Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  “Patrick!” she squealed.

  He gave a low, throaty chuckle as he pulled her against him, throwing a leg over hers to hold her still as Jean wiggled and struggled fruitlessly. Patrick lay calmly, waiting for her to stop.

  “You know you don’t mean it.” His voice was still gravelly from sleep.

  Slightly out of breath, she relented and returned his drowsy, amused gaze. “You startled me.”

  “Are you mad?” he asked, merely curious.

  “I should be.”

  They studied each other, as if the two of them together was still something of a surprise. Jean reached to stroke his cheek, her fingers rubbing through the short growth of facial hair. She now knew his habit of going for a few days in his off time without shaving. It gave Patrick a very different look. Wicked. Virile. Sexy. She liked it.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  He slowly grinned. “You’re right.”

  “A little after nine.”

  “Nine?” he was genuinely surprised. “In the morning?”

  Jean pinched him.

  “How come you’re up?”

  Jean snuggled even closer, raising a bent knee to rest on his inner thigh. He let out a soft moan.

  “It’s so beautiful out. I didn’t want to waste time sleeping. I’m usually up by six thirty anyway.”

  “That’s indecent. And you deserted me. What if I’d had a nightmare? Who would comfort me?”

  Jean rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. “Oh, please. You’re turning into a slug.”

  Patrick leaned in to kiss her nose. She wrinkled it. He moved his mouth lower, to her lips. Jean parted them to accept the invasion he pressed upon her. It was sweet and deep and aroused them both quickly.

  His body reacted and Patrick rotated his hips, forcing her knee aside. Jean raised it higher, leaving herself wide-open at the core as she grew wet waiting to receive him. Yearning gnawed at her insides.

  Patrick twisted his mouth over hers, massaging and stroking their tongues together, stimulating the kind of response that made her dizzy and limp with longing. He cupped his hands around her bottom, and she pressed her hips forward so he could find her. She broke the kiss, throwing her head back, moaning as Patrick slid smoothly inside her, his movement caressing the sensitive inner walls.

  It was lovely to cuddle and thrust slowly together, to temper their breathing so there was no desire to rush. The cadence and movement of their joined bodies syncopated perfectly, the passion building gradually. A mutual urgency had Patrick twisting their bodies, putting Jean on her back. He grunted in relief as they were finally in a position to grant full sway and rhythm to their coupling. Patrick came first, Jean’s light stroking on his lower back encouraging his response. Finally, his strong pulsing and thrusting forced Jean to the edge and over into a free fall of spiraling release. They were still and quiet, their bodies recovering, except for the low, breathy panting.

  They couldn’t move if their lives depended on it.

  They lay entwined and dazed, their bodies languid and soft and damp.

  They stayed that way for a long time, and Jean was happy to be locked in a sleepy, satisfied afterglow that was perfect just as it was. They dozed and fell in and out of dreams until they eventually awakened, replete and satisfied.

  Jean found herself right where they’d begun: facing each other in unspoken contentment. It was almost frightening how happy she felt. Was it real?

  “Do you ever wonder how did we get here?”

  Patrick sighed, his gaze locking with hers. “Not anymore. I’m just glad we did. Why?”

  Jean averted her gaze, smoothing her hand over his stomach, rubbing her cheek against the warm and hard muscles of his chest. “There was a time, after I’d left high school and was growing up, I imagined you always surrounded by gorgeous women. I felt that…”

  Patrick smoothed her wild hair. He rested his hand on her waist. “What? That one of them would sweep me away? Or somehow ensnare me? Or I’d find them irresistible? Many of them were. But they also didn’t last. We managed to get where we are because… I don’t know. The time was right? Fate? Don’t underestimate how attractive you are to me, Jean. I’m here. We’re here.”

  “At least one of those women had something extra special. You got married.”

  He sighed, not responding for a moment. “Yeah, I did. Maybe too young. Certainly not knowing enough about anything. We loved each other at the time, probably for the wrong reasons. Then you start to figure it out, you know? You grow up.

  “The way I see it now, by the time you and I met up again, I’d learned the difference between crazy, hot sex and…real feelings. I worked the booty calls out of my system a long time ago. I’m glad you and I had a second chance to meet again.”

  “That’s lovely, Patrick. You’re very persuasive,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.

  “I hope that means you’re not going to kick me to the curb.” He bent over her and began to nibble his way across her mouth.

  Patrick drew in a breath to search into her eyes. “I think we need to do something. We have to get out of bed now, or we’ll be here until we fly back.”

  “All right,” Jean agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

  Patrick thought for a moment and produced a wicked, sly grin. “Last one into the pool cooks dinner…and cleans up!”

  With that, he threw the top sheet over Jean’s head and scrambled off the bed. She squealed, trying to break free of the bed linen. She heard Patrick laughing.

  Suddenly, there was a crash, and the chair next to the bed toppled over.

  “Ow!” Patrick grunted as he tumbled over the fallen chair to the floor.

  Jean took advantage, scooting from the bed and leaping over Patrick’s prone body. She squealed when he attempted to grab her ankle but pulled herself free. She dashed through the open doors to the deck, racing around a line of loungers to the edge of the pool. Holding her nose, she made a childlike jump into the water.

  She surfaced just as Patrick made a clean dive right next to her, cleaving the surface without so much as a splash, with beautiful athletic form. He surfaced, shaking water from his hair. In one long stroke, he reached Jean, pulling her into his arms and treading water to keep them both afloat.

  “I win,” he said boldly.

  Jean tried to brush her thick, wet hair from her face, her ponytail pulled loose, sodden and heavy. She clutched at Patrick, an arm around his neck. Her bare breasts were flattened to his chest.

  “You cheated!”

  “I was hurt!”

  His excitement and playfulness suddenly died down as he considered her.

  “And it got me what I wanted,” Patrick confirmed, a hand behind her head pressing Jean closer for a kiss that said far more than words ever could.

  * * *

  Patrick made sure his dark glasses were secure on his nose against the force of the wind. The motor of the small speedboat was noisy, blasting into the air and disturbing the tranquility of the islands as it skimmed over the sea. It was returning Patrick to the island where he and Jean had been staying. The young pilot, a mainland transplant from Texas, was shouting to be heard above the sounds. It was idle chitchat, and Patrick had mostly tuned him out. The last thing he’d expected since he and Jean had arrived on Turks and Caicos was to be asked to play the role of sports commentator. An urgent text from his manager had changed that.

  His ESPN affiliate arranged for Patrick to conduct an interview at a jury-rigged studio set up in the tourist office of the main island. The subject was a famous Brazilian soccer player who happened to be staying at a nearby resort. The interview had only taken about forty minutes, but it was all the start and end setups that had nearly driven Patrick crazy.

  He was anxious to get back to Jean. He stopped just shor
t of thinking of their island as home, as if they were shipwrecked in paradise. They had one more day before heading back to the real world.

  “How long you been here?” the pilot asked over the buzzing noise of his engine.

  “Little over a week. Not long enough,” Patrick mused.

  “I know what you mean. Me and my girlfriend came for two weeks three years ago. She eventually went home. I stayed.”

  Patrick grinned. “Not prepared to do that. Maybe I’ll buy the island to use for long weekend getaways.”

  The pilot laughed. “Only if you win the lottery or something.”

  The pilot didn’t believe him. Patrick continued to grin, but it quickly faded.

  It struck him that he’d not really had a vacation in…he had no idea how long. He did so much traveling anyway for the show, much of it never really felt like work. He’d become accustomed to hotel suites, expensive gourmet meals, overzealous waitstaff, the benefits befitting someone in his business—groupies—that he’d never really felt a need to “get away from it all.” At least, not until recently, when his life took a screeching sharp curve to the left, leaving him battered by frivolous lawsuits, potential scandal, and a sudden appreciation for living under the radar.

  Like Jean.

  She had a very important position in the mayor’s office of one of the biggest, most complicated, glamorous cities on Earth. And somehow, she managed to succeed with great skill and competence, and a high level of grace and charm. He’d seen her in action and how quick she was to adapt to any given situation, or person, without complaint. Patrick could easily guess he probably had the better salary, just for knowing a lot about sports.

  On the other hand, Patrick had come to learn that being around Jean had other effects, like making him feel normal, finding ways to neutralize his sometimes chaotic life. All of that was really nice, but it was other areas that Jean touched on that were having the most impact—the in-depth conversations, teasing, and laughter. From the start, there had been lots of that. Patrick had suddenly realized it just that morning as he waited on the small dock built into the sand at the edge of the beach belonging to the property. A water taxi had been arranged to take him to the interview.

  Jean had opted to stay behind. Having spent every moment together for a week plus, it had been unsettling to him that they were about to be separated, even for a mere three or four hours. He’d experienced a twinge of concern that this small fact bothered him so much.

  “You’re going to work, and I’ll be in the way. There will be nothing for me to do.”

  “What are you going to do with yourself?”

  She had given him a look. “I’m going to hunt for seashells. Then I’m going to do laps in the pool. Then I’ll take a nap…or try to get past page twenty in that book I brought with me. I’m going down the beach to say goodbye to Lily and her parents. They’re leaving today to fly back to Europe. I’ll tell them why you’re off island. ”

  Patrick had chuckled at her itinerary and then quickly cut off her list with a kiss. “Are you going to miss me?”

  “You’re not leaving for the Amazon, you know. I’ll start dinner.”

  “I’ll be back in time to help.”

  She smiled broadly, her nose dotted with freckles that had appeared during her time in the sun. Her skin was golden, like honey. “Okay.”

  When the boat had arrived at the dock and the pilot called out his name, Patrick pecked Jean one more time on her mouth.

  Jean had been right, of course, and he didn’t try to dissuade her from staying behind. But he’d felt a difference, a brief anxiety, the minute the engine of the small boat came to life, and the young pilot turned it on a course with sudden speed. The emotional sensation was instantly gone, but Patrick had taken note. He had waved at Jean, standing near the dunes in front of their house, watching her become tiny until her floral romper was just a splash of yellow under a straw hat and big, dark shades.

  Now, the pilot cut the engine, and the noise abated as the boat swayed on the waves and floated next to the dock and the shore.

  “I appreciate this.” Patrick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded bill, stuffing it into the pilot’s T-shirt pocket. “I’m home,” Patrick said, pointing to the house just beyond the grassy dune. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Taking off his shoes, he swung his feet over the side of the boat and found the sandy bottom. The water level rose between his knees and up to his cargo Bermuda shorts.

  “Thanks. See you next time.” The pilot waved, expertly turned the boat, and sped away.

  Patrick squinted toward the shore. Jean was not there. He made his way out of the surf, scanning both directions along the stretch of beach. He then headed up the dune to the short steps leading to the pool deck. He kept walking to the open doors to the master suite and stepped inside.

  “Jean?”

  No response. He put the envelope that held his program notes from the interview on the coffee table, dropped his shoes, and noticed that the outdoor dining table had been set for dinner. Patrick reversed his steps and returned to the dune, searching the shore once more. In the distance, he spotted three adults walking up to their ankles in the surf, two tall Black men, locals, and the shorter Jean in the middle in her distinct summery romper. He could just make out her laugh as the trio walked toward him, one holding a bulky wrapping.

  And that was when the second realization hit Patrick. It completely turned his assumptions about him and Jean upside down. There were other men who walked the earth who recognized the amazing woman she was. He remembered that first night at the lottery-win party when he saw Brian Abbott’s interest burn bright. And weeks later when Brian had played the gallant to Jean’s damsel at the studio taping. Or being with Jean during the mayor’s bike event when she’d fallen. Now there were the local island men who had spotted all of Jean’s glorious beauty and generous personality. Patrick felt a moment of insecurity.

  Didn’t Jean know that her place was secure in his heart?

  Patrick blinked, watching her approach. The one man handed off the package to her. But all Patrick really saw was Jean beaming at him, half her face hidden by the wide brim of her hat and her dark glasses.

  “You’re back!”

  The two men maintained their easy gait, but Jean walked a bit faster to hold out the bundle to Patrick. He looked at it and back to Jean, puzzled.

  “Dinner,” she said brightly. “Thanks to Kel and Remy.”

  Introductions were made, and Patrick silently listened to Jean’s adventure of walking to a local market to purchase fresh fish for dinner only to discover that all the fresh catch had already been sold. Enter Kel and Remy, who had just finished dropping off their catch to several restaurants when they encountered Jean and her dilemma. Kel had promptly extracted a bonefish from the cooler on the back of their pickup, haphazardly wrapped it in wax paper and newsprint, and handed it to her.

  Now, they seemed to have become instant best friends. Patrick was amused by the story and relieved that the encounter was no more than that. When Jean spontaneously invited them to dinner to share their catch, they politely turned her down.

  “My wife kill me if I have dinner with another pretty woman,” Kel announced, sending his dreads, caught atop his head, quivering with each animated movement.

  “No fish.” Remy shook his head, arms crossed and hands tucked into his armpits. “I vegetarian.”

  Patrick and Jean both laughed.

  “We walk her back. Make sure no one take your dinner.”

  “Or your woman,” Remy added.

  “Thanks. Really nice of you. What do we owe for the fish?” Patrick asked.

  “Nothing. Island gift to you and your pretty wife,” Kel responded.

  “Next time you come down, we take you fishing, yeah?” Remy added.

  Jean fell into silence, caught o
ff guard.

  “Sounds like fun,” Patrick put in. “Thanks for supplying dinner.”

  The two men said their goodbyes and turned to retrace their path up the beach. Patrick took the wrapped fish from Jean, and they headed up to the house.

  “How did the interview go?” Jean asked.

  “Good. The guy was really interesting. He’s a world-class player with a World Cup team, and he has a degree in chemistry. Talked about maybe retiring in a year or two and taking over his family’s vineyard. Seems to be doing well, making smart decisions.” He turned to look down at her as they reached the open kitchen. “Glad to be back.”

  Jean returned his gaze with a warm, soft smile, reaching to caress his back through his summer shirt. “You know what they say about absence.”

  “Yeah, I do. And it does,” Patrick said.

  Chapter 15

  Jean woke to the hint of light on the horizon before dawn. And an empty bed. She lay still for a moment before getting up and reaching for the short shift she’d discarded the night before, coming to prefer Patrick’s habit of sleeping nude. It had been a wonderful feeling here in the tropics, but one she might not continue after returning home. Everything was different in the Caribbean.

  Today was their last day. They were flying back to the city in the afternoon. They’d talked very little about it the night before, enjoying a very good dinner, thanks to Kel and Remy, and sharing a bottle of chilled prosecco.

  Jean walked onto the deck and found Patrick in a lounger, his knees drawn up as he used his thigh to brace a writing tablet. His hair was ruffled by the morning breeze, but he’d not yet shaved off his facial hair that would have been a concession to his established TV look and a signal to the end of their vacation.