by Isla Dean
The night sky above them was ink black with a scattering of silver stars and a halo of soft white light that hovered around the rising moon. There was a hum in the air, and, attune to adventure, Aiden felt it. “I have an idea.”
“Uh oh.”
“I’m going to need you to trust me.”
“I barely know you,” she reminded him. “Why would I trust you?”
His mind maneuvered through angles, ways to approach her. “You’ve had artist’s block for awhile, right?”
She sent him a withering look and he bit back a grin. God, she was adorable.
“Mmm hmm,” she finally affirmed, skeptical.
“And you said that jumping off the cliff helped, right?”
“I’m absolutely not jumping off a cliff with you. Well, another cliff.”
“Good, because that’s not the plan. Not exactly. But I do need you to trust me. You can’t know what we’re going to do, but you can know that what we’re ultimately doing is helping you to be more productive once you get back in front of your easel. Trust me, as your official muse, to help beat back the artist-blocking bastard.”
When she only stared at him, he added, “It worked last time.”
“You’re a sneaky man, Aiden James. And you play dirty.”
“When it’s warranted.”
When her resigned breath whispered out between the gentle whooshes of rolling waves, his ears perked. She hadn’t said no.
“Come with me.”
Chapter Six
“It’s all set. You can’t say no.” Aiden rounded the side of the beach club office on the promenade.
“I’m very capable of saying no. It’s one of the skills I’ve picked up in the past year. I’ve gotten quite good at it actually.”
“Then don’t say no. It’ll be fun, I promise,” he said to Ivy, casually linking her hand with his. “We have our tickets, they’ll be here in a few minutes to take us up.”
“Up where? And who are ‘they?’”
He heard the hesitation in her voice so he stopped talking, and instead maneuvered so she tucked into him. Skimming along her lips, he nibbled, then deliberately teased her lips open and took with the wild sense of rebellion that ran through him. When that steady drive of desire took over, his hands spread and he felt his way along her curves, up her sides, and pulled her body closer.
Feeling her surrender, that silky feel of her steadily sliding over him like waves on the sand, his plan to distract her backfired—he’d distracted himself in the process. Ready to forget the tickets he’d purchased, he wanted her in slow sips and fast gulps, in shallow, teasing touches and deep, urgent crashes.
He didn’t care how or where, he just wanted her.
And when a cart approached, stopping beside them, he wanted it gone. He wanted to be with Ivy, just Ivy, and to slip off her clothes, feeling her lean, lurid body move with his.
“Come on. This was your idea.”
He heard her murmur and would have cursed the humor in her voice if it hadn’t sounded so alluring.
When they took a seat on the backbench of the extended golf cart, he ordered himself to cool down or he’d never be able to stand once they got to the top of the hill. Though he needed to shift his thoughts to anything but her, he clasped his hand with hers, warmth touching warmth, which didn’t help matters.
The cart full of people began its trek along a street that twisted up the hill like a grapevine, with porch lights and cheerful sounds of occasional house parties hosting the way.
Blood slowly returning to his head, he realized that Ivy hadn’t demanded to know where they were going, hadn’t asked the other couples in the cart what was going on. Somehow she was comfortable in the unknown. That was usually his role, he thought, his mind swimming. Who was this woman?
“Aww, how cute are they?”
He followed Ivy’s line of sight toward a wooden bench where two older people sat cozily, taking in the view. “That’s the man you mistook for me.”
Her laugh was fast. “It is. I wonder if he would’ve gone cliff diving with me.”
“It’s possible. Any man his age who wears a fedora, carries a cane, and makes out with his woman on a bench overlooking the bay at night has done some living.”
Well his thoughts had cooled but something else stirred in him now. Before he could think too much about it, the cart slowed to a stop.
“All right, welcome to a night you’ll never forget,” the peppy guide announced. “Follow me, I’m the man with the flashlight, and it’ll be just a short walk to the platform where we’ll get you geared up. Get excited everyone. Let’s go.”
“Geared up?” Ivy glared at Aiden.
He simply grinned and held her close as they walked through the dark, hearing the calls of crickets from every direction. “We’re doing this together, remember? For art.”
“You can stop selling me. I’m here with you.”
“Yes you are,” he said, unsure what the punch of unease was within him. There was something about her that kept him off balance. Just when he thought he knew where the conversation would go or what her reaction would be, it was something else entirely.
“All right, I think that’s everyone,” the driver spoke eagerly to the group of eight people who huddled around. “Welcome to the night zip line tour where you’ll experience what it feels like to fly like a bird through the night back down to the beach.”
“What’s he talking about?” Ivy whispered to Aiden. “I’m not night zip lining, I won’t even day zip line.”
“It’s an adventure.”
“That’s not an adventure.” She pointed toward total darkness. “That’s death.”
“Think of how frustrating your day was, how pissed off you were not painting like you wanted. I’m your muse, trust me.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Only during the day, never at night.”
Hearing that it was his first time too somehow made it mildly better. Then she wouldn’t be the only one experiencing it for the first time by herself, she decided as a harness was adjusted around her, a helmet plopped onto her head, and reflective straps snapped into place on her arms and legs.
Aiden helped secure the strap under her chin, adjusted the red light on the helmet.
Watching him tighten her gear, tending to her, helped distract her from wondering what the hell she was doing. His competence was palpable, his presence securing somehow. The man probably could tame lions. Even if he couldn’t, she thought, if there were a lion around, she’d want Aiden James close by. “Are there mountain lions up here?” she asked the guide who was helping a couple prepare.
“On the island, yes, but mostly on the west side. What you’ll hear or see with your headlamps tonight might be owls, bats, maybe a fox or two. But you’ll be zip lining at speeds up to forty-five miles an hour so no need to worry about the night creatures.”
“Forty-five miles an hour?” she asked, her mouth going dry. “This is absurd. I can’t…”
“You’re kicking artist block’s ass, remember?”
Before her mind could contradict the absurdity of it all, Aiden’s lips pressed to hers, helmets bumping together as he laid a reassuring kiss on her mouth, her nose, her chin, making her laugh and shoo him away. “You’re damn sneaky.”
“I’m your muse. It’s my job.”
“What a sweet couple.” Ivy heard the whisper of a nearby woman.
The young guide heard the whisper too. “Let’s let the sweet couple go first.”
Ivy wanted to correct the guy, that they weren’t a couple, but words disappeared from her tongue at the thought of hurling through space attached to a rope she couldn’t see the end of.
“So just a little bit about the zip lines,” the guy started again, getting everyone’s attention, including the attention of the cricket’s that hushed. “There are five of them in the series. So you’ll go down from here, then reach a platform where you’ll be met by a guide who has on a
headlamp, so don’t worry about missing him. He’ll help you get your feet landed securely on the platform, then he’ll get you on your way on the next zip line, and so on.”
“How high above the ground will we be?” someone asked.
“About three hundred feet off the ground in some areas, so, yeah, pretty exciting.”
Ivy’s heart pounded in her ears as the guy continued his speech about safety and what to expect.
“All right, you two. Ready? Who’s first?”
“Want me to go first?” Aiden asked.
From the depth of her she wanted to say yes, but she didn’t want to chicken out and not follow behind. “I’ll go first,” she told him, ordering herself to be brave.
She could do this.
She stepped onto the edge of oblivion and the chorus of crickets picked up their song. She hoped it wasn’t some sort of death tune, like in the suspenseful scene of a movie when a person faces imminent death. “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself. “I’m not going to do this.”
And before her body could catch up with her mind, she was flying through the night with only small blinking stars above her and the red of her helmet light showing the way.
There may have been the hoot of an owl that called through the loud whining of the trolley zooming down the line, but Ivy couldn’t be sure. Her senses had been suspended as she speared through nothingness. She moved faster than time, faster than fear, faster than her own mind, and before she could form a thought, a dimly lit platform appeared into focus.
Her heart leaped into her throat as she came to a halt and the hands of the platform guide helped her to stand.
She raced to catch her breath—had she been holding it the whole time?—and her body felt like jelly as the guide unhooked her, spoke to her, though she had no clue what he was saying. She needed to breathe before anything else would register.
Hearing Aiden fly in, she stepped out of the way, steadied herself against the railing.
He let out a sound of excitement, a man used to the thrill of things, and a boyish grin reached across his face. “That’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.”
She coughed out a laugh, finally breathing. “You should see your face.”
“You should see yours,” he told her. “It’s beautiful.”
Her heart leaped again, but this time she wasn’t sure if it was because it was her turn to fly down to the next platform, or because of Aiden.
This time when she flew, she wondered what it would look like through his eyes, through his mind. She imagined herself to be confident like he was, comfortable in a life of adventure. The power of imagination, she thought, finally relaxing enough to inhale and exhale as she soared.
And through the dark, she let go of what blocked her, dropped what she was afraid of. And she flew, simply flew through the night.
Chapter Seven
They both reached the bottom platform at the beach and a guide helped to unhook and collect their gear.
“Judging by that smile on your face, you had a good time,” Aiden began once they stepped off the final platform and onto the sand. He was still charged from the rush of bulleting down the hill, and he hoisted her up by gripping her hips, spinning her around.
Her laugh filled the air as she held on to him. “That was…” she began, still a little breathless, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
“Now you can’t say you’re not an adventurous person.” His body hardened as she slid against him then stayed pressed to him when her feet found the ground. “You’re unpredictable, Ivy Van Noten. Confusing, beautiful, frustrating, and unpredictable.”
“Frustrating?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then I’m going to frustrate you even further by telling you that you’re buying me champagne. A nice glass of something fruity and maybe a little sweet. I’m too buzzed to be working right now.”
“Deal,” he said, letting her lead the way down the promenade, enjoying the spark in her eyes, wanting to see more of it.
The craving hadn’t ceased, hadn’t relented in its demand. He wondered, idly, what her face would look like during five orgasms.
“This is it,” she said, steering them in through the open door to The Popped Cork.
The place had a modern vibe with shiny red acrylic tables and clear acrylic chairs, most of them filled with cheerful beachgoers in their evening layers of vacation attire. But Aiden didn’t much care about the décor or the dress; he simply wanted Ivy. To figure her out, to feel the tender curves of her, to see her face wild with pleasure.
“Mom. Iris. What are you two doing here?”
His brain skid to a stop at Ivy’s words, switched gears, and took a hard left turn. He went from wanting to peel back the layers of her, sliding into her, slowly, intently… Jesus, he thought. Down boy. Then the next moment he was looking at the face of her mother, a woman that he could only think to call formidable.
“And who might you be?” The woman ignored Ivy’s question and instead eyed Aiden.
“Aiden James, ma’am.”
“Helen, please. He’s dapper and he has manners,” Helen announced to no one in particular. “Unlike my eldest daughter here who hasn’t returned my calls in days.”
“Mom, my—”
“Never mind. I see that you’ve been busy. And now the pair of you are joining us, of course.”
“We’re not a pair, Mother.”
“A pair means two, so unless you brought your imaginary friend from childhood, I suggest the four of us sit and enjoy the rest of this rosé.”
“Imaginary friend?” Aiden asked, as they each scooted in around the vibrant table lit by tea lights. In response to his inquiry, he received a sidelong glance from Ivy and was sorry to see that her eyes had cooled considerably.
“Gustav. That was her imaginary friend,” Iris offered.
“And this is my sister, Iris, who’s drinking in a bar and not yet twenty-one.”
“It’s vacation,” Helen informed Ivy. “When we were in Paris last month, it was just fine for her to enjoy a glass of wine there. And if it’s good enough for Paris, then it’s good enough for me.”
“You guys went to Europe together?” Ivy asked.
“If you weren’t in hiding, you could’ve joined us.” The lines around Helen’s pursed lips stiffened.
Blond hair—and single-mindedness—clearly ran in the family as each of them featured their own unique versions of it. Helen’s was coiffed and unyielding, skimming just above her shoulders, Iris’s was a darker blond straightened into submission, and Ivy’s was light, wavy, flowing, and a little bit unruly. Aiden decided their personalities basically ran along the same lines.
“And what do you do for a living Aiden? How do you support yourself?”
“Mom, let the man settle in his chair first.”
He reached for Ivy’s hand under the table, letting her know it was all right. “I work in business development for a company based in New York.”
“New York. See, that’s a perfectly respectable place to live. Don’t you agree, Ivy?”
“It is if you want to live in New York,” Ivy responded flatly.
“Tell me Aiden, were you raised there?”
“Born and raised, yes.”
“I knew it.” Helen beamed. “You’ve got that look about you. You’re not a California man. California men are sloppy. Surfers and whatnot. Tell me, do you like wine? Of course you do, you’re a cultured man. I’m ordering another bottle for us.”
He looked at Ivy, watched her face glaze over, though she made no move to leave. Family duty, he thought, understanding. More than most, he knew a thing or two about the weight of responsibility and those sharp expectations that stung along with it.
Helen ordered a bottle of chardonnay and four glasses without consulting anyone at the table.
“It’s a terrific night for a little getaway to the island, isn’t it?” Helen began after the waiter left. “An exquisit
e place to visit.”
“It’s my favorite place, this island,” Ivy told her.
Annoyed that her speech had been interrupted so soon into it, Helen cut to the chase. “Your father has lined up an interview for you at the hospital for an administrative position.”
“Mom, I have a job.”
“Doing arts and crafts is not a job.”
Ivy closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath, wishing she could escape to the sidewalk with a bucket of chalk like she’d done as a kid—something simple, something in solitude. “I’m an artist.”
Helen solemnly finished her glass of rosé then set her empty glass down with a clank.
Aiden gave Ivy’s hand another squeeze under the table. For all the faults of his parents, particularly his father, his mother always took interest in the lives of her children, which was more than he could say about Ivy’s mother.
“So, tell me. What’s the story of you two? How do you know each other?”
“There is no story, mother. Aiden is a guest at Villa Blue.”
“My daughter, living in a hotel.” Helen let out a huffy breath.
“It’s not a hotel, it’s a villa. And I don’t live in it. I have my own place on the estate.”
“A greenhouse is not a home.”
Having navigated his share of tense family occasions, Aiden decided it was time to dive in as the outsider, cut through some of the tension. “Villa Blue is by far the best spot on the island. It’s as if someone found an overlook then built every room of a villa facing another facet of the view. Not one room in the place has a bad view,” he said, registering that he’d collected his thoughts about the property without realizing it. But he was right—it truly was a spectacular piece of real estate and the life of it had crept into him over the past days spent working in the courtyard, chatting with Donatella while she cut flowers for each occupied room, talking with fellow guests over meals, drinking coffee and responding to emails each morning from the veranda, hoping for a glimpse of Ivy as she worked.
