Tempt The Playboy

by Natasha Madison

  The weather right now in Bermuda is perfect. It’s not too hot, at least by my standards. As far as I’m concerned, it’s perfect. I’d live here if given a chance. And maybe I can someday. The resort isn’t even close to capacity, which is nice considering that I’m alone. So very alone in all the ways that matter. The last thing I want to see are couples constantly cuddling on the chaise lounges, kissing, and making ‘come fuck me’ eyes at each other while I try to get a tan. And I so desperately need a tan.

  My room has an ocean view, which was well worth spending the extra money to walk out on my balcony and sip my early morning coffee without having other guests mingling around me. I need those small moments after I awake. My only gripe about my room is that it’s adjoining, and honestly, that freaks me the hell out. It also slightly pisses me off that I have to share my balcony. What if, whoever is staying there gets the sudden urge to knock in the middle of the night? Or, God forbid, they lose their key and want to use my room to get to theirs? I shudder at the thought.

  The sliding glass door for the shared room opens, and I find myself holding my breath in anticipation. I was hoping that the room would be vacant to save me the curiosity of wondering who is staying there, but that wouldn’t be my luck. No, my luck is having the man that I was checking out earlier when he was checking in as my neighbor. It was his suit and the way he spoke to the receptionists. His voice was smooth and British. So very British that I found myself rubbing my thighs together and mentally cursing myself because where there’s one, there’s plenty, and I don’t know if I can handle that. Who would’ve thought an accent could elicit such a tantalizing effect on me?

  And now that man is standing in the shared balcony space as I am, and for the life of me, I can’t take my eyes off him. He was and still is dressed in a black suit and white button-down that I saw him in not moments ago, but now his eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators, and I only know this because he’s staring at or through me. He’s returning the penetrating gaze that I gave him earlier, at least I think he is. When his head cocks to the side and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, I turn away quickly, embarrassed that he caught me gawking, but I couldn’t help it. There is something about a finely dressed man in paradise.

  Stepping back into my room, I pull the heavy curtains shut and turn up the air conditioner to try to curb my overheated skin. Even as I stand in front of the mirror, which happens to be next to the adjoined door, my heart races, wondering what the man on the other side of the wall is doing, or who for that matter. A man like that doesn’t come without a woman or have an entourage waiting to worship at his feet.

  “Snap out of it,” I tell my reflection, who seems to mock me.

  I’m here to clear my head, not fantasize about the other guests at the resort, and that’s what I’m going to do. Clear my head. I change into my swimsuit, apply sunblock to every visible body part, and slip my cover-up over my head before grabbing the stack of magazines that I bought at the newsstands outside the airport terminal, my sunglasses, and hat before heading down to the pool. I’m cautious though when I open my door, checking first to see if he’s coming out as well, and only when the coast is clear do I speed walk to the elevator, praying that my mystery neighbor stays locked inside his room.

  Unfortunately, by the time I actually find the pool, it seems like I’m not the only one who decided to take advantage of the early morning calm, yet thankfully I still have my choice of chaise lounges. I choose one across from the obvious harem that is happening at one of the cabanas.

  Once I’m situated, I pull my sunglasses down just a bit, knowing that my oversized hat will keep my staring a secret, and watch the three women across the pool from me chat up my picture-perfect bad boy with his heavily tatted arms, blonde hair, and very nice torso. Each time he turns, the muscles in his back flex, creating the perfect ridge for my nails to dig in deep. I lick my lips just thinking about the animal he must be in bed. Men like that, you know they know what they’re doing between the sheets. Not that I’d know anything about that considering I attract the boring number crunchers and only fantasize about being with someone dangerous.

  “Get a grip,” I tell myself as I try to read the words on the paper in front of me. I don’t know what’s come over me, but first, my neighbor and now this man has me yearning for unadulterated passion. I suppose if I were comfortable with my sexual prowess or lack thereof, I wouldn’t have to resort to wondering what it’d be like to have a toe-curling orgasm that left me breathless, achy, and totally sated.

  Except, I can’t stop watching the women and how they act, and find that I’m taking mental notes. If I’m going to have to see gorgeous men while I’m here, I might as well try to have some fun, to live a little and not be so inhibited. The women seem fond of him, touching him unabashedly even though he tries to thwart each attempt. And they laugh like damn hyenas when he says something funny. At least, from where I’m sitting, it seems like he’s humoring them. I can’t imagine he’s a jerk, but one never knows. He looks around and runs his hand through his hair while he continues to stand there. If I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t know any of them, and they’re trying to pick him up. Each time one tries to touch him. He shies away.

  I finally tell myself to stop, that I’m not learning anything from them, and that I’d probably have a better chance at picking up a man if I’m myself and not handsy like the ladies on the other side of the pool. Yet, I continue to peer over the top of my sunglasses every so often but making sure to look away when he turns to see who else is around. I make up the conversation they’re having in my head to pass my time. Their laughter grows louder and their touching of the tattooed man more forceful.

  My magazine is suddenly boring, and the drama unfolding across the pool is so much more entertaining, but I don’t put it down for fear they’ll notice me. They haven’t a clue that I’ve named each of them, Tuffy, Buffy, and Muffy, and his name is Romeo. I’m not fond of the name Romeo, but it fits perfectly. He’s making these women swoon, and they’re all planning for an orgy. He turns and looks in my direction, and I swear I can feel him staring at me. As coyly as possible, I slide my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and pretend I’m interested in the magazine that’s causing my legs to sweat.

  There’s a splash in the pool and some more laughter, forcing me to look up. He’s in the pool, and he’s walking toward my side with a beer in his hand. When did he get a beer and where can I get one? He sets his beer down on the edge of the pool and climbs up the ladder ever so fucking slowly, making sure that anyone within easy eyesight can see the ridges of his torso flex as he pulls himself up. Each step is almost methodical, giving the water ample time to pebble and drip down his tanned skin. Once again, I find myself rubbing my thighs together, praying that he hasn’t seen me.

  He shakes his hair, letting water spray in every which direction. A drop lands on me, and I leave it on my skin as something to remember this moment by. Romeo bends over to retrieve his beer and I quickly look around for the closest bar or waiter. I need to quench my thirst or at least occupy my mouth before my voice says something incredibly stupid. After watching Romeo, my mouth is parched, my tongue is eager, and I’m tempted to finger the droplets of water on my leg to keep my focus on anything but him.

  He walks by, blocking my sun and before I can say anything, he sets his beer down on the table that separates my chair from the one next to me. I look up, even though I can’t see much of him through the rim of my hat, and prepare to ask him what the hell he’s thinking. There are many other seats he can park his glorious physique at. Seats that are across from me that would give me the perfect view of him.

  Oh, maybe he needs some lotion rubbed on his body?

  Except I never get a chance to ask since his lips are on mine and when I gasp, his tongue enters, causing me to moan. His hand caresses my cheek as our lips move softly against each other’s like they belong together. Like they haven’t met in hours, not ever.

  And
before I can even blink, he’s gone. Well, not gone, he’s now sitting on the chaise next to me, acting as if it’s an everyday occurrence to kiss a complete stranger. And that is when I see his face and the realization hits me square in the chest. He’s my suit-wearing-sexy-as-fuck neighbor, my balcony sharer who under that dark suit, hid his bad-boy image.

  “What was that?” I ask, stupidly. I know it was a kiss and aside from it being one of the best kisses I have ever experienced, I need to know why he kissed me and if he’s planning on doing it again. I’d like to be a bit more prepared. And rethink my quest for a beer. I’ll need something fruity and inviting.

  “I told those women over there that you’re my wife. It’s the only thing I could think of when they wouldn’t stop asking me to go back to their room,” he says in the most amazing British accent that I have ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot. Living in New York City, I hear everything, but the way this man just spoke to me has sent shivers down my spine. And I knew it! The women across the way wanted to have an orgy, not that I could blame them. His voice is enough to make me want to join.

  “I see, so you think you can just waltz over and kiss me?”

  “Technically, I swam. Water was involved, dancing was not.” He rests his head back, but I can see the smirk play across his very kissable lips.

  So Romeo is a smart ass. I think I like it.

  “How do you propose you keep them away? Won’t they figure out we’re not married? I’m sure they’ll happen to see you sitting alone later or me flirting with another man. They’ll question you. Us even. What if they think we’re swingers?”

  He looks at me like I’m Medusa and shrugs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hell, maybe he doesn’t, and this is a game to him. I’m just the lucky player this week.

  “When do you go home?” he asks.

  My head should be yelling stranger danger, but it’s not. There’s something about him, something that makes me comfortable, which makes me want to tell him everything. “Seven days, I arrived this morning.”

  “Same here, so I think that we should hang out with each other. Unless you’re not single.”

  “I’m single,” I blurt out far too easily and way too eagerly sounding. Whatever happened to playing hard to get and allowing the man to chase a little? Unfortunately, the minute I laid eyes on him at check-in, I realized that getting laid was high on my priority list.

  “Well, would you look at that! I’m single as well. So what do you say? You, me, the next seven days in each other’s company? We’ll have fun, I promise you.”

  “What if you meet someone?” Not what if I meet someone. I mean I planned to meet at least one someone. He just so happened to be the one until I realized he was my neighbor. But now that I’ve seen him without his suit on, he has a better chance of getting laid every night and afternoon if he chooses. Just by looking at him, I’d spread eagle if it meant I get to touch him.

  This guy moves over to my chaise and picks up my legs, putting them over his. I pull my sunglasses off so I can get a good look at him. I swallow hard as I take in his crystal-blue eyes, which are a striking contrast with his blond hair and tanned skin. Back home, he would never be my type, but here in Bermuda, who gives a shit about a type?

  “What’s to say I haven’t already met her?”

  “Oh, you’re smooth,” I tell him. “Okay, what are the rules?”

  “Rules?”

  “Yeah, rules? I mean obviously we have separate rooms, but what if one of them decides to follow you and realizes you’re alone.”

  “Easy, they’re adjoining rooms. What’s your next rule?” His thumb is gently running up and down my leg. The sensation has my heart beating a bit faster.

  For a brief moment, I’m speechless, forgetting that our rooms are adjoined. I thought for sure I had found a hole in his little plan. “Right, okay,” I say, without adding another rule. I completely suck at this game.

  “You want some rules, huh? Well, here are mine for starters. Kissing is a definite. And holding hands, maybe even some flirting when we’re out and about in public.”

  I feel like a girl back in middle school when she got her first boyfriend and had to lay down the ground rules. Except I like his guidelines. Kissing is fun, especially if he’s kissing me. I have a feeling that I’m going to end up following all of his rules when having them was my suggestion, to begin with.

  “Your turn,” he says, catching me off guard.

  “My turn?”

  “Yep. For a rule. Remember? You were laying down the law.”

  Short of demanding sex, which I won’t do, I can’t think of anything. I shake my head, telling him I have nothing.

  “Excellent, so we have a plan. So, what’s your name?” he asks.

  That’s when the light bulb goes off for me. I’m on vacation, away from my life and responsibilities. I can be whoever I want to be, and he’ll be none the wiser.

  “Okay, here’s my rule. We lie to each other.”

  “Pardon me?” He looks confused and dare I say, hurt. I suppose I would be too.

  “Hear me out. I’m on vacation, and I’m assuming you are too. The last thing I want to do is talk about home or work. I’m single. You’re single. So we have nothing to worry about there, and no one here knows us, so let’s fake name each other, actually fake everything. Make up the most outlandish story you can about yourself. We’re not trying to impress each other and since we’re acting like we’re married, why not?”

  “You’re crazy,” he says, laughing. “I’ll fake name you as long as you promise not to get all clingy and expect a relationship when the week’s over.”

  I extend my hand, and he shakes it.

  “My name is Jade,” I tell him, creating the most islandesque name I could. I’ve always wanted to be someone else, and now I get the chance. It’s acting, but without the cameras following you around and the people telling you what to do.

  “I’m Jackson.”

  Jackson is far better than Romeo, and I find that I like the way it sounds in my head. Jackson. I like it. Too bad it’s fake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jackson.”

  “You too, Jade. So, now that we have that settled, what shall we do with the rest of our day?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t made any plans, but I’m up for suggestions, or you could continue with what you were going to do.”

  “Nope, not now that my wife is free for the day, we should do something together. Besides, we have to keep up our act. I don’t want us to get found out straight away,” he says, nodding toward the women that he left with broken hearts.

  “It is almost lunchtime. I suppose we ought to eat.”

  He reaches for my hand and easily slides his fingers between mine. Together we walk hand in hand back to the resort. I figure we’re heading into the restaurant, but instead, he takes us toward the elevator. We stop on our floor and head toward our rooms.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  “Getting changed into something more suitable for lunch. Unless you want to go out with me dressed like this?” He rubs his hand over his torso, causing my mouth to water.

  “No, clothes would definitely be good.”

  “Go and unlock your door between our rooms and I’ll do the same.” He disappears behind his door, leaving me to catch my breath.

  As soon as I slide the lock, he pushes the door open, and I step back until the back of my knees hit the bed, and he’s standing in front of me.

  “I think I’m really going to like this game,” he says. I think I am too—the way that he’s kissing me right now with his hand pressed into the small of my back and his other caressing my cheek really has my lady bits jumping for joy that they might get some action from this man. And when he presses into me, showing me that yes, my imagination was not lying to me and that he’s definitely packing, my body zings with electricity and anticipation of what’s to come. Even behind closed doors, he kisses me deeper than he did outside, lea
ving me breathless and having to remind myself that this is just a game with a one-week expiration date.

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