by JA Huss
Chapter Eight - Grace
#SecondThoughtsSuck
I FIND myself on a beach. Not the Cove Beach or wherever the hell Mr. Asher invited me to. Some other beach that’s finally open because obviously that party was the one responsible for closing down the resort this weekend. His party.
Why would he invite me out tonight if he’s at a party already? If he’s got a girl here with him? What was he saying to her? Giving her an excuse for why he needed to leave and meet me?
That’s bullshit. I’m not a boyfriend-stealer. I think girls who date married or taken men are scum. I would never do that. Not in a million years.
But I feel dirty. Like—ashamed for even thinking about it.
I know his reputation. He’s a flirt, if I want to be nice. He’s a man whore, if I want to be honest. He’s not married and most of his relationships are very private. But there are rumors about why they are so private. Something akin to a nondisclosure agreement.
Which, OK, that makes sense if you’re rich and famous. I guess. But after what I just witnessed, I think he might have those contracts because he’s hiding things.
His sexual preferences have been in the weekly tabloids more than once. But for some reason none of those stories ever affected him. Maybe people just don’t care. I never did. The thought of Vaughn Asher being a deviant in the bedroom is more appealing than not, if I’m being honest. Lots of women feel that way today, so it’s no wonder that these stories of his dark sexual side never touched his movie-star persona.
But I’m not into secrets. I have too many of my own to bother with strangers’. I like fun and flirty. Do I really want to know about Vaughn Asher’s dark side? Wouldn’t it be better to just leave him up on that pedestal I made for him and go on living in a fantasy?
I swallow down my heartache. Which is just ridiculous. I have no relationship with this guy. And he came off a little bit obnoxious before I realized who he is and changed my tune. But he is obnoxious. Pushing himself into my raft today and sending me this bizarre invitation to meet him on the beach.
For what?
For sex, you dumbass!
He wants to use me. And I was fully planning on letting him. But no way, not if he’s got a girlfriend. Not even if he was breaking up with her, because that’s almost what that conversation looked like. She was sad for some reason—he was comforting her.
I drop to the sand and remove my shoes, my toes digging in until they are on the verge of cold. “Grace,” I say in a soft whisper. “You’re way too impulsive, Grace. You’re so eager for a fairy tale, you create one where it doesn’t exist.”
“It’s the wrong beach,” a husky voice calls out from behind me.
Vaughn. He’s found me.
“Did you get lost?” he asks. He stands beside me for a moment before taking a seat on the sand. “A few of the waiters saw you on the path outside the party and said you came this way.”
I can’t look at him and I have no idea what to say, so there’s nothing but the crashing of waves.
“This beach is private.”
“Oh,” I say, as I laugh a little to myself. I grab the straps of my shoes and I’m about to stand up when his large hand wraps around my small wrist.
“It’s OK,” he says in a soothing voice. “We can stay here.” His grip pulls me down and I give in and settle back on the sand. “Did you eat dinner?”
I shake my head no.
“Are you hungry?”
Another no.
“Are you mute?” he asks with a laugh. But when I stare up at him his laugh dies in his throat. “What’d I do? You’re looking at me like I’m the devil.”
I take a deep breath and look away. His beautiful eyes are too distracting. I can’t concentrate when I gaze at him. He steals my breath and invades my thoughts in all the wrong ways. I can feel the heat of his body next to mine. He’s still wearing his suit. Not a light one, like the rest of the people at the party, but dark. A black suit.
It’s an omen, I think. An omen that foreshadows the darkness inside him that I’m just beginning to see clearly. I know more about this man than a stranger should. I’ve been obsessed with him for years.
Maybe that makes me the dark one?
He huffs out a breath. “Did you hear something? Did you read something? I mean, you were normal this afternoon and now—” He changes position and flops down on his side in the sand, his hand propping up his face, his smile a devious smirk. “Now you’re…” He stares at me in the moonlight, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. “Now you’re… afraid.” He lets the word hang there between us. “Afraid of me? Or just of being with me?”
I have no clue what to say, so I opt for the truth. “I saw you back there.”
“OK,” he laughs, a look of relief washing over his face. “So… what did you see? I’m not drunk, so I know I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m still dressed, so I wasn’t humping the chairs.”
I chuckle a little at that.
“I didn’t eat the salad”—he swipes a finger over his teeth—“so I know there’s no lettuce distracting you from my disarming smile. I tipped the waiter and the band—”
“I saw you with that woman.”
“What woman?” he responds too quickly.
“That tall brunette in the pink dress.”
“Samantha?” he asks, sitting up with a smile.
“I don’t know, is that her name?” I say back with a snarl that takes me by surprise.
“You’re jealous.” And now he does laugh. “You’re jealous of Samantha.”
“I’m not jealous, Mr. Asher—”
“Whoa,” he laughs. “That’s so fucking hot.”
I just stare at him. “What?”
“Almost everyone calls me Mr. Asher, but holy fuck, hearing it come from your mouth.”
I glance down at his crotch and see the unmistakable bulge of a hard-on. “I’m leaving.” I get up, all the way up this time, and he does not protest. I grab my sandals by the straps and turn away. He gets to his feet behind me and I’m a few paces up the beach when he calls out.
“She’s my sister, Grace. Samantha is my sister. She got married today and she’s having second thoughts. I didn’t know what to say to her so we were… having a moment, ya know? Kinda personal. I’m sorry you saw it.”
I stop but don’t turn around.
“I’m not usually so… I don’t know, caring. But she’s having second thoughts and I didn’t know what to say to make it better and I was trying to help her believe it’ll be OK. I think she loves him, but what do I know? I want to convince her this is normal, but I don’t think it is. Because if I was getting married I would not have second thoughts. If I was the one who got married today, I’d be fucking my wife in the pool house, or here on the beach, or up in the hotel. My wedding night would be nothing but constant attention to the woman I chose to spend the rest of my life with. So I’m thinking she did make a mistake. But how can I tell her that?” He stops and lets out a long breath.
When I turn to look at him he’s rubbing his hands down his face like this is eating away at him.
“I love my sister. She’s fragile and perfect and if I told her what I really think she’d believe me and be crushed. And who am I to make her believe that? Maybe this is love to her? Maybe we just all love in different ways?”
I shrug my shoulders at him. “Oh,” is all I manage. “I’m sorry.”
“Would you have second thoughts?” he asks me in a soft and solemn voice. “On your wedding night?”
I shake my head and he smiles for all the wrong reasons. “No,” I say decisively. “I wouldn’t. Because I’m never getting married so the opportunity for second thoughts would never occur.”
His smile fades. “Well, I guess you’re not a romantic.” It’s not a question.
I’m not sure what to think of this conversation. I’m standing on a tropical beach with Vaughn Asher, the movie star, and we’re talking about true love and romance. “I am,”
I insist. “I am romantic, but in a very…” I shrug. “Fairy tale way, that’s all. It’s not real, it’s all fake. I don’t mind the fake as long as I keep the fairy tale where it belongs. My fantasy.”
“So why did you meet me tonight?” He takes a few steps towards me. “If you weren’t daydreaming about a real-life romantic encounter—” He’s close enough to see the color of his eyes now. And then his hand reaches out and takes mine. I want to pull away. In fact, I try to pull away, but he’s got that grip on me again. “Then what other reason is there to come?”
I huff out a breath and the laugh comes out along with it. “You’re a movie star. I’m starstuck. Can you blame me?”
“Did you think I wanted to fuck you?”
“Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
“I don’t pretend to read minds but I know your public persona well enough to say, yeah. I think you asked me out so you could fuck me. Am I wrong?”
“No,” he says quickly. “You’re not wrong.” He grabs a hold of my shoes and tries to take them, but I pull back. “I’ll hold them for you. And walk you back to the bungalows by way of the beach.”
“This beach goes to the bungalows?” I flash him a raised eyebrow. “They’re not beachfront. I know that for sure.”
“No, but this beach winds around to the other side of them. We can get there from here. And I can replace my public reputation with my private one as we walk.”
Well. I have to admit, I was not expecting him to be so… honest. “Will I want to know you privately?”
“Are you interested in a relationship?”
“What?” I laugh. “Oh, shit. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot? You’re a movie star. I’m an event planner from Denver. I’m not that stupid.”
“I know who you are and where you’re from. Everyone at this resort has been background-checked, including you. So no, I do not think you’re stupid. I just wanted a date with you.”
“A date that ends with me being shown the door in the morning?”
He shakes his head as he laughs. “Grace, you’re sending me mixed signals. Do you want to be shown the door the morning after or not? I’m confused. One second you’re all swoony and the next you’re hostile. I told you that was my sister. Do you want to go talk to her and see if I’m lying? You were obviously on your way to meet me when you wandered by the party and saw us. So what I want to know is how did I become some asshole in your mind in the span of a few minutes if what you saw was a misunderstanding?”
He’s right. I’m being a total bitch right now. I’m angry and defensive and I don’t even know why. And my surrender must show in my body language because he stops holding my hand and drags the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “Just relax,” he whispers. “Come for a walk on the beach with me. It’s the long way, sure. But I promise, I’ll get you home and you can see part of this island not many people have access to.”
I bite my lip and nod. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just… moody. My friend ditched me today and I’m being a jealous bitch in more ways than one. I misunderstood and I apologize. I’d love to see your beach.”
I say the words and I really do mean them, but there’s this instant when I watch his smile that I feel I’ve crossed a boundary. I’m not sure what kind of boundary it is, but I know it’s going to change me. For better or worse, I think from this moment forward I will divide my adult life up into two parts. Everything that came before I met the movie star on the beach. And everything that came after.
Chapter Nine - Grace
#UnavailableToYouAsshole
“I GREW up here,” Vaughn says as we walk along the beach.
I look around at all the natural beauty and try to imagine this kind of childhood. “It must’ve been like a dream.”
“Where’d you grow up? Your background check had no childhood information on you. It was weird really—”
“Denver,” I say, cutting him off. “Born and raised.”
“Was it”—he looks over at me but I’m trying to avoid his stare, so I bend down and pick up a rock to skip into the waves—“a struggle?”
I really hate talking about myself, but I don’t want him to think I’m evading. I don’t want to give him any reason to go looking for my past. So I tell all the safe stuff. “My younger years were not bad. They were close to middle-class perfect, in fact. We were never rich, but we owned a house. A small one in the Highlands area of Denver. It’s not a great neighborhood, it’s still Denver and that comes with certain truths about crime and public schools. But it’s nice. And quaint with all the whimsically painted Victorian houses and the small shopping district. A trendy place these days, where young professionals want to live because it’s close to downtown and yet secluded from it at the same time.
“After my parents both died I sold the house to pay for college and even with my fancy new job, there’s no way I could afford to buy there now. Most of the homes start at half a million. My parents bought our house back before the revitalization, so prices were cheap and the hood was bleak. But now… it’s out of reach for me.”
When I look over at him he’s got a solemn expression. I know it well. Pity. When people hear that my parents died when I was young I get that look often. I like to get past it, so that’s why I opt for telling instead of evasion. And then I always turn the conversation back around. “Is your family close? I mean, I knew you had a sister and a brother, and I’ve seen your brother in a few indie films, but I’ve never seen your sister before.”
He nods as I talk. “Yeah, we’re close.” And his smile when he looks at me tells me that’s the truth. “We bicker and shit, but it’s all in good fun. We’re very close. Even my father, the great Adam Asher, is a big family guy at heart. But I don’t see Samantha often. She hates the spotlight. She hates the paparazzi. They wrote a story on her when she was a teenager, a real nasty one, and it about killed her. My father sued the magazine and they gave in and pulled the story before it ran. So all turned out OK. But Sam was… traumatized. That’s why we had everyone background-checked.”
That whole story makes me shiver. “Why let anyone come to the resort at all? Why not just buy up all the rooms?”
He stops and waves his hand at the expansive back lawn of a sprawling beachside estate. There’s a line of mature palm trees flanking a center walkway paved with pea stones that leads up to the Spanish-style house. “We own this place. The beach, the resort, the house. So we can do whatever we want with it. But—”
He looks down at me and this is the first time I realize how tall he is. I know his actual height, six foot two, because I know all those trivial facts about him from my fangirl stalking. But seeing him in person is quite different. I have to look up to pay attention to what he’s saying and it makes me feel vulnerable.
“But some people,” he stresses these words, “are on their honeymoons. And Samantha wouldn’t hear of ruining them.”
I laugh a little. “We lied.”
“Obviously,” he says back with a smile. “I wasn’t sure at first, no offense,” he adds with a chuckle. “You and your friend together are a fantasy come true. But the guy showing up and announcing himself as her boyfriend sorta blew your cover.”
“It wasn’t cover,” I explain. “We just never thought about it, I guess. The rules never said you actually had to be newly married. And Bebe’s current boyfriend is more of a toy than a commitment, so she brought me with her instead of him.”
“Looks like that might’ve backfired for her.” Vaughn’s genuine smiles leaks through his feigned attempt at seriousness. “She seems to have forgotten about you.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I’m not usually a jealous bitch, but I was a little annoyed when the call came saying she was spending the night on some island.”
“Well, I’m happy to keep you company and occupy all your thoughts while you wait for her to come home. Want a tour of the house?” He waves me forward and onto the little pea-pebbled pathway.
/> “Wow, these stones feel so good on my feet.”
“They really do, don’t they. You don’t normally hear those three things together. Bare feet, stones, and feels good. But they are smooth and polished. It’s like a foot massage as you walk.” He chuckles to himself and adds, “And if you ever find yourself lying on your back, they massage that too.”
“Is that right?” My God, he just admitted to fucking someone on this path.
“Wanna feel it? Here,” he says as he takes my hand and kneels down on the pebbles, pulling me down with him. “Lie down, I’ll show you.”
“No.” I pull away, forcefully this time. With enough gumption for him to realize that’s never gonna happen. “No, I don’t want to.”
“OK,” he says, getting back to his feet. “You’re a tough cookie to crack, aren’t you?”
“Define crack?”
“To break, to open—”
“Now you’re the one sending mixed signals.”
“Am I?” he replies quickly. “I think I’m sending all the right ones, to be honest.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what you want? Why ask me out? Why all this strange interest?”
He stares down at me with a flat line for a mouth, his eyebrows melded together in an expression of confusion. “Why not you? You’re pretty, you’re here, and you’re the only beautiful woman around who is not on her honeymoon or part of my family.”
Oh my God. The god just insulted me by practically labeling me ‘available’. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” I ask him. It takes a lot to undo my Happiness is a #Hashtag motto, but I admit, I am very, very annoyed at this point.
“Are you looking for a compliment? Because I can dish them out, Grace. I can tell you your eyes are beautiful, your ass is perfect, and your tits make me hard just picturing them inside that flimsy little piece of fabric you’re calling a dress. Do you need to hear all those things right now? Do you need your ego pumped up? Because from where I’m standing, all those things are so obvious to me, I kinda figured you’d think I was some pathetic player if I said that to you tonight.”
