by DJ Hunnam
"Have you been Googling Dante?"
"The point is, there are men out there like Dante who are a good catch financially and physically." She did her best to wiggle her eyebrows. "That boy has one hell of a body and a face to match. If I were twenty years younger, I'd give you a run for your money."
I burst into laughter. "Please stop. I don't need you waxing poetic about Dante. I'm well aware of his allure."
Too aware.
His words from that morning had been playing on repeat all day. Then let's find you. Like we were a team. A big part of me wanted that. I could use a friend, but it was clear that Dante wanted more than friendship.
I should have been jumping for joy. I finally had what I'd been pining for since I was a love-struck fourteen-year-old. But I worried that once Dante took what he wanted, I'd be left holding a broken heart. Worse than the one he'd left me with five years ago.
"You did always have a terrible crush on him. It was painful to watch, actually."
My mother's words stripped the smile right off my face. I downed the rest of my champagne and rose from the settee, teetering to the bar for another glass.
"Be careful with all those empty calories, darling. The older you get, the harder it is to battle the pounds."
Punching my mother on her big day would be in poor form, so I unclenched my fists and took a deep, calming breath. I turned around and gave her my brightest smile. "Time to get you dressed. We wouldn't want to keep your guests waiting."
***
The beach where the vow renewal was to take place was a picture-perfect setting away from the main resort. With black, volcanic cliffs in the background and the soothing sound of waves crashing nearby, the venue was pure romance. Rows of white chairs flanked a raised altar adorned with every type of indigenous flower available on the island. Strung lights and tiki torches lit a path across the beach.
My father and I greeted guests while a man dressed in native garb strummed a ukulele nearby. Before I even saw him, I sensed Dante's presence. Dressed in beige linen pants and a white button-down that hinted at his muscular torso, Dante looked impeccable. The man obviously still spent hours a week in the gym.
He caught my eye and smiled at me through the growing darkness. The languid path his eyes traveled over my body felt like a caress. I shifted beside my father and breathed a sigh of relief when Dante took a seat at the back.
Damian strode down the aisle with a grimace and Janice in tow. Janice looked amazing in a fitted, floral sundress that showcased her hourglass figure. She looked nervous and I was pretty sure it had something to do with the chat we'd had that morning. My father and Damian had always had a contentious relationship, but it had worsened since my grandfather died. I was pretty sure Janice was going to be fuel for the fire.
I strolled forward and greeted Janice with a big hug. "Relax, smile, and no matter what you do, don't let him get under your skin," I whispered in her ear before pulling away.
"Hello, Father," Damian said, shaking his hand with formality.
"So glad you could grace us with your presence," my father replied with a fake smile. "Your mother will be happy to see you."
"I know how much Mother cares about appearances."
"And I see you brought a date. Did you go to the escort service and ask for a clone of Amelia, or are blonde bimbos just your taste?"
Janice did have an uncanny resemblance to my brother's late wife, something I'd forced Damian to come clean about that morning. Damian took an angry step forward, but Janice stopped him with a firm hand on his forearm.
"Hello, Mr. Wood. I'm Janice Holder. Damian and I met at work. We're colleagues," she said with a bright smile.
My father laughed and clapped his hands together. "Is that what they call it nowadays? Screwing the secretary? That's my boy. Maybe there's hope for you after all."
"Daddy," I hissed. Heat rose in my cheeks and I wished I could sink into the sand and hide from the dismay plastered on Janice's face.
"I know it may be surprising, but not all women in the workforce are secretaries," Damian replied through gritted teeth. "But I guess you wouldn't know that, since you haven't worked a day in your life."
"How is that silly job of yours?"
"It pays the bills."
"Like you need the money," my father said with a disgusted snort.
"That's true. What with all the money your father left me," Damian said in a smug tone. "As much as I'd like to spend more time catching up, I'm sure you have other guests to attend to."
Damian gave me a nod, grabbed Janice by the elbow and turned to leave.
"I can tell you one thing, if she were flouncing around my office every day, nothing would stop me from bending her over my desk and-"
A menacing growl erupted from Damian's throat and he charged back toward my father. I stepped in front of my dad, because Damian looked angry enough to pummel him, and something told me my mom wouldn't appreciate blood splatter on my father's white suit. Janice stepped in front of Damian and placed both hands on his face.
"Look at me. Nothing he says matters. He's just a withered old man who has nothing good to show for his many wasted years on this planet except for his two wonderful kids who despise him."
She gave me an apologetic shrug. There was no need to apologize. My father deserved every ounce of her disgust.
With nostrils flared and hands fisted at his sides, Damian glared over her shoulder. My father's face was twisted into an ugly scowl and I breathed a sigh of relief when Janice pushed Damian back down the aisle.
"Jesus, Dad. Was that really necessary?"
My father smoothed his lapel and smiled at a passing couple. "Honey, run and get me a martini? I'm parched."
Based on Damian's grim look, the introduction had not gone well. In college, I'd seen that look more times than I could count. I'd seen it when he was staring down a three-hundred-pound linebacker or when he'd take his anger out on anyone dumb enough to challenge him after he'd had one too many beers at the bar.
I stood up as the two drew closer, but Janice shook her head and pushed Damian towards a grove of trees a few hundred yards away. I had to give the girl credit. The fury wafting off Damian would send most women running for cover.
When I saw Erica meandering through the crowd towards the bar, I met her halfway.
"What happened?" I asked.
She looked over her shoulder at her father and frowned. "My dad called Janice a blonde bimbo and then insinuated he would like to bend her over a desk and..." Her voice trailed off.
"Jesus. Your dad really knows how to push your brother's buttons."
"Yeah, and he needs a drink, so I've been relegated to the beck-and-call girl."
"You could be my beck-and-call girl, anytime."
"Thanks, but I'm booked for the foreseeable future. You can walk with me. If you want." The expectant lift of her brows and soft smile reminded me of the girl I'd met nearly a decade ago. The girl I'd caught skulking from the bathroom this morning, was a jaded and sadder version. Something I planned on remedying.
"I would love to."
I followed after her and watched the sexy sway of her hips as she maneuvered through the growing crowd. Her dress fell shorter than I would have liked since her sky-high legs were on display for every man there. She was like a gazelle on the African plain with her long-legged gracefulness. The awkward teen was now a woman so captivating that I caught multiple men swiveling in their chairs to follow her progress across the sand.
"A dry Tanqueray martini straight up with a twist, please," Erica told the bartender.
"Does your dad think he's James Bond?" I asked.
"I'm sure in his delusional mind, he's an attractive and suave secret agent with stealth ninja skills in and out of the bedroom," she said with a snort.
"I did not need that visual."
Her bewitching laughter drifted into the fragrant air, stunning me stupid. "How long are you staying in Maui?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
"Until Monday. I thought I'd take a few extra days to enjoy the sunshine before heading back to Seattle. Aren't you going to get something?" I asked after the bartender handed me a beer.
"No, I'm pretty sure I downed an entire bottle of champagne before I left my mom's suite."
"Wow, and you aren't even stumbling. That's impressive."
"I've had a lot of practice. Plus, I wouldn't want to receive another lecture from my mom on the plethora of empty calories in alcohol." She was trying to make lite of a fucked-up situation, but I knew the ugly truth. Erica's mom, Allison, had an unhealthy obsession with weight. Erica's to be exact.
"Fuck that," I said under my breath. She shied away from my scowl and pointed at her dad.
"I better get back. I'll see you after the ceremony."
"Yes, you will." I captured her elbow. "And we are going to finish our conversation."
"Right. Can't wait," she replied with a weary sigh.
Thirty minutes later, after all of the guests had taken their seats, Erica stood beside her father as her mother floated down the aisle accompanied by a string quartet. Allison Wood was very attractive, for a woman her age, and commanded the attention of every person in the audience. She'd always had a flair for that.
I'd spent more time with the Woods than my family during college, much to my own mother's chagrin. It was trading one type of crazy for another. Christopher and Allison Wood were rich, sophisticated, and obsessed with appearances. They were pretty shitty parents, all in all, but at least they could put food on the table and clothes on their kids' backs.
Janice and Damian slumped into the chairs I'd saved just as the preacher started droning on about enduring love. Whatever magic Janice had spun in that grove of trees had worked. Damian no longer looked like he was about to breathe fire.
When the ceremony ended, we walked to the banquet hall. A line had formed to greet the happy couple, but I had no desire to make nice with the Woods. And I needed to talk to Erica.
"I'm going to go find Erica," I told Damian and Janice. I found Erica across the room in front of the head table, sipping a glass of champagne. The smile on her face dipped when she saw me heading her direction.
"Hi. You hanging in there?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
"When are you going to tell me what's been going on with you?" I grabbed her by the elbow when she turned to leave.
"I can't do this right now," she spluttered over her shoulder.
"I'm not letting you out of this that easily."
"It's my parents' reception. I'm not going to discuss this while family members and friends mingle within earshot."
"Then come to my room later."
Her nose wrinkled up as she turned to face me. "No. I'm not coming to your room."
"You're afraid to be alone with me?" My teasing tone only seemed to piss her off more.
"I'm not afraid. I just think it would be best if we didn't spend time alone."
"What are you afraid is going to happen?"
"You're still a tease. So, I know nothing is going to happen."
I stepped closer, allowing my words to wash over the delicate flesh of her ear, because goading her was impossible to resist. "I don't recall teasing you in the bathroom earlier. In fact, I'm pretty sure you were two seconds from coming in those tiny shorts."
She choked on her champagne, murdering me with a glare. "I was not," she said, her tone as prim as the upward tilt of her chin.
"You're a horrible liar, Erica. Did you go back to your room and touch yourself? Did you make yourself come, thinking about my fingers inside of you? Is that why you skipped out on breakfast?" I needed to stop because my dick was starting to respond to the images I was creating with my words.
"You're delusional."
"I can tell you what I'd like to see happen," I said, lowering my voice even more. "I'd like to peel that dress from your body and suck on those beautiful tits I know are hidden underneath." She stilled beside me, except for her chest, which heaved with each of her shallow breaths. "Then I'd taste you. See if your pussy is as delicious as I remember. And after I'd had my fill, I'd fuck you. Again, and again. Until you're hoarse from screaming my name."
Her hard, little nipples and the flush spreading up her neck revealed she was more turned on than angry. "Don't play with me, Dante."
"I'm not playing."
She set her glass on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. "What's so different now? Why are you willing to risk the wrath of my brother? Is it because I'm broken and you think your magical cock can fix me?"
"You're not broken. And you know what's different. You're not a naive kid anymore."
She laughed, but it was tinny and lacked any humor. "Why? Because you assume I'm not a virgin?"
Holy. Fuck.
Her eyes dropped to the ground under the weight of my stare. My dick tried to jump out of my pants and I forced open the top button of my shirt.
"You're still a virgin?"
The question hung thick in the air between us.
"And if I were?"
"Jesus," I swore as I rubbed a hand through my hair. "How is that even possible?"
Before she could respond, we both noticed Damian and Janice heading our direction. I groaned, but Erica waved them over with a relieved sigh.
"We're not done," I whispered into her ear.
She ripped her elbow out of my hand. "That's where you're wrong. We are done, Dante."
The moon's reflection swam a disjointed pattern on the surface of the crashing waves. The scent of seaweed and crustacean escapades wafted on the cool night air. Even though the sand still held the heat of the day, I rubbed my bare shoulders. I'd slipped out after dinner, hoping for a short reprieve from the festivities and Dante.
My brother was on his way to drunk, which meant I couldn't rely on him to run interference. And Janice was like a fish out of water, flopping around in a futile attempt to catch her breath under the onslaught of my parents' less-than-positive attention.
I was on my own.
I had no idea what Dante's end game was, but he seemed intent on tearing down all the walls I had built to keep him out. The dirty words he'd spewed in the banquet hall had lit a fire in my belly that had only been stoked by his hungry looks throughout dinner. He was offering everything I had wanted all those years ago. I wasn't sure I was ready to accept it.
The sound of someone approaching pulled me from my thoughts and I glanced over my shoulder. Dante sauntered my direction wearing a sheepish grin, with a beer in one hand. He was the only person I knew who could navigate dry sand with grace.
I swore under my breath, which he apparently heard because he stopped ten feet away and put his hands up.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I wanted to see if you were okay."
I was tired. The day had taken a toll and I had no fight left in me. I wished we could pretend we were two old friends catching up. His eyes seemed to flicker with understanding and we forged a silent truce as he inched closer. I clutched handfuls of sand and let the grains trickle through my fingers.
"As you can see, I'm fine," I said.
"Yes. You. Are." His over-the-top flirtatious wink made me laugh.
"Do women really fall for those corny lines?"
He slumped down next to me. "It doesn't take much. It never has." There was no hint of arrogance. And because I'd witnessed it firsthand and overheard stories, I knew he wasn't exaggerating.
"It must be nice having women fall at your feet." Care of my own Internet stalking, I knew he'd had plenty of beautiful women over the years.
His smile faltered and he stared out at the ocean. "It used to be."
"What changed?"
"It gets old having women fall at your feet for all the wrong reasons. I've become a little more selective in my old age."
"The manwhore has developed standards? Shocking," I teased.
"Ouch," he said with a chuckle. "What about you? Someone as bea
utiful as you must have men lining up around the block."
"Nope. If anything, my looks are a deterrent. Once a guy knows I'm a model, they're either intimidated or more interested in making sure everyone around them knows."
"What about the people you work with?"
"Unlike my brother, I mostly steer clear of people I work with," I replied.
I had fooled around with a male model or two, because what red-blooded woman could resist a good-looking man. I'd shared a few stolen kisses with a guy who looked like a cross between Charlie Hunnam and a young Brad Pitt in a coat closet one New Year's Eve. And then there was the time in Costa Rica when the swarthy, Latino model cornered me by the bathroom. All in all, I had less than half a dozen chaste experiences to speak of.
An involuntary shudder ran through me as Brent's leering face flashed before my eyes.
"Are you cold?" Dante asked. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tugged me closer.
"I'm okay," I said. Except I wasn't. I should have pulled away, but it felt warm and safe wrapped in the cocoon of his hard body.
"How is your job?" he asked.
I considered lying, but I knew he would see right through it. "It's a sad and solitary business, with brutal hours in mostly crappy locales, filled with people who care more about the way they look than who they are."
"Wow, not the ringing endorsement I expected. What about all the glitz and glamour?"
I picked up a shell and turned it over, admiring the perfect ridges of the former sea-dweller's home. "Far drabber than you might think. What about you? Damian told me that you've been working your way up at the Tribune."
An earnest smile lit up his face. "I fucking love my job. It's the one thing that softened the blow of losing my football career."
I didn't want to ask, but I had to know. "Do you miss it?"
He stiffened slightly and took a long draw from his beer. "I miss aspects of it. Not the money and fame or the craziness that came as a result of all that. I miss the players and coaches and being part of a team with one singular goal. And there's nothing quite like scoring a touchdown in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans."
