by Maisey Yates
His hands went straight to a hidden zipper of the skirt. It was as if the man had studied the pattern of her dress all night. With a few adept moves, he had it rising over her head. Then he stood back, his gaze sweeping over her body. She was all but naked except for a pair of fine silk panties. The ocean breeze on her hot skin raised goose bumps. “So bloody beautiful,” he murmured before scooping her up and laying her on the banquette.
Somehow, in the tight space, they managed to remain intertwined, kissing, touching, exploring. Nina had never craved anyone’s touch as much as his. When she could not take a second longer, Nina took his face in her hands. Between harsh intakes of breaths, she said, “Let’s just…do this fast…and…take our time later…upstairs.”
He raised himself on an elbow and looked down at her, his eyes teasing. “A woman with a plan…”
“I plan, you execute… Sound good?”
“Not really.” He plucked the foil packet from her hand and sat up with his back against the cement wall. He got busy, ripping a corner of the packet and extracting the condom. “We do this together or not at all.”
“I love a man with principles,” Nina said, teasing, and inched closer to loosen his hair tie. She ran her fingers playfully through his thick waves. A lock of hair tumbled over his forehead. She leaned in and took his earlobe between her teeth and tugged.
He drew her onto his lap. “Come to me, baby.”
She loved how solid he felt in her arms, loved the steady drumming of his heart. Her own pulse was erratic, her heart skipping wildly. The kiss she gave him was just as wild. He tilted her backward to some degree and fit himself inside her. Nina went rigid at first. Then warmth spread through her, and she relaxed in his arms. She dug her fingers in his hair, breathed him in, tasted him and moved with him. And then they took off, driving faster, harder, until they reached a climax that left her shattered. Nina collapsed against him, certain that he would collect her scattered pieces and keep her safe.
Journal Entry
The sense of urgency is gone when we finally stumble into the suite and strip away our fussy dinner clothes once and for all. I fall into bed; the silky sheets feel delicious. Julian locks the door and joins me, kneeling at the foot of the bed. He takes hold of my hips and drags me to him. Aching with anticipation, I grab a pillow, anything to anchor me. “Hold on to me,” he says in a low voice that makes me shudder. I reach for him and dig my fingers into his shoulders. When our eyes meet, the mix of turmoil and tenderness in his scares me. I know this thing with Julian is going to undo me. It may well break me. I know it and want it anyway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Julian assisted Nina down the stone steps leading to the sidewalk and for a while they stood still, fingers linked, in the flow of pedestrian traffic. He grinned down at her. He could not stop grinning. All day it was as if he were walking on clouds.
“Just us?” she said. “No driver or entourage?”
“Just us.”
“Are you sure you can get away with this?”
“I can get away with a whole lot. Haven’t you noticed?”
The bell tolled the hour, and all the memories of the night before came tumbling back, every wicked thing they’d done in the tower. By the look on Nina’s face, he was sure her thoughts mirrored his.
“Let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we’re done with dinner, the sooner we can revisit the tower. But if you need an entourage, I can get Pete to drive us.”
“No, thanks,” she said. “To be honest, I find Pete strange. Don’t you?”
“He’s all right. Only trying to get a day’s work in.”
Julian slipped an arm around her waist and got them moving in the direction of the restaurant.
“No…” She leaned into him. “My instincts aren’t wrong. You should be careful around him.”
He didn’t question her instincts, but everyone in his orbit was bound to act strange at some point. It was only one of the many downsides of fame. And one complaint to management could get the man fired.
“I should be careful around you,” he said. “You look dangerously good tonight.”
If he couldn’t address her concerns, the best he could do was lighten the mood. His strategy worked. She broke away. The straps of her short cotton sundress fell off her shoulders. “Then maybe you should keep your distance.”
That was the one thing Julian did not have the strength to do. He chased after her and pinned her to him. “I’ll keep my eye on Pete,” he said. “I promise.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Now feed me.”
The hotel concierge had recommended Ocra, a trendy Jamaican restaurant on Tenth Street well within walking distance from Sand Castle. There was no stuffy maître d’ to contend with, only a friendly hostess who tripped on her words when Julian and Nina entered. The manager, a jovial man named Cyril, took over her duties. Grinning from ear to ear, he led them to a private table in the back of the restaurant. They were stopped along the way by patrons leaping out of their chairs, requesting selfies or just a hug. Julian obliged them, doling out hugs and posing for photos without once letting go of Nina’s hand.
“Sorry about that,” Cyril said when they finally reached their table. “You’re Jamaica’s favorite son.”
Julian stood aside so Nina could slide into the booth. “I think Usain Bolt has that honor.”
“He’s never eaten here, and tonight you honor us.” He handed Nina a menu with a little bow. “Welcome to Ocra, miss.”
She smiled, looking amused at all the fuss. “Thank you.”
Cyril left them to study the menu. Julian slid to her side of the booth.
The white flared skirt barely reached her midthigh. He reached down and nudged it higher.
“Stop it,” she said, her eyes on the menu. “You’ll have us thrown out for indecency.”
“Impossible.” Julian lowered his head and tugged at her ear with his teeth. “I’m the island’s favorite son.”
“Second only to Usain Bolt.”
“I’ll take it,” Julian said. “What looks good?”
“Everything! I’d like to try this.”
She pointed to a cocktail on the beverage menu: the Smoke Show. It was a mix of mescal, agave and smoked bell pepper.
“Really? I would have pegged you for a cranberry vodka girl.”
“I told you, caution is out the window.”
“I love the sound of that.”
They kissed. It started light and deepened quickly. He pulled away, frustrated and out of breath. They were one click away from starring in another viral video. She reached for her water glass and took a gulp. He did the same.
Julian had missed her, having spent the day at Frank’s house, which was now, for all intents and purposes, ground zero. Frank’s contacts in the business surpassed Julian’s. By the end of the day, they were in talks with an independent production company, fleshing out a distribution deal. They’d discussed casting at length, which brought him to a pressing topic he wanted to discuss with Nina. He would have brought it up the minute he’d gotten back to Sand Castle, only he’d found Nina stretched out on the floor in cutoff denim shorts and a halter top. The printed manuscript was strewn out on the antique rug with notes in the margin.
“Don’t touch anything,” she said. “I gave it a closer read. I need to get into the characters’ heads.”
He walked over to her, sidestepping the pages like so many land mines. She rolled onto her back, a satisfied look on her face.
“I’d like to get in those shorts,” he said, kneeling low to rub her flat belly.
“Not until you feed me,” she said. “I’ve been snacking on granola bars all day.”
“Want to get out of here?”
“Sure,” she said. “But I’ve run out of fancy dresses. I only packed two, the one I drowned in and the one you made a mess of las
t night.”
There was a blotch of blue ink on her cheek. He rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb. “No fancy dress. No problem.”
By the time her cocktail was served, Julian had still not mustered the courage to share his news. He didn’t want anything to sour their evening.
“I’d like to try the jerk chicken, the jerk corn and maybe a side of peas and rice,” she said. “How about you?”
“The oxtail,” he said without consulting the menu. No self-respecting Jamaican joint would lack an oxtail dish.
“But you’re vegetarian!” she protested.
“Mostly vegetarian,” he said. “After the night I had, I could eat anything.”
She shut the menu and sent it sliding across the wood-plank table. “Really? My night was pretty tame.”
She was joking, he knew it, but his pride took a blow. “You’re younger than me by a few years, with way more stamina.”
“No,” she said with a crooked smile. “Your stamina is second only to Usain Bolt.”
“What do you know about Bolt’s stamina?”
“Only what I’ve seen on TV.”
The manager returned to take their orders and to present them with an assortment of appetizers—a sample of the house’s likkle plates. But as soon as he was gone, Nina pressed a kiss on Julian’s cheek and whispered, “You’re second to no one.” Julian could not be prouder if he won a gold medal.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
“Yes?” she said, eyeing the platter of plantain bites, ackee rolls and salt-fish fritters. He thought he’d lost her, but after she bit into a fritter, moaned, rolled her eyes and broke into a happy dance, she reminded him that he had something to tell her.
“We had a discussion about casting today, Frank and I.”
“You’re still playing Luke, right?”
“Definitely.”
The role in question was the lead: heiress Amanda King. Years ago, he’d offered it to Bettina. When he mentioned it to Frank, he took to the idea and wouldn’t let it go. This left Julian the unenviable task of pushing back without coming off as a colossal jerk. “She won’t work with me.”
“Is it that bad between you two?”
It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t good. “Picture working with any one of your ex-wives?”
Frank had ignored his question and enlisted an impartial arbitrator. He got Karen Butler of B Plus Casting on the phone.
Karen was known in the industry for an open approach to casting actors in parts. As an African American actor whose prospects had dried up soon after she hit forty, Karen had started her agency with an aim to keeping underrepresented actors employed. Julian felt sure she wouldn’t advocate for Bettina, but she did.
“I haven’t read the script, so I can’t say that she’s right for the part you have in mind,” Karen said. “But working together on a meaningful project would go a long way to shore up goodwill. You need that right now.”
“She’s not interested in helping me,” Julian said.
Karen had a different take. “She’d be helping herself. I know on good authority that she doesn’t have many offers in the pipeline. The controversy damaged both of you—no offense.”
“None taken.”
Julian had agreed to offer her the part. A phone call wasn’t going to do it. Tomorrow he was flying out to Georgia, where Bettina was filming her television series, to offer her the part in person. First, he wanted to know how Nina felt about it.
“Frank thinks Bettina Ford would be right for the part of Amanda.”
“Ah.” She fell back against the cushion of the leather banquette. “What about you? What do you think?”
“I think she’d do a good job,” Julian said. “I’ve always thought so. We’ve discussed it in the past. Even though I don’t think she’ll want the job, I should at least run it by her.”
“What if she says yes?”
Her interest in the food had waned, which was unfortunate, because he knew she was hungry. He should have waited to tell her. Now he had no choice but to go all in. “You know about Betty and me, right? How things ended?”
It might have been his imagination, but Nina flinched when he mentioned Bettina by her nickname.
“I know what I read. I’d rather hear it from you.”
As with everything, it started with a social media post. In this case, it was a tweet. He pulled it up and handed Nina the phone. She read it, grimaced and returned his phone.
Julian had it memorized. When your so-called action-hero boyfriend is too limp to stand up for you, it’s time to move on. #Bye.
“Betty deleted it a half hour later, but the harm was done. Our breakup was announced on the news. Rather than overwork our publicists, we just went for it. We were done.”
“Did you stand up for her?” she asked.
“I had it out with the director. I even threatened to bail on promotion.” His answer seemed to ease Nina’s concerns, but Julian didn’t want to leave her with any misconceptions. “I stood up for her because she was my girlfriend, not because I cared about the big-picture implications of cutting her role out of the film. That came later.”
“I get that you’re not the most enlightened of your species, Julian. But you’re not an ogre, either. You can stop beating yourself up already.”
Julian wanted to believe her, but somehow she only saw the good in him. Her judgment had to be skewed.
“It’s time you distinguish yourself from the balloon animal they’ve made you into.”
She wasn’t wrong. At some level, he believed every word printed about him. He let it define him, and to some degree he let it hold him back. It had almost stopped him from pursuing Nina, whom he considered a serious artist. It was unlikely one prickly tweet would damage her career.
“Today I focused on your character,” Nina said, switching topics. “His lines have to be memorable.”
“Going forward, should I sleep with all my screenwriters?” he wondered aloud. “No one’s given a damn until this point.”
“You could try,” she said, her tone serious. “Why not?”
“I was being cheeky. You know that, right?”
“I wasn’t.”
He picked up a fritter and bit into it. He loved that she didn’t cringe at his cringe-worthy jokes.
“If you want me to work extra hard, you’ll have to motivate me,” she said. “We have four nights left.”
He nearly choked on the fritter. “Only four?”
She gave him a funny look. “Vacation is over.”
“I thought you’d stay. Since you’re working with us and everything.”
“I can write from anywhere,” she said with a shrug. “Might as well do it from my desk at home.”
The strap of her dress finally fell over her narrow shoulder, but he was too distracted to care. Her dismissive tone unnerved him. “If that’s true, you can stay and write here.”
“No.” She was firm. “I need my laptop and its stand, my wrist brace, special noise-canceling headphones, leggings and cozy slippers.”
The waiter cleared the table and served their main dishes while Julian fumed. He was not going to let a pair of cozy slippers get between him and Nina. “Couldn’t we have all of that shipped from Amazon?”
“No!” she objected. “I need my things. And I need clothes. These are my vacation clothes. There’s not much to them.”
“I like your vacation clothes,” he said, tugging at the strap of her sundress.
She slapped his hand away. “We have to eat our food before it gets cold or Cyril will be insulted.”
“I can’t have that.”
Julian picked up his utensils and attacked his oxtail without tasting it. He had no explanation for it, but the thought of her leaving filled him with dread. She probably had a full life to
return to. He was asking for too much. Come to think of it, he hadn’t asked for anything at all. Maybe he should try.
Julian laid down his fork and knife. “Stay with me. Don’t you want to?”
She swallowed hard, although she hadn’t been eating for a while. “It’s not that simple.”
“I can make it simple.”
Having her stuff shipped was no big deal. If she needed to fly to New York and take care of things, he could arrange that, too. Needless to say, she didn’t have to worry about running a tab at Sand Castle. He’d take care of it. There were no logistical problems that money couldn’t solve. He didn’t want to put it so bluntly, but that was the truth.
Her grip tightened on her fork. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
They finished their meal in near silence and walked back to the hotel. The usual group of tourists had gathered outside the hotel gates, cell phones in hand. Julian signaled one of the guards to assist them, but he took the lead, shielding Nina. She hooked a finger through a loop of his jeans and did not let go, following him to the lift. When the doors slid shut, she swiveled around and buried his face in his chest. Julian held her close. He finally tasted relief.
She slipped her arms around his waist. “Ask me again tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sorry. I don’t think I can relive the trauma.”
“Just do it, please.”
“Why?” He smoothed her hair. “Do you need time to overthink it?”
“Something like that.”
* * *
Julian did not her ask again. Instead, the next morning, he inquired about something less incendiary.
“The left one is larger than the right?”
She curled up to him. “Yup!”
“I’m left-handed, so that’s perfect.” To prove his point, he cupped her left breast with his left hand. It fit perfectly.
“You’re left-handed?” she asked.
“I am. Is that a deal breaker?”
“Only for my right breast.”
