He shuts his phone completely off, but nothing about him relaxes. “Lover’s Beach it is.”
“Maybe it’s a bad idea. It’ll be full and noisy and—”
“London. We only have a few more days together. We’re going to Lover’s Beach.”
His command brooks no argument. I pack a tote bag with a few snacks and towels and my favorite sunscreen. He prowls through the room, restless. Whether it’s from his day-and-a-half in bed or what’s going on with the guy he mentioned, or both, I don’t know.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
His dark gaze cuts to me and a vacuum opens in my lungs. A squeak almost escapes. I’m sorry I interrupted his brooding and want to go back to when I was in the background and he was working through his raging emotions.
This side of Jake is unnerving. Those moments when he’d been commanding were titillating, but this makes me wonder if Jake’s Cabo personality is really him. What’s he like when he’s home?
But this is a boy who lost his parents young and grew up alone. He hasn’t mentioned grandparents or siblings or foster homes. I’m acutely aware of how little I know of this man. For all I know, Jake might not be his real name.
Yet, I don’t feel like I’m in danger. He’s just overwhelming.
He visibly calms himself with a shake. “No, we’re going. You’re right, I need a day out.” He glances at my bag. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
Is it wrong that I like dark and brooding Jake? That look of his had more thrill packed into it than all of my exes combined. None of my exes faced the challenges in life that Jake did. They were all privileged men who grew up with silver spoons. I was so determined to win them over when they didn’t earn it. How could I not see that until now?
We walk down to the resort front desk. The concierge listed off our options, but I interrupted him. “The glass bottom boat.”
Jake stays out of the planning, making me more determined to get his mind to brighter places.
Once the reservations are made, we follow the concierge’s directions to the boat.
“So what’s at this Lover’s Beach?” Jake’s sunglasses hide the gravity in his eyes, but they can’t hide his lack of enthusiasm about our trip.
When I thought back, that was his standard reception to everything we did—except for sex. “Why did you choose Cabo out of all the places to vacation?”
The muscles in his jaw flex. “I asked my friends to recommend a good place to vacation.”
“Where else did they recommend?”
“Nowhere that interested me. I like the beach.” Something about his tone makes me feel like he isn’t being exactly honest. But it’s a silly notion. Why would he lie about where he wanted to go for his first vacation ever?
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. There is literally a world full of options, so why not just grab one of the top choices that came up in a search? If his friends recommended it, even better.
Besides, his reason is still more noble than mine. Even spring breakers want to go see the sights. I had only one thing I needed to do when I came here.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you decided to come here.”
The sunglasses continue to hide his eyes. “Me, too.”
And I don’t question his sincerity when he says it.
Jacobi
Lover’s Beach is gorgeous. Even worse, the water looks like it would be an unforgettable swim. Topaz blue and calm. I wiggle my toes in the sand. Hot, but not uncomfortable. No wonder this beach is popular. Off to my left, a group of college-aged kids toss a frisbee. To my right, a couple stroll hand in hand, looking stupid in love. In the water, adults and kids splash around together.
This is why my beach is private. An idyllic place like this doesn’t need the chaos.
“Look at the other side.” London tows me toward the rocky outcropping. “You can see how turbulent the water is.”
“How long do we have here?”
“Three hours.” She scrunches her nose. Too damn adorable for her own good. “I should’ve booked an earlier ride back. I might be able to change it.”
“No, it’s fine.” It’s three more hours than I can tolerate. I’m accustomed to listening to the waves softly crash to shore. The call of the gulls. Letting my tension go and tipping my head back to soak up the sun with my feet heating in the sand. None of that will happen here.
“It’s only going to get busier today.” She twines her fingers through mine. “Divorce Beach is on the other side and might be quieter. Fewer people at least. I heard the water’s not safe to swim in though.”
Then I don’t want her over there. But it isn’t like a rogue wave is going to rush several more feet inland than normal and snatch her up.
She really should be a stronger swimmer. She lives on the fucking coast.
We navigate the shorter than expected path to the other side. She gushes like she’s never seen the ocean before.
“I can’t believe we’re on the same stretch of land.” She lets go of my hand and spins in a circle. “If the sun wasn’t shining as bright, I’d swear we were miles away from Lover’s Beach.”
The difference is amazing. This side reminds me more of home. My water isn’t rough, but it isn’t as peaceful as a public beach. I like the Divorce Beach side better. Fewer people roam the sand and those who made the trek appear to want less play and more privacy.
When my gaze swings back to London, she’s staring at me.
“You look less tense on this side.”
I am. “Less noise.”
Her expression’s understanding, but I don’t miss the flicker of disappointment. She’s going to hate my private beach.
“Come on,” I say, my voice curt. And again I’m surprised that she’s still putting up with me after two days of vacillating between comatose and surly. “We can say we saw it. Let’s go back.”
“You feel better over here.”
“Not when you’re bored silly.” I pull her close for a kiss. “Tell you what. I’ll get in the ocean with you as long as you promise not to let go of me.”
She laughs, her head back, her neck graceful. And kissable. “I’ve swam in the ocean several times. Without you.”
“And now I can fix that.”
“I bet you’re even stressing over me being on this beach.” My expression must’ve revealed the truth. She chuckles, but this time she cups my face. “You’re so sweet.”
Sweet. I’m not sweet. No one has ever accused me of being less than an asshole. Cannon called me anally controlling.
I gladly take her back to where the water is calmer. We find a place for our things and wade into the ocean. The other swimmers naturally give us room. It’s like they all have a personal space box that’s rarely breached. London runs to where the water is up to her thighs and sinks underneath the surface. My throat constricts but I track her movements.
She wiggles around and surges out of the water next to me. Then she grabs my hand and takes me under with her. I smile and breathe out to keep from getting a mouthful of saltwater. We swim and dive and float and just hang out in the water. It’s the first time I’ve swam in the ocean with anyone.
I keep watching as we float so we don’t go far out into the ocean, but after a few minutes, she splashes her way to standing. “I want to dry before we head back. Do you mind laying out?”
“Why would I mind?”
“You seem content in the water.”
I scan the crowded beach. That was because water muffled the noise, but London’s trying to protect me again. She must’ve gotten that personality trait from her birth mom. “Don’t worry about me, London.”
Her look is intent. “But I do.” She glides out of the water.
I lay out a large beach towel while she uses another to towel off her hair and body. It’s a wasted effort. Water droplets evaporate quickly under this sun and her three little triangles of fabric will only take minutes to dry.
&
nbsp; She drops to her knees on her towel and spreads out on her belly. Staring at her ass won’t do me any good so I do the same. She faces me, her head resting on her hands.
We watch each other for a few moments and I’m struck by how grateful I am that she’s still here with me. I haven’t been the best of company for a couple of days, but it didn’t faze her. She took care of me.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, more to break the silence between us and distract from the conflict trying to emerge in me. The one that urges me to run home and rip up that contract that upturned her world.
“You’re handsome.”
“How so?” My interludes with women were quick, more businesslike than romantic. I keep myself in shape and assume I’m not repulsive, but having never done the club scene, I’m curious how I’d do if I was around other guys.
“Come on.” She rolls her eyes as much as her position allows. “You know how.”
“Nope. Tell me.” How she felt about my looks only mattered to me as far as getting her into bed and keeping her from looking to anyone else for her foolhardy mission in Cabo. That’s been accomplished, but curiosity soars.
Her adorable blush is back. “If I tell you, you have to tell me.”
“Go for it.” I can spout off something passable about her looks. Surely, she’s heard it all before.
“Okay. Um… you have a great body. Like, really good.” She giggles and I’m caught in a swell of disappointment that she’s done. That’s it? But she continues. “Your eyes are so dark and mysterious, but they’re also comforting, like a soft blanket.”
I don’t expect that body part to be touched on. “My eyes are like the duvet in your hotel room?”
Her laughter’s brighter than the sun. “No. I also like how you look like an old time mobster with your hair slicked back, but when it’s messy, you could blend into the college crowd.”
“I’m over thirty. My college days are over.” There was never a time in my life I could’ve blended with the college crowd. It was why I got my degree online. “What else?”
“You want more?” She pokes me in the shoulder. “You like me gushing over you.”
I catch her hand and kiss her knuckles. Her insight is interesting. I’ve never seen myself from another’s point of view. “Busted.”
“You have this serious side when you get uptight and commanding but then you act like the most laid back guy on the beach. Today, you were a mix of both at the same time, but I thought the uptight side was going to win. I think there’s more to you than you let people see.” All humor is gone from her tone.
Her words hit too close to home. Whose idea was this anyway? To get off the subject of my personality, I take my turn. “You’re passionate about makeup, but you don’t need to wear a drop. Except for sunscreen, of course.” That coaxes a smile out of her. “When you laugh, I want to search for my sunglasses because it lights up the whole beach. I can’t take my eyes off your ass and I love how you wear a bikini, it doesn’t wear you.” Shit, was that the wrong thing to say? I don’t load women with compliments. I’ve never had a reason to. “Your eyes are the color of the ocean and your lips are the pink of a sweet apple. And my favorite view of you is when your head is thrown back and I’m deep inside of you.”
Her eyes widen. She licks her lips and nervously looks around. I wasn’t speaking loud. No one else heard. “I was going to say that you should write romantic cards, but I don’t think that last part would be allowed.”
“Unfortunate. I’d have a lot more favorite views to add. Like when I can see you watching me licking your pussy.”
Her face flames red. “Jake, you’re so naughty,” she hisses, but a smile plays over her lips. “What else?”
My girl likes hearing me talk dirty about her. I untangle a hand from under my cheek and trail a finger along her side from her bust to her hips. “I especially like how your body makes an hourglass while I’m taking you from behind, your ass in the air and your chest pressed down into the bed.” I cock a brow. “Or the counter.”
If I keep going, it’s going to be an awkward trip back and I’m not one to embarrass myself in public. I’m not one to do anything in public. Filling my mind with recited nonsense code I use for work, I crane my head toward the spot where we arrived.
“Is our ride here?” She pops up, her breasts straining against her bikini top as she lifts herself on her arms.
She doesn’t have to try to be sexy. She just is. “The boat is coming in and the line is forming.”
She sits back on her heels to pack the tote. “Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime.” It’s proven hard to say no to her, and that’s a problem.
Chapter 12
London
“Are you sure you don’t want to try some?” I dip my spoon into my ice cream. It’s homemade at the resort. Caramel swirl. Another room service order, but this time in the middle of the afternoon. I ordered it and we brought it out by the pool.
We’re sitting in the shade. I didn’t encourage him to do anything today. Yesterday, he ventured way out of his comfort zone to Lover’s Beach. With only two days left to spend together, I’m hesitant to do more than lounge around with him.
His feet are stretched in front of him and his contemplative gaze is glued to the twinkling water. I’m curled up on the patio chair, diving into my bowl. He hasn’t touched his.
“I don’t do sweets.” He says it as if he’s stating a fact that he memorized in school. Does he really not “do sweets” or is it something else? Did he and his mom share treats and the memory’s too much for him? Were they that short of money or that’s what his parents told him versus revealing the truth?
He remains a mystery, one that I don’t think would’ve been solved if we were in a different situation. How many girlfriends got to know the real Jake?
He’s definitely feeling better, but I think I’ve uncovered the real him. He put on the charm for me and now that he has me, it’s gone. But that doesn’t mean he’s coarse or rude or dismissive. He opens doors, he’s militant about water safety, and he always caters to my needs before his—in and out of bed. The easy humor isn’t gone entirely, just not as prevalent.
I lick melting ice cream off my spoon. “I’m going to eat it all and you’ll regret it.”
“Since you are what you eat, I’m not really going to miss out on it.” His dark eyes glitter. “I’ll have a thorough taste later.”
My cheeks warm and my body tingles at the promise in his voice. His humor is in place, but not easygoing. He’s intense. Introspective. And he doesn’t actively start any conversations. Again, not a situation that I think would change if he were in the States and free to date.
He’s a guy who spends a lot of time in his own head.
Scraping my bowl for the last remnants of dessert, I say, “I’d love this recipe.”
“You make ice cream?” He sounds incredulous, like it’s the last hobby he thinks anyone would want.
“I like to make natural versions of my favorite stuff—within reason.”
“And that reason is?” He actually sounds interested.
Jonathon rolled his eyes whenever I talked about making my own food. Why would you waste your time on menial tasks? As you like to remind me, you own your own multi-million dollar company.
He was such a snide bastard. I gave him too much of my attention and effort.
“It can be time-consuming. I love making my own yogurt, and I do once in a while, but to keep a steady supply for my breakfast each week, I’d have to set time aside. I work all week and often on the weekend. Spending every Sunday prepping food isn’t feasible for me.”
“What else do you make—that’s edible?”
I smile and set my dish down. “Technically, some of the massage oils I’ve concocted can be ingested. And the sugar scrubs. I make a simple one with coconut oil, sugar, and vanilla.” A few ounces sells for twice what the entire bag of sugar costs.
“Maybe they’d give you the
recipe.”
“It’s so good. I could sell it and make millions.”
It’s only a joke, but the way he whips his head toward me makes me feel like I said something wrong. “Would you do something like that?”
I wrinkle my nose. I have utter distaste for what he’s suggesting. “Never. It was only a joke.”
His features relax, but I can see it’s a facade. “I know someone that happened to.”
“Seriously? Did they sue?”
“It’s hard to sue when you can’t afford a tenth of the retainer fee.”
I fall quiet. Ice cream curdles in my stomach. It was someone close to him. Really close. “People accused my dad of doing that.” Dad and Diana never told me, but I overheard conversations. Arguments. “He, um, he started a company that sells products.” I keep the explanation short or Jake will figure out that I’m more than affiliated with the company and that’ll blow all our attempts at anonymity.
“Products?”
“Yep. And someone claimed he stole—well, it’s been everything over the years. But that’s what happens when you’re successful. Other people want to take credit for the work without doing any of it themselves.”
“Some people get successful by stealing others’ work.”
Defensiveness prickles along my spine. “Not my dad.”
His gaze on me is steady. I push my ice cream away. “I want to show you something.”
He waves a hand as if to say lead the way. We don’t talk on the way back to the room. I let us in and go right to my luggage.
I take out a tote bag. Natural Glow’s signature color is pink. We’ve branded everything in white and pink since the company’s inception. But for the twenty-fifth anniversary, I wanted a reminder of our roots, a nod to where the company originally started. I pitched my idea to marketing and the director’s enthusiasm wasn’t just because I’m the boss.
It was a killer idea.
I flash the tote. The fabric is an aged off-white with faint blue lines running through. Neat, but scrawling handwriting is on each line. It’s a recipe card. One of the first that Dad used to start Natural Glow.
Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1) Page 11
