by A. C. Arthur
The odds of RJ being out for a walk at the same time she was were phenomenally low, yet that scenario had played out like an episode of one of her favorite old shows, Sex and the City. Shaking her head, she entered the bathroom and immediately turned on the shower, then adjusted the water to lukewarm. For a brief moment earlier, when he’d moved closer to her, she’d thought RJ was going to kiss her. Would she have let him? After all this time? The mere thought had her sighing with pent-up need. What was it about his lips that used to make kissing him feel like she was being turned inside out? Was it the thickness of them, the way they could be soft and gentle one moment, hungry and persistent the next? No, it had to be a combination of skill and intention. RJ was intentionally sexy as hell, smooth in a dominating sort of way, and mouthwateringly handsome.
And she was out of her everlasting mind for thinking of him along these lines again. They were never getting back together. Ever. She’d made sure of that when she’d left him and tried her best to forget about him over the years. Of course, forgetting him completely hadn’t worked, but she’d finally gotten to a point where she was at least comfortable with knowing he’d always have a place in her heart. As for RJ, he wasn’t a man who moved backward—he’d surely locked her and the life they once had firmly in his past.
She went back to the room and grabbed her toiletry bag, then returned to the bathroom to put her shampoo, conditioner and other personal items on the large built-in shelf inside the shower. The stall was huge, or at least it was bigger than the one in her apartment. In fact, the bathroom itself was bigger than two rooms of her apartment put together. She may have been staying in what they deemed the “regular” rooms at Marina Bay, but there was nothing regular about this bathroom. There was as much marble in here as was in the lobby at the only five-star hotel she’d ever visited in Manhattan. Dual vanities beneath a large mirror, freestanding tub, plush white towels in several locations so she wouldn’t have to run around trying to find one. Rectangular light fixtures hung from silver cords in the ceiling, which matched all the chrome fittings throughout the space. It was elegant and lavish and exactly the type of place where the Golds would hold a wedding.
With a soft sigh, she opened the glass door again and stepped inside. Okay, there were two showerheads in here, one at the ceiling with dual recessed lighting and one on the wall in the usual spot. There was enough space in here for her to have at least four friends over and, thank all the deities, there was also a bench. After washing her body and hair she was tempted to get out and fall onto the bed—to possibly cry over the disaster the night had been—but thoughts of RJ held her still.
He used to love washing her, dragging the soapy loofah over her skin in movements so slow and decadent she thought she’d died and gone to the best spa in heaven. His big hands could provide such a gentle and soothing touch, and the way he stared at her while he was doing it... She sighed and dragged her tongue slowly across her bottom lip. The water was getting cool so she turned the nozzle until more hot water pounded against her skin. Lifting her face to the spray until it cascaded over her, she moaned at the warmth flooding her.
RJ always washed every other part of her body before easing his hands between her legs. On a ragged moan she resisted the urge to push her hands in that direction. Instead she reached up and grabbed the handheld showerhead from its base on the wall. Lifting her leg, she placed one foot on the bench and edged the shower head down between her thighs, letting the warm spray of water pelt her there.
A soft sigh slipped free at how good the water felt on her sensitive skin, and she let her head fall back, eyes closing. She recalled the many times RJ had rinsed her body free of all soap, moving his hands over her slick skin. His complexion was just a shade or two darker than hers, their melanin always shining bright in pictures they took, leaving her with snapshots of the Black love they celebrated so freely. She missed him.
She put her leg down and turned so she could sit on the bench, then leaned back against the marble wall, lifting the showerhead to her breasts now. She missed everything about RJ, from his tongue on her nipples to the way his thick fingers pushed possessively inside her pussy. Both her legs came up this time, feet planted on the bench as she let her knees fall to the side. With one hand she aimed the showerhead at her clit; with the other she pressed a finger to the same tightened bud and began to rub.
She moaned loudly, the sound echoing throughout the stall as she worked herself into a fevered frenzy. He’d looked good tonight, even in simple sweats and a T-shirt. His arms were still strong and muscled, and his thighs—damn that man had thick, sexy thighs and those sweatpants did nothing to hide that fact. Something else the pants didn’t hide was the impression of what she knew was a long, heavy dick. On that memory she slid her fingers over the slick flesh of her pussy, easing two into her opening. Crying out with the pleasure, she then bit down gently on her bottom lip and began to pump her fingers inside while the hot water rained down over her skin.
RJ used to go so deep inside her she felt like they were connected. And that’s exactly what he’d whisper to her: “You’re a part of me now.” Over and over he’d say those words, and she’d believed them. She’d wanted to be a part of him, a part of the love that had blossomed so wildly between them. She’d wanted it all. Until it became clear that she couldn’t have it.
With that last thought her fingers moved faster, pressing her body to find the release she needed so desperately. Circling her hips, she matched her own rhythm, chest heaving, breasts jiggling with the motion. Water still rained down from the showerhead in the ceiling, pelting the floor of the shower like background music to this personal seduction. Her body tingled as pleasure surged through every crevice, edging her closer to the precipice. Sliding her fingers out of her opening, she went back to working her clit, circling it frantically, panting, waiting, wanting, needing this release like she needed to live. When her climax came it was strong, seizing her entire body and snatching her breath for the seconds it took for her to fall.
Moments later she was sated, tired, pissed about her broken vibrator and still totally confused as to what her next steps with RJ would be.
* * *
The first thing RJ did upon returning to his suite was boot up his laptop and search: Grace Hopkins, journalist, New York. He’d tried not to keep close tabs on her over the years, figuring it was counterproductive to continue longing for a woman who didn’t want him. Now, since that woman had decided to step back into his—or rather, his family’s life—he wanted to know everything.
Pictures of her appeared on the screen and he sat back in the chair rubbing a finger over his chin. She was still fine as ever. Her skin was like the smoothest chocolate covering her svelte body, with curvy hips and more than ample breasts. She’d always worn her hair long, and tonight it had hung in waves past her shoulders. Her breasts had looked amazing in the tight T-shirt, nipples so hard he’d wanted desperately to rub his fingers over them. He licked his lips, knowing he’d never get that image of her looking so damn alluring out of his head. From the laptop screen her whiskey-brown eyes stared back at him, tauntingly, seductively. One hand curled into a fist while the other fingers continued to worry over the hair on his chin.
High cheekbones, slender nose, plump lips. Need pulsated through his body like a sickness, and he furrowed his brow. Closing his eyes, he hoped for more restrained thoughts. He had to think about this clearly, to see beyond the face he’d once thought he would look at every day of his life. But with his eyes closed, memories of her laugh—the light giggle that inevitably morphed into a throaty chuckle—made him want to repeat whatever he used to do to bring it out, again and again. The way her hair always tickled his face and chest when she leaned over while riding him. The straightness of her back and the way her glasses slid down on her nose whenever she was sitting at her desk typing on her computer. How she chewed spoonfuls of Raisin Bran as if it were the best cereal in the world�
�which it was not. Her scent, soft and sweet like honey. The feel of her fingers as she massaged his shoulders after a long day at the office.
“Dammit!” His eyes shot open and he pounded his fists on the desk, shaking the laptop. Why’d she have to come back, and why now of all times?
He released his fingers, put them over the keyboard and began scrolling through articles she’d written. There were pictures of her at charity functions, one with the ASPCA. She’d always had a soft spot for dogs but had said she wanted a house in the suburbs with a large yard and kids before owning one. Hadn’t he tried to give her that house, kids and a dog? Anything. He would’ve given her anything she wanted as long as he could go home to her every night and wake up beside her each morning.
Apparently, she hadn’t wanted those things with him. It’d felt as if she’d ripped his heart from his chest and carried it out the door as she’d left the restaurant that night. The velvet blue Tiffany box open with a Soleste cushion-cut diamond engagement ring had sparkled up at him from the table where she’d left it. He didn’t recall how long he’d sat there—twenty, forty, another sixty minutes, perhaps. He’d been unable to move, every part of his body shocked into stillness, covered in embarrassment. Eventually he’d left and taken the ring with him, carrying it home to his penthouse in Manhattan and throwing it across the room. Anger, heartbreak, betrayal all soared through his body that night and in the days that followed. Major said he’d been as mean as a rattlesnake for the following month. His mother had been a little easier with her words, declaring him sullen and temporarily displaced. He’d just wanted to break something, anything, everything in his house for starters. Everything Grace touched, from the door handles to the pots in the kitchen. On a rage one night he’d ripped the sheets from his bed and tossed out every set he had, only to have to go through the annoying task of ordering new ones the next day. But eventually, he’d gotten over her.
At least he’d thought he had.
Staring at her on the screen now, seeing the accolades she’d garnered over the years, he noted her smile, the flecks of deep amber in her eyes, that little scar on her chin where she’d fallen down the steps at eight while trying to be a majorette.
She shouldn’t be here, and she definitely shouldn’t be writing about his family. Dragging his hands down his face now, he wondered what to do. How could he handle this so that no one in his family had to know what was going on? Bringing up this feud now, days before Riley and Chaz’s marriage, would ruin everything. His sister had fought long and hard for her happiness, and Chaz was the one for her. Ron and Tobias had put that grudge to rest, deciding that their children—Tobias had raised Chaz after his sister died in a car accident—deserved to be happy and unhampered by mistakes of the past. It had been a valiant stance for both men to take, and RJ had been extremely proud of his father for giving Riley his blessing. Not that Riley needed it—she was going to be with Chaz whether or not anyone in either family approved. RJ loved his sister’s tenacity.
He loved his family, period. His parents would celebrate their thirty-sixth wedding anniversary in four months. His father was retiring and the new plaque on RJ’s office door would soon read Ronald Gold III, Chief Executive Officer. The position he’d been groomed for his entire life was in arm’s reach, and he was eager to step into the big, impressive shoes his father would be leaving.
What he wasn’t about to do was let Grace and whatever words she planned to write hurt them. If that meant he had to go head-to-head with the woman who’d crushed his heart and made it impossible for him to ever love again, then so be it. First thing tomorrow morning he was going to find Grace Hopkins and send her on her way. If she protested—which she would because Grace was as ambitious and ruthless as him when it came to her career—then he’d resort to other measures. Pulling up his email, he started a message to his assistant instructing her to find out who Grace was working for and whom she’d already contacted within the fashion industry in the last few weeks. He wanted to know everything she’d done in the last decade, everywhere she’d been, every guy she’d been with...gritting his teeth, he took that last part back. He didn’t need to know who Grace had been involved with. Even ten years later, his heart couldn’t take that pain.
CHAPTER FOUR
RJ AWOKE THE next morning to thoughts of Grace. Aside from the obvious physical attraction—as noted by the semi-erection he’d returned to his hotel room with last night—memories circled in his mind. After dating for a year and a half, RJ had weighed all his options, he’d listed the pros and cons, and considered every possible factor of proposing to Grace, except the one where her answer was no. They were in love, of that he’d never had a moment’s doubt. Nine months after their first date, they’d moved in together. He knew everything about her, and she knew everything about him. They meshed well with the other’s family. Everything was in sync, and yet she’d still walked away without explanation.
To be fair, he hadn’t asked for one. Not that night or any time after. If she could walk away without looking back, he’d decided he could, too. And in not looking back, he’d never allowed himself to trust or seek out love again. He wasn’t giving another woman the opportunity to break his heart. Besides, he’d known there was never going to be another woman like Grace. Not for him, anyway.
Now, after a restless night’s sleep, he still had no idea how he was going to deal with her arrival on the island. As the upcoming CEO of RGF he had to consider how this story would ultimately affect the company. The feud was no secret. In fact, RJ was certain that a portion of the media coverage RGF and King Designs had received over the years was a direct result of the known conflict between them. Since the initial whispers of the feud—which had come from Ron’s accusing Tobias of stealing and someone in the office overhearing that argument and leaking it to the media—reporters had taken every opportunity they could to ask Ron and Tobias about it. Whenever a new line was launched by one company all eyes would immediately turn to the other to see what they would do to up the competition. Ron and Tobias never had to speak another word about the feud because the media and those in the fashion industry did enough talking and speculating about it to keep it afloat year after year. To RJ’s way of thinking, his father and Tobias had simply sat back and let it work to their advantage. When he became CEO, RJ planned to take a more preemptive approach. And since the time for him to take over was in the near future, he decided he might as well get started now.
Grace was back.
At this resort, which had been reserved for family and one hundred wedding guests—close friends and business associates—for the next two weeks. So how had she gotten a reservation? Veronica. He needed to speak to Chaz’s aunt as soon as possible and as discreetly as he could manage. He didn’t want Chaz or Riley to find out about this.
And he wanted Grace gone.
She’d been gone for so long already, and he’d told himself that was fine, that he’d built an even better life without her. Sure, he’d known all along that was a lie, but nobody else had to know that. Keeping his private life private, even from his family, was something RJ had always done well. While Maurice and Major were media favorites, Riley spent her time dodging reporters and the like. RJ could go about his business without too much fanfare because his siblings provided enough conversation about their personal lives to keep the attention off him. That suited him and his preference of retaining all his intimate feelings, fears and desires to himself.
Grace was leaving this island today, no matter how much he’d been turned on by seeing her again. It was as simple as that.
As if to solidify those words and cut off any further thought about the situation, his phone chimed from the nightstand where he’d plugged it into the charger last night.
“Yeah?” he answered gruffly and immediately, as if whoever was calling might somehow know that he’d been thinking about how to get his ex-girlfriend away from here.
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��Mornin’, sunshine,” Maurice’s all-too-chipper voice sounded through the phone.
“Make it fast,” he told his jovial younger brother. “It’s barely seven.”
Maurice’s response was a hearty chuckle. “Hey, man, I get it. You and I aren’t the morning people in the family. But Riley is and she has this crazy itinerary we’re all supposed to be following.”
RJ closed his eyes, bringing his free hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess, your highly organized and punctual fiancée told you to call me. But we all know that I’m better at staying on schedule than you are.”
“Truth. However, we’ve never all been on vacation at the same time, so assuming the rules that apply in the city are now tossed out the window, I’m doing what my lovely Desta asked, and reminding you that we’re scheduled for lunch and a hike up the mountain at noon. This means we all need to meet at whatever destination is printed on the itinerary, which you also have as an email attachment, at eleven thirty.”
