by Kim Linwood
I smile. They’ve always been like that. Him boisterous and excited, her quiet and warm, but with a bite. A perfect match. I used to wish I had parents like them. First when my father was gone so much and Mom would cry. Then when Mom and Hunter’s dad were together. Happy for a short while, then miserable for so long. Maybe some day I’ll find someone like that, but I’m not holding my breath. Maria puts more love into her gentle teasing than Mom put into her entire marriage.
I look around. The cozy dining area only has room for a few tables, and tonight we are the only ones here. It’s nearly as I remember it, but well-polished and bright where it had seemed dull and worn. Much like the estate. Hunter not only has my life, he has an upgraded version.
The lucky bastard leans in close. “It’s just us tonight. I made sure of it.”
He means the restaurant, I’m sure, but the implication of privacy makes me think of other—more intimate—things than dinner.
Chef seats us himself, pulling out my chair before Hunter gets the chance. Our cameraman gets a table next to us, where he can sit and be a good little stalker, watching us through his lens.
Nothing like a private, romantic dinner in front of a video camera. I sigh.
The dinner menu arranged before we even sit down, Chef goes off to perform the final steps of his culinary magic. Hunter leans forward over the table. “I’m getting worried I’m going to lose you to Chef. He might be getting older, but he’s smooth.”
My lip quirks up in a smile as I imagine Maria beating him over the head with a pan. “A man who knows his way around a kitchen is quite a catch, but I think I’m safe. Although...” I trail off, giving Hunter an assessing look. “Now that you mention it, if not food, then what do you bring to the table?”
Aside from money, good looks and over six feet of gorgeous muscle.
Hunter smirks. “I’m an amazing kisser.”
“Yet to be proven,” I point out, though if my teenage memory can be believed, he’s absolutely right. “Still, I think I need more than nice lips and a sexy body to sweep me off my feet.”
“Sexy body? I didn’t mention that, but good to know you’re thinking about it. I think I already proved I can sweep you off your feet just fine, though.”
Alright, so I giggle. A little. “Dork.”
His eyes go theatrically huge, and he leans in even closer. “Do you know what a dork actually is?”
It’s going to be something horrible and embarrassing, but I shake my head anyway.
He crooks his finger, and I put my ear next to his mouth. “A whale dick!”
I sit back, blinking. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I know ‘hung like a horse’ is more standard, but I’ll take ‘hung like a whale’, though I’m not sure how you’d know.” He grins. “Yet.”
“No way, I don’t believe you.”
“You want me to show you? Right here? That hardly seems appropriate!” Hunter says in mock horror.
Just as I open my mouth to tell him what he can shove in his blowhole, Chef comes out carrying two plates.
Piled high with fresh seafood, the large serving tray in Chef’s hands exudes an aroma that makes my mouth water. Hunter’s antics are easy to put up with when they mean access to wonderful cooking that drags me right back to my childhood.
Everything smells heavenly, and looks amazing. Prawns, scallops, crab and lobster, they all glisten in a buttery sauce that looks as delicious as it probably is bad for me.
I give Chef a grateful smile. “This looks so, so good.”
He bends his shoulders in a quick bow, and smiles broadly. “Gracias.” Maria appears behind him with wine.
I panic, covering the top of my glass. Alcohol has already done more than enough damage in my life. “Just water, please.”
She looks at me, and then to Hunter. He studies me for a moment. “The same, Maria. Sparkling if you have it.”
Maria nods, coming back momentarily with glasses full of fizzy water and lemon wedges.
Hunter motions to get her attention, and whispers something I can’t make out. She smiles, and before long, the cameraman has his own plate full of food, and our bottle of wine.
Stabbing a scallop with my fork, I put it in my mouth, the tender meat melting over my tongue with rich, buttery flavor. God, I haven’t had food like this in... in I don’t even remember how long.
Something strokes softly along my calf. Looking up at Hunter, I find him chewing a morsel of his own, but his eyes sparkle, and his lips are curled up at the corners in a teasing smile.
I swallow before speaking. “If I leap to my feet and dump my water all over you, do you think that would make good TV? I think it might, but I wanted your opinion before I wasted my drink.”
He laughs, but his foot continues to caress my leg. “Oh, God no. I think it’d make miserable TV. I think you should slide under the table. The viewers would love that.”
“Hmmm.” I swirl my fingertip along the rim of the water glass. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. Much watch TV.” Hunter wiggles his eyebrows.
“Well...” I drag out the moment, putting my napkin on the table. Just when I see a flicker of uncertainty cross his face, I put my napkin back in my lap. “Too bad the film has stopped rolling.”
Hunter looks over at our cameraman, who is chowing down like he hasn’t eaten for a week, the camera forgotten on the table. “Shit.”
Slipping a hand down under the tablecloth, I find his foot. I stroke it gently, trailing my fingers over its contours.
He grins.
As I pass over the top of his foot, I pinch as hard as I can.
“Ow! Fuck!” The foot disappears quickly.
“Good thing we’re on cable.” I drag a piece of crab through the sauce, popping it into my mouth.
Hunter settles back into his chair, letting me get the last word for once. “Not a big drinker?” he asks, casually.
Talk about an uncomfortable change of topic. “No, not really. I don’t mind if you do—so long as someone else is flying us back—but I just... I’ve never seen anything good that it makes better. Not compared to how many bad things it makes worse. Does that make sense?”
I expect him to turn it into a big conversation, like most of my dates have. Making me feel guilty for making them feel guilty if they want to order a beer. I honestly don’t care, but not everyone believes me. Instead, he just nods thoughtfully, and lets it drop. Maybe living those few years with my mother made him more understanding than most.
We finish, and the empty plates are whisked away.
The next dish is a wonderfully tart and peppery flying fish fillet that melts in my mouth. Wonder how much it would cost to hire Chef to work at the estate. Now that would be magical. Of course without Hunter’s money, I couldn’t afford to even keep it going as it is now, let alone hire Chef.
It suddenly occurs to me that if I get my wish, people might lose their jobs. That was never my intention.
The dinner continues, course for course, and each comes out paired with a non-alcoholic concoction. Some fruity, some dry and fizzy, everything delicious. To our side, the cameraman is looking less and less focused as he goes through the booze intended for us.
We’re eating the most tender steak I’ve tasted in my life, when Hunter leans forward. “I’m glad it was you. That won, I mean.” He’s looking at me with a raw longing that fills me with warmth.
I duck my head, trying to hide my flush. “Me too.”
“Plane ride and everything?”
“I’m still more of a boat fan, but yeah.”
He chuckles. “This show is a joke.”
“Then why do it?” I’d been asked why I was participating a dozen times, but I’m not sure I’d ever heard Hunter asked why he would go along with such a crazy idea. It’s not like he needs the money or the publicity.
“Short answer? My father. Long answer? My fucking father.” He sighs, taking his napkin out of his lap and leaning back. “He’
s spent his whole life looking for the jackpot. But even when he had it, he was too blind to see it.” Hunter’s blue eyes cut straight through me.
He isn’t talking to me like a stranger. He’s talking to me like he knows.
Unease makes the rich dinner sit heavily in my stomach. “So how does the show fit into that?”
“For twenty-five years, I depended on him, which was a fucking joke because he’s about as dependable as a hurricane. You know it’s going to hurt you, you just don’t know exactly when or how bad. I don’t even think he means it. It’s just who he is. Always searching, never happy.”
A lot like my mother. I nod in understanding.
Hunter finishes off the last of his mocktail. “When I gained control of my trust money, everything changed. That’s when I moved back here for good, but without the convenient cash flow...”
“He needs you.”
Pointing his finger to his nose, Hunter nods. “He’s a selfish bastard, but he’s my father. His network needs a hit, and doing the show here with me saves a shitload of cash. Stupid, right? He’s using me and I know it.”
“No. Your heart’s in the right place. You should never feel bad for helping people who need it.” I reach over and take his hand. We’re more alike than he’ll ever know.
Things are shifting between us. I’m afraid that if I don’t steel my heart, I’ll never be able to do what needs to be done. I can’t afford to empathize with Hunter. If he loses the island, he might be annoyed, but he can just buy a new one. For me, this is my only chance.
I need to find the deed and get myself kicked off the island. Soon, before I totally fall for Hunter all over again.
But not tonight. I’m not quite ready for the dream to end.
“It’s getting awfully late,” I point out.
He leans back, arms behind his head. “Yeah, we’re supposed to head back in another hour or so.”
“Is that safe? It’s so dark, and you’ve been drinking...”
Hunter looks at me, confused. “No, I haven’t.”
Oh, that’s right. “Well, but if you had been...”
He arches an eyebrow.
Come on, work with me. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if we were stuck here?”
Comprehension raises his brows. “Ah! Yes, terrible shame. We could always get a room somewhere.”
“Two rooms.” Keep the cart behind the horse, buddy.
“On such short notice? I’d ask for a big bed.”
“Do that. In both rooms.”
“And maybe a hot tub.”
“Sure, in my room.”
A snore from the other table stops our argument in its tracks. The cameraman is fast asleep, head resting on his arm. Hunter and I look at each other and burst out laughing.
Hunter waves Chef over. “Make sure he ends up somewhere safe to sleep it off, okay? Put it on my tab.”
“Si, si. No hay problema.” He waves it away like the request is nothing. “Go on. I remember love.”
“We’re not in love.”
It’s obvious from Chef’s expression he doesn’t buy it. “Of course. My mistake.”
“Come on. Let’s go.” Hunter stands up and holds out his hand.
I hesitate.
He looks down at me, hair tousled and mischief written across his face in giant capital letters.
Throwing caution to the wind, I grab his hand. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”
Hunter
We duck out of the restaurant and emerge laughing into a small parking lot. The heavy scent of flowers fills the night air, more intoxicating than wine. In the distance, San Juan lights up the night sky.
“What’re we going to do?” she asks. “The show people didn’t leave a car here or anything, did they?”
“Nope.” I have no plan at all, and it feels great.
Liz looks skeptical. “So we’re stranded.”
A car approaches, its brights on high. I step out into the road and wave my hands, trying to flag it down. Luckily they stop.
I grin at Liz. “Nope.”
It’s an old Chevy, driven by a sunbaked man with a bushy gray mustache and a fedora that sits crooked on his mop of straw-like white hair. He rolls down the window with a hand crank and looks at me curiously. “Si?”
Quickly I launch into a story that I make up on the spot. I’m with my girlfriend, and her father’s inside. We need to get away for a little bit, but my car broke down. I babble on like a lovesick fool until the old man cuts me off with a gesture. He gestures at the back seat, mumbling something about young fools and old idiots.
I smile at him, beaming gratefully. “Gracias.”
Liz and I slide into the backseat. He takes one look at her and gives me a nod of approval. Liz blushes and laughs.
Our driver chatters on in Spanish, yelling over the rattle of the engine and the music piping out of the radio. 50s rock and roll, which seems oddly out of place in the land of salsa and bomba drumming.
I take her hand and give it a squeeze while he tells us about his kids and his new granddaughter. Liz looks over at me and squeezes back. I’d been thinking of taking her into town, and seeing what sort of trouble we could get up to, but now I don’t want to.
It’s bad enough that I have to share her with this pretend “Sarah”. I don’t want to fight for her attention with every horndog that sees her in that dress.
“Pull over up there,” I ask the driver in Spanish, leaning forward and pointing to a spot I know leads back down to the beach.
“Que? But there’s nothing here. Are you sure you—”
“This is fine. Muchas gracias.”
The old man shrugs, but pulls over. We climb out, and he hits the horn a couple times in goodbye, probably hurrying home to tell his wife about the crazy people in the fancy clothes.
“Alright, so now what?” Liz looks around us, then back at me with a puzzled expression.
On one side of the road is just jungle, while on the other side is a short slope down to a deserted stretch of beach. It’s rocky here, and out of the way.
Perfect for being alone.
I pick my way down to the shore and look back up towards the road. Illuminated in moonlight, Liz is like an angel under a divine spotlight. I put my arms up, and she takes off her heels before I swing her easily down onto the sand. I hold her waist a little longer than necessary, but she doesn’t complain.
“Come on. Let’s watch the stars.” A couple of boulders stab out into the water, so I grab her hand and drag her that way.
“That’s your big plan? Steal me away and stargaze?”
“If we get bored, I’m sure we’ll think of something.” I wink, and she rolls her eyes with a laugh.
She steps ahead carefully, her shoes swinging from her hand. I follow behind, admiring the view.
The rocks are still warm from the sun, and worn smooth by the water. The soft breeze pushes a few dark, shadowy clouds, but mostly, the sky’s clear. Water sloshing gently against the shore and insects in the distance are the only sounds.
She sits, toes touching the water, making little ripples on the surface.
My feelings for her are complicated. Lust is at the forefront, of course. Teenage fantasies unfulfilled, mixed with some very grown up longings for the woman she is today. It would be strange if I didn’t want her.
If that was it, I’d have her flat on this rock or riding me under the stars already. Itch scratched.
But it’s more than that. I take off my own shoes and sit down beside her, close enough that our legs are touching.
I care about Liz. I always have. The years we spent together were some of the most normal of my life. My stepsister, and my partner in crime. Two kids who’d been blessed with amazing opportunities, but shackled to parents who could barely take care of themselves, let alone children.
Looking her up and down, I’d say she’s all grown up now. I don’t want to break the spell, but I have to ask. “So you know why I’m doing this. Want to tell me why you’re h
ere?”
For a bit she doesn’t answer. Is she going to come clean? I want to grab her shoulders and make her admit who she is. Force her to look me in the eyes and tell me what the fuck this act is about.
“Maybe I just want to be Mrs. Hunter Campbell. Is that so hard to believe?”
I snort a laugh. “Honestly? Yes.”
She looks up at me through those strange green eyes. “Why?”
“Because you don’t really know me. Because I’ve seen when Elena and some of the others are mentally adding up the dollar signs. You’re too smart for that. Too honest.”
Guilt so heavy I can almost feel it crashes down over her, shuttering her face.
“Am I wrong?” This is it. Will she tell me?
She shrugs. “What if I just wanted some fun? The tropical vacation hook-up of a lifetime.”
Just fucking tell me already. My patience is running thin. “Sure. Go on then, prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove it,” I taunt. “You’re playing awfully hard to get for a girl out to score.”
“Maybe I will!”
“So do it!”
“Fine!” She glares at me, then reaches back behind her head, and starts to lower the zipper on her dress.
A better man than me might stop her at this point.
I watch as she stands up and lets the dress fall. My cock doesn’t care why she’s stripping, and maybe it makes me an asshole, but I’m enjoying every second. In the dark, her hair looks more brown than red, and she looks almost like herself. Standing there in her black lace bra and panties, she’s not showing anything that I didn’t see when she was wearing her bikini, but it’s different. Sexier.
Her face is hidden in the shadows, but her creamy skin shines, all long legs and soft curves. She reaches behind and unhooks her bra, letting it drop next to her dress. I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.
Especially when she bends over, and her full breasts with their dark, rosy nipples sway so close I could easily suck them into my mouth. Liz takes off her panties, one foot at a time.
The blood drains from my brain, headed south at an embarrassing rate.
