Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  The only two people I trust in the world are Cannon and Kase. What’s Kase going to think?

  He gives a long whistle. “And I thought I came from a heartless family.”

  “She was already getting hit on by the time I made it to the cabana bar.” I sound as crabby as I feel.

  “And now you’re out dancing with her?”

  “I’m playing the game.”

  “Right. And when you get a taste of her million-dollar pussy, you think you can still go through with it all?”

  “It’s just another pussy.” I want to growl over what I say. Nothing about London has been another anything. “And if it’s a million-dollar fuck, that’s only because she was given everything that was supposed to have been mine.”

  “You think you could peddle moisturizers and shit better? Fuck. You know what—never mind. Do your thing and I’ll make sure our company isn’t hacked.” His disappointment rankles.

  I thin my lips over my teeth. “I can look into it when we get back to the hotel.”

  “You’ll be too busy. Wait—are you at a concert or something?”

  “She wanted to dance.”

  Snorting laughter carries over the line. “This is going to blow up so bad, bro. So bad.”

  “I’ll tell you what I find,” I say, ignoring his guffaws, and hang up.

  I tuck the phone away and narrow my eyes on the crowd. Where is she? As I close in on the platform the band plays on, the song changes and a whoop goes up. They part for a shimmying body covered in a floral sundress that’s spinning like an out-of-control top.

  The man London’s dancing with is twice her age. No—three times her age. He’s smiling like she’s the reason the sun rises and sets. If he has teeth, I can’t see them. His pants are hitched up to his chest and the bottoms flap wildly around his ankles.

  The enchanting sight stops me in my tracks. I wouldn’t describe the man as elderly with the way he’s dancing, but he’s having the time of his long life. London’s laughter reaches me and cracks open a part of me I didn’t realize exists.

  “He’ll be smiling for weeks.” The woman London spoke to before is at my side. She points to the gyrating couple. “He comes every week, but the regulars, they don’t take him seriously. They think he’s a joke.”

  “And the tourists think he’s creepy.” Without the moves and the smile, he might be written off as a grumpy old man.

  “Unfortunately. They see his hitched-up pants and his button-up shirt from the seventies and well, they don’t understand that they’re the nicest clothes in his closet.”

  When London glances at me, her smile grows wider. She starts making her way toward me. I give my head a little shake and lift my chin to gesture toward her dance partner. Her grin broadens and she sashays back to the older gentleman.

  “That was kind of you,” the woman says.

  “It was selfish. I hate dancing.”

  She laughs and leaves me alone to watch my partner tear up the dance floor.

  As the night goes by, I drift through the crowd with my hands in my pockets. With nowhere to be and no accounts to check on, I’m adrift in a sea of people. The voices blend into the background and the beat of the music thrums through my body. The dull throb at my temples relaxes.

  In between songs, London runs over and checks with me, but I urge her to go back and dance with the gentleman. The way he smiles reminds me of my mom’s dad, and it’s been years since I thought of that man. He died when I was young and I never got to go to his funeral. Dad was sleeping off a bad blend of liquor and beer.

  The memories of when Grandpa used to sweep in on a cigar-smelling wind with a treat in his hand rise, pushing away the heartache of not getting to attend Grandpa’s funeral. Dad called the treats old-people candy. Grandpa always had black licorice or a butterscotch hard candy. I didn’t care. It was sweet and just for me. And he never came when my dad was around.

  Huh. I didn’t connect those two dots until now.

  Thinking of him did me no good. If he didn’t die from a heart attack, what happened to Mom would’ve killed him.

  After the last song ends, London appears at my elbow. “I feel bad that I ditched you the whole night.”

  “Don’t. I heard the guy you’re dancing with doesn’t get this opportunity very often. I have eleven more days with you, he only gets a couple of hours.”

  She skims her finger down my chest. “I think there’s a heart of gold beating in that chest.”

  My acting skills must be top-notch if she thinks that. Or it’s the memories of my grandpa that help make it believable, but either way, it gets her to trust me and it gets me out of dancing.

  “Oh, I’ll be right back.” London runs to give her dancing partner a giant hug. I have to look away when moisture makes the old man’s eyes shine.

  We stroll back to the resort, her hand tucked in my elbow. She’s radiant under the streetlights.

  “I haven’t danced like that in years,” she gushes. Exhaustion from a couple solid hours of dancing hangs on her shoulders. “I don’t think I had as much fun at the clubs during my college days.”

  “It’s who you’re dancing with that makes the difference.”

  She tightens her hold. “I think my first dance partner of the night was pretty good too.”

  I let her into the room. She’s practically boneless as she slips off her sandals.

  “I just want to use the bathroom first,” she says shyly. She’s tired, but she’s ready for this between us. My body tightens as a wall of desire slams into me. I want to be buried deep inside her the next time she comes.

  She only takes a few minutes and comes back out, her hands clasped behind her and her cheeks infused with pink. Since I didn’t want to just jump her as soon as we walk in, I go to the breakfast nook to assemble a small snack and grab a bottle of champagne from the minibar. “Make yourself comfortable,” I call over my shoulder.

  She’s quiet as I gather the items, but I attribute that to nerves. I return with my arms loaded and come to an abrupt stop at the threshold between the main area and the bedroom.

  London’s curled up on top of the white duvet cover. Her head’s on the pillow and her hand is curled under her cheek. She’s fast asleep.

  Chapter 7

  London

  Opening my eyes, I roll to my back and stretch. And freeze.

  Someone’s in bed with me.

  This is too reminiscent of the first morning I woke up here. Only this time my mouth isn’t fuzzy and I don’t have a headache that promises to make me suffer for hours. But my feet ache and my body is sore like I had a punishing workout. Which I guess I did.

  Looking to my left, I smile. Jake’s sleeping next to me. He folded the duvet over me and crawled under the sheets. They’ve slipped down his impressive chest. One of his arms is bent under his head and the other is draped across his abs. He looks younger when he sleeps. I don’t realize how much stress he carries around with him until he’s resting like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  What is his life like? He grew up poor, that much I know. Is his IT job stressful? Does he work fourteen-hour days?

  I appreciate that he tried dancing with me. Last night couldn’t have been his first time, but deep concentration took over his face and he copied the guys around us. If it was, he had no troubles picking up the moves and I found that sexy.

  I sigh and stare at the ceiling. Last night was supposed to be our first time together, but I promptly fell asleep. Perfect. Day two of my determination to ruin myself was a failure. But I don’t regret a single part of the day.

  Since he’s still sleeping, I quietly roll out of bed and gather some clean clothes from my suitcase. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and hop into the shower.

  Will today be the day for hot, sweaty sex with Jake Dixon? I wonder what his real last name is. Jake Dixon fits him, but it doesn’t. Because of course it isn’t his name.

  Just like I’m not London Peaks.

  Taking
my time, I let the warm water wash over me and my sore muscles. Even if I’m not getting to the sex part of my vacation, I’m having a lot of fun. And I look forward to spending another day with Jake. Being around him is so easy. I’m not my usual self-conscious bag of boyfriend-pleasing mess.

  I can’t escape the sense that this is unusual for him too.

  I like to think I’m good at reading people, but with Jake, I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think of me because this is temporary. That feeling was the part of my life missing in a relationship. I wanted someone who was mine. My everything. My confidant, my soundboard, and my pillar of support. I only just met him, but he’s so different from my past boyfriends that I can’t help but feel he could’ve been the one.

  I doubt that The Dick Dixon will fill any of those needs.

  Finishing with the shampoo, I turn the water off and massage conditioner through my hair. After a few minutes, I flip the water back on. The soft smell of Natural Glow’s Healthy Vibrance conditioner fills the bathroom as I rinse it out. One of my favorite smells.

  The bathroom door opens.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I call, managing to sound casual when I’m suddenly twisted in a ball of demanding nerves. I’m naked and there’s nothing separating us but a see-through white shower curtain.

  “I got plenty of sleep.” His sleep roughened voice swamps my body with heat made worse by the warm shower.

  The sink turns on. He’s brushing his teeth.

  “I’m almost done.” I am done, but I don’t know what to do. Are we going to do something now? In the strong light of day? When I imagined fleeing to Cabo and finding someone or someones to have sex with, my fantasies were always dark and obscure.

  There’s nothing dark about the lights in the bathroom lighting up the white tile floor and walls.

  His toothbrush clinks on the porcelain. “Take your time.”

  Taking my time would be staying frozen in the shower. Do what you came here to do, London.

  Solidifying my resolve, I turn the water off and fling open the shower curtain. A startled gasp slips out and my hand grips the curtain to yank it shut.

  Jake is a foot away, holding a towel out. The heat in his eyes is enough to evaporate every droplet off my body.

  He’s sinful, wearing nothing but a pair of black basketball shorts I haven’t seen on him yet. Muscle flexes with each breath. His chest is rock-hard and the planes of his stomach ripple with solid abs until they meet up with the ridges that disappear under the fabric.

  I want him to lick every drop off me.

  Accepting the towel, I wrap it around myself. I’m not one to get hung up on insecurity about my body, but I’m also not prepared to strike a sexy pose in the middle of the bathtub in front of the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Do you need another towel for your hair?” Humor laces his tone. My hair is dripping down my shoulders, soaking the towel.

  “Sure.” As I step out, he gives me another one.

  Sweet gesture after sweet gesture. I could get used to this.

  I wrap my hair. The bathroom door is closed and it doesn’t look like he has any plans to leave. Should I say something? Make the first move?

  Then he trails a finger down the side of my cheek and brushes a stray water droplet away. The air between us charges until it crackles. Heat floods my body, tempting me to throw my towels off just to have some relief. Still, I don’t move. I’m anchored to my spot, unwilling to be the first to navigate the electrical path between us. For once, I don’t want to be the one always asking for something from my partner.

  He reads my mind. Without breaking eye contact, he takes the towel off my head and drops it. He cups my chin and lifts my face to him. “Are you ready, London?”

  “Yes.” I’m so ready, but I’m so not. I’m depending on him to live up to his promise.

  His lips descend. His touch is gentle, like he’s testing my resolve. I’m afraid to let go of my towel, but he’s the ultimate temptation. I spread my hands on his chest. He’s warm and hard and I need more.

  The kiss deepens and his tongue sweeps inside my mouth on a wave of fresh mint. His shorts offer no resistance to the erection pressing against my belly. The size and the strength radiating off him makes me light-headed, but I wait for him to take me farther.

  I don’t have to wait long. He maneuvers me around until my butt hits the edge of the counter. Pinned between him and the granite under my ass, I cling to him.

  He laves hot, wet kisses down my neck and peels away my towel at the same time. It falls to the floor. The warmth of the bathroom is cooler than the furnace of my body. It’s the perfect contrast that leaves me shivering against Jake as I hug his head against me. Just like in the pool, he gives each breast his undivided attention. I’m arching into him so much that I nearly slip off the counter, but he releases my nipple and kisses farther and farther down. His knees hit the floor and I have to release him to grip the edge of the counter.

  I almost tell him to stop. That this is too much. I’ve never been so turned on, it’s practically painful. The ache between my legs has become so insistent that I can’t concentrate. The lights are blasting down on us and I’m more exposed than I’ve ever been in my life.

  I swallow my hesitation because I want this more than I’ve wanted sex from anyone. He gazes up at me, his eyes smoldering, his mouth hovering only inches from me. I’m so wet. Before, I might’ve been embarrassed, but not with the way he’s looking at me.

  He breaks eye contact to kiss the inside of my upper thigh. “You’re so fucking beautiful, London.”

  My voice vanishes for a second. “You make me feel that way.”

  He presses a kiss to my other thigh and a small shudder twines through me. “You should always feel that way. I’ve been dying to know how you taste.”

  He sounds like we’ve known each other for more than two days, but it’s enough to relax me. My grip on the counter eases and I melt into him.

  The way he’s looking at me from in between my open legs will stay with me forever. To have a man look at me the way he just did for the rest of my life is more than I can hope for. I’m so grateful for my rash decision to run away before my life is dictated by a crazy man. At least I can go into my doomed marriage with one good example of what it should be like.

  His next kiss is right above my clit. He’s taking his time and it’s driving me wild. It’ll only take seconds for me to explode, but he’s teasing it out.

  When he drags his tongue through my folds and flicks my clit, I cut off a shout before housekeeping descends on the room asking if I’m okay.

  I’m more than okay. But I won’t be if this is put to a stop. Desire rages through my body like the Santa Ana winds. Drawing my knees up, I plant my heels on his shoulders, as open to him as I can be. Just a minute ago, I wasn’t comfortable being so exposed. But this is Jake and he changes everything. He makes me feel comfortable in my own skin.

  He licks and sucks until I’m shaking and gasping his name. He takes me to the edge and backs off. My hips buck and roll, trying to chase his tongue as he expertly pleases me. I can’t believe I haven’t cracked the countertop in two from my grip.

  His hands dig into the sides of my thighs, opening me wider. “You taste better than I ever imagined,” he growls as he slips a hand up my thigh and pushes his thumb inside.

  I could climax from his voice alone. I arch my back and let my head drop to get enough air to survive the onslaught of pleasure.

  But then he pauses and air evacuates my lungs.

  “Watch me, London. Watch and know exactly who is making you come.”

  I do as he commands, resisting the urge to close my eyes and get whisked away on the wave of bliss coursing through me. One hand is wrapped around my thigh and his shoulders flex as he works a finger in and out. The glimpses of his tongue licking me and the hard look he spears me with are too much.

  I shatter. I fly apart in
to a million little pieces until I don’t exist and I’m floating, lost in rapture. I hear my voice echo his name off the walls, but I’m not conscious of what I’m saying, only that he doesn’t quit and I keep climaxing until I fear my heart will give out.

  The orgasm is an out-of-body experience. I’m inside out, nothing but ecstasy and heat and his soft tongue between my legs.

  He finally lets up and I sag against the sink, my legs falling limp over his shoulders. Then I’m being gathered in his arms and carried to the bed.

  Jacobi

  When I had the bright idea of following London into the bathroom and getting her off, I thought I could wait it out, leave her hanging for a little bit, bringing her to the brink and back, until she’s mindless with need.

  I was a fucking idiot, thinking I could abstain from giving her what she needs—in bed. I can serve her in bed. The rest… I’ll deal with that later.

  I lay her in the middle of the bed and crawl over her. Her taste is in my mouth, teasing my tongue. Her natural scent mingles with the pleasant smells that emanated from the shower.

  Standing back, I take a moment to look over my future wife. Her body’s glowing from her orgasm, full of soft curves and defined muscle. She’s stunning, and even though I just tasted her, she radiates innocence. I know without asking that she’s never come that hard before and I want to beat my chest.

  For a heartbeat, I regret what I’m making her do. Perhaps she really didn’t know anything about the origins of the company. It was her father who wronged me, not her. But she benefited from it, and my parents suffered. I suffered.

  But I’m not suffering now. Never have I known such exquisite pleasure. The hesitant way she gave herself to me. The honest way she opened up and came on my tongue. I haven’t gotten off yet, but I could subsist on that alone—if this erection doesn’t kill me.

  I take off my shorts and go around to the side of the bed. In the nightstand, there’s a box of condoms. A twenty-four pack. I glance at her and she gives me a sheepish smile.