"I don't need an excuse," I growl. She won't stop squirming, and I can't wait any more. "Get on your knees and finish what you started. If I feel you're properly grateful, I'll devour you until you scream. If I'm not convinced, you get a spanking and nothing else."
She pouts. "Can't I have both?"
I glare at her. "No."
I'm a terrible liar.
***
So that's how I end up on a beach in Hawaii with my once and former secretary, and I do not buy an engagement ring before we leave, because that would be insane.
I think about it, though. I think about it when she thanks me that night I tell her about the trip, so perfectly with her mouth and tongue, and then actually thanks me later, sincerely, with love shining in her eyes. I think about it when she says she's sorry for being such a brat and strokes my hair and tells me how excited she is, and how wonderful I am.
Then, I have to eat her out until my jaw aches to keep myself from proposing on the spot.
When it comes time to leave, we hold hands in the airport. I'll say that again: we hold hands. In the airport.
And I'm grinning like an idiot the whole time.
But I'm fine, really, I'm keeping it together, until we get to the beach and she steps out of the coverup and I quickly realize I should have made her model that swimsuit when we were in private. What the hell is wrong with me?
What is wrong with me, in fact, is that I had a feeling we'd never make it to the beach if I did. And I was right.
It's been a long journey, getting here. Last summer she must have bought ten different suits. From those cutesy swimsuits with the built-in skirt, to a normal one-piece, to a tankini, to one of those vintage high-waisted bikinis that covers almost as much. All beautiful, and all desperately sexy, but this one signifies something else. Something important.
I picked it out for her. I've imagined her in it, but never actually seen it, not until now. And aside from mentally reciting the periodic table of the elements to stave off a very inconvenient erection, I'm consumed with the realization that I'm the only person in the world whose opinion really matters to her.
And if that's not love, what is?
The reality of the situation is this. Some people on the beach are going to be attracted to her. I want to kill every single one of them. Other people, they're going to look and judge. I want to kill them, too. Slowly.
But she doesn't care.
The confidence that shines from her is something I have cultivated so carefully over the last six months. I can't actually take credit for it, because I know what it really means. That she's chosen to believe me. To value my opinion over the ugly judgment of strangers. That she's chosen to love me.
Halfway to the water, she turns and looks at me. "Are you coming?"
With the breeze picking up her fiery hair and shifting it across her shoulder, her eyes sparkling, and the deep blue of the skimpy suit setting off her skin, it's sort of a crime that the only thing I can look at is the little dimples just above her ass.
You know the ones I'm talking about. If you've ever admired a woman with curves in a bikini, you know exactly the ones I'm talking about.
I go to her and grab her hand, pulling her against me. "This was a mistake," I mutter into her hair, glaring at everyone in the vague proximity.
She giggles. "It's too hot out here, anyway. Let's go back to the hotel."
This request is accompanied by her fingers dipping just slightly under the waistband of my swimming trunks. Between our bodies, it would be hard for anyone to notice, but I grab her wrist anyway.
"Stop that."
Meg is still giggling.
"You wanted this to happen, didn't you?" I ask her, accusingly, though I can hardly hold back my smile.
She bites her lower lip. "I hoped it would," she confesses. "You're at your most handsome when you get that look on your face. You know, like you're trying very hard not to picture your cock sliding into me."
I growl. My hand is gripping her half-naked ass and I've got a feeling someone's about to tap me on the shoulder and remind me that this is a family beach. "When we get back, I'm going to make you bend over and spread your legs for me," I murmur in her hear. "You're not to move until I get tired of looking at you. Then you'll hold those perfect tits together for me to fuck. I need to see your pretty neck marked with my come."
"And?" she whispers, staring at me.
"And?" I echo. "What makes you think you get to come? You've been a bad girl. Teasing me in public."
"You gave me this suit," she reminds me, with a grin. "If you can't handle the heat, get out of the designer bikini."
"Oh, that'll come later." I smile indulgently. "After it's been properly christened."
There's something wild and desperate in her eyes. "Come on," she whispers, tugging my hand. I follow her, not knowing exactly where she's going until I realize we're headed towards the changing tents on the far end of the beach. The area's mostly deserted, but I still give her a look.
"Come on, Ryn," she whispers. She licks her lips, quickly. "Baby - I swear to God - this is not the time to get shy."
I glance over my shoulder, laughing a little, although I know the battle's already lost. I'm hard as a fucking rock and I'm not going anywhere unless it's directly into one of these tents, and subsequently, hopefully, into her mouth.
"Everyone's going to know." I don't even think anyone's watching, but my heart's beating so loud, I can hardly hear my own thoughts.
"Good." Her eyes blaze as she pulls me towards the zippered door. "I want them to. I want those runway-ready bitches who purse their lips at me for daring to show skin - I want them to know. I want them to hate me for getting to suck your cock."
I groan softly as she pulls me into the tent, into her arms, into the most wonderful circle of hell.
And that's when I know she has to be my wife. Sooner, rather than later.
***
It's four A.M., and I still can't sleep.
Meg snores softly beside me. She claims she doesn't, and I don't argue with her, because apparently that's the person I've become. But I love the sound. I honestly do.
Just one more sign that this is the beginning of the fucking end.
I stare at the ceiling. If we go home, if we leave this island - if I get on that plane without making her my wife first -
I can't.
Quietly, I get up and pull my clothes on. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do, but I know what I have to find.
I'm out on the street, hailing a cab, before I realize that I've managed to leave my phone and my hotel key behind.
Great. Perfect. At least I have my wallet.
The cab driver squints at me as I climb in. "Is there a jewelry store around here?" I ask him.
He gives me the appropriate look. "It's the middle of the night, man."
"I know that," I grumble. "Come on - help me out."
The driver shrugs. "I mean, my brother owns a pawn shop across town. I can wake him up, but he's not going to be happy."
"He'll be happy." I pull out my wallet. "I promise."
***
It's occurring to me, as I look through the selection, that Meg might not appreciate a pawned engagement ring.
I could propose without one, of course, but that's not the same. At this point I think I know her pretty well. I don't think she'll actually care. In fact, she'll probably appreciate that I didn't really contribute to the blood diamond industry. But if you have even a hint of the superstitious about you, there is something odd about starting a relationship with an edge of desperation, failure, and revenge.
Then again, this is us.
The cab driver's brother looks tired but alert, his eyes glittering at my expensive look. No matter how I dress it down, I still stink of money, and it actually comes in handy in situations like this.
At first.
"How much for that one?" I'm pointing to something delicate and vintage in white gold, and I know next to nothing
about jewelry, but I have a feeling Meg will like it. It looks like it'll fit on her finger. It's not too ostentatious, not by a long shot, but it sort of reminds me of a necklace I know she likes.
The driver - whose name, it turns out, is Peter - looks at his brother, and his brother looks at him.
"Uh…two thousand," the shop owner says, finally.
I frown at him. "It has to be worth more than that."
I'm normally a very good negotiator, but I don't actually enjoy ripping people off. Not when it comes to something like this.
He laughs. "Nobody else is gonna pay me that much for it. But if you want to peel off a few extra bills, I won't cry myself to sleep."
I do end up overpaying for it, mostly because I got the man out of bed, and he wraps it up in tissue paper for me.
"No box?" I don't know why that surprises me.
"Drop it in a glass of champagne," he suggests. "Chicks love that shit."
There's an ominous crashing sound outside. "What the fuck is that?" I ask Peter, who looks like he's already calculating his cut of the pile of cash.
"The rain," he says, simply. "What the hell did you expect, coming here during monsoon season?"
I've got to laugh. I didn't even think to research the fucking weather in fucking Hawaii before I planned my trip, because Meg used to handle all my travel arrangements and I don't know how to be a normal human.
"It doesn't sound like rain. It sounds like the fucking apocalypse," I remark, shoving the ring in my pocket.
"It's not so bad. But we should hurry before any of the roads get flooded out."
Well, fuck me.
***
The worn-out wipers on Peter's car are working overtime, but it hardly helps. His radio is blasting, Beyoncé telling me that if I like it, I should put a ring on it.
I'm trying.
I lean forward. "Why aren't we moving?"
"Remember what I said about the roads being flooded out?" He grins at me. "They got rain where you're from?"
He knows he's already earned his tip, and then some, so he's poking fun at me. I know I'm dangerously close to Meg waking up - she's been sleeping for a long time now. I wore her out thoroughly.
And I don't even have my fucking phone, to tell her where I am.
This whole thing is insane, and I'm insane, but at least I've got Beyoncé backing up my decision. I could do worse.
I could do a lot worse.
"My dad has this joke he likes," Peter says. "You know what the best thing about Hawaii is?"
"Well?"
"The weather. You know what the worst thing about Hawaii is?"
I have a pretty good idea. "The weather?"
He grins in the rearview. "You're catching on quick."
"Fuck it." I pull a wad of cash out of my wallet, and toss it on the front seat. "Thanks for everything, Peter, but I'm going on foot."
"It's over five miles from here," he points out, looking slightly worried.
"Do I look frail to you?"
"Well, no, but…" He shakes his head. "You really love this girl, don't you?"
"I do." My hand's on the door. "At least you've got a good story out of this. You can laugh at me later."
"Nah." He grins. "I remember what it was like when I met my wife. That's how you know it's right - even though you know you've got all the time in the world, it feels like you can't wait. Are you gonna get married here?"
"I hope so," I tell him. He digs a business card out of a pile of junk on his passenger seat, and hands it to me.
"This is a good place to have something last-minute," he says. "They sort of cater to that kind of thing. And unlike my brother, they probably won't try to rip you off just 'cause you're a rich haole."
I tuck the card into my wallet. "Mahalo, Peter."
"Aloha, my friend. Good luck." He shakes my hand before I step out into the torrential rain.
***
All the smart people have sought shelter. Tourists certainly aren't going anywhere, and the locals are staring at the crazy haole trudging through the streets, completely drenched to the bone.
"You okay?" an old man shouts to me as I pass by. He's sitting on his porch, watching he world go by.
"Yeah," I shout back, over the sound of rain. "I've got to go propose to my girl."
He laughs, but I don't think he's laughing at me.
More importantly, I don't care.
I end up wading through almost a foot of water when I reach the spot where it's flooded out. But I know I'm close, now. Even with the warmth of the air, I'm starting to feel slightly chilled.
The lights of the hotel stand out like a beacon, making me walk a little faster, though the exhaustion of my journey and my sleepless night are starting to catch up with me. When I finally get inside, the rain's slowed to a drizzle, and the front desk clerk only looks up when she hears my shoes squeaking on the marble floor.
The elevator ride seems to take ages. I take a deep breath before I knock on the door.
Meg's fiddling with the lock almost instantly. I hear her curse as she struggles with the sticky deadbolt, and then the door yanks open.
"Where the hell - oh my God, Ryn…" Her eyes go wide as she stares at me, stifling a bewildered laugh. "Are okay? Why are you…"
"Got stuck in the rain," I tell her, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll be fine once you wring me out."
She lets a little bit of the laugh out as she hugs me tightly. "You look like a drowned rat, babe. What the fuck was so important in the middle of a storm?"
"Wasn't storming when I left," I tell her, stripping off my shirt. With the AC blasting, I'm starting to shiver. "I had to get something. Can you turn the temperature up a little?"
"You need to get out of those clothes," she tells me, going to the thermostat. "You'll get a cold."
"You can't catch a cold from being cold." I roll my eyes while I unzip my pants. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Get in the shower," she says. "Right now. And for your information, I once caught a cold from being cold. It does happen."
"Yes ma'am." Amazingly enough, I don't argue with her, although I have to do something first. I dig the ring out of my pocket before I toss my pants aside. This isn't quite how I pictured it - proposing to her in my underwear - but it'll have to do. I didn't walk back in the rain like a God damn regency romance hero so I could wait for one minute longer than necessary.
I grab her hand and pull her away from the dial she's still fiddling with. "Come here, Megs."
"Don't call me that." She's smiling. "Seriously, you need to get -"
Her face freezes, mid-sentence. She stares at me in complete shock, her eyes widening, and then watering slightly. I feel a rush of triumph first, because this girl is not exactly what you'd call a romantic. But at the sight of me on one knee…
"Adrian," she whispers, numbly. Her face is pale beneath the hint of sunburn on her cheeks.
"Shhh," I murmur, pressing my lips to the back of her hand. "Unless the answer's going to be no. Then you can go ahead and save me the humiliation right now."
Her free hand flies to her mouth, and the tears start to trickle. Oh, for God's sake. I was going to do some kind of speech, but I can't stand to prolong this any further. Besides, my throat feels tight for some reason. Maybe I am coming down with a cold.
"Marry me, Meg?" That's all I've got, now that it comes down to it. "I don't mean sometime in the vague future. I mean, here. Now. Not right now, obviously. But before we go home." I kiss the backs of her fingers. My eyes are stinging a little and my heart feels like it's trying to escape my ribcage. "I can't stand the thought of setting foot on the mainland again without you as my wife."
Before I can react, she tumbles down to her knees, throwing her arms around my neck. "Oh, my God," she whispers. "I mean, I hoped you would but I didn't really think…"
"Is that a yes?" I ask, teasingly. But I want to hear her say it.
"Yes, Adrian. Yes. Of course. Yes." She kisses my
neck. "Is that what you went out for?"
She pulls away, just enough to see my face. I nod, and pick up her left hand. The ring slides on perfectly, and she watches, captivated.
"Where the hell do you buy an engagement ring at this hour?" she whispers, turning her hand so the diamond catches the light.
I just smile at her. "I've got my ways."
"It's beautiful," she says, a little breathlessly. "And…vintage." Her eyes narrow slightly. "Please tell me you didn't steal this from some sweet grandmother."
Her face is streaked with happy tears, but she's still my Meghan.
"I found a place," I tell her. "Got lucky. The cab driver's brother owned a store. He opened up for me. Natural charisma. The money probably helps, too."
She can see in my face that I'm hiding something, which naturally means she won't rest until she ferrets it out. "What kind of store?"
I'm fucked. "A consignment shop." Technically not a lie. It's probably a service they offer.
The corner of her mouth twitches. "Is this the kind of consignment shop that might get its own reality series on A&E?"
I want to make a joke, but there's no point in prolonging this any further. "Maybe."
"Maybe," she echoes, grinning down at her finger. "You're a fucking marvel, Ryn." Her eyes shine as she looks back up at me. "Was it my ass in that bikini?"
"It's your ass every day, in everything," I tell her, fervently. "But mostly the bikini, yes."
She laughs, wrapping her arms around me again. "I knew it. You just had that look on your face, like you were ready to fall down and worship."
"I hope you're not making fun of me. I take my devotion to your ass very seriously."
Meg pulls back, mischief glinting in her eyes. "Oh, do you?"
"Yes." I kiss her, deeply, and she sighs when I pull away. "Are you questioning my commitment?"
"Of course not," she breathes, without conviction. "Everyone worships in their own way, I suppose."
Fuck. Me.
I just proposed to this woman, and she's teasing me with the promise of debauchery. I knew I made the right choice.
"Are you implying I've neglected something?" I let my hands drift down her body and cup the feature we've been discussing. "Because you know, I'm an old-fashioned guy. I like to save something for the honeymoon."
His Secretary: Undone Page 21
