She’s fresh-faced and radiant and doesn’t need a drop of what should’ve been my inherited treasure that is now peddled through the homes of millions of people across America.
My phone dings. I answer with voice command. “Speak.”
Mr. Turlowitz answers through his headset to keep his words concealed from the driver. No one knows my business if I don’t want them to. No one. I make sure of it. I didn’t earn my millions this fast without being a master of technology.
“Better than I expected, sir. The only tears were from Ms. Vanderbeek. The daughter, your fiancée, was a rock. An angry rock, but she took the information better than I expected.”
“Because she has no idea how fast I will take over the business once my name is on that company.” Mr. Turlowitz has all the papers written up. All that’s needed is the finalization of our vows. My gaze switches back to her picture. When did I make it the background on my screen?
Many would call my concentration on London an obsession. They wouldn’t be wrong, but they would be incorrect as to why. What she has is mine. And I will get it back.
“Sir, I feel I must warn you.” Mr. Turlowitz’s voice is grave, holding a hint of concern, “She commented on sowing her wild oats and having a couple of weeks to do so. Something about an STD.”
Any oats she has are mine. “I’ll take care of it. And Mr. Turlowitz, why’d it take so long to report in?”
Silence descends on the other end. “I apologize, sir. I had three missed calls from my daughter, and I wanted to ensure she was well before I called.”
He takes care of his family. He also isn’t an addict or a gambler and doesn’t let his wife deal with the consequences of borrowing money from the wrong people. But vigilance is necessary in my life. “All is well?”
“Yes, sir.”
My fingers fly over the keyboard by the time the call is disconnected. London Vanderbeek has no idea who she is dealing with. I have better things to do with my time. I have a business to run and a lucrative consulting gig, but it seems that whenever the subject of London comes up, I drop it all.
My name is becoming synonymous with power and with money, but only because I planned it that way. I want the name Jacobi Dixon to affect the privileged life of a certain princess. I want her to know how dark life turns when someone she should’ve been able to trust takes it all away.
I’ll let her make her plans for the next two weeks. Getting up, I toss my shirt on the back of the chair. I already have my board shorts on. A little surfing, then I’ll see what London Vanderbeek is up to.
Chapter 2
London
Hello, Cabo San Lucas.
I am here and ready to fuck.
At the cabana bar, I down my second drink way too fast. My pre-revenge plan of being perfectly ruined by the time I get married sounded better before I was in a string bikini with sand between my toes and men looking at me like they’d be happy to help.
“Another, miss?” The bartender behind the counter is already pouring it. I gather not many customers said no.
“Keep ‘em coming.” Liquid courage is going to be a necessity.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this. It makes me hate The Dick Dixon even more. If he expects me to marry him, then I’m going to debase myself for the next thirteen days.
I take another sip of my slushy drink. This isn’t going to be enough. Ordering a fourth one—just to be prepared—I pinch the straw between my teeth and turn to look at the other beachgoers. Crowds of people roam the beach. Maybe I should’ve gone to my preferred luxury resort, but I have to cast a wide net. I’ve never been one to pick up a ton of men. Interest was never a problem, but discretion is. People with cameras hang out at luxury resorts. I need the privacy—and unattached men.
A man with wet, sandy hair swaggers up to the bar, throwing me a how you doing look. Nerves flutter in my belly, threatening to send the fruity drink back up to spray across my feet. I give him a nervous smile. He’d be a good choice. Amber eyes that are a little lighter than his skin meet mine and he smiles.
Is this it?
Am I ready?
It doesn’t matter. I’m committed.
He orders a rum and Coke and leans on the bar, facing me while waiting for his drink. “What are you having?”
“A sunrise surprise. It’s good.” I want to groan. Get it together. This is my chance. Is this the best I can do? I have to give myself a little leeway. Going out and sleeping with random men isn’t my forte, and I can’t expect to become an expert overnight.
His eyes are hooded as his gaze roams down my body. “It looks good.”
Suddenly, this fire engine red bikini seems like a bad idea. Wearing chaste swimsuits isn’t my style either, but the string bikini is out of my comfort zone. Natural Glow’s strongest sunscreen is slathered responsibly over every inch of bare flesh, and I have on my cushy flip-flops. Because I didn’t want to ruin my feet walking here. What kind of woman is out to find an easy lay and worries about the health of her arches?
“It is.” I take another drink like it’ll help me develop conversation skills by the time I hit the bottom.
Nope, it doesn’t work. I start on the third sunrise surprise.
A short, fat glass with dark liquid slides in front of him. He grips the base, keeping his gaze on me. I’m at a loss about what to do next when a wall of warmth settles on the stool behind me.
The warm wall doesn’t move, but his presence fills the entire cabana. I want to turn and see what kind of person makes a silent entrance like that, but I keep my attention on the guy I might have a chance with.
Once I do it with one random man, it’ll get easier. Right?
My eyes unfocus for a second and then my vision is once again sharp. It’s like at the eye doctor’s office when they move the lens and ask which was better. Lens one or lens two? I blink and press my fingers to my temples. Maybe I should slow down.
A new sunrise surprise appears in front of me just like I ordered. I’m still on the third one and oh look, it’s already half gone. Do I really need this much alcohol to sleep with someone?
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
No, no, no. In less than two weeks, I’m going to be married to a petty, vindictive man. Since I’m not the type to be unfaithful and I don’t plan to have sex with my husband, I need to do my living now.
“What’s your name?” the guy asks, leaning closer like he’s looking down the top I wasn’t wearing.
“London.” I stick my hand out and almost stab him in the gut with my fingers. When did he get so close?
He’s about to reply, when I feel the wall of warmth behind me shift. I swear the temperature goes up ten degrees. “London is with me.”
I jerk my head around, then flatten my hand on the top of the bar as the room spins for two seconds before righting itself. When my eyes focus, I think I’m hallucinating. Head to toe tanned skin drapes over hard muscle and is only covered by a pair of ocean blue board shorts. He has on simple black flip-flops, and his dark brown hair is slicked back. Tiny bits of sand dot his brow. Those eyes. So dark, looking in them is like wrapping up in the fluffiest, warmest comforter in a mountain cabin.
If I think the first guy who showed up is good-looking, I have to invent a new word for this man. This man who claims I’m with him.
Look at that. I’m not even trying and I have two men vying for my attention. One worry out of the way. Why haven’t I done this before? Instead, I fixated on a guy and changed my life to please him until he decided that made me boring and clingy.
Look at me now, Jonathon. Two guys. If I’m really committed to my plan, I would invite them both back to my room. But the idea makes me want to vomit worse than sleeping with a complete stranger.
Why can’t I be more like my friends? Random flings were like a rite of passage for them. Try it at least once, London. Live a little. But I enjoyed the getting-to-know-you phase much more than they did. And right now, I have to get to know th
is new guy who’s trying to scare the first one off.
“Do I know you?”
“You will.” His lips quirk and God, what lips they are. They have an arrogant tilt that feels like it isn’t a false promise. He’s everything on a checkoff list I didn’t know I had for a potential mate. Strong. Virile. With a lot of stamina.
My eyes narrow. Who is he? I hate to admit that I’m intrigued. It might be the sunrise surprises behind the curiosity.
I glance at the first man, my look almost apologetic. His eyes twinkle and he dips his head. “G’day.”
The man saunters away. My chance is ruined. Unless… if I’m going to ruin myself the way I said I was, then maybe I’ll have another chance with him. I’m here for almost two weeks. Is he local, or is he leaving soon?
Back to the new arrival. Since jumping into men’s arms and telling them to take me now isn’t how I roll, I take a leisurely sip of my drink. I study him, and he lets me. His muscles are more impressive than I initially thought. He’s half-sitting on the stool with one foot kicked up on the footrest and the other hanging back like he could leave at any moment but he’s only staying with my permission.
Finally, I’m ready to speak. Instead of being suave—why start now?—I ask, “Why do you think I’d want to know you?”
When his gaze hits me, I almost plop onto my stool but I’m afraid I’ll fall. Intense. It would be easy to write off the deep brown of his eyes as being too dark to see anything, but instead, it’s like they hold the mysteries of the world. This man has secrets.
“I saw you arrive,” he says casually as if he didn’t cock-block me. “I was debating when it would be a good time to make my move, then Romeo swooped in. Now or never.”
“Romeo? Do you know him?”
The corner of the man’s mouth tips up. “No.”
“No you don’t know his name, or no you don’t know him?”
“Yes.”
I snort as I take another sip. “That’s really helpful.”
Those dark eyes watch my throat work as I swallow. I take a deeper drink, slurping the bottom. One look from him packs more power than three of these drinks.
“Since you’re sucking those down like you’ve been wandering the desert for a week, I know that they’re either really good or something’s bothering you.”
“Yes.” Two can play at that game.
“Jake.” He says the one word and waits, like he doesn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from me.
“Well you heard my name, so…”
“So we can get to the really interesting portion of the conversation.”
I swallow hard, releasing the empty glass on the countertop. Like a drowning woman searching for a life raft, my hand closes around the fourth sunrise surprise. This should be the last one. It has to be the last one. My vision goes wonky again, and this time it takes more than a second to come back online.
“I found the conversation kind of interesting up to this point.” I almost say I find him interesting, but I’m not quite drunk enough yet. Or did I say that? I can’t recall what I just said.
“I thought we could skip the introductions, or just streamline them. I work in IT, I’m from a big generic city in the US, and I’m here on vacation. Your turn.”
He cut to the chase. Getting all the small chitchat out of the way. My mind works over what he assumes would be the interesting part of the conversation.
“London, also from a generic big city in the US. I’m getting married to someone I don’t like and I came here to ruin myself first.” Oh, the alcohol knocked down some verbal filters. How much can I say without violating the NDA?
The muscles on each side of his jaw flex. Will my introduction be a deal breaker? Apparently, I cleared this guy and put him on my acceptable one-night stand list.
Who am I kidding? I did that as soon as I saw him.
“But don’t worry, I’m still technically single.” I lift a shoulder as if it’s that simple. And it is. I’m still single, and The Dick Dixon doesn’t have anything to say about it.
“Single,” he says flatly.
“And ready to mingle.” The world spins again. Or am I moving?
He watches me as steadily as a lion on the Serengeti tracks a baby gazelle trying to catch up to its mama. “How long are you going to mingle for?”
“Two weeks and I need to get laid a lot. Can you help with that?” I don’t know what I expected. For him to jump up and say fuck yeah. To be hauled caveman-style to his room? Or for us to outline both sides of a contract just like my marriage was outlined to me two days ago?
“I can help with that.” Leaning close, he tilts his head to speak in my ear. I sway closer, catching myself on his strong, sturdy shoulders. It’s hard to stop there. Both because I’m getting drunker by the minute, and because the stroke of his hot skin under my hands is more intoxicating than any number of sunrise surprises. “I’m here for two weeks as well. And for every day of those two weeks, I can ruin you as hard and as completely as you want me to.”
My lips part and a puff of air escapes. I want him to. I want him to so bad. The effect he has on me is more than alcohol. It’s pure chemistry. “Every day? Let’s do it.”
Jacobi
“Where are you staying?” The shock of how easy this is slithers through me like an oily snake. Part of me didn’t believe my lawyer when he told me about London’s plans. But here she is, drunk on a barstool, and ready to go home with the first man who hits on her.
I’m the second man to hit on her, but still. She has no idea that I’m tracking her every movement, and that includes monitoring everyone around her. Is she truly this foolish? This lackadaisical about her safety? The first man could’ve easily been a rapist. Or just a guy who didn’t care how drunk a woman was and more than willing to take advantage of her.
Her blurry eyes are unfocused and her lips flatten as she tries to smooth her gaze out. The alcohol’s hitting her hard.
She bites her lip like she’s considering whether to answer. Good, at least there’s a small amount of indecision within her. “I am staying at this resort. In suite 1012.”
When she rattles off her room number, I want to throw her over my shoulder and slap that round creamy bottom of hers. Does she have no sense of preservation? “Shall we?”
She stares at me for a moment, big eyes round and so terribly innocent I wonder if the lineup of empty glasses was her way of empowering herself for her mission.
Her irises sparkle as brilliantly as the sea to my right. Blue intersperses seamlessly with flecks of gold and green that combine into one stunning shade of teal. She’s as beautiful as her picture. More so in person because those pictures don’t show how her skin glows, or the small freckles sprinkling across her nose. No picture outlines the fullness of her lips and the delicate way her chin rounds and slopes into the graceful arc of her neck.
And no photo I ever looked at had her in a bikini as revealing as the one she has on. Two triangles cover her breasts and are attached with narrow strings. I could put my palms over each side and conceal the tiny amount of fabric.
My hands get sweaty. After tracking her for so long, seeing her in person hits my body hard. I stand. “Leave your drink.”
She gazes up at me, at least six inches shorter than my six-two. Then she lifts that damn drink and wraps those full pink lips around the straw like I want them to circle my cock and sucks. Hard. She drains over half her drink before she winces and presses her fingers to her temple. “Ice cream headache.”
Foolish girl. I gently grasp her elbow and help her off her stool.
She’s quiet on the walk to her suite and I wrack my brain for charming things to say. Over the years, I watched my fair share of TV and reality shows, trying to figure out how people act around each other, what the appropriate words to say are, and how I should act in different types of situations. But none of those shows prepared me to seduce the woman I was contractually obligated to marry. None of those shows laid out how t
o ruin her for the marriage she feared having with me.
She hates me as much as I hate her father and her ex porn star of a stepmother. Her steps imperceptibly slow as we near her suite. Fuck, I need to say something or she’s going to get too skittish and run.
Thankfully, she already opened the door to the very conversation that would cement her resolve. “So you’re single, but you’re getting married?”
A ripple of displeasure goes through her. Her slender shoulders seem to shrug off her reservations about bringing me back to her room. Success. “Yes, I guess arranged marriages are still happening.”
“They are a thing in many countries. But I hear as many success stories as—”
“Maybe you should ask the women for their side before you decide it’s a success story or not.”
Her vehement response takes me off-guard. But her sandals clip faster, so my attempt worked. All I need to do is gain access to her room, make her comfortable enough to spend the next two weeks with me, and then revel in her reaction when she finds out who I really am.
“I never thought of it that way.” And I haven’t. Thinking back, I try to recall if those stories came from the bride’s point of view or from the groom’s. I’m sure there are genuine success stories out there, but was the actual arrangement in agreement equally on both sides? Or were the brides given an ultimatum like London got?
We arrive at her room and I frown at the setup. Her door is on the first floor and facing the sidewalk. While the resort has security and is gated to the street, the room itself does little to prevent an intruder.
She stops at the threshold. I step inside with her. The click of the door is enough to get her to turn toward me.
She sways to the right and then rests her fingers on the wall by the door as if to play off how unsteady she is. I crowd close to her, testing her receptiveness. She opens up for me like a flower in the middle of summer, her head tilting back, her eyelids drifting shut, and those lips parting. She is gorgeous, and so vulnerable.
Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1) Page 2
