by Jillian Dodd
I give him my most evil eye and splash him harder this time. “I did too pack clothes for this trip. I mean, yes, I may have thought it was going to be a little fancier, but I bought hiking boots, for goodness sake!”
His eyes go wide with amusement, and I can tell he is holding back a laugh.
“Get over here, you’re going down.” I jump over toward him, trying to catch him. I’m going to wipe that smug grin off his face if it’s the last thing I do.
But he splashes water on me.
“Hey! Stop that right now. You’re going to get my hair wet!” I complain, using the ploy to get closer to him. Then I brilliantly grab his arm and swing onto his back, trying with all my might to push him under. “Not so funny now, huh?” I taunt, even though I’m not having any luck.
“You’re crazy!” he laughs, spinning around, trying to get me off of him. With my hands on his shoulder, I push all my body weight down and finally get his head below the surface. Then I make my escape to the edge of the pool, but he’s back above the water, with his eyes set on me, quicker than I expected. All of a sudden, he dives down and swims toward me like an evil little shark.
He reaches my leg first, tugging it toward him and pulling me down below the water kicking and screaming.
Then he grabs my waist, bringing us both back to the surface.
“I can’t believe you,” I fake pout. “My hair is ruined now.”
But he doesn’t buy it. “Hey, you’re the one who started it.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Fine. I did. But I’m not going under water again.” I point my finger at him, trying to be stern.
But he just continues laughing. When he finally stops, he moves closer, pinning me against the edge of the pool. He runs his thumb across the top of my cheek. “You have a little mascara.” He laughs again, and I’m suddenly horrified.
“Oh gosh! I didn’t even think about how my makeup would look.”
“It’s fine,” he says, removing his hand from my cheek. “I got it off.”
What he does is super sweet, but then he pushes back and splashes me again.
A short while later, I’m waving goodbye to Adam as I walk in my room. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven.”
I immediately notice a large white box sitting on my bed. “What is this?” I wonder then notice a card. I open it and read.
Camille,
I thought for a special night of dinner and dancing at the beautiful Mineral Springs Resort, you could use a new dress.
I cannot wait to hear more about your trip and see all the photos.
All my best,
Janet
I excitedly open the box, pushing back the tissue to reveal a beautifully constructed designer dress. I hold it up, taking in the gorgeous guipure lace in pink and orange thread with scalloping on the ruffled caps sleeves and fluted skirt.
“Ah!” I squeal. “It is gorgeous!”
I quickly shower then get cozied up in the fluffy bathrobe. I decide to do shimmery gold and pink makeup to coordinate with the dress. I’ll wear my hair down and curled. At least my curling iron still lives!
Once I’ve got my hair and makeup done, I shimmy into the dress, praying it fits. I zip up the back and turn to look at myself in the mirror. It fits perfectly, cinching my waist in a way that makes it look tiny. I check the time, seeing it’s just a few minutes before seven.
Yikes! I grab my keycard, throw on a little perfume, and head down to the lobby. As soon as I get off the elevator, I spy Adam sitting on one of the couches reading a magazine. As I walk toward him, he looks up and a smile instantly comes to his face.
“Hey,” I say as I saunter over to him.
“Wow, Camille,” he says, rising from the couch. “You look beautiful.” A slight blush rises to my cheeks. Oh, my gosh, he finally said it!
“Thank you. I had a present waiting for me when I got back to the room. Janet sent me this dress.”
“Janet did good,” he states. He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the hall to the restaurant, where we run into Diego and Mariam.
“Hi,” I squeal, excited to see them.
“Honey, I’d like you to meet Camille and Adam.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says warmly, pulling us into a hug. She is a few inches shorter than me and has long flowing hair that reaches halfway down her back. She has on a blue dress that hugs her curves and her skin glows in the candlelight.
“It’s great to meet you, as well. Diego has told us so much about you,” Adam says.
“Yes, Diego caught me up on all of your adventures during dinner.” She gives us a knowing smile and a wink, and I wonder what exactly Diego told her. “It sounds like you’ve been having a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, we have. It’s been a great trip,” Camille says.
“Alright, you two,” Diego says. “Enjoy your dinner and afterwards, be sure to stop out on the back deck. They have music and dancing.”
The hostess leads us to a table near the window with a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the lush landscape. As we’re taking a seat, I notice how nice Adam looks. He has on dark wash jeans, camel-colored loafers, and a crisp white button-down.
“You look really nice, by the way,” I say, smiling across the table at him. His sleeves are rolled, making him look more casual.
“Thanks.” My eyes are instantly drawn up to the stubble on his chiseled jaw.
A waiter comes to our table with two glasses of champagne, setting them down and saying, “Compliments of the hotel.”
“Janet,” we say at the same time, laughing.
“What should we toast to?” I ask.
“Let’s toast to a memorable trip. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I’ve had a great time with you, Camille.” He clinks his glass against mine.
“And I’d like to toast to new experiences. To living outside your comfort zone. And to you, Adam. This trip wouldn’t have been the same without you.” I raise my glass to him then we both take a drink.
“We only have one day left before we go home. Are you ready?” he asks. “Do you miss your friends and family?”
“I miss them, of course. But, honestly, I’m not ready to leave. At All. Are you?”
“Not really,” he says.
Adam
After dinner, we make our way outside to a beautiful patio. White lights twinkle above us. A bar stands in one corner and a band plays lively and upbeat music in the other. People are dancing everywhere. We practically have to shove our way through the crowd to get an open table near the dance floor.
“This is so fun,” Camille says excitedly, taking it all in.
“The Caribbean music is really fun.”
“Should we dance?” she asks.
“Yeah, if you want to.” I shrug, pretending not to care one way or the other. If I tell her no, it will only make her want to more. It’s not like I can’t dance, it’s that I’m not sure I should be dancing with Camille. We’ve already shared a romantic dinner and a bottle of champagne, both of us confessing that we aren’t ready to leave. We both know why that is. We’re attracted to each other, which makes dancing a bad idea.
“Come on then, it will be fun,” Camille says, taking my hand and pulling me into the crowd. At first I feel a little awkward, but both the music and the way Camille dances are seductive.
“Do you know how to salsa?” I ask her, finally giving into my desire and taking her into my arms.
“Do you?” she asks, a surprised look on her face.
“I don’t know much else, dance-wise, but I do know how to salsa,” I laugh, pulling her closer.
“I’ve never done it before. Do you think I can keep up?” she asks as the song starts.
“Just follow my lead.”
I shouldn’t be doing this, I think, the second she’s tightly in my arms. But I can’t stop myself. If you were to ask someone to describe salsa dancing, they would tell you it is sexy, seductive, and hot.
&
nbsp; And they are right.
Her hips sway against mine. My hands are lower than appropriate. The music is passionate. And I’m consumed with all things Camille. The way she smells, the way she laughs, the smile plastered on her face when I spin her around, the flower she’s tucked behind her ear, and the softness of her skin.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, I can’t decide—the band stops playing after five songs to take a break.
“Oh, my gosh! That was so much fun,” she says, running her hand down my arm. “You’re so good at dancing. Who knew?”
“I knew,” I say with a laugh. “I, uh, had fun dancing with you.”
“And I had fun dancing with you. I hope I didn’t step on your feet too much.”
“You did great,” I tell her. I glance down at her high wedges. “Do your feet hurt?”
“Actually, yes. These shoes are adorable, but they aren’t made for walking, let alone dancing.”
“I still need to get some photos of you tonight. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go get my camera.”
“Okay, but could you grab my notebook, too?”
I take her key and get her stuff. When I’m in my room, I notice my sketchpad and grab it as well. Maybe while she journals, I can work on a sketch I’ve been wanting to finish.
When I get to the table where I left her, she’s gone. I look around, first at the dance floor, worried someone asked her to dance. But then I notice her waving at me from across the way.
I take in the stringed lights overhead, the iron settees, and the tropical flowers. “This will be a great place to get some pictures,” I tell her, noting the more private area.
“That’s what I was thinking,” she says. “It’s also not nearly as crowded over here, or as noisy.”
I start out with a photo of Camille sitting at the iron table, her cheeks still flushed from dancing. My dad once told me that people who are photogenic make love to the camera—or at the very least, flirt with it. Camille is totally flirting with the camera. Her eyes are dark and sultry. Her hair shimmers, and her skin glows in the soft lighting. Her dress hugs her hips. Hips I want my hands back on. I take that back—she’s not flirting—she’s definitely making love to the camera.
And I can’t help but hope it’s because I’m behind it.
I spend way too long taking her photos. Well over an hour. At least if I’m holding my camera, I can’t put my hands elsewhere.
“I think that’s probably enough,” she finally says, plopping down on a chair. I join her, eager to show her my work. “Thanks for bringing my journal down. I was thinking I’d go sit by the pool.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “I guess I’ll stay here and sketch for a bit.”
“Why don’t you join me?” she asks, peering up at me. “I thought the sound of the water might be nice before bed.”
“Yeah, that might be nice.”
When we get to the pool, she plops on a chaise and undoes the straps of her sandals—like she’s undressing. I swallow hard at the thought.
She stretches her legs and wiggles her toes. “Much better,” she says, curling up.
I sit to next her and start drawing.
Camille
It takes me awhile to write about everything we did today. I glance at Adam as his brilliant blue eyes come up from his sketchbook, meeting my gaze.
“What are you working on?” I ask, closing my notebook.
“I’m just finishing up a sketch of the hot springs. I didn’t get to work on it earlier.” He closes his sketchbook and tucks his pencil into the spiral.
“Wait, let me see.” I reach to grab it, but he pulls it tightly against his chest.
“It’s nothing special, I promise,” he says hesitantly.
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen your work before. We both know it’s amazing. Just show me. Please,” I beg.
He pushes his hair back and looks at me with uncertainty.
“Fine.” He opens it up to the page with the hot springs sketch, but still holds the book tightly.
“Wow, it’s gorgeous,” I say as I examine the drawing. It encompasses not only the hot springs, but the rocks surrounding it and the beautiful jungle setting. I pull the sketchbook from his hands and start flipping through the pages, but Adam tries to grab it back.
“What are you doing? It’s personal!” His eyes look frantic.
I look back down at the page I turned to. Staring up at me are eyes that look familiar. My eyes.
“Adam?” I ask, flipping another few pages before I stop again when I find another sketch of me.
Page after page, I find pieces of me mixed in with the rest of the scenery he had been drawing. Some of just my eyes. A few of my face.
A flush instantly spreads across my body. I look up at Adam for an explanation.
“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat. “I sketched you. I mean, I sketch a lot of things. You don’t mind, do you?” he asks as he rubs his hand against the back of his neck, fidgeting.
Which makes me want to fidget. I try to clear my head to focus, but I can’t. I don’t have an answer, and I’m too embarrassed to look at him, so I nervously flip to the next page.
Oh my.
This page has just a single sketch. A very life-like outline of my body, naked. My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest, it’s beating so fast. Warmth blossoms in my stomach and spreads out to other more intimate places.
I dare to glance up at him. He looks embarrassed.
“Camille. I can ex—” he starts to say, but before he can finish, I hear myself saying, “Your sketches . . . they are beautiful.”
“That’s because you’re beautiful,” he says as our eyes meet. Then he’s moving toward me, one hand pressing on my lower back, pulling me closer while his other hand slides up the back of my neck and into my hair.
Every nerve in my body is awake and on fire.
I tilt my chin up as his lips tentatively brush against mine, seeming to need to test my reaction. I take in his warm scent, his breath hot against my lips. I part my mouth slightly, kissing him back. The second I do, his hands are all over me, feeling like flames against my skin. My body buzzes and my head feels light. I’m lost in his lips and a flurry of new sensations.
The kiss starts out slow, but gets more intense as the seconds move by. I drop his sketchbook and allow my hands to roam across the chest I’ve so admired. They glide across his shoulders then I slip them around his neck and run my fingers roughly through his curls.
He lets out a soft moan and pulls me flush against his body, bringing a new awareness as our hips touch.
I get lost in the heat of the kiss and in the sensual way his fingers float across my skin. His lips leave mine, and I’m ready to protest, but then they trail across my jawline and down to the sensitive skin on my neck. My hands tightly grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
Adam slowly moves his lips from my neck back to my mouth, giving me one last kiss before pulling away. My lips feel warm and tender, and my whole body is radiating with heat and emotion. He leans his forehead against mine, his fingers laced loosely in my hair.
“Wow,” I manage to say breathlessly.
“Yeah,” he whispers. For a few delicious moments, he doesn’t move. But then he pushes himself away from me, grabs ahold of my hands, and says, “I’m sorry, Camille. That was totally inappropriate. I should go.”
Then he drops my hands and walks away.
Adam
What in the hell did I just do?
I practically sprint back to my room, hoping to get there and lock the door so I won’t have to face Camille again. I flop flat on my bed, hoping it will jolt me awake from the dream I must be in, because that’s the only explanation for what just happened.
Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the damn sexy salsa dancing. Or the way she looked tonight. Or maybe it was because she saw my drawings. It has to be one of those reasons, because I never should have done what I just did. I never should have
given in to my feelings that way. Not only am I working with Camille, but after tomorrow, we’ll be going our separate ways. I live in London. She lives in New York.
And the worst part is that I know I hurt her by kissing her then leaving. Even though she is stubborn and driven, she’s also soft and vulnerable. I know she’s got to be confused about what just happened. I know I sure as hell am.
Because that kiss was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
I get off my bed and start pacing, not knowing what to do. I grab my phone and dial home. I know what you’re thinking. He has to call his mum, right? I roll my eyes. Yes, actually, I do have to call her, because I can’t think of anyone else to talk to.
“Hey, honey it’s so good to hear from you,” Mum says happily when she answers. “I’ve got your father with me here on speaker.”
“I kissed her,” I blurt out.
“You what?” my dad asks loudly.
“He said he kissed her,” I hear my mum say to him.
“But I thought you couldn’t stand her?” my dad questions.
“I thought so, too!” I yell at them. Maybe I need to sit down. Pacing isn’t doing anything but making me more stressed out.
“Honey, I understand,” my mum says. “There is a fine line between love and hate. And a trip like that, being alone in the jungle together. I’m sure there’s a lot of sexual tension going on. I remember when your father and I were on our first trip to the jungle. It was a sensual experience to say the—”
“Mum!” I interject. “You need to stay focused. I don’t know why I kissed her. We leave soon. And, to make matters worse, after I kissed her I told her I shouldn’t have and basically ran away from her.”
“Oh dear,” Mum says. “Did you mean what you said?”
