by Colet Abedi
“How do you like it?” Michael asks after we walk through the whole room.
I find myself standing by the windows just soaking in the incredible tropical views. This will never get old, I think to myself.
“How do you think I like it?” I jokingly ask him. “Your place is absolutely gorgeous!”
His eyes darken as he watches me intently. I can feel my body react.
There’s a knock at the door and we both turn to see the driver bringing in my luggage. He places it in the walk-in closet and quietly leaves us.
Michael turns to me.
“I’ll let you freshen up,” he says. “I was going to change into my swim trunks and go for a swim if you’re up for it.”
My mouth goes dry.
“What about work?” I ask him the obvious question. Every activity he’s suggested so far sounds more like a romantic holiday than a business trip.
“Work can wait.” Michael laughs. “Besides, I’m your boss, and I vote that we have some fun first.”
“But that’s not why we’re here,” I remind him.
“No,” he agrees with a mischievous grin. “But you’ve never been to Costa Rica before. I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t show you the country.”
He makes it sound so easy.
So innocent. The man is relentless.
Michael takes a step toward me and my heart slams against my chest.
“What do you say?”
Go with the flow… I hear Georgie’s words echo in my head.
“Since you’re not giving me much choice, then I reluctantly agree.” I know my voice sounds nervous but I can’t help it.
“Reluctantly agree?”
I meet his gaze with a challenge.
“Is that a problem?” I eye him cautiously.
“Not at all,” he says. “As long as you agree, I’ll take it.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s as confused as I am. I doubt that to be the case, given how in control Michael always seems.
“I’ll meet you out by the pool once I’ve cleaned up,” I tell him softly.
With my promise to join him, Michael leaves me to get ready for the day.
When he’s gone, I send two quick texts to Georgie and Danielle letting them know I arrived and am safe. Both of them respond separately with excited texts back and I respond with a nervous faced emoji.
Next, I unpack my bags and get organized—a quirk I have whenever I travel. Everything has to be put away in its proper place. I’m not one of those people that can keep their things in their suitcase. I’m grateful for the ritual because it helps calm the nerves Michael’s successfully wound up so tightly.
After I’m done with that, I shower and immediately feel infinitely better.
I slip into my black bikini, the one Georgie says makes me look sexy, and put on blush and lip gloss to give my pale complexion some color. I don’t overdo it because I don’t want Michael to think I’m trying too hard. I’m already nervous enough as it is about being half naked around him, I can’t do anything that might add to my stress. I stand in front of the full-length mirror and stare at my body for a good long minute, looking for any flaws that Michael might notice.
Surprisingly, it’s not so bad.
My waist is thankfully narrow even with all of my recent binge eating, my hips full, my legs are thin and shapely. And I have always been proud of the way my breasts fill out a bikini top. No complaints there. I look good, I think to myself. I throw a black gauzy cover-up on, grab my sunglasses and a bottle of water I found on my nightstand, and head out to the pool.
I’m the first to arrive.
It looks like Giselle was told we’d spend the day outside because a few umbrellas have been opened up and towels have been placed on the lounge chairs. There’s also a full platter of fruit and cheese on one of the four-top tables covered by shade. And Bob Marley’s sexy voice rings through the speakers. He’s one of my all-time favorites.
It’s a scene set up for romance and fun.
I grab a handful of grapes off the platter and pop some in my mouth before making my way to one of the chairs.
As I’m taking my bikini cover-up off, Giselle comes out to greet me.
“Hola, Abby,” she says with a friendly smile.
“Hola,” I reply.
“What can I get you to drink? We have many fresh juices and all sorts of tropical drinks. And Mr. Sinclair tells me I make a very good spicy margarita.”
The occasion definitely calls for alcohol.
“Your margarita sounds amazing,” I say as my eyes light up.
“I will make you one now,” she says with a laugh. “Can I get you anything to eat as well?”
“No, that’s all right. I’m not really hungry. The fruit and cheese are plenty. Thank you, Giselle.”
Giselle nods politely before leaving to get my drink.
I settle into my chair and sigh in pleasure as the rays of the sun hit my skin. It feels like heaven. I let my mind wander, and because I can’t help myself, I start obsessing about all of the mixed messages Michael has thrown my way. I recall all of our moments together. The passion we’ve shared. The things he’s said.
Up until the other night, he’s been back and forth—like he was fighting his attraction for me. But now, something has changed.
He’s holding my hand.
He’s openly flirting.
His every action is telling me he’s interested. Isn’t he? I can’t be reading into any of this?
But then, there’s the other part of me. The part that has to guard my heart against further torment. The part that’s afraid to believe that something’s different because he’s been known to change his mind in the course of a night. It’s just so confusing. I don’t know how to behave anymore. If I’m supposed to just allow all the intimacies or am I supposed to reject them because he hasn’t told me he’s ready to give us a try?
Is he? Is that what this trip is about?
I’m not naïve enough to believe he’s brought me here to Costa Rica to work. Not after everything that’s happened between us.
And honestly, now that I’m here with him, I’m even more in turmoil than ever. A part of me is nervous. A part scared. A part hopeful that this could finally be it for us. All of these feelings just percolating inside my heart as I wonder which emotion is the safest bet.
“Here you are,” Giselle says as she walks over to me and hands me an enormous drink. “Let me know if it’s not strong enough.”
“This looks delicious,” I tell her with a grateful smile as I take a sip of the spicy drink.
It’s really strong.
“It’s just perfect.”
“I’m headed out to do some grocery shopping for dinner, but if you need anything, please help yourself in the kitchen.”
“I will,” I promise her. “And thank you for everything, Giselle. Please don’t worry about me.”
She leaves, and I take another sip of the drink before putting it down. I need to pace myself considering the alcohol/sun combination will definitely not help with the jet lag.
I slip on my sunglasses, close my eyes, and take in the sun. The rays work like magic and I’m relaxed in no time.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll burn,” I hear Michael say as he comes up to cast a shadow over my half-naked body.
I open my eyes and stare up at him.
He’s wearing black swim trunks and a white T-shirt.
I watch as his eyes glaze in desire as they sweep over my body, lingering on my stomach, breasts, and lips before settling on my face.
My body hums with longing.
“I put on sunscreen.”
“The sun is killer here,” he murmurs. “It catches you before you know it.”
“I think I’ll be fine for a little while longer and then I promise I’ll move in the shade,” I reassure him.
His eyes flicker over the drink sitting on the small table by my lounge chair.
/> “Giselle make you a spicy margarita?” he asks with a knowing smile. “It’s her specialty.”
“Yes, I know,” I say. “She told me.”
Michael reaches back over his shoulders and pulls his shirt right over his head.
He tosses it on the chair next to me and I’m left staring at the body I’ve obsessed about since puberty.
My mouth goes dry.
He’s perfect.
Really.
From his slim hips, to narrow waist, and hard-as-nails six pack that is literally drool worthy—he’s pretty damn unreal. His legs are powerful, his thigh muscles thick and cut as sharply as the rest of him. His arms are long, sinewy, rippling with every movement like he was sculpted by a master.
So bloody unfair.
I’m staring. Like the kind that is so obvious, there’s no way I can deny what I’m doing. I might even be drooling now.
I’d like to blame the improper behavior on my jet lag, but unfortunately, that is just not the case. When I’m finally able to look him in the eyes again, I have New Year’s Eve style fireworks going off in my body.
From the look on his face, I think he knows.
“Hungry?” he asks enigmatically.
A loaded question.
“I’m fine,” I say with a shaky breath. “Giselle already offered to make me something.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” His voice sounds husky, filled with sexual innuendo. “I’m going to cool down and do some laps.”
I watch as he does a perfect dive into the pool and begins to methodically do laps across the length. Since I’ve clearly given up on trying to act uninterested, I lean up in the chair and stare at him as he swims back and forth. The muscles in his arms ripple as he expertly moves through the water. He has beautiful form. Just like an Olympic athlete.
I lose count of how many laps he’s done before he stops and leans down in the water until it covers his shoulders.
“You should come in,” he calls out to me as he slices water over his head. “The water feels great.”
The water does look beyond inviting—especially with Michael swimming around in the pool.
I surprise myself when I get out of the chair.
“I think I will,” I tell him as I boldly walk over to the edge of the pool.
I can feel his gaze move over my body as I dip a toe in.
“It’s heavenly.” My smile freezes on my face when I glance over at Michael.
Heat.
Holy. Lord.
The way he’s looking at me. Like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his life. Like he wants to devour every inch of me. I shouldn’t need to see his naked desire. I shouldn’t crave it.
But I do.
Every part of my body is exposed to him, my bikini leaving little to the imagination. And for whatever reason, I don’t mind. In fact, standing before him like this makes me feel powerful. Like I hold the keys to something he wants and that I alone can give.
And he’s right about one thing.
The water does feel incredible against my skin. The temperature is perfect.
I slowly take a step in and sink into the pool, fully aware that Michael’s watching my every move. I walk into the water until I’m waist deep. Michael treads water a few feet away from me.
I take a deep breath and dunk my whole body underwater. When I come up for air Michael’s moved closer, now only arm’s length distance from me.
“You remind me of a mermaid,” he says, his eyes appreciatively moving over my face.
“Then you should be scared,” I tease. “Mermaids are known to lure young men to their untimely deaths.”
Michael’s eyes light up.
“There might be something poetic about dying in the arms of such beauty.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re still dying,” I say with a laugh and try to brush off his compliment even though my body is humming with joy.
“But what if it’s not a real death?” Michael’s voice sounds husky.
“What other kind of death is there?”
“La petite mort.”
My heart slams against my chest.
The little death.
Or as non-French speaking people know it—an orgasm.
I suck in my breath as the fire behind his words hits me hard.
“Well that would definitely be a much more desirable outcome,” I respond as calmly as I can.
Michael throws his head back and roars with laughter.
“I would think so,” he finally says.
I offer him a shy smile before I lean down in the water and let it slice over my shoulders. I try not stare at his broad chest or the delicious way the sun hits his skin, casting a golden light.
Michael watches me silently, like he’s sizing me up.
“Would you like to play a game?” Michael asks after a moment.
“Depends,” I say with a shrug.
“On?”
“What you have in mind.”
Michael gives me a wolfish grin.
“Something safe,” he tells me. “For now.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I wait with baited breath for Michael’s challenge.
“If I remember from childhood, you’re quite good at holding your breath underwater,” he says as he looks down the length of the pool.
I’m surprised Michael remembers. When I was younger, I used swim laps across the pool and hold my breath for as long as I could. In retrospect, I think I was trying to disappear from the world. Unfortunately, it never seemed to work.
“I used to be,” I say with an embarrassed shrug.
“Let’s bet on it,” Michael’s smile is playful as he explains the game. “Whoever can hold their breath the longest gets to ask the other person any ten questions they want.”
“Any questions?” I ask uncertainly, my thoughts drifting over all the possibilities.
“Anything goes.” Michael seems amused. “Come on, Abby.”
When I hesitate, Michael persists.
“Come on. What do you have to hide?” His voice is sweet and cajoling.
You have no idea.
“Do you hold a title I should be aware of?” I ask with a great deal of suspicion.
“In holding my breath underwater?” Michael laughs in my face. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”
“It’s not flattery,” I tell him pointedly. “It’s distrust.”
Michael barks out in laughter.
“Touché,” he says. “Sadly, no. I don’t hold any records.”
“All right then,” I agree reluctantly. “I’m in.”
“Perfect,” Michael says, sweeping his arm out. “Ladies first.”
I walk to the end of the pool, take a deep breath in and sink down into the water. The first underwater lap is not so hard to do, but when I make the turn to come around, I can feel my lungs start to burn. I swim hard and go as far as I can before I emerge from the water more than halfway back.
I’m pretty pleased with myself.
“Nice.” Michael sounds impressed.
“Your turn,” I call out to him.
Michael dunks his body in the water and begins to swim.
It’s really not fair.
He moves down the first length of the pool with such ease you’d think holding his breath underwater is the most natural thing in the world. He turns and begins to swim back another length.
Sensing impending doom, I do the only thing I can—I start to splash around the pool, hoping to distract him and make him pop out of the water.
But he ignores my efforts and goes another length.
Beating me very easily.
But to prove a point, he swims one more length before finally emerging from the water as the winner. He’s not even gasping for air.
“That’s so not fair!” I yell out and splash water at him for good measure.
Michael seems pretty pleased with himself.
“I win even though y
ou cheated.”
He quickly swims over and faces me with a victorious smile.
“Unless of course, you want a rematch?” His eyes light up at the thought. “Double or nothing?”
I flick a bit of water in his face.
“A rematch?” My tone is accusatory. “So you can just beat me again?”
He gives me a smirk as he shrugs his broad shoulders.
“I thought I’d offer,” he tells me with a wink. “Feels like the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“That’s quite all right,” I eye him cautiously.
Michael’s gaze is hooded as he watches me. His eyes skim over the top of my breasts as the water laps up against my chest. I can feel goose bumps begin to form and I fight the urge to cross my arms.
“So I win,” he says after a long minute.
“Yes, you win,” I confirm.
“First question?” he asks, studying my face.
I nod uncomfortably and hold my breath. There’s no telling where this conversation is about to go.
“I think it’s only fair,” Michael says evenly, “since you now know my favorite place in the world, for me to know yours.”
This is the last question I’m expecting and one I don’t hesitate to answer.
“With my father,” I admit quietly.
Understandably, Michael looks confused.
“I go the cemetery and visit his grave almost every week,” I explain with a sad smile. “When I go there, I feel like I’m with him and it gives me a sense of peace I don’t really find any other place.”
I’m not surprised I share this part of myself so easily with him. I’ve always felt like Michael understands me more than the rest of the Sinclair clan. Like he gets me. And understands how lonely I’ve felt over the years. He’s the only one who ever seemed to notice or care about how I was being treated at home. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always been drawn to him.
