And knock me between the eyes it does.
I bite my lip as my eyes slide up his torso back to his face. I linger on his full lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss them, to feel them pressed against mine. My breath catches. I slip my eyes from his lips up to his eyes.
Just like last night, he’s looking back at me. His expression is questioning, and there’s definitely a touch of amusement. He cocks an eyebrow, and I throw him a quick smile as I snap my head away, embarrassed.
I’ve been totally busted checking him out. Again.
What am I thinking?
I take a deep, steadying breath. I know it’s this whole psychic prediction thing. It’s got me on high alert, looking at any guy who even vaguely fits the bill as a contender. But even though he’s got the requisite green eyes, Jake isn’t the right guy. I know he’s not. He’s too much of a player to get serious about anyone, let alone me. And anyway, if he were “the one,” he would be wearing a blood-red orange shirt to go with those eyes of his.
No. It’s Rob, he’s the one I’m meant to have “locked eyes” with, I know he is. Sure, I couldn’t make out his eye color last night, but he was cute and in the shirt and interested in me and not my B.F.F.’s brother . . . and, well, it’s not Jake. It’s just not.
And yes, I know I sound a little desperate right about now.
“Over here, guys,” Tim calls out.
Relieved by the distraction, I hook my camera around my neck and fling my beach bag over my shoulder. We follow the happy couple along the paved walkway and down onto a wooden jetty. We reach a white boat with a navy hull, the name “El Arco Barco” emblazoned on its side.
I smile. “Cute name.”
“Yeah, you gotta love it when a name rhymes like that,” Jake says.
Chloe, the frosty bridesmaid, snorts with laughter. “Jake, you’re so clever.”
What? To notice the name rhymes? Someone hand this man a Nobel Prize.
I glance at Jake. He’s smiling at Chloe, lapping up her blushes, enjoying the female attention.
Typical.
I take it as a timely reminder: Jake is not boyfriend material, for me or anyone else.
A man dressed in a pair of shorts and a polo shirt, a captain’s hat sitting atop his head, is waiting on the dock by the ramp. He waves us over. “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to El Arco Barco Tours.” He waves his arms dramatically at the boat as though he’s a magician. “I am Miguel, your tour guide for today. Please, please, come, you may board the boat here.”
We form a processional line and walk up the ramp. Once on the boat, I find a spot to sit between Lacey and Phoebe. I figure I’m safe encased between two girlfriends. But safe from what? From Jake? I let out a puff of air, knowing precisely why I’m hiding—and not liking it one bit.
Rob better have green eyes.
Our life preservers secured and safety briefing delivered by Miguel, the boat begins to rumble. As we cruise slowly out of the marina, Lacey starts telling us about the latest drama at her job. She works in human resources at a large coffee company, and apparently, her boss is a piece of crap. I force myself to listen, trying to follow what this guy did and when. But as Lacey talks, my mind wanders back to the time I knew exactly what it felt like to have Jake’s lips pressed to mine. We were teenagers, just kids really. And it was amazing, no denying it. Like fireworks exploding, full body tingles, forget to breathe amazing. The kind of kiss I wished I didn’t have to come up for air from.
The kind of kiss you don’t forget in a hurry. And I haven’t forgotten it.
What I have done is push it to the back of my mind, where it’s stayed, barely rearing its head for ten years. And it can’t happen again. Not ever. His family is my family. I can’t afford to risk losing them over what could only be a fling with him. No matter how much I may be tempted right now.
Sure, being with Jake would be fun. But these days I want more than fun. I want serious. I’m not going within a fifty-foot radius of those lips of his. Because I just know I’ll end up falling for him if I do.
And that can only end in disaster—disaster for me.
CHAPTER 8
Jake
El Arco is just as it’s billed in Spanish: it’s an arch made of rock. I sit up front with the guys, shooting the breeze, enjoying some uncomplicated man-time for the short journey. No restaurant woes, no Taylor.
The boat comes to a stop at a beach our tour guide calls Playa del Amor. “Lover’s Beach” in English. It’s a beautiful stretch of golden sand flanked by towering rocks at Land’s End. Picture perfect, right?
Well, it would be if Taylor would stop treating me like I’m some sort of enemy. Sure, the way she checked me out back at the marina told me a whole lot. I know she has feelings for me, and I know she’s doing her level best to fight it. She went to the other end of the boat when we boarded back at the marina. Then, when I offered her my hand to help her onto the beach, she huffed something about how she could do it herself in that haughty voice she reserves for when she’s pissed at someone.
Then, she actually picked up her things and moved away from me when I sat down next to her and Lacey on the beach.
I mean, what the hell?
I look over at her. She’s talking to Ash, smiling as though she hasn’t just slunk away from me for no good reason.
Whatever.
I move my towel and the snorkeling gear Miguel handed me on the boat closer to Lacey and settle back on my towel.
“You having fun, Harrison?” In her bikini and shades, she stretches out on her beach towel.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Dude, say it like you mean it. This place is paradise. Golden sand, lapping waves, the sun high in the sky. Oh, and the best part: no work.”
“Yup.” I sit up, grab my T by the scruff of the neck, and pull it over my head. Leaning back on my elbows, the warm sun on my bare skin, I stare out at the gently rolling sea, turquoise in color, cool and inviting.
“I know you’re all manly and stoic and stuff, but even for you, you’re a man of few words today.”
“Yup.” My eyes drift over the water, onto the sand, and across to the jagged rocks, towering high above the beach. This is what I need. To relax in the sun and forget about everything for a while. “I just want to chill.”
“Fine by me.”
I settle back on my towel and concentrate on clearing my mind. I hear laughter, and my gaze drifts lazily to Ash, Tim, and Taylor. They’re standing up together, talking, holding their masks and snorkels in their hands, ready to hit the ocean. I can’t help but run my eyes over Taylor. I mean, she’s gorgeous, and I’m only human, people. In her red bikini, designed to accentuate those curves of hers, she looks unbelievably hot. Looking at her, I hate to admit it, but things begin to stir downstairs.
That’s right. Taylor Jennings wears a bikini, and I can’t move from my towel for fear of showing the world how things have, ummm, grown for her.
Ridiculous, right?
But wait, there’s more. She makes matters a whole heap worse as she bends over to collect her mask and snorkel, her firm, round ass in the air.
God, help me.
“Anyone coming in with us?” Ash calls out to the group.
“Maybe later,” Lacey replies. “And Jake’s crabby.”
“Crabby? What’s bothering you, Harrison?” Tim asks, walking over the golden sand toward me, Ash trailing behind. I notice Taylor stays put.
I grab my T-shirt to cover things up down below then shoot a look at Lacey. “Thanks. That’s all I need. My current mood to be discussed by the group.”
“What gives?” Tim asks, standing over me.
“Nothing. I’m just unwinding, that’s all.” Unwinding and behaving like a teenager with a serious crush who’s not yet in control of his body parts.
“He does work hard. Maybe it’s all the stress?” Ashley says. “You sure you’re okay, Jake?”
“Maybe he’s sick? Have you thought of that?” Lacey says. Sh
e turns to me, a twinkle in her eye, “You sick, Jake?”
I push myself up on my elbows and protect my eyes from the sun with my hand. “Look, guys, I’m fine. Go, do your swimming or snorkeling or whatever you want to do. I’ll be in soon. I just want to chill here for a while.”
“As long as you’re not sick,” Ashley fusses. “Maybe he is hungover, after all. Jake, don’t tell me you are actually hungover.”
Holy hell! Can’t a guy check out the girl he’s been wanting from afar for freaking ever in peace and quiet?
I’ve officially had enough. “I’m fine. Now leave.” I try to soften my tone by adding, “Please.”
“Okay. It’s your vay-cay. If you want to lie there, hungover, that’s your funeral,” Ashley says.
I consider throttling my sister for a split second. I smile instead. “Not hungover. And see you soon.”
Thankfully, Ash and Tim decide to go, and I’m left with Lacey.
“You’re a total stirrer, you know that?” I say to Lacey.
“You still crabby?” she asks.
“Yeah.” We both know I don’t mean it. I lie back on my towel and keep half an eye on Taylor as she jogs down to the waves, snorkel gear in one hand. I wipe some sweat from my forehead.
Seriously, no man should have to suffer this torture.
With Taylor safely covered up in the water, I look away, back down the beach to the craggy rocks. I let out a heavy sigh. I know when I’m beat. And by this woman, I am well and truly beat. Fact is, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her out of my head. Hell, I don’t even want to.
And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.
I pick up a small piece of driftwood laying by my towel and fling it at the ocean, concentrating on the view, the arch, anything to take my mind off of her.
After a while, Big Red’s shadow looms over me, interrupting my thoughts. “You coming in, Harrison?”
I look up at him, standing in his trunks, his mask already on.
With things back to normal in my trunks, and all plans of stewing in my bad mood well and truly gone, I give in. “Sure, why not?”
I push myself up and grab the mask and snorkel from my towel. Maybe the salty water will wash away these feelings? Maybe I’ll look at one of the other bridesmaids in her bikini and realize the feelings I have for Taylor are just normal guy stuff, the natural reaction you have when you see a practically naked hot woman?
Hell, maybe I’m just straight up horny? It’s been a while.
As I reach the lapping shore and spot Taylor, standing with the water reaching up to her waist, her mask on top of her head, laughing with Ashley, it hits me, right in the chest.
I only want one woman. And that woman is Taylor Jennings.
CHAPTER 9
Taylor
I sit back in the creaky wooden chair and let out a contented sigh. “Those were quite possibly the best quesadillas I’ve ever had in my life.”
“The fajitas weren’t bad either. How were yours, Jakey? We ordered the same thing, didn’t we?” Chloe puts her hand on Jake’s arm, looking up at him adoringly.
Jakey? Please. He’s not a five-year-old boy. I narrow my eyes at her. Chloe’s been hitting on Jake ever since we went to the beach this morning. She got frightened in the water when her leg brushed past something “big and scary.” Evidently, she had to cling onto Jake for safety until he carried her back to the shore.
Carried her back to the shore. As in picked her up and walked out of the water, holding her in his arms, and looking like James freaking Bond with his rippling muscles in a pair of trunks while he did it.
I cross my arms and glare in Chloe’s direction.
I bet it was a totally innocuous piece of seaweed. We were only standing in thigh-high water at the time. Any excuse to get her mitts on Jake. She’s been complimenting him on his strength, how manly he was to “rescue” her, and all those pathetic things some women like to say to impress a guy.
It’s enough to make me want to vomit.
Of course, just so we’re straight, I have absolutely no problem with Chloe and her long limbs and pert breasts flirting with Jake. Far from it. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that’s the last thing on my mind. I’m not going there with Jake Harrison in any way, shape, or form—although, it would be super good if my body could get that memo because every time I look at him my belly flip-flops in a way I know it shouldn’t.
What’s going on here is that I’m offended by her behavior on behalf of all womankind. We are the generation of strong, independent women, not simpering masses of battered eyelids and smooshed-together cleavage, cooing about how big and strong some guy is. #KickAssWomen not #FiftiesThrowback.
And as for Chloe and her pawing him, gazing up at him as though he were better than ice cream? Well, Jake is his own person. If he’s the type of man who enjoys such insipid attention, then good for him.
“My lunch was great. The chicken was succulent and the vegetables nicely chargrilled,” Jake says, sounding just like a chef. Which figures.
I watch as he appears to ignore Chloe’s hand on his arm. He turns back to Big Red, who’s been regaling us with a story about a scuba diving experience he had last time he was in Cabo.
“Seriously, guys. That ray was so close, I could almost touch it.” Big Red is acting his story out, reaching his hand toward his now empty plate.
“Which you didn’t do, right? Stingrays are really dangerous,” I say.
“Yeah, that Australian crocodile guy was killed by some, wasn’t he? What was his name?” Jake says.
“I know who you’re talking about. It was Crocodile Dundee!” Chloe announces, a grin on her face.
Several of us laugh. And yes, I may have joined in. This is about insulting womankind, remember. #KickAssWomen
“I think it was Steve Irwin, Chloe,” Tim explains from beside me. “Crocodile Dundee was a guy in a movie from the Eighties.”
“Oh.” Chloe shrinks in her chair.
I may not like her and the way she’s been carrying on with Jake, but in this moment, I feel a little sorry for her. I smile across the table, noticing her hand has dropped from Jake’s arm. “Easy mistake to make. They’re both Australian.”
She shoots me a grateful smile. “I guess.”
The waiter delivers the check, and we all put cash onto the plate to pay for our meals and the tip.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel for a lounge around the pool. Snorkeling and eating really take it out of a girl,” Lacey says as we stand to leave. “Anyone coming with me?”
There’s lots of agreement among the group, but I have an urge to take some more photos before I head back to the hotel. The next time we’re due to be in the town will be tonight when it’s dark, and I want to capture some more of the beauty of this place in the sunlight.
As everyone wanders along the marina, I pull Ash aside. Ordinarily, I don’t need permission from my friends to indulge my photographic urges, but this is Ash’s weekend, and I want her to be happy. “Hey, is it okay if I stay here for a bit? This place is so colorful and interesting. I want to take a few shots.”
And I might be able to get my head straight while I’m at it.
“As long as you’re back in time to get ready for tonight’s party,” she replies.
“No problem.” I say my goodbyes to everyone, pull my camera out of its case, and walk down the paved marina toward the sombrero store I’d spotted earlier in the day. I take a couple more shots, then keep ambling, taking in the sights and sounds of the busy marina.
“Feel like some company?”
I stop and turn to see Jake walking toward me, his stride confident, his leg muscles strong and taut. He looks so darn good in his shorts and T-shirt, and I have to fight the urge to forget all the reasons I shouldn’t want to be with him, to just simply throw caution to the wind.
“Oh, I—” I’m unable to think of a plausible excuse. “Sure. If you want to.”
His face creases into a g
rin. “Oh, I want to.”
His voice has a suggestive husk that sends an unwanted tingle down my spine. “Awesome. Let’s go then.” My voice is unnaturally high like I’ve sucked on some helium. I turn on my heel and continue to walk across the pavers, taking random snaps as I go. I know they’re total crap, and I’ll end up deleting most of them, but I can’t afford to get lost in those eyes of his right now.
We walk together in silence, making our way through the streets of Cabo San Lucas. I’m hyper-aware of every breath he takes, every ripple of muscle as he keeps pace with me. In an effort to distract myself, I remember I’d read about a cute church near the marina. I pull my phone out to map it.
“What are you looking for?”
I stare at my screen, not daring to lift my eyes to his. “Iglesia San Lucas. It’s a church. It’s meant to be around here somewhere.” I look from my screen up at the street sign. “I think we’re close.” I walk up the street and spot a rounded bell tower, jutting out above the rooftops.
“That sure looks a lot like a church to me,” Jake says once we’re standing right in front of it.
I shoot him a quick smile and line up an angle. I want to get the church façade and part of its surrounding plaza. I crouch down so I can make the shot and click a few times. I flip my camera over and look at the screen.
Jake has moved behind me, standing so close I swear I can feel his breath on my neck.
My belly is in a tight knot.
“That’s a great shot,” he comments, pointing at the screen.
“It’s all right.” Abruptly, I switch the camera off and step away from him. “I’m going to see if I can get a better angle.”
“Okaaay.”
I detect a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Sure, I’m not being my usual self around him. I’m being distant and disengaged, hardly the fun and easy-going person I usually am. But keeping Jake at a distance is smart. It’s safe.
The Right Guy Page 6