by Helen Hardt
“No. I didn’t mean—”
“That’s exactly what you meant.”
I sigh. He’s right. I can’t get out of this. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
“University of Hawaii,” he says. “Magna cum laude, even.”
“Did you ever consider…”
“Doing something besides bartending? Of course I did. But I love what I do. I can live on the beach, make some great dough. Plus, I invested in a buddy’s tech startup back in school. It gives me a nice little side income.”
“Cool.” Cool? Really, Em? He just told you he’s not a beach bum loser, and you say cool?
“How about you? How’d you end up here, pretty girl?”
“I told you. A fellowship.”
“I don’t want the canned response. I want the truth.”
My mouth drops open.
I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything. Dare I?
“Art school,” I finally reply. “Art school at UCLA. I’ve sold a few pieces, but it takes a while to get a name in art, even in LA, where up-and-coming celebrities throw money at art—and new artists—just to look like they’re cultured. So I wait tables on the side.”
Not a total lie. That was my life before Lucifer.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Twenty-six. You?”
“Twenty-five.” He smiles. “That makes me your cub.”
I smile despite myself. This man makes me feel good. Really good.
And boy, it’s been a while since I’ve felt good.
“Sometimes a walk is just a walk,” I say.
“True enough.”
“So let’s go.” I grab his hand.
It’s warm in mine.
And it feels nice. Really nice.
6
Scotty
I’m not the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, or even believes in any of that mushy stuff, but damn… Em’s hand in mine shoots a spark through me that I feel all the way to my toes. And specifically in one other place that’s become pretty darned attentive at the moment.
“If you love the sunset from your lanai,” I say, “you won’t believe how gorgeous it is out here when we’re walking on the beach.”
Em looks to the west, where the sun is just getting ready to meet the horizon. “Tangerine. Sort of. With an element of fuchsia. How can the sun be a different color here?”
“Because there isn’t any smog to take away from its beauty.”
“I suppose, but I’ve been to Hawaii before. Sorry, but this is different.”
“Parts of Hawaii are pretty industrialized,” I tell her. “Honolulu, for example, and Hilo on the Big Island. Sure, you can probably see things a lot better than you can in LA, but this island is in a category of its own.”
She sighs. “It sure is. When I see beauty like this…”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Come on. Tell me. This is a walk on the gorgeous beach at sunset. Almost a prerequisite to share your feelings.”
She looks toward the west once more. “I almost feel like this place can absorb all the negativity in the world, you know? Like nothing bad can ever happen here.”
I squeeze her hand. Clearly she doesn’t know the history of this island. The Wolfe family covered it up as best they could, but some of us still got wind of it when we got here to begin work. I’m not going to be the one to shatter Em’s illusions. No reason at all to tell her this island used to be a private resort where men could pay to hunt women as if they were prey. Where women were abducted and held captive and subjected to the sadistic fantasies of sociopathic multi-millionaires.
I say only, “It’s a gorgeous place, for sure.”
“It almost makes me feel…”
“…safe?” I finish for her.
She turns to me, her eyes troubled. “Yes, safe. But I mean that in a purely hypothetical way.”
Sure, she does. I don’t want to push, but I desperately want to know what Em’s hiding. I want to help her, which is odd, as I barely know her. What is she running from? And why? Who would want to hurt this angel?
“Tell me something about yourself,” I say. “Something no one else knows.”
She wrinkles her brow. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’m not asking for any deep, dark secret. Just something no one else knows about you. It can be a freckle on your ass, for all I care.”
She rolls her eyes. “My ass is free from freckles, thanks.”
“Something else, then.”
She nods. “How about this? You go first, since this is your idea.”
I inhale. “All right. I once had a threesome.”
She laughs. “Only once?”
I stop walking. “Yeah, only once. Not exactly the reaction I expected.”
“Most lotharios like you have had a few threesomes. It’s the island mentality, right? Island time and all that?”
“First…lothario?”
“It means womanizer.”
“I know what it means. Not a dumbass beach bum, remember? I just didn’t realize we were in the nineteenth century. Also, it implies that I’m selfish in my seduction of women. I can assure you that isn’t the case.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Actually, you did. You absolutely meant to imply that I’m some kind of ruthless seducer of women who cares only for his own pleasure. I guarantee you both the women in my threesome were well taken care of.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and she releases my hand. “I’m screwing this up, aren’t I?”
I grab her hand again. “I think you deserve another chance.”
“You’re serious, then?”
“About only having one threesome? Of course.”
“No, I mean you’re serious that no one else knows you had the threesome? Because there are at least two others who know.”
I can’t help a laugh. “You’re right. I did bend the rules. The two women know, but no one else does, at least not from me. I don’t kiss and tell, despite what you may think about lotharios like me.”
She looks down at the sand. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Look. I like women. I like sex. I’m not ashamed of that.”
“I never said you should be.”
“I suppose you didn’t. Now, you owe me a response. Tell me something no one knows about you. Or no more than two people, I guess.” I smiled.
She pauses a moment. Then, “No one knows I’m here.”
“Here on the beach?”
“Here. On the island.”
“Not true,” I say. “I know you’re here. Everyone else on the island knows you’re here.”
“I mean—”
I touch my finger to her lips. “Shh. I know what you mean. I know you’re running, Em.”
“I’m not—”
I cup her soft cheek and bring my lips to hers. Yes, I’m shutting her up, because she’s lying to me and I don’t want her to do that.
But I also desperately want to kiss her.
I slide my lips gently over hers, probing the seam with my tongue. A few seconds pass, but then she sighs and parts her lips.
I dive in, finding her silky tongue, and though I’m aching to kiss her deeply, I take it slowly and gently, melting into her mouth.
Yes, slow and sweet and—
She cups my cheeks harshly. She deepens the kiss. Her. Em.
I respond with vigor, delving as deeply as I can into her with my lips and tongue. She’s warm and inviting, and she tastes like hamburgers and mint, which is suddenly my favorite flavor in the world.
And I realize I’ll do anything to get this woman in my bed.
Tonight.
7
Emily
This kiss…
I knew it would happen. Expected it, even.
But this…
Scotty’s kiss is unlike any other kiss I’ve experienced…and I’ve been with some ex
pert kissers.
Scotty, though, has made kissing into an art—and I love art.
Not just painting, which is my preferred medium, but all art. Sculpture, poetry, music…and kissing.
His tongue is velvet against mine, his lips full and soft. I scrape my fingers over his dark stubble and then wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.
Our bodies are melded together now, and my nipples harden, press into his chest. I kiss him more deeply, until—
He pulls away.
My fingers go absently to my lips. What just happened?
“My place?” he says.
He wants to get me in the sack. Of course he does. He’s a beach bum lothario.
What’s holding me back? Lucifer and I are over, despite what he thinks. And Scotty…
I want Scotty. If he’s this good at kissing, he’s got to be amazing at everything else.
My whole body is on fire, but… “I can’t.”
He nods. “I understand.”
Except he doesn’t. He thinks I don’t want him. The fact is, I don’t want to pull him into my drama.
Because Lucifer will find me.
It’s only a matter of when.
This beautiful island may be off his radar for now, but he’ll find it.
You’ll never escape me, Emily. You’re mine. Mine to do with what I want.
Even now, so close to Scotty, Lucifer’s low voice haunts me.
Scotty grabs my hand. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“But…”
“But what?” He turns and meets my gaze.
My God, his eyes are something out of a Renaissance painting. Are they brown? Green? Golden? They change, according to the angle, according to the light.
“You promised me a walk on the beach. Or did you really mean a walk to your bed?” I smile, hoping he can take the joke.
“I’m not going to lie, pretty girl. I want to make love to you. Desperately.”
Desperately.
I need you desperately, Emily.
Lucifer was fond of that word.
“I didn’t come here for that,” I say.
“Why did you come here, then?”
“To paint,” I say too quickly. “Why does anyone come here?”
He touches my cheek. Just a flutter of a touch, but I feel it intensely between my legs. A small sigh escapes my throat.
“I think it’s more than that,” Scotty says softly. “It’s written all over your face. Your eyes, especially.”
“Oh? What do you see in my eyes?”
“I see desire, Em. I see passion. But I also see fear.”
“You can see all that? From a major in psychology?”
He trails his finger over the shell of my ear, pushing my hair back. “I can see all that because I’m interested in you. In what makes you tick.”
“You’re interested in getting me on my back,” I say.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You do have a one-track mind.”
“I have a one-track mind? You already admitted it.”
“I did, so why are you the one who keeps bringing it up?”
My cheeks burn. He makes a good point, which pisses me off. Because the truth is, I want nothing more than to get between the sheets with this gold medal kisser. I want to lose myself in his magnificent body, underneath his magnificent tongue.
“Let’s just finish our walk,” I say, without looking into his eyes again.
Those eyes—they’re hypnotic. If I look again, I fear I’ll melt into a puddle of honey, and he’ll scoop me up and take me to his place.
Which is what I want now more than my next breath of air.
“Good enough.” He flips off his slides and picks them up. “Let’s try the water.”
I look down at my dress. “In this?”
“Just wading in the sand.”
“What about jellyfish?”
“You see any?” He gestures.
I don’t. Not like the beaches in LA sometimes. I’ve gotten used to always wearing flip-flops on the sand.
“The beach guys are good about letting us know if we need shoes. We haven’t had a jellyfish invasion since I’ve been here.”
I wiggle out of my flip-flops and step into the sand, letting it squish between my toes. I laugh. Actually laugh!
“What?” Scotty asks.
“It just feels good. Sand between my toes, like when I was a little kid. I’d almost forgotten.”
“You’re from the California coast, and you’ve forgotten sand between your toes? We need to take care of that!”
I gasp as he swoops me into his arms and carries me toward the water. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what’s important in life.”
Scotty carries me to the water’s edge, but he keeps going. Soon he’s nearly up to his knees in the water.
“You wouldn’t,” I say.
“Want to bet?”
In the next second, I’m tumbling into the water, splashing.
“That’s a risky game,” I say, spitting out salt water. “What if I couldn’t swim?”
“The water’s two feet deep, pretty girl. You aren’t in any danger of drowning.”
Except I am.
Scotty just doesn’t know it.
8
Scotty
Em looks far from happy. The dunking was a mistake.
A big one.
“Hey,” I say, pushing her damp hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You were just having fun.”
“Yeah, the operative word being ‘you.’ I thought it’d be fun for both of us.”
“How in the world is a dunking fun for me?” She shakes her head.
“Tell you what.” I grin. “I’ll dunk myself, and then we’re even.”
I dash into the water and dive in. Though the water’s warm, it’s still a welcome respite to the tropical humidity. It douses the perspiration from my body as I swim, the water so clear that I see the wonder of the Aquarian wildlife.
When I finally come up for air, I’m a good hundred feet away from shore.
I wave at Em, who looks gorgeous with her wet halter and skirt clinging to her amazing body.
She smiles.
And I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery.
Does this mean she forgives me? I swim freestyle back to the shore.
She’s laughing.
Nice.
Very nice.
“Are we even now?” I ask.
“Except you went into the water of your own volition,” she says. “I didn’t get a choice.”
“I’d have let you throw me in, but I’m a little bit heavier than you are.”
She shakes her head. “Is there anything you won’t do?”
“A few things,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Hmm… Here’s a good one. I won’t eat goat cheese.”
“Yuck! Me neither.”
“This is so meant to be,” I tell her.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for in a man. A mutual hatred of goat cheese.”
“You found him!”
She shakes her head, smiling again. Trying not to laugh. Her lips are quivering.
“Why, Em?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why are you so determined not to succumb to my obvious charms?”
She looks to the sky, smiling, and then she meets my gaze. “If only…”
“If only…what?” I narrow the distance between us, my toes sinking in the wet sand.
“Nothing.”
I cup her cheek. Man, her skin is soft. Like freaking silk. “It’s not nothing. Tell me.”
“I hardly know you.”
“You know about as much about me as anyone. More, even. Most people here don’t know I went to college.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t talk about myself a lot.”
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her forehead. “Really?
You? A bartender? You haven’t stopped talking since we met.”
“It’s what bartenders do, Em. We talk to customers about what they want to talk about, not about ourselves.”
Her forehead wrinkles when I say Em.
“You don’t like Em?” I say.
“I like it, actually,” she says. “My brother calls me Em.”
“You have a brother, then?”
“Yeah. Just one. No sisters.”
“What’s his name?”
“Buck. Buck Moreno.”
“So he’s a half-brother, then?”
“No, why?”
I grin. “I thought your last name was Smith. Don’t tell me you’re married!”
She reddens. I mean really reddens. Like I totally want to see how far down that rosiness goes.
“Not married,” she says. “Divorced.”
“Ah…” I smile.
I’m not buying that lie either, but I’ll let her remain a mystery for a few more minutes.
But only a few more minutes.
Because after those minutes pass, I’m going to kiss her again. Then I’m going to take her to my hut and fuck her silly.
If there was ever a woman who needed a good fuck, it’s Emily Smith Moreno.
“Scotty…” she begins.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not divorced.”
I drop my jaw in mock surprise.
“And my name is Emily Moreno, not Emily Smith.”
“You’ve been lying to me?” More mock surprise. “Not just about Portland and your last name?”
“Yeah, but I have reasons. Really good reasons.”
“Which are…?”
“I can’t tell you,” she says. “I can only tell you that it has nothing to do with you. I…like you.”
“I like you too, Em.” I thumb her lower lip. “And you can tell me. You can trust me.”
She scoffs softly. “I’ve been burned by those words before.”
“By the person you’re hiding from?”
She bites her lower lip then. “I have to go. Back to the hut. I’m… I’m tired.”
I should let her go.
She’s got baggage, this one, and if there’s one thing a beach bum like me doesn’t need, it’s baggage. I love the carefree life. I love being as free as the soft wind that blows on the island.
