, but I feel we need to be prepared when we drop this bombshell on them.”

  “Look.” I turn my body toward her, our knees pressing against each other. “Spend Christmas with your family. Then—”

  “I won’t see you?”

  “I think you should be with your family and I with mine. I’ll come see you on the 29th. We can spend New Year’s together that way, but it will give me time to pack up my shit and get it moved to Colorado. And this may be our last Christmas being our parents’ children. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” She nods, understanding. “You’re right. I’ll still be in Denver on the 29th.”

  “Good. I’d like to visit you there. I’ll hold the ring until after I ask for your father’s blessing.”

  “What? You’re gonna ask—”

  “It’s the right thing to do and I want to do right by you.”

  She leans forward and kisses me softly, a gentle sigh slipping from her lips. “I have two requests,” she says, smiling.

  “Shoot.”

  “I’ll help narrow down the rings to two or three choices and then I want you to pick your favorite and surprise me.”

  “Done. And the second?”

  “I don’t want a diamond that’s ostentatious. I know how excited you get throwing your money around, but this is me, Evan. I don’t need the biggest ring in Manhattan. I just want something pretty, something that represents us. Keep that in mind, Daddy Warbucks.”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about with this Daddy Warbucks business, but I get what she’s saying. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep it tasteful.”

  “And by tasteful you mean tasteful by my definition not yours, right?”

  Laughing, I say, “Right.”

  We walk out just over an hour later, both of us satisfied. She doesn’t know the final ring choice though it’s a no brainer. I could see in her eyes and the huge smile which ring was her favorite. The sales guy also pulled me aside briefly to look at the diamonds I’d like to add to the ring since we were there. I think she’ll love it and though it’s not as small or nonexistent like she thinks she wants, it’s not outrageous either. I think she’ll be happy.

  When we get back to my place, I ask her, “You have finals in a week. Did you want to study tonight? We can stay in if you prefer?”

  “I don’t want to study. I should study, but I did some on the plane and I’ll do more on the flight back tomorrow. I don’t want to waste any of our time together.”

  “In that case, you wanna go catch a flick?”

  Her nose is scrunched up, amused. “Catch a flick? What is this 1955?”

  “Stop making fun of me.”

  “It’s fun though. I like seeing you get all worked up.”

  “You want to see me worked up? I’ll show you worked up.”

  I start tickling her causing her to fall onto the couch in a giggle fit. “Shit! Please! Stop!”

  When I give her a momentary reprieve from the tickling torture, she says, “Is this one of those moments like in the movies where you tickle me and then suddenly we’re all heated and kissing?”

  “Do you want it to be?” I hover over her, ready to attack, with tickles or kisses, depending on her answer.

  “I’m hoping it is.”

  I kiss her.

  Her hands wind around my shoulders, encouraging me down on top of her. I toe-off my shoes and work hers off before pressing my mouth against hers. The taste of her drawing me in for seconds, thirds, fourths, fifths… fuck, I want all her kisses forever—each and every damn one of them.

  I bolt upright and lift her into my arms as I stand to my full height and race to my room down the hall. I set her down on the bed and our mouths rejoin exactly where they left off. She stands and we both strip our own clothes off not wanting to waste a second on the tedious task.

  Dropping my head down onto the pillow beneath her head, I enter her slowly, too slow, painfully cautious. I’m not sure why I’m so cautious either, but the moment seems to call for it.

  Minutes of agonizingly slow lovemaking leaves us both teetering, verging on the edge of being dragged under a wave of spinning pleasure. I move faster and my world comes zooming into focus as she throws her head back and “Evan” drips from her lips.

  Heat. Soft. Wet. Heat. “Fuck, baby,” I moan.

  A few thrusts later, I give into the tightening, seeing stars, blackness and Mallory all around me. She tremors below me, right there with me, sharing in depths of sexual inebriation.

  As we lay there in the aftermath of our love, all feels right in my world.

  72

  Mallory

  “Evan, you awake?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “We fell asleep,” I whisper, then place a kiss on his chin.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Lifting up, I look at the clock on his nightstand. 1:53 a.m. I roll onto my side and press against his back, spooning him. When I drape my arm over his waist, he takes my hand and holds it to his chest.

  “Mallory, you awake?” I feel something bump into me.

  “Uh uh.”

  “We fell asleep.” He bumps me in the bottom again.

  “Uh uh.”

  I feel him rub small circles against my bottom with his hard-on as I peek at the clock. 4:17 a.m. “Go back to sleep, babe. I’m too tired.”

  He whispers into my ear, “You sure?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” he croons softly into the back of my head.

  “Pass the salt, please,” I ask, sitting in fro
nt of my breakfast platter ready to devour it.

  Evan slides it across the gold-speckled, laminate table top.

  “The Tabasco too,” I ask, smiling at him. “Please.”

  “You got it.” The hot sauce comes sailing my way. “You’re happy,” he states.

  With a mouth full of scrambled eggs, I smile, trying not to be gross. But I am happy and I can’t hide it. I chew quickly and swallow. “Yes. I am. This has been an amazing trip.”

  “Yes, it has been.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Thanks for flying out. I know it’s bad timing with your finals. I didn’t want to pressure you, but I’m glad you came. This,” he says as his hand sways between us, “is different. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, it’s calmer or we’re calmer now. Do you think the visit or the engagement did that?”

  “Probably both,” he says, chuckling. “Everything feels settled, more at peace. It’s kind of weird.”

  I laugh, knowing exactly what he means. “The war is over. It’s gonna take some getting used to, but it feels good.”

  He eats his breakfast and I watch when he’s not looking. His strong jaw, his shorter hair that seems to work just as well as his longer locks did, and his muscles. Watching them alternate and work so fluidly, another thing I remember being so fascinated by the first time I ever rode with him in his Maserati.

  “I’ll see you in three weeks?” he asks.

  “Three weeks,” I repeat, nodding. The thought depresses me.

  “We just did over three months. It’ll be okay. It’s only three weeks.”

  “It’s too long.” I reach across the table, rubbing my fingertips over the top of his hand. “Definitely too long.”

  “After this, never again, baby,” he says, sensing I need the reassurance.

  “I like that sound of that.”

  “I like the sound of forever.”

  “Surferboy, you’re getting soft on me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m never soft on you, around you, near you.”