Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1) Page 6

  It must’ve been the right thing to say. A flood of heat washes over my hand and she explodes in my arms. Her body goes tense as she pushes into me, a low moan leaving her. She’s trying to be quiet. I have a feeling Miss Vanderbeek is noisy in bed, and I can’t wait to find out. I can’t wait to be the one making her scream.

  She bucks against my hand as I hold her tight. When the shuddering stops, I keep holding her. Keeping my lips close to the shell of her ear, I say, “That was fucking beautiful.”

  “I don’t—I can’t believe—” She gasps, out of breath, and nervously looks around.

  “Nobody saw,” I reassure her.

  The pink stain is back on her cheeks, only this time I can’t tell if it’s from her orgasm or the fact that she did it in the middle of the resort. “I hope not.”

  Embarrassment flickers in her eyes and I tip her chin up. “Nobody saw anything. All they would’ve been able to see were those pretty lips open in ecstasy.”

  The look she throws me is thankfully shame free. “You’re such a guy.”

  “I am, and you’ll find out soon enough.” I drift away a couple of feet. “Give me two laps, breaststroke.”

  Her eyes flare and she looks from me to the other end of the pool and back. “Are you serious?”

  “The ocean doesn’t care if you just orgasmed. Show me your breaststroke.” Is she going to fight me on this? I take my future wife’s safety seriously.

  Her chuckles tinkle through the courtyard. “I think having everyone see my breaststroke is worse.”

  Chapter 6

  London

  “This is a nice room.” Looking around Jake’s resort room, I’m pleased to see that he’s an actual guest here. My mind constantly wants to pick apart his story. He’s just too good to be true.

  After he gave me a few tips on my swimming moves, we toweled off and wandered to his room so he could pack up his belongings and check out. It feels like it should be a more momentous step in our two-week relationship, but having him bring his bag to my room is more natural than I can admit.

  “Yours has a breakfast nook,” he says. “That’ll come in handy.”

  “I guess. I didn’t plan on preparing a lot of food while I was here.”

  “We can get room service for those days we don’t want to get out of bed.”

  Flutters soar through my belly. He was able to stroke me to climax so effortlessly in the swimming pool, I was almost scared to find out how good he’ll be in bed. A man with his confidence who reads my body easier than a travel pamphlet could ruin me for other men.

  But then that’s the point, and I have to consider what it will be like to leave him after just under twelve days. The thought of not talking to him at all after being with him for one day fills me with remorse. It might be worse than getting dumped after two years.

  Jake turns toward me, a simple black duffel in his right hand. A white resort towel is slung over one shoulder and his shirt is still off from the swim. Before I leave Cabo, I’m going to lick through the lines separating each well-defined ab. And I’m going to grip those wide shoulders as I ride him. His body is just… a work of art. Those salads and eggs sure paid off.

  He drops his card key on the desk and opens the front door. “Before I checked in I saw a little deli outside the gates. Want to go there for dinner?”

  I want to scream. I came here with sex on the brain and I found a willing partner, but he wants to do everything else before we actually do the deed. Do I take it personally? “Sounds fine.”

  He lets go of the handle and the door swings shut. He closes the distance between us and towers over me. “I know what you want, London. And I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it to you over and over again until we both can’t walk the next day. I will make you scream my name in every different position that a man can think of, and then a few more. But I want to make damn sure you’re ready.”

  His words stall my breathing, but there’s something else. I gaze into the endless darkness of his eyes. A warm brown that can turn cold in an instant, but I haven’t seen that side of him. I just know it’s possible. My intuition says that this situation isn’t normal for him. Vacations. Public beaches. Eating out. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to be ready. Maybe he’s taking his time to prepare himself too. “When we’re both ready.”

  His expression fills with cockiness. “I’m ready, belle. Don’t doubt that.” He opens the door and ushers me out.

  I’m not wrong, not about him or about us. We both want sex, and like me, he probably senses that there could’ve been more between us than a twelve-day fling. And we’re both deciding if this chemistry between us is good enough, worth it enough, to risk heartbreak when we walk away from each other at the end.

  It only takes a couple of minutes to settle him in my room, which for him means dropping his bag on the floor beside mine.

  I snicker. “You’re such a guy.”

  “And like I said, I’m going to prove it over and over again.”

  “Promises, promises. Let’s go eat.” I’m not very hungry, but I’m excited to go out on the town with him, even if that only means a hundred yards outside the resort gates. We’re closer to my room for when we’re done eating.

  Before we leave, I change into a floral print wrap dress and some fancier sandals that aren’t flip-flops. While I’m changing in the bathroom, Jake puts on a steel gray polo shirt and khaki board shorts. He’s wearing the same sandals he wore all morning.

  “That’s what I love most about vacation places like this. The dress code is so simple.”

  He lifts a dark brow. “Are you used to the black-tie treatment?”

  “No. It’s fun once in a while. But I like when my choices are either a bathing suit or a quick wrap dress or maybe even a pair of shorts. I don’t have to wonder if I’m going to be overdressed or underdressed because this whole area is just for people who want to relax.”

  We stroll across the resort property. Now that it’s closer to dinnertime, more people are milling around. I tip my face back to enjoy the warmth of the sun and his fingers entwine with mine. Hand in hand, we navigate the bustling walk. More people crowd the sidewalks than in the resort, coming and going from work and running errands. The street running in front of the resort is full of traffic. The heat rises a few degrees without the plethora of the resort’s palm trees.

  Jake walks like he owns the sidewalk and all the property around it. People flow naturally around him. I’m shorter and used to ducking and weaving. This is like strolling with royalty.

  “Is that the place?” A small stand on the corner is dwarfed by the open-air seating surrounding it. A couple people are behind the stand serving wraps and sandwiches in steaming baskets. My stomach growls. I didn’t think I’d be hungry already, but the laps in the pool must’ve burned some energy.

  He’s a tenacious instructor. I have a feeling I’m going to leave at the end of the week ready to join a swim team. I don’t mind. His instructions were diligent, and to the point. Not to mention how long it had been since I was pushed by anyone.

  Dad was always encouraging, but I got away with murder around him. My private school teachers didn’t want to upset my family’s pocketbook, so they never encouraged me to excel. And Diana. Tough love isn’t in her vocabulary. I count her as my best friend, and even my close group of friends accept her as one of them. They don’t know about her past, but I doubt it would change anything.

  Jake doesn’t know me, but he cares enough to teach me right.

  Why couldn’t I have met him earlier?

  “This is it.” He orders a shrimp taco with fresh guacamole.

  “I’ll have the same.”

  We pick a table near the counter. He sprawls in his chair and looks around. I put my elbows on the table and do the same.

  “I’m not being exciting enough for a first date, am I?” he asks.

  I think of how at ease I feel now versus my other first dates. “I’m not complaining. It’s nice. Relaxi
ng.”

  His grin is wry. “Are first dates supposed to be relaxing?”

  “They’re awful, aren’t they?”

  An unreadable expression flits over his face but he laughs. “Right. What was your worst one?”

  Why did I open this door? The last thing I want to do is reveal anything about my past dating woes. “It’s not the first dates that were bad. It’s the rest.” I grimace. What the hell. It’s not like I’m going to see Jake after this trip. He’s getting laid and won’t care. “It’s actually the guys who are probably telling their worst date stories about me.”

  He stays relaxed, but interest is written all over his face. “Now, I gotta hear this.”

  “I’m only telling you because we don’t know each other’s last names or have any sort of contact information. But it’s still humiliating.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, so if a guy I was interested in liked basketball, I’d learn as much about basketball as I could. I’d become his favorite team’s number one fan.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh, it gets worse.”

  Amusement dances over his lips. “Keep going.”

  “I’d cook their favorite foods. Buy them their favorite drinks. Wear their favorite colors.” Mortification sends a shudder across my shoulders. “I wasn’t psychotic, but guys in their early twenties don’t like the cling.”

  “They obviously never had anyone care so much about them.” His tone is laced with condemnation—toward my exes. Not me.

  “You don’t think you would’ve been scared off?”

  “It would take a lot to scare me away from you.”

  I warm at his words. No one made me feel like my behavior was remotely okay. My friends Penni and Holland warn me before a date to hold myself back. Play it cool, London. Don’t go stalker chic. Diana encourages me to be myself, which is code for don’t go crazy.

  Only I didn’t know myself when it comes to men. “So, in an ironic twist, the guy I was seeing for two years got me hooked on this organic watermelon papaya juice sold at a specialty market in my neighborhood. I’ve bumped into him twice in the last year buying that damn juice and I think he thinks I’m stalking him.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Yeah. But the juice is really good and they don’t deliver so it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” But I don’t know how Jonathon will react if I run into him again. “Anyway, most of them are intimidated by my job.”

  His gaze sharpens. “Why?”

  I’m afraid to tell him. We’re anonymous and I like that part of my life being an enigma. Then I don’t have to try so hard to please Jake and assuage his hurt pride. Although that doesn’t seem to be a likelihood with him. Is my intuition spot on when it comes to Jake, or is my wishful thinking going full-force?

  I stick with vague. “I make decent money in my work. I have a few people under me.”

  His eyes light with understanding. “Didn’t the way of thinking that girlfriends and wives shouldn’t make as much as their partner go out with the nineties?”

  “Not completely, apparently.”

  Our food arrives, and I think back on our conversation. No matter what topic I brought up, he was chill. Accepting.

  “I’m glad I met you, Jake fake last name Dixon.”

  There’s that unidentifiable expression. “Likewise, London Peaks.”

  Jacobi

  Watching how London interacts with the locals and fellow tourists is enchanting. Her public persona is bubbly and she owns it. Ordinarily, I would scorn that kind of behavior in business, but she wields it ruthlessly. In her line of work, it may be her greatest asset.

  She wipes her mouth and gathers all of our food wrappers onto the tray. “I want to walk around before it gets dark.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Oh, I love that movie.”

  Unlike the Disney princesses, I know the reference. It was my mom’s favorite movie, but I pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “What movie?”

  Her eyes widen like I told her I never heard of Santa Claus. “Have you never watched The Princess Bride?”

  “I think I’ve heard of it.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Oh, we’re going to change that. I’ll figure out how to stream it on my phone while I’m here. We need to rectify this.”

  If she uses that definitive tone in the boardroom, I can see how she leads her company. The perfect mix of personable and professional, with the right amount of command. And it came naturally. But then with a dad who was inclined to steal an empire out from under a low-class family, she could very likely be a shark. The possibility is getting harder to remember the longer I’m around her.

  “Maybe I should’ve called you Buttercup instead of belle.”

  She laughs, then stops. “Wait. You’re joking.”

  “About this, yes. The princess thing I was clueless about, but I’ve seen Princess Bride.” I don’t care to delve into how well I know it or why.

  “Buttercup’s more accurate. Marrying the prince because she feels helpless and lonely.”

  The last part catches my attention. “Is that part of why you’re getting married? You’re lonely?”

  “No. God, no.” She shrugs it off, but her gaze darts away. “It’s not like I’m an old maid and desperate for a man.”

  “But you do want to be happily married?”

  “Of course. I mean, someday. It was my hope that someday…” Her smile is small and shy. “You heard my dating history. It wasn’t looking so good for my twenties, but I wasn’t going to jump in and marry just anyone.”

  “So if watermelon papaya juice man proposed, would you have said yes?”

  She mulls it over. “Yes. At the time. And I probably would’ve destroyed myself to make it work.”

  “That doesn’t sound any better than the arranged marriage.”

  “No. But it is.” The note of finality is clear. Drop the subject.

  “How about that walk?”

  We wander through the streets. She excitedly chatters about everything she sees.

  “Look at the architecture of that bank. I wouldn’t have been able to tell it was a bank if it wasn’t for the armored car out front.”

  We cross a gap between two buildings when she looks over. “Are those party lights?”

  She tugs me toward them. The clearing we approach is lined with strung up lanterns and a small band is setting up in the corner. People are beginning to gather in the corners and at the tables that circle what looks like a dance floor in front of the band.

  London approaches a young woman with long black hair and a dress that flows to the ground. “Is the band open to the public?”

  “Si. Every Sunday we have live music. Join us.”

  The smile that lights up London’s face is stunning and a sinking sensation takes over. I taught myself a lot of things. Computers. Life skills, like fixing a leaky sink. And even how to charm a woman. But not once did I YouTube a dance lesson.

  I’m not about to confess that I can’t dance.

  “Are you up for it?” she asks.

  “Let’s do it.” The sooner this is over with, the better.

  She glides into the crowd, not knowing a single person. She doesn’t speak their language, but between her enthusiasm and the majority who also speak English, she’s laughing and chatting in minutes.

  I play the role of arm candy. As the band warms up and strums their guitars, she peppers everyone with questions about the music, how their day was, and anything else that pops into her mind. She’s enchanting, charming, and it makes me want to puff out my chest. I’m with her.

  But I’m not and that’s not what this trip is about.

  Soft reggae fills the air. London drags me out to the dance floor. “This is so fun.”

  She twirls and spins, moving her body perfectly to the beat. Taking my cues from the three other guys dancing, I mimic their moves and try not to hate every second. It’s not the music, but the combination of concentrating on dancing, the bea
t, and keeping up with her builds pressure in my skull.

  For the first time, I have doubts about marrying her. She’s an extrovert. What will it be like to be husband and wife? I can suck up a couple of weeks of minimal socializing, but that’s not her style. She’s house parties and get-togethers and vacations to big, loud cities.

  I needn’t worry. It’s not like she’ll want anything to do with me after I take over her company.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Who the fuck is trying to call? I don’t care. It’s a life preserver and I take it before a full migraine sets in.

  I dig out my phone and hold it up. “I have to take this.”

  She nods and dances away, not caring if she has a partner or not.

  Making my way to the outer edges of the space, I look at the screen. My tenuous business associate, but good friend, Kase Rossi.

  Answering, I barely get the word hello out before he says, “Shit, Dix. You either have Netflix blasting or you’re out getting laid.”

  “Yes.” I didn’t tell either Kase or our other friend Cannon Lannister that I was flying to Mexico for a couple of weeks. I was too intent on getting down here in time. They both know about London and the story of her father.

  “Nice. Listen, there’s some suspicious taps on our site. It seems like more than the usual foreign jobs testing the waters. Want me to stop by tomorrow and we’ll track it?”

  My tech skills surpass Kase’s, but he’s no slouch. If he was worried enough to call me, there’s an issue. “I’m not in Malibu.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re out—”

  “I’m in Cabo.”

  “What? The hermit crab leaves his shell? Proud of you, dude. I can actually fly out and we’ll take care of this. I’ll be your wingman.”

  “Three things, Kase. I don’t need a wingman. Your girl will never let you leave the country without her. And I’m here on business.”

  “What the fuck do we have for business in Cabo, bro?”

  “London Vanderbeek.” He goes quiet and I sigh. Looking at the dance floor, I spot London twirling in the midst of several young people. I give Kase a quick rundown of my real reason for coming here.