by Lexy Timms
Even more remarkable, someone who meant the world to her was just inside that door behind her. When she tilted her head back she could hear his low, even breaths.
Mel shifted in her chair. She could still feel the wonderful soreness from their passion. The plastic stuck to her bottom and she laughed at herself as she attempted to get comfortable. Feeling more than a little daring, she leaned back and rested her feet on the rail, just over her head. With her eyes closed she could relive the evening moment by moment, concentrating on every sensation. The wind whispered over her breasts, ghost fingers exploring her intimately, that could have been his.
He fulfilled her. As corny as that sounded, he’d become everything to her in such a short period of time. It was like being in one of those romance novels she used to read. Only now she had no need for childish imaginings, and could replace all the silly fantasies with him. Brant was her rugged hero, her ravager, poet, and adventurer. All the make-believe men who’d paraded through her mind as a teenager and all the lovers who had populated her sexual fantasies… all of them would now henceforth wear Brant’s face. They would all come back to her, speaking in his voice.
She imaged the Brant of the future, when he would be gray, when his smooth, expressive face would get lined and craggy and he would take on a rugged, manly look. How it thrilled her to picture her at his side.
Or would that be him by her side?
That made her open her eyes. She wanted to be with him, not under him. Except sexually, then under was kind of nice. But she didn’t want to take all her accomplishments and bury them under the little society wife. That nagging little thought had been lurking ever since she’d come to L.A., hadn’t it? She truly wanted to be her own person…and when had she been? Ever since she’d quit Doctors International she’d just been spinning her wheels.
Not that it’s been terrible….
The weeks since Maria had gone home had been something of a honeymoon. All play, no work…well, until recently when Brant had started disappearing. But for her? What had she really been accomplishing lately other than tasting cakes and looking at lace? None of that exactly used her advanced degrees or made any kind of difference in the world around her.
Could she give all that up? Everything she’d worked so hard to attain?
She mentally chided herself. He’d never once asked her to. In fact, Brant had been nothing but supportive of her and her career. Never once had he indicated that she should change professions or give up working. He’d said many times he’d support her in anything she wanted to try.
But if she was a wife what exactly did that mean? That whole support your spouse thing was a two-way street. He was willing to let her try what she would, but what about the demands on him from his world? Didn’t she owe it to him to support him just as much as he was supporting her? The problem was she had no idea how much of supporting him involved her being a society wife. And what about other demands or responsibilities in the future? What if someday she should be a mother? If she had a child, would she still work? Could she cart a baby deep into the jungle to help where she was needed?
She rose and stretched, facing the ocean, feeling wild and natural and free as she came to the railing and stood for a minute, looking out at the waving palm trees and the waves below. Spotlights from the hotel lit up the shore, lights playing on the cragged rocks of the cliff where the hotel stood. A line of steps just out of sight. The tide was going out. It fascinated her, watching the wildness of the waves as they crashed and retreated in a foamy white swirl that reflected her own inner turmoil so perfectly.
Maybe the answers she’d been looking for weren’t there at all. She turned and leaned her back against the railing, her hair tangling and blowing in the breeze. From here she had an unobstructed view into the room, and could see the bed and table next to it in the light that spilled from the open bathroom door. He was still asleep, one arm thrown over his head in comfortable abandon, the other seeming to still be reaching for her.
She watched him sleep. Damn, he was beautiful. A small voice told her that this was all a giant misunderstanding, that Brant Layton, Brant Layton could not possibly want to marry her. She was no one. She was invisible.
Maybe I like being invisible…
This was one more uncomfortable truth in a line of so many that she’d been exploring thus far tonight. She really did like being the one behind the curtain. She’d felt like a hero, assisting a brave little girl who defied a house fire to rescue her father. She enjoyed bringing together people who worked hard to save lives of others so they could go on to do great things.
Having a crowd of sycophants who imitated your every move, dressed like you, acted like you, tried to be you seemed like a sentence just short of hell. Not too short at that.
She peered past Brant to the bedside table, trying to read the clock. 2:00 AM. She turned around to look again at the waves.
Mel found herself smiling so hard she couldn’t stop.
It was an old habit. But then, she always smiled to excess when she was about to do something incredibly stupid.
In absolute mad glee, Mel slipped into the bathroom and came out wearing a hotel robe. She felt around in the dark until she found her boots, and only then just remembered to slip the key card into a pocket.
Chapter 8
By the time she returned to the room, daylight was creeping over the water. She bolted for the hotel when the first jogger appeared on the horizon, a pair of surfers descending the steps not far behind. She’d been crazy, skinny-dipping in the Pacific Ocean on a public beach. On a Tuesday. Her boots were encrusted with sand, inside and out.
At least I didn’t get my clothes wet. Whoops. My robe. Borrowed robe, that is.
It felt good to laugh, letting the giggles run unchecked on the steps, where she was far enough away from the hotel to not disturb anyone. Don’t people go to jail for this? Indecent exposure?
But it felt so good. Absolutely freeing as she’d stood knee-deep in the water, enjoying the darkest hours of the night, plunging and playing, rising out of the waves like a goddess, so cold that even now her nipples were still pebbled and hard.
Other parts of her deliciously warm.
She ran across the lawn to the stairwell, muffling her giggling, enjoying the crazy freedom of knowing she was naked just underneath the robe. If anyone looked out would they suspect anything or would they think she had a suit on underneath? Did it matter what the world thought?
Mal paused in front of her own doorway, exploring that thought. Was she really ready to leave behind that ever-present worry about what the world thought?
She slipped the key into the lock and entered the room as quietly as possible. Brant was lying on his side, huddled under the blankets. She stood and watched him a moment, then kicked off her boots and dropped the robe. He was still out cold.
He’d never even missed her.
Feeling wicked, Mel considered sliding back into the bed, considered waking him with a well-placed kiss or grope. But she was tired now. They’d be leaving in a few short hours; there wasn’t much time left to get any sleep. Though she wanted it desperately now.
Somehow, the whole experience had been empowering, something she could control, something she did on her own. She’d done it for herself, by herself. Her decision, her risk. She knew she was acting out the frustrations of the past week, but it worked. She felt better than ever.
Well, better than ever and covered in sand.
Already her skin was itching. No bed just yet. Shower. Then bed.
Body screaming in fatigue, she dragged herself into the bathroom and started the water running. The robe she left in a heap on the floor next to Brant’s pants, which she stared at for at least ten seconds before realizing what they were.
Those shouldn’t be there. They probably cost as much as a third-world country…
Shaking her head, Mel picked up the pants and hung them on the door, only to hear a clatter at her feet. His phone. Sighing, awar
e that the water in the shower was hot and she really did just want to go to bed, she bent to pick it up only to have the damn thing buzz in her hands the second she touched it. She jumped a mile, banging her head on the shower door and landing on her ass next to the toilet, realizing what an idiot she was being. Muttering under her breath, she reached out and grabbed the offending bit of technology and got up to put it on the counter, glancing idly at the screen as she did so.
ALL SET 4 THURS
It was under an identification banner that said only ‘LISA.’
The phone clattered to the counter, nearly sliding into the sink. She took a half step backwards. Then another.
He loves you. He asked you to marry him. He wouldn’t do that to you. You’ve done the jealous bit before and it just made you look foolish. YOU KNOW BETTER.
Except, did she? He was Hollywood material. Maybe this was something normal in California. Maybe men stepped out on their soon-to-be-wives. Maybe it’s nothing. But then, why keep it a secret? I know him. He’s a good guy. But how well did she know him? They’d barely met in Belize. It was a heat of the moment romance. Then he’d felt like her knight in shining armor. Yeah, they had chemistry. Great chemistry—but was it only physical?
She could just ask him. Just wake him up and confront him. Except, he might wonder what she was doing searching on his phone.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, wishing the freedom that she’d felt moments early hadn’t disappeared and been replaced with insecurity. The little voice that wanted to tell her she wasn’t good enough for him reared its ugly head again.
It’s going to be fine.
Even that didn’t sound confident inside her head.
Her hands were shaking as she reached for the shower door. She stepped under the spray mechanically. She couldn’t have told whether the water was hot or cold.
Forget sleep. Forget everything.
She stood, face tilted up to catch the full force of the spray.
It was harder to tell if she was crying that way.
Chapter 9
The morning was unusually cold. Somewhere in the wee hours a storm system moved in over the ocean. Heavy clouds billowed over the waves, giving the ocean a grey look that was at once wild and unpredictable. There was a brittleness to the morning, like a sheet of ice easily shattered. Brant shuddered, half convinced that he’d fallen through into the dark waters underneath.
He got up and closed the door to the balcony, receiving a face full of ice-cold spray and mist for his troubles. Tendrils of fog tried to follow him back into the room. He looked down at the bed he’d just left. She was under all the covers in a fetal position, warm and cozy. He wanted nothing more than to join her, wrap his body around her again. Sleep until tomorrow.
Instead, he scratched and fumbled his way into the bathroom. The man looking back at him from the mirror looked like he’d been through the mill and back. He almost felt sorry for the poor sap.
Still, last night made everything worth it. Mel had been… strange lately, unpredictable and edgy. The why was obvious, as she’d said it over and over and over: she wasn’t happy in his world. He flushed, washed his hands, and looked at the time. 8:00. Check out was noon. If he left an hour to shower… he could have two to sleep and get warm next to a beautiful naked woman. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.
He smiled and slipped back into the bed, digging under the blankets and reaching for her. She protested in her sleep, but he managed to curl up beside her. He could feel her heartbeat. Under his palm, her chest rose and fell with each breath
In the jungles of Belize, she’d captivated him. He’d never known anyone like her. Was it any wonder that he’d fallen for her hard, and in short order?
But she’d been different in his world. Where was the confident, funny woman he’d dreamed about every night since he’d come home? Granted, when she’d come to L.A., Maria had been with her. It was hard to get away, hard to have time for themselves, especially when that horror of a CEO Kenneth aimed the press at them. He thought that once Maria was safely home, and the press was on to other fresh meat, they would be the same people they were in the jungle, but Mel was… changeable. One moment she was loving and passionate and playful, the next moment she was in tears and explaining why his life made her miserable.
That was fine. He’d fix that, too. He would do anything for her, but some things took time. If she wanted to live in Antarctica and be a doctor to penguins, he’d buy parkas and a space heater. He’d even face spiders the size of dinner plates—she’d been kidding, right?—if that’s where she wanted to be.
He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d seen a patient. The desire to get back into work that felt worthwhile was as strong to him as it was to her. He understood that ache. He knew she needed to work as much as he did. He was still puzzling through that particular problem. Regardless of what she thought he wanted, he didn’t like his mother’s social circle any more than she did. But he did see the value in it.
Then, last night, for the first time in a long time, that old spark was there. The burning need to be with her, to be in her was echoed in her touch and in her desperation for him. It felt like coming home. It was over, whatever it was, and Brant prayed it meant they could get on with things.
The only thing he was sure of, completely sure of, was that he wanted to marry this woman. He wanted to wake up beside her every morning, her body pressed against his, her breath on his chest, his arm under her head.
So, there’s a transition period. She needs time to adapt. I needed time to get used to the jungle.
He smiled and stretched his arm over her sleeping form, drawing her close. He buried his face in her hair, smelling the faint aroma of the flowery shampoo she used. The sun tried to slip in past the blackout curtains. He faintly heard the roar of the surf outside. He pulled the covers up over his head and wrapped himself around her.
It felt right. Natural. Like the worst was over and he had her back at long last. This was the best thing that they could have done, running away for a night, just the two of them. It was something they needed and now… now it all made sense again. He touched his lips to her shoulder.
She stiffened under his touch.
“Awake?” he whispered in case she wasn’t.
“Yep.”
“We have a couple more hours.” His fingers tangled in her hair, brushing the strands out of her eyes. “You can sleep in.”
“All right.”
She didn’t unclench. Her body stayed stiff, curled in a tight little ball. She might as well have posted a sign that said, ‘don’t touch.’ Brant sighed and let her go, rolling on to his back. So much for being back. He stared a long time at the ceiling, wondering just where he was going wrong. He was almost asleep when she rolled over, laying her head on his chest and draping a leg over his waist.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She lay curled up next to him, but her eyes remained open.
When Brant was a boy, he’d spent time on some of his mother’s sets. On one movie Bride of the Gun, there was a trained dog who was taught to sit perfectly still, balancing a book on its head. The dog’s eyes were haunted, like he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to stay still, or if he was in trouble or not, but too afraid to disobey.
It was the same look.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to look at her from an awkward angle.
“I didn’t sleep much,” she said, her hand playing lightly over the hair on his chest.
“How come?”
“Wasn’t tired.”
Oh.
“Well, we have a couple of hours; try to get some more rest. For that matter, I can see if we can get the room another night.”
“No,” Mel said flatly. “We don’t have a change of clothing or toiletries other than those little samples they have. And your mother and mine have had enough time to conspire against us… me.”
Brant nodded. He brought his hand up, the one attached to the shoulder she was pi
nning to the bed. He stroked her back, but he didn’t miss the way she twitched away from him as he touched her.
He blinked. What the hell did I do? Here he had advanced degrees, had even taken courses in communication and psychology as part of his studies. And he couldn’t figure Mel out for the life of him. I thought we had this. He sighed and finally went with the last recourse. Asking. “What?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m tired,” she corrected, rather tersely it seemed. “That’s all.”
Brant stroked her back despite the awkwardness. She closed her eyes and lay still, and eventually he drifted slowly back to sleep, warmed by her body heat and the thought that whatever it was, they’d work through it when they were more awake.
As it turned out, she was the one who woke him.
“Brant. It’s 10:30. If you want to shower, you need to get up.”
He tore his eyelids apart against the sleep that welded them shut. It took a minute to register what he was seeing. She was dressed. Her hair was still wet.
“You showered?”
She nodded.
Brant waited for her to say something more, but she only pointed at the clock and turned away, rubbing at her wet head with a towel.
I shouldn’t have gone back to bed. The man in the mirror didn’t look any better for the extra hour or so of sleep. He looked a bit worse, in fact.
Brant showered and dressed, wishing he had a razor to shave with, and spent the time going over every day since Mel had arrived with Maria trying to pinpoint the one where the woman he’d met in Belize had been replaced with this one.
He came up empty.
All he could do was give her space.
There were no bags to pack, as they’d brought nothing but the clothing on their backs, but she still needed to visually sweep the room twice before they left. He stood by the door and waited, humoring her, and trying hard to look like he wasn’t. Heaven only knew what kind of argument that would start.
