“Wave that closer to the floor,” I say, “or you’ll set off the fire alarms.”
“You’re right,” he replies.
A thirty-something woman browses brochures on a conference table covered in a white linen tablecloth. I picked up a few and flip through them.
“Have you ever been on a Keim Vision Quest?” she asks.
“No. You?”
“Absolutely. My first helped me get over my loser ex-boyfriend. I’m Beth.”
“Maia. You’ve taken more than one Quest?”
She nods. “My second Quest freed the energy of my former employer. It’s transformative. If you’re on the fence, do it.”
“Thanks.”
A large hand squeezes my arm. I flinch, then glance up at Dr. Keim.
“I’m a big believer in transparency,” he says. “You?”
“Absolutely,” I say, wondering what this is about.
“Tell me more details about why you’re here?” He takes my arm and leads me through the crowded living room into the hallway. He opens a bedroom door.
I hesitate.
“The door stays open,” he says. “I just want to talk with you privately.”
We sit across from each other at a small table next to the window. I tell him everything — my MS, the alternative healers, the UCLA stem cell study.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” he says. “Take a Quest.”
“How is that going to help?”
“You’ll confront your fears. Meet your spiritual guardians. Ask them what they can do to help you battle your disorder.”
“But it’s not me I’m here for. It’s not me who I’m worried about.”
“Then who?”
“My grandmother. She’s been in a wheelchair for five years. She’s had MS for thirty. I’m scared she might not have that much time left. And I can’t just let her wither away and die without a fight.”
“Well then, Maia, let’s get you on a Quest. You’ll find your power. Become wiser than you ever dreamed possible. And quite possibly help your grandmother.”
I hesitate. “The hallucinogenic part of it scares me.”
“The drugs are natural. Plant medicine. South American healers use them all the time.”
“I’ll think about it. I’ve got an appointment—”
“Hello, Venusians,” Max says. “I’m looking for Maia Priebe. A pretty young lady with light brown hair, a twinkle in her eyes, and flowers on her toes?”
I smile.
Dr. Keim glances up. “Your friend?”
I nod. “Thanks for the talk. I do appreciate it.”
“We’ve got a Quest coming up next weekend. I’m going to reserve a spot for you,” he says. “No pressure. Just let me know.”
“Will do.” I and bump into Max, who now occupies the doorway.
“Bonita?” He kisses me and takes my hand.
“Right on time. Max, I’d like you to meet Dr. Karl Keim.”
Dr. Keim extends his arm. “Pleased to meet you, son.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Dr. Keim,” Max says and they shake hands. “Have we met before?”
“No.”
“Then, with all due respect, sir, I am not your son.” Max wraps his arm around my waist and hustles me out of the suite.
Chapter Nineteen
We drive the 5 Freeway south to Mexico. We pass signs for beach towns, airports, amusement parks, and military base exits. Traffic is decent until we hit San Diego. Then it’s stop and go, alternating between twenty miles per hour and zero.
Cars sport surfboards on top, bike on the backs. California’s all about enjoying the outdoors. Maybe taking a Vision Quest in the desert isn’t such a weird thing after all.
“You were a little frosty when I introduced you to Dr. Keim,” I say.
“Keim’s fifty years older than you. He’s got you holed up in a fancy suite. His followers are hopped up on life, love drugs, and who knows what else? They look like they drank the Kool-Aid and can barely form coherent sentences, let alone retain memories of what they did five minutes previously.”
“Yeah? Who are you? Why am I in this car and where are you taking me?” I grin.
He reaches over, slides his hand underneath the bottom of my shirt, and tickles me.
“Stop!” I bat his hand away and giggle.
“No.”
“You’re bad.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” He leans over and kisses my head. Goosebumps prickle on the backs of my arms. My phone buzzes. “Nana! I’m so glad you called. I’m putting you on speaker, is that okay? What’s up?”
“I miss you. Do you think you might get home soon for a visit?”
“I’m not coming home until the semester ends.”
Max shakes his head and mouths ‘No.’
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Yes. Where you are?”
I look at Max.
“La Jolla,” he says.
“We’re in La Jolla, Nana.”
“I was there once,” she says. “Beach town close to San Diego. They called it the Jewel by the Sea. Very pretty. Who’s driving you?”
“A nice young man,” I say, and smile at him.
Max squeezes my knee. “Not so nice.”
I bat him away. “He’s respectful and smart and funny. I think you’d like him.”
“She’d like me,” Max says.
“Shh,” I say. “Hey Nana, maybe you and Mom should come out for a visit? We can eat guacamole and visit La Jolla.”
“What’s his name?” she asks. “The nice young man driving you.”
“Max.”
“Last name?”
“Levine.”
She inhales, sharp and raspy. “Is he Jewish?”
Max shoots me a questioning look.
I shrug. “Why?”
“Put him on the phone.”
“Nana. You’re on speaker with Max and me.”
“Max,” she says. “Are you Jewish?”
“Yes with a disclaimer. My parents exposed me to Catholicism and Jewish traditions.”
“You were baptized and had a bar mitzvah?”
“You should have seen the presents,” he says.
She laughs and starts coughing. “Hang on. Stupid allergies make me ferdrayt.”
“She’s learning Yiddish,” I whisper.
“Are you in a romance with my granddaughter?” Nana asks. “You know she was raised Lutheran right? Will this be a problem?”
“Nana!” I say and collapse back into my seat, a hand covering my face.
Max runs his finger over my cheek. “Mrs. Priebe —”
“Call me Nana.”
“I’m crazy about your granddaughter. I love her cute Wisconsin accent—”
I smack his leg. “I do not have an accent.”
He catches my hand, interweaving fingers between mine. “I adore her snarky sense of humor…”
I stick my tongue out at him.
“I love how smart she is, the fact that she’s girly but still thinks football important, and her beautiful face.”
“She gets her smarts from me, you know,” Nana says.
“I bet she does. I’m in awe of her will power, her sheer determination to get things done.”
My heart beats a little faster. ‘Thank you,’ I mouth.
“So, I don’t care what religion or tradition she adheres to. That work?”
“Yes,” Nana says. “Maia, I have to go or I’ll be late for the sing-along in the lobby.”
“It’s my honor to make your acquaintance,” Max says.
“And you, Max.”
“I love you, Nana.”
“I love you back, my favorite granddaughter.”
“I’m your only granddaughter.”
“I know, my sweetheart. Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Life is full of mysteries, odd twists and tur
ns. You think you’re traveling down one road only to discover you’ve veered off and ventured down another. One that is unknown. And the new road has no streetlights, or signs and you have no reception on your fancy phone. Tell me, Maia. What do you do?”
Max reaches for my hand. He smiles, then turns his eyes back on the road. A lock of his black-brown hair escapes from behind his ear and falls across his forehead.
“What should I do, Nana?”
“Be kind,” she says. “Just be kind to each other.”
“Okay,” I say, but she’s already hung up.
An hour later, we’re in Rosarito, Mexico, a popular beach town populated with surfers, partiers, and families. We grab a bite at a little joint across from the beach. People park their boards and bikes next to their tables. Dogs sit in the cool shade. The late afternoon sun is on its descent toward the horizon. It catches Max at an angle as I stare across the table at him. He’s tanned under that white T-shirt. Sun kissed and beautiful from his time outside and in the ocean.
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to stay at my family’s place.” he says, devouring the roasted chicken, rice and beans on his plate. “It’s gated, has security and I promise not to seduce you.” He holds up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Edges of his black hair curl around the neckline of his T- shirt. His hair looks like silk. I imagine touching it, threading my fingers through those silken curls as he kisses me. “You were never a Scout, were you?”
He smiles and drops his hand. “No, but it sounded good.”
I reach to brush a little rice off his lower lip and he catches my hand. “Seriously, Maia—you can trust me.”
“I know.”
His muscular shoulders need to be caressed. I long to trace the grooves in his arm as he climbs over me, sliding my panties down my legs, helping me kick out of them. I want to cling to those strong, hard arms as he lowers himself onto me and enters me. I am getting wet just thinking about this. Max might have all the restraint in the world but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. I pull my hand away. “I’m not going to mooch off your family, or make your mom think you’re hanging out with the wrong kind of girl.”
“She likes you. She told me. She wouldn’t have gotten you an appointment with Señor Morales, the curandero, unless she believed you were the right kind of girl.”
My cheeks turn hot. I don’t think I’ve ever been told I was the “right kind of girl” before. “I’ve already got a reservation for a hotel room. I found a deal online. Thanks, but I’ve got this.”
I stand at the front desk of the La Mar Hacienda and Suites, a festive, four-star beach hotel where I’d reserved a room. The lobby’s packed with vacationers clutching wheeled bags in one hand and drinks in the other.
A uniformed hotel clerk checks his computer and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. There is no reservation under the name Maia Priebe. And unfortunately, La Mar is booked solid tonight.”
I hold out my phone with the hotel information in front of him. “Here’s my confirmation number. One person. One night. One queen bed. No oceanfront view.”
Max is suddenly at my side with my suitcase. “Problems?”
I nod.
“The confirmation code is for a reservation in combination with a cruise ship discount,” the clerk says. “Which cruise ship are you vacationing on?”
“I’m not vacationing on a cruise ship. I don’t swim and water scares me. Why would my confirmation number be connected to a cruise ship?”
“I don’t know. But if you give me the name of your cruise ship we can probably figure this out.”
I turn away from the clerk and discretely slice my finger across my throat.
“Can I help?” Max asks.
“Yes,” the clerk says. ‘Do you know the name of the cruise ship your friend is vacationing on?”
The sun’s making its way toward the horizon as we exit the Jeep. We stand in the parking lot of a quirky little motel next to a truck stop and diner. A Vacancy sign fizzles in the lobby window.
“Just stay at my family’s place,” Max says, running his hand down my arm. Goosebumps prickle and heat builds in my core.
No. I won’t have healing on the brain. I’ll have Max on the brain and most likely everywhere else for that matter if I stay at his place.
“I’m good,” I say and walk toward the motel lobby. “Third time’s the charm. This Margarita Villa motel looks adorable Look—there’s a van parked with a ‘Child on Board’ sign. What could possibly be wrong with this place?”
A woman bursts out of a room dragging suitcases, two kids skipping behind her. They make their way toward an older van, the kids scratching their heads. “Run for the hills,” the woman says as she passes us. “Lice. Save yourselves.”
“Thanks!” I say. We do a 180 and head back to the Jeep.
Chapter Twenty
We lie on cushy recliners on a patio that faces the Pacific Ocean. Max wears board shorts and a T-shirt. I’m in cut offs and a T-shirt. We sip beers and watch the beginnings of a tangerine sunset. I gaze at the house — a single story Spanish hacienda. It’s simple, the furniture is Mexican pine rustic. The best part is that it’s smack dab on the beach. It’s all I could do not to grab my phone, snap a pic and send it to Mom and Nana.
“On a scale of one to ten, how traumatized are you from your hotel experiences in Rosarito?” Max asks.
“Five,” I say and gaze at the sailboats making their way back into a harbor. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He sips his beer. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I nudge his shin with my foot.
He catches my ankle, and pulls me and my beach chair toward him.
“Stop,” I say trying not to smile.
“No. “He leans down and kisses my shin. “I’m moving you closer to me, where you need to be. Where I can protect you.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“Yes, you do, Bonita. It’s a beach town. It’s beautiful and fun but if you visit the wrong place at the wrong time it can be dangerous. But here we are in a safe place and of course I’m your trusty bodyguard.”
He stands up and stretches, side to side, his T-shirt pulling up revealing a peek of ripped abdominal muscles. He’s got the sexy five o’clock scruff on his defined jaw. More like my hot bodyguard.
“Need to get in the ocean, Bonita.” He leans down and kisses me, his scruff scraping my face, his lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth.
Beat-beat goes my heart. I am hungry for him. Pulse-pulse the v between my legs synchs up with the rest of my body and an ache grows in my pelvis because I want more.
“Come on. Race you to the water.” He stands back up. “Whoever gets there first wins. He strides toward the ocean.
“What do I win?”
“What do you want to win?”
“Something spectacular.”
He grins, strips off his T-shirt and tosses it onto the sand. The sun glimmers like a mirage across his half-naked body: his built shoulders, tanned, muscular, wide chest with just the right amount of dark chest hair. His abdomen’s ripped and the hair narrowed into a thin line, a tiny V below his belly button and disappears beneath the waistband of his board shorts.
Dear God, help me, I am a goner.
“If you win?” He smiles, and makes his way toward the surf. “You get anything you want.”
“I don’t swim, remember?”
“Who said anything about swimming?” He keeps walking.
I stride toward him. The sand is soft and squishes between my toes. “Why don’t we just cut to the chase because we both know I’m going to win and I already know what I want.”
“What?” He lifts one thick brow.
“You.”
We stumble into his bedroom as he kisses me. His breath is warm. He tastes sweet.
He lifts the hem of my shirt and pulls it up, his hand skimming my stomach. “Bonita?”
“Yes.” I help him yank it
off. I unhook my bra and shimmy out.
His breath comes faster, his cheeks flushing. “Gorgeous.”
He kisses me again, his tongue exploring my mouth, his fingers weaving through my hair. He skims a muscular hand down my neck. He traces circles over my shoulder, my clavicle, my chest. He palms my breast, massaging, squeezing.
I shiver and my skin tingles. Everywhere.
He drops to his knees and takes my nipple in his mouth, sucking, teeth scraping, his hand toying with my other breast.
I moan and caress his shoulders. Defined muscles ripple under my fingers. I trace hard rips, swells and sinewy tendons. “Max,” I say. “I want you.”
He stands and I look up into his beautiful hazel eyes etched with the faintest of twinkle wrinkles. He smiles down at me. “Good.”
I drop my hand down his abs, run it over his board shorts, on top of his thick erection. I pull on the draw cord, slip a hand under the elastic, tug it down his hips. I touch his cock and it pulses warm in my hand.
“Bonita,” he groans. He pulls off his shorts and I finally get to see my Max naked.
And what a sight he is.
Six feet of sun-kissed skin, chiseled surfer sinewy muscles. Black curls on his abdomen v-ing down to his thick erection bobbing toward his stomach.
I bring fingers to my mouth, wet them. Then I take his cock in my hand, sliding my fist from tip to base, feeling him move against me. His eyes glaze over.
“Stop,” he says. “Stop or our first time together won’t take all that long and I want this to take as long as possible.”
“I’m up for second helpings,” I say, wetting my lips.
“Good. Because I guarantee there will be second helpings.” He reaches for the edge of my shorts, unzips them, tugging them down my legs, grazing the skin on my inner thighs with his hand. He slips a hand under my panties, and runs his fingers down my center. I arch under him.
The Bodyguard Page 10
