Miss Guided: a Guide to Love novella

by Adams, Alexia

  “So, you write characters who are too stupid to live?”

  “You’d be surprised at the ill-advised things an otherwise sensible man will do to impress a lady.”

  Was he talking about her? What stupid thing would he do to impress her? She pulled out her phone and stared at it for several seconds while she continually tried to get the van to start. She had no cell signal and after a few minutes gave up trying to start the engine. They were stranded. She glanced over at Marcus to see if he’d come to that realization as well.

  Another crack of thunder, although further away, made her jump.

  “Seems you’re stuck with me a little longer,” Marcus said.

  His voice was deep and intimate in the small space, without a single hint of regret.

  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t expect your day tour would turn into a twenty-four hour epic journey.” She regretted the inconvenience but not the fact she got to spend more time with him.

  “Why don’t we both agree this wasn’t what we expected? I’m not complaining, though. I’m glad you asked Roland to phone your aunt and uncle so they won’t worry about you.”

  She cocked her head to one side. Could he truly be concerned about people he’d never met? Hanging out with the criminal element in New York had definitely tarnished her.

  “Looks like we’re here for a while, unless someone comes by to rescue us. We should get comfortable.”

  Another mischievous glint lit his eyes, accompanied by his sexy smile. “What did you have in mind?”

  Her lips twitched before she could stop them. “The seats in the back all fold flat. We can at least stretch out.” Without waiting for his reply, she clambered over to the back of the van. She struggled for a moment to flip the seat flat when strong arms came around her. Resisting the urge to lean back into him, she stiffened.

  “Do you think this is a good idea?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Probably not, but we can’t sit up all night either.” And in the present circumstances, a night in his arms, even with all their clothes on, seemed like a pretty good deal.

  She found the lever and the seat back gave way suddenly, sending her tumbling with Marcus landing on top of her. She felt his laughter before she heard it.

  “This tour keeps getting better and better.” He rolled off her, although not before every cell in her body lit on fire.

  The rest of the seats folded with ease and soon she knelt on one large bed with one gorgeous man. He sat at the other end, a huge smile on his face.

  “Chivalry demands that I offer to stay up front,” he said, but made no move.

  She reached down into the back of the van and pulled out a couple of blankets. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re both adults. I’m sure we can share this space without any problems.”

  He waited for her to turn back to him. When she handed him a blanket he didn’t even try to disguise the lust in his eyes. “Did a little voice in your head just laugh hysterically? It did in mine.”

  Chapter 4

  She glanced at him again and another chunk of ice melted from her heart. “Wi, I mean yes.”

  He reached over the front seat and grabbed his backpack, extricating a towel. “Pillow,” he said, folding it and placing it on the impromptu bed. He stretched out his long form and patted the seat beside him, then rested his head on the makeshift pillow. His arm was open wide, as though he expected her to lie next to him.

  “What are you doing, Marcus?” Even to her own ears her accent was thick, as if she’d never left the island.

  “I’m getting comfortable. We have a long night ahead of us, Crescentia. I’ve already shown that I have your best interests at heart. As much as I’d love to spend the night getting to know every inch of your luscious body, to hear you scream my name in passion, begging me for more, it won’t happen. I don’t have the necessary precautions, and I won’t risk your future for a few hours of ecstasy. Even if it promises to be the greatest night of my life.”

  She moved up the makeshift bed but remained sitting. “You have a way with words. I must remember that most of what you say is fiction.”

  He looked as though she’d slapped him. He sat up and reached a gentle hand out to her hair, twining a loose curl around his index finger, before he stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I write fiction. I speak truth. You feel this incredible chemistry between us. We’d be idiots to deny it, especially after the kiss.”

  Heat invaded her face and she was glad her dark skin hid her blush. “I’m sorry. The storm, the difficult day, I shouldn’t have, uh, attacked you like that.”

  His laugh filled the van again. It had been ages since someone had laughed so much in her presence. Uncle Robert used to laugh. Now worries over money and health had eaten up his happiness.

  His hand caressed her cheek again. “Please, will you let your hair down?”

  “Why?” She reached up to remove the elastic and clips without waiting for his answer. Her curls fell in a heap down her back and around her face. It was ludicrous to have such impossible, long hair. However, every time she thought of cutting it, her mind would flash back to her mother stroking her hair, telling her how beautiful it was. She was fortunate to have spiral curls and not the full tight afro that most of her family had.

  As she shook out her hair, relieved of the pressure of having it pulled tight for the whole day, she heard Marcus suck in a deep breath.

  He lay back down. “I’m going to lie here and pretend we have just made love, although my body is going to deny it. I’m going to pretend I’ve experienced the most fantastic night of my life, and I’m now satiated and ready for pillow talk. Lie in my arms, Crescentia, and tell me all the things I was too caught up in passion to find out.”

  His voice was compelling, his reasoning completely flawed, but she couldn’t resist. She lay down, put her head on his chest, and his arm came around her, holding her close. If they had made love it would be natural to be like this. Maybe she could pretend as well. Except her body wanted the physical release.

  “I think, seeing as how we’ve made love and all, you can call me Crescy.”

  “Thank God, my tongue was getting tired, saying your full name. Still, I think I’ll call you Crescentia when we’re in company so no one suspects.”

  “Suspects what?” It was way too comfortable lying in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. She resisted the urge to run her hand up his side and across his chest. He’d held back once to protect her; it wasn’t fair of her to test his restraint. At least tonight. Tomorrow would be another day.

  “That we’ve spent the night together. It will be our secret.”

  A true gentleman. She wasn’t sure what to do with him, although her body had plenty of ideas. Her hand curled into a fist, desperate to touch him. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  A shaft of sunlight pierced her eyelids. She must have been really tired last night because she’d forgotten to close her blinds. Thank God it was Sunday and she didn’t have to drag herself out of bed and run a tour. Instead, she could explore the incredible man underneath her.

  Man? Underneath her? Memories of being stranded flooded her brain. With a start, Crescy sat up. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared at Marcus. A lazy, sexy grin curved his lips and his eyes blazed with unquenched passion.

  “Good morning.”

  She’d thought his regular voice was irresistible. Marcus plus morning voice was almost her undoing. For a second she was willing to risk the possibility of pregnancy for fifteen minutes of ecstasy with him. Hell, he could probably last a full hour.

  “Morning,” she mumbled. She was unsure of herself, and that scared her more than the brief insanity of considering risking her future for this man. Suddenly, a holiday affair didn’t seem the worst thing in the world.

  “I heard a car drive by about fifteen minutes ago, but it didn’t stop. Chances are there’ll be another one soon. If you’re ready, I’m sure your uncle and aunt wi
ll be anxious to know you’re safe.”

  She reached up to bundle her hair to put it back up. He put out his hand to stop her. “Leave it down, please, for now.”

  She remembered falling asleep on his chest, his hand stroking her hair as he told her about the latest book he was writing. And she’d slept without a single nightmare waking her in the night. His eyes caressed her face and she felt—loved.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were so peaceful, so beautiful.”

  She swallowed, but was saved from answering as the distant sound of a car intruded on the spell he had cast on her. Smoothing her T-shirt down, she clambered over the front seat and out the driver’s door, because going out the side door meant climbing over Marcus, and she wasn’t sure she could force her body to do that. She made it out onto the road in time to stop the car.

  A family on their way to church offered them a ride back to the main road from where they could get a taxi. Marcus sauntered out of the van, his backpack slung casually over his shoulder. He greeted the stunned family with the warmth of a long lost relative. The car’s occupants rearranged themselves to accommodate them. One child sat on the mother’s lap in the front seat and the other two sat on her and Marcus in the back.

  As they neared the main road, her cell phone picked up a signal. She called home to arrange to be picked up, explaining in Creole about getting stuck and Marcus still being with her. She tried to sound as contrite as possible for her uncle and the family in the car. If only Marcus didn’t have a mile wide smile on his face, which made the innocent night appear so much less so in the light of the day.

  “My aunt is going to pick us up in her car,” she said to Marcus.

  He simply nodded, an enigmatic smile still on his face. Had something happened last night she’d forgotten? No, she was sure she’d remember.

  She was still puzzled when they stood side by side on the corner of the highway and waved at the family who drove off, sure to tell their friends at church of the odd couple they’d rescued that morning.

  Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Gloria arrived in her battered Ford Escort. Crescy jumped in the back before Marcus could, leaving the front seat for him. She’d notice him flexing his legs when he got out the back of the family’s compact car. The least she could do was give him the majority of the leg room for the hour drive to his resort. She lay her head back and relived the moment she’d woken up in Marcus’s arms. What she wouldn’t give to wake that way every morning.

  When her aunt turned around and started driving back the way she’d come, Crescy sat up. “Aunt Gloria, Marcus is staying at the Silver Sands. It’s in the opposite direction.”

  “The poor man has spent the night sleeping on uncomfortable chairs. The least we can do is give him some breakfast and a shower before we return him to his resort,” Aunt Gloria said.

  “Did you ask him first?” Although judging by the huge smile she could see on his face as he turned to look at her, he was having a great time.

  “Course I asked him. He said he’d love to see our house. Where’s your head, girl?”

  Still resting against Marcus’s impressive chest.

  “Oh, sorry.” Seemed she was destined to spend even more time with Marcus. The question was whether she could hide her desire from her eagle-eyed aunt.

  ***

  Marcus stepped out of the small car and tried not to wince at the pain in his back. Sleeping on the van seats had been impossible. And with Crescy practically on top of him, he couldn’t even shift to find a more comfortable position. Yet, he wouldn’t have traded last night for the softest bed in the most expensive resort in the Caribbean. Holding her, feeling her soft breath on his chest, had been heaven.

  Given his current state of un-slaked lust, he could have done without her restless hands wandering over his body, leaving sparks of sensation in their path. Or her leg that rubbed against his upper thigh and groin. Still, when offered the chance by her aunt to spend more time with his tour guide of delight, he hadn’t been able to say no.

  Crescy emerged from the back of the car and stood next to him while her aunt bustled on ahead into the house.

  “You don’t have to stay. I can take you to your hotel if you want. Auntie is upset your tour didn’t go as planned. Her solution to any crisis is to feed everyone involved.”

  “What do you want?” He waited for her eyes to meet his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  Her chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath and he held his, steeling himself to hide his disappointment if she wanted him to go.

  “I’d like you to stay.” The words came out in a rush.

  “Then I’ll stay.” He resisted the urge to put his arm around her or even hold her hand as he followed her into the house.

  Crescy’s uncle struggled to his feet as he entered. He could hear her aunt already in the kitchen pulling out pans and opening and closing the fridge door.

  “Please, don’t get up, Mr. St. Ives,” Marcus said, hurrying over to the older man. Crescy had said her uncle was unwell and she was covering as tour guide temporarily. But he’d spent half of the past sixteen years in hospitals. In his expert opinion, the man in the chair didn’t look as though he’d be back on his feet anytime soon.

  “Are you the real Marcus Sullivan who wrote all dem books?”

  So typical of his life that the admiration should come from the uncle and not the delectable niece. “Yes, sir. Have you read one of my stories?”

  “One? I read ‘em all. You are clever. I never can guess who done it till the very end.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you watching cricket?”

  “Yes, a repeat of the one-day test between the West Indies and Pakistan. Are you interested in cricket?”

  “Uncle, no one under the age of fifty is interested in cricket,” Crescy said.

  He smiled at her then turned back to her uncle. “Actually, I was thinking of including a cricket player in my next novel, but I know nothing of the game. Would it ruin your enjoyment if you explained it to me?”

  Uncle Robert’s eyes lit up like he’d won the game himself. “Course not. It would be my pleasure.” He patted the seat next to him.

  Crescy stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m going to have a shower.”

  She strolled down the hallway and Marcus had to clench every muscle in his body to stop from following her. As it was, he got nothing out of the first fifteen minutes of Uncle Robert’s discourse on the subtleties of the game. He was too busy imagining the water coursing over Crescy’s naked body, followed by soap bubbles, clinging in all the right places. When Aunt Gloria popped back in the room and put a cold drink on the table in front of him, he downed it in one go.

  Half an hour later, Crescy returned. Her hair was piled on top of her head again, a few curls escaping to fall down her back. She wore a shapeless bag of a dress in a gray color, and he bit back a sigh of disappointment. It may hide her curves, but he knew they were there. He spent another minute imagining lifting the ugly garment off her and revealing her gorgeous body.

  “Sorry, bowl a maiden over? What’s that?” He caught the tail end of something Uncle Robert was saying. He’d best keep his mind on the game and off the niece if he didn’t want to get ejected from the house.

  As if sensing his distraction and the cause of it, Crescy gave him a huge smile and then headed toward the kitchen to help her aunt. She reappeared a moment later, two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. One she placed on the little table next to her uncle, the other in front of him. She bent low, the neckline of her dress gapped, and his eyes were drawn to her red and black bra, the top band of lace barely disguising a hint of darker color. And that was the end of his ability to understand cricket.

  “Milk or sugar?” She realized the direction of his gaze and straightened, her hand covering the neckline of the
dress. Her eyes met his, but there was no censure in her gaze.

  “No, black is perfect,” he said after clearing his throat. He glanced at her uncle out of the corner of his eye. The older man was paying rapt attention to the TV, oblivious to the interchange between his niece and guest.

  “I’ll leave you to your cricket lesson then. If you want a shower, I left some hot water. There are fresh towels by the sink. Take your time. Breakfast will be when you want it.”

  “Thanks.” In his present state, he wasn’t likely to need the hot water.

  She retreated to the kitchen and he could hear her chatting with her aunt in Creole. She was a different woman at home, more like the real Crescy he imagined—sexy, saucy, and sure of herself. It was a heady combination.

  ***

  Crescy sat across from Marcus who was sipping a glass of orange juice. Their eyes had met often during the course of the hour-long breakfast ritual. He’d been gracious, trying every one of her aunt’s offerings, only grabbing for his glass of water once when he sampled the salt fish. He chatted with her aunt and uncle as if he’d been coming to Sunday breakfast for years. It would be so easy to imagine him as part of her life, except this wasn’t her real life. Her real life was back in New York, getting bad guys free so they could beat up little old ladies. She was a liability. Especially to someone who relied on the public for their livelihood.

  “…take Marcus to the beach, Crescy.” She returned from imagining breakfast in bed with Marcus to hear her aunt’s suggestion.

  It had been bad enough seeing him in his swim trunks at the mud baths during the tour yesterday. Then they’d been surrounded by a horde of other tourists and guides. Alone, on her private beach, it would be sheer torture to see his muscled torso and not be free to touch him, to run her fingers over his tanned skin, trace the line of dark hair down his abdomen…

  She should have made an excuse to stop at the store on their way home to buy some condoms. Although as the only store they’d passed was in Hess and every single person knew who she was, someone would undoubtedly have called her uncle and asked who she was banging. It was one of the few times she missed the anonymity of New York.