The Honeymooner

by Melanie Summers

  I lay under the sheets panting while he kisses my neck in that place that makes my eyes roll back in my head. I didn’t even know I had an involuntary response like that, but it turns out I do. Several of them, in fact.

  “Did I warm you up yet?” he asks, smiling down at me.

  “Almost,” I say, giving him a naughty grin. That’s been my excuse to get him to do all the sex stuff for the last…oh…two hours, maybe? I have no idea. All I know is that it’s completely dark in here now, so it must be night. It’s still raining, but it’s now settled into a steady, hypnotic thrum against the roof.

  “If you want me to keep warming you up, I’m going to have to eat something to get my strength up.”

  “Oh, definitely eat, then,” I say, unable to wipe the satisfied grin off my face.

  “Okay,” he says, but instead of standing to get some food, he ducks under the covers.

  I laugh, putting my hand to my face while he works his way down. By the time he gets there, I’m not laughing anymore. And I disappear from the real world again for a wonderfully long time.

  ***

  We sit together, pillows propped up against the wrought-iron headboard, dining on a pretty decent picnic. He brought a container with olives and cheese and sliced bread that tastes like it just came out of the oven. There’s a container of fruit, a bottle of red wine, and for dessert there are two thick slices of very yummy looking chocolate cake waiting for us on the table.

  “Mmm, God, this is amazing.”

  “That sounds familiar to me. I may have heard you say it earlier,” he says with a grin that would melt my knickers, if I were wearing any.

  “Yes, a few times, even, but now I actually mean it. This Brie is divine,” I say.

  “So it’s going to be like that, is it?” he says, looking amused.

  “Oh, you were good, too,” I say, patting him on the leg condescendingly. “But this cheese is really worth writing home about.”

  Giving me a mock frustrated look, he takes both our plates and sets them on the night stand.

  “Wait, I was enjoying that.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have thrown down the gauntlet.” He pulls me down so I’m laying flat, then rolls on top of me and kisses me hard on the mouth.

  When he pulls back a bit, I give him a skeptical look. “So, let me get this straight. You’re trying to prove you’re more satisfying than a slice of cheese right now?”

  “I am. And between you and me, I like my chances.”

  NINETEEN

  The Secret to a Good Night’s Sleep

  Harrison

  Okay, this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve never been so happy in my entire thirty-two years on this planet. Not the first time I slept with a girl, not the first time I caught a swordfish, not the first time I managed a no-grab barrel roll (which is a pretty impressive surf trick, if I do say so myself). Of all the things I’ve done, this is by far the best moment of my life. It’s like everything has just come together and my life suddenly makes sense. I feel like I could take on the world and win.

  Libby and I are listening to the rain fall, wrapped up naked in each other’s arms. I want to know everything about her, her opinion on every topic, even stuff I don’t normally care about.

  I’ve already told her basically everything there is to know about me, from the time of day I was born (11:45 p.m.) to how I lost my parents to the first girl I kissed (Kelly Plouffe, on the beach, when I was fifteen. Very nice girl, big rack).

  I finally approach a subject I’ve been curious about since the night I met her — her hippie mother. I ask her about her real name, and she talks for a long time, telling me about drifting from place to place as a young child, then being abruptly abandoned by her disappointingly irresponsible mum.

  I pull her in and kiss her on the forehead, wanting to kiss away any pain she’s ever had. And to be completely honest with you, I’ve never wanted to do anything nearly that cheesy. Ever. But with her, I’d do anything — hell, I’d even take a ballroom dance class if she wanted me to.

  “I think that’s why I’ve always kept myself on such a short leash my entire life,” she says. “I’ve always been terrified that if I cut myself some slack, I’d end up like her.”

  I prop my head up on one hand and smile down at her. “You won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because your mum is clearly an extremely selfish person, and you’re not.”

  “Huh. I never thought of it that way. I’ve always thought she was just wild, you know? I never thought of her as selfish.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but now that you say it, I can totally see it.”

  Cupping her cheek with one hand, I say, “And now that you see it, you can relax. You don’t ever have to worry about turning out like her again because you aren’t her — you never could be.” I give her a lingering kiss to emphasize my point.

  When I pull back, she’s smiling, and not just in that ‘post-sex, I’ve just been totally satisfied several times’ way, but with a ‘happy all the way to my soul’ sort of way (which is pretty much what I was aiming for).

  We kiss some more, then I lay back against my pillow and press my forehead to hers.

  Libby runs one finger lazily down my chest. “Did you always want to run the resort?”

  I feel a little taken off guard by her question and have to think about the answer for a second. “No, never. As a teenager, I was planning to get out of here the first chance I got. I was either going to race yachts or be the biggest surf champion in the universe.” I shake my head, feeling a little embarrassed to admit my childhood dreams. “I was going to see the world, taste every exotic food from every country, date the prettiest girls each port had to offer…”

  “Why didn't you?” she asks, her face serious.

  “I grew up,” I say simply. “Will and Emma needed me, and just when they were ready to fly the nest, Oscar died.”

  She runs a finger along my jaw. “So you picked up the pieces and held it all together for everybody else instead of living your own dreams.”

  “Don't feel too sorry for me. I have the prettiest girl in my bed right now. Besides, I didn't have the talent to make it as a surfer or the cash to race yachts anyway, so either way, it would've been a short run.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “If you’re getting your intel from Rosy, she may be a little biased.”

  “Did she fake those newspaper articles about you as the junior surf champ of the Caribbean?” Libby asks with a skeptical look.

  “Oh, Christ, she got out the albums?”

  “She may have.”

  “It’s really not that big a deal,” I say, shaking my head. “Being champion in Hawaii, South Africa, Australia, or California…now that’s a big deal.”

  “I have a feeling you’re being very modest right now.”

  “Nope. I have no discernible talents whatsoever.” I smile playfully. “Except maybe as a wild animal wrangler.”

  “Are you talking about the opossum or me?”

  “Both, although I have to say, you’re much wilder.”

  We laugh for a moment, then Libby snaps her fingers. “Hey, I completely forgot that you brought me out here to show me something…or was that just an elaborate excuse to get me into bed?”

  I give her a sideways grin and waggle my eyebrows. “Oh, I wanted to show you something, all right.” At the incredulous look on her face, I laugh. “Okay, for real, there was an actual business-related reason to come out here, but you distracted me with your hotness.”

  “You distracted us both with all the sexing — not that I’m complaining,” she says, lifting herself up a bit and crooking her arm to hold up her head. “So? What is it? Have you discovered some secret lake on the island that’s the fountain of youth?”

  “Oh, that would be a huge money-maker.”

  “You’d basically be a tril
lionaire within months.”

  “Damn. Now my thing doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” she says, all serious. “Your thing is rather impressive. Great length, perfect girth.” Unable to keep it up any longer, she giggles and turns a little pink.

  “Perfect girth, eh? I might have to keep you around. You’re pretty good for my ego.”

  “I may let you,” she says, blushing a deeper shade now. “Which means I’ve probably already succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome. Now, tell me why we’re out here,” she says, looking very excited.

  “Okay, well, it’s no fountain of youth,” I say, trying to reel in her expectations a bit. “But I think this is even better.”

  “Better than never growing old?”

  “I think so,” I say with a slight nod. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

  She stills her breath and waits, then whispers, “I only hear the rain.”

  “Exactly. Just the rain. No cars or trucks, no other people. Nothing. No one but us.” I smile at her and pause for a second. “What if I built a few cabins on different parts of the island for people who want the ultimate private getaway? Rustic ones like this—nothing too fancy but much nicer, of course, and eco-friendly.”

  “I love it,” she says, grinning at me.

  “You do?”

  “I really do.” Her eyes light up. “That’s honestly the biggest thing right now in boutique travel — ultra-private getaways, surrounded by unspoiled nature — a true escape from the entire world. I think it could be a huge draw.”

  “Really?” I almost sigh in relief that she didn’t laugh at the idea.

  “Definitely. I mean, it’s not like finding the fountain of youth, but if you did it right, you could turn it into a huge money-maker,” she says, sitting up, looking very excited. “You’d actually be able to charge a lot more if you only built one cabin — a villa. That way, you can market it as having their own private island. You’d need top-end food and service, a heated infinity pool, lots of spaces to lounge…and then you price it right — and by that, I mean disgustingly high.”

  “You think? We can’t build a sprawling mansion or anything, though. Not on my budget. Plus, it would be really difficult to build anything too big with the terrain out here.”

  She reaches out with one hand and places it on my face. “It doesn’t have to be huge. Just really well done. You could charge big bucks for it, Harrison. Exclusivity is like catnip, but for rich people. They love nothing more than having access to something no one else does.” She scrunches her face with excitement, and I have to admit, it’s addicting.

  I glance down at her mouth for a second, then say, “Any chance you’d want to stick around and help me make it happen?”

  Her face grows serious, and she lays back down, putting some space between us.

  Before she can say anything, I blurt out, “You don’t have to answer that. That was just the sex-brain talking.”

  Turning on her side, she gives me a small smile. “Is it okay if right now, at this moment, I know for sure the only place I want to be is here with you, but because my life is such a mess, I can’t tell you how all of this is going to turn out?”

  I nod, knowing that as much as I wish it weren’t, this is one of life’s ‘go with the flow’ moments. “Of course that’s okay.”

  Deciding my best move is to prove what she’d be missing if she went back to Dickhead, I lean over her and give her a smoldering look. “So long as you give me a chance to convince you to stay.” Lowering my face, I nuzzle her neck, then kiss her softy.

  Libby giggles a little, then says, “Do your worst.”

  ***

  I wake to the sounds of the birds outside the window and the sun spilling light into the little cabin. Libby is snuggled against me, and as obnoxious as this sounds, she really does look like an angel. Her hair is messy, and she has the most peaceful look on her face.

  It takes me a minute to realize I finally slept through an entire night. I don’t know if I slept because of her or if because I finally feel like there might be a way to save the resort, but I just feel…happy. I literally haven’t felt this good in years — since before Oscar died. Actually, probably before my parents died, if I really think about it. I haven’t felt this free or calm maybe ever.

  I pull her closer, inhaling the scent of her skin, then my next thought is like a blow to the chops. It’s going to hurt like hell if she decides to leave in a few days, because now that I’ve let her fill up my entire heart, I’m afraid she’d take it with her. I think about what kind of future we could have together, the two of us working to build the resort into what it’s meant to be — a piece of paradise that can weather any storm, real or financial.

  Whoa, I’m definitely getting ahead of myself. I mean, this could just be a rebound thing for her. My chest aches at the thought. I stare at her, trying to figure out if there’s any sign that this is nothing but a fling.

  She stirs and opens her eyes. Smiling, she traces my lips with her fingertip before giving me a lingering kiss.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” I say, brushing off my sense of doom.

  “Morning. How many hours have you been laying awake watching me sleep?” she asks.

  “A couple of minutes.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “You mean you actually slept?”

  Nodding, I say, “Turns out I just need to have sex for four or five hours a day.”

  Libby grins at me. “Well, if that’s what it’s going to take, I guess I’ll just have to volunteer for the job.”

  I smile back, hoping she can’t tell how badly I want to make that a permanent position.

  TWENTY

  Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now?

  Libby

  Harrison brought me back about three hours ago. We spent the entire morning in bed, then went for a hike, which included some extremely delicious skinny dipping in a freshwater pool under a waterfall. Yeah, that’s right, Adventurous Libby had sexy sex under a sexy waterfall.

  Now my head is spinning with a joy so all-consuming, it really is like being completely intoxicated. I sang “Take a Chance on Me” (horribly, I might add) all the way through my shower, then floated around the room in my robe before throwing on a cute T-shirt dress and plunking myself down in my chair.

  I, then, spent several dreamy minutes staring at a cream and purple stripped sea shell Harrison gave me before we left the island. It was perfectly in tact when he plucked it out of the sand and handed it to me. “This is you around the wrong people,” he said.

  Then opening it so the two halves opened up so the iridescent shiny inside showed, he added, “This is you around someone who cares. You go from being all clammed up to being a butterfly and revealing everything that’s beautiful about you.”

  Tears pricked my eyes as I rubbed the smooth center of the shell with my fingertip.

  “That was corny, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “That was lovely. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for letting me see the real you.”

  Dreamy, right?

  Okay, so when I’m not gazing at my shell, I’ve been writing not one but two reports on the property — and not because I’m an overachiever. It’s because while I was in the shower, I came up with what I hope will be the perfect plan to save Paradise Bay.

  At this moment, I don't know if Harrison and I will end up together and live a long, happy island life. But, what I do know is that I can't be responsible for the destruction of this wonderful community. Rosy was right. This is a family, and no one should tear apart a family for profit. It's just wrong.

  I sit back in my chair, having just read over the final version of each report. My heart pounds as I look back and forth between the two of them neatly stacked next to each other on my desk. The first report is for Harrison's eyes only, and it contains a very detailed how-to guide for him to take this property and make it extremely p
rofitable. If my bosses saw this, it would not only get my arse fired, they would also make sure I’d never get another job in mergers and acquisitions again. And they wouldn't be wrong because what I'm doing is completely unethical. I'm making a decision to hide the truth from my bosses, which means a lost opportunity for GlobalLux and its shareholders.

  The second report is a complete lie meant to cause GlobalLux to abandon their takeover bid. This report is so damning, it will pretty much guarantee no one ever looks at this property again unless it were to burn to the ground and only the land was up for sale. I've made it sound as though things have been so poorly managed and constructed, the cost of acquisition plus making the necessary improvements to turn a profit would exceed any potential future earnings for many years to come.

  I tap my fingers on my lips, hoping I'm doing the right thing, even though I know this is irresponsible — reckless, even. My gut churns at the thought that maybe I am just like my mum. Because at the moment, I'm willing to throw away my career for a man I hardly know. And it's not about the amazing orgasms, I promise you.

  At least I think it isn't.

  Over the past few weeks, I've come to see the beauty of what Harrison has built here, and I can't bring myself to tear that apart even if it would be the boost I need for my career. The truth is, I don’t actually care about my job at the moment, and I’m not sure I ever did. Other than the fact that it made me look like a success, I don’t like what we do. It’s ugly and soulless to reduce someone’s dream to profit margins and efficiency ratings. There’s so much more to a business than what’s on paper — at least there should be.

  I can’t do it anymore.

  I don’t want to.

  I won’t.

  Opening up my laptop, I start an email.

  Email from Libby Dewitt to Quentin Atlas:

  RE: Paradise Bay Preliminary Evaluation Results