Paradise Bay: Resort 1 (Surrender Isle #1)

by Havana Scott

  “Wait…again?”

  “I’m talking about your house, Tristan.”

  When he smiled, his eyes danced, and two lines on either side of his face came out to play. “Well, there’s the one here on Sorendi. I have another in Miami where my mother lives.”

  “Where are the other two?”

  “Martinique and Bahamas.”

  Holy crap, and one would never guess this just by looking at him. Tristan was officially the most chillax billionaire I’d ever known. Scratch that—the only billionaire I’d ever known. “You’re drawn to the water,” I said. I could relate to that. All my life, living in Dayton had made me want to see the ocean.

  “I’m drawn to perfection.” He flashed me those brilliant eyes underneath dark brows. “The ocean is perfect, every sunrise here is perfect. The island has everything you need to live peacefully, and I consider that perfect.”

  I would have to agree. If ever I got hungry, we could go hiking, find coconuts, mangos, go fishing and catch fish or shrimp. There is nothing anyone really needs to live that you can’t find on this island, and that included Tristan for me.

  “Paris, you want to know why I chose your essay? Besides you being sarcastic, which is a sign of intelligence, and stupid adorably cute?”

  I laughed. “Why?”

  “Because I could see you didn’t believe that the good life could exist. You thought it was something out of a romance novel. But it can. It’s there for us, we just have to know how to get to it. I can help you there. I’m good at making things happen, but the problem is you letting me.”

  “Aren’t I letting you by taking the job you offered? Two months ago, I would’ve been too scared to take a job offer like that, but because of you, I jumped at the chance. I’ve been jumping at a lot of chances since I met you, Tristan.”

  “That’s sexy as fuck.” His hungry gaze fell on me. “You have no idea.”

  Smiling from across the room, I considered myself one lucky girl. I was still scared, of course, scared to fail, scared to succeed, but I was braver now. Two months ago, I also would’ve been scared to pressure a man like Tristan into showing me his house, but we’d been seeing each other for three weeks now, and I felt the burning need to see his innermost circle. “Can you show it to me today? I really want to see it.”

  “Why?” He folded his arms across his knees in cross-legged pose. Casual, but slightly defensive. Did he think I would judge him based on his house? Did he think I might want him to propose to me on the spot once I saw his riches? I didn’t care if it was a huge mansion or a small cottage, though I would’ve much preferred the small cottage.

  “I just do. I feel like I can’t know you until I see where you live.”

  “You already know where I live. Out there.” He pointed to the water. “Or out there…” He pointed toward the pool deck and main house. “Or here.” He smiled. “But I think I get it, Paris. You just don’t want to wonder anymore. You want me to lay it all out on the table. Fine, I’ll lay it out. Just so you’ll see I have nothing to hide. Come with me.” He hopped off the bed, closed the cover over his laptop, and donned his sexy sunglasses.

  At first, I regretted the matter of his house coming up. I was almost done with my article and hadn’t shown it to him yet, but speaking of showing each other our most personal sides, I said, “Okay, but first, I’m done with the BuzzFeed article. You want to hear the title?” Never had I ever shown my freshest rough draft copy to anyone not a writer before. They always had things to say and never understood what work-in-progress meant.

  But with Tristan, I wanted to share. I was excited to.

  “Yeah! Let’s hear it…”

  “Okay…” I shifted in my seat and read the title aloud, nervous shakiness in my throat. It’d come easily to me, almost too easily, and I worried about its impact. I cleared my throat. “Give in…to Paradise at Surrender Isle.”

  He squinted in confusion. “Wait. Sorendi or Surrender?”

  “Surrender. It’s a play on words. You know, because those who come here must put their pasts aside and surrender to the island’s charms, and—”

  “Yes, yes, I get it. That’s very clever. And so simple. I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of that before. SURRENDER ISLE,” he said, rolling the words over and over on his tongue. “Surrender Isle, Surrender Isle…Paris, that’s brilliant!”

  “You like it?”

  “I love it.” He grinned from ear to ear. “I really do. I don’t want to change the original name of the island, but we can definitely market ourselves that way in all print and digital media. Thank you, love. This is why I need you.” He strolled up to me and took my hands in his then ran his thumb across my cheek.

  I was hoping he needed me for more than just work, but I accepted it. “Sometimes, you just need a different point of view to get creativity flowing.”

  “Look at you, making it sound so easy, the way creatives always do. So humble. I freakin’ love you.” I freakin’ love you? Wow. Were we there yet? Apparently, we were, and it didn’t even bother me not one bit. It sounded natural, not at all weird. Did I love him too? I supposed I did, for not just believing in me but helping me reach my goals. I needed a doer in my life, and Tristan was definitely a doer.

  He pulled me in for a bone-crushing hug. With my face against his chest, I felt like a little girl being praised by her daddy, and let me just say, that was a nice feeling. Usually, it was me holding Ben, me comforting Ben, Ben taking and taking from me.

  At that moment, my phone began vibrating loudly in my pocket. Ugh. I wouldn’t answer the call. If Ben and I could be friends, that would be my ultimate goal with him, but it wasn’t turning out that way, and I couldn’t answer his calls anymore, especially not with Tristan around.

  I reached up for a kiss. “I’ll read it to you after I’ve edited it. For now, let’s go see where Mr. Giovanetti calls home.” Yes, I was ushering us away, but I needed to change my view, get out there, and forget about the phone that’d been ringing all day.

  “Calls his house anyway. I’m glad you’re not answering your phone.” He eyed my pocket and gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “I’ll call him back later,” I said, checking my home screen to see if the missed call had been followed by an annoyed text from Ben. Tristan nodded, but I got the sense he was disappointed that I was still checking my phone. “Right now, I only want to see this mansion you don’t really care about.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Paris. I choose my belongings very carefully.” He tapped my nose and headed out the door.

  Did he now? Was I one of those “belongings?” Was he suggesting he was picky about women too, not only material things? If that was the case, should I be honored that he was spending time with me when he had a whole beach—no, a whole island—full of women to choose from? The feminist in me hated to admit it, but it did make me feel special, something I could get used to.

  “Look…for the record.” I showed Tristan my phone, the device I would be ignoring for the rest of the day. I tossed it onto my bed, texts unread, and followed Tristan out.

  When he led me to the main house and said we were going for a ride to the other side of the island where Hideaway Cove, Sorendi Isle’s other resort was, I did not expect to be thrown on the back of a crotch rocket and be handed hard headgear. “Um, what is this?”

  “It’s a helmet. Put it on.”

  “It’s a brain bucket, and I want no part of this.”

  “Paris, we’re going to ride on an empty road through a forest to another uninhabited area. There’s literally no other vehicles to crash into, so trust me when I say this is being overly cautious. Now, put it on.” He straddled the bike and revved it to life. He wore no helmet himself. Great, so if we crashed, not only would his innards get all over my visor, but I’d be alive to see it all unfold.

  I slid the giant gumball on my head and waited as Tristan turned in his seat and checked the straps and clips then slammed down my visor. “Let’s roll.”
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  “Yeah, let’s roll, bitches,” I said, sliding my arms around his middle.

  Tristan laughed loud and long. God, I was so glad he was laughing before speeding down the highway and not during. We took off, and I had to say it was quite exhilarating, and he was correct, there was no one on the road which made me want to take off the helmet so I could at least enjoy the wind in my face and hair. In a short time, we climbed an incline and emerged on a cliff side road alongside the ocean. Another bend, and we were at a set of gates that opened the moment we slowed down. If I had to take a stab at describing the home we approached, I’d say it was a baby—maybe fetus—version of Iron Man’s mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

  The house was freakin’ cool. Not huge, not excessive in size or grandeur, but definitely not the architecture one would find on the quaint side of the island. It looked like something out of Space Age Home & Garden, if such a magazine were ever to exist. Inside the property, the gate closed behind us, and Tristan wove around to the side where a hidden garage door popped open from the otherwise plain white wall.

  “I can’t believe you don’t spend time here. If this were my house, I would never leave.”

  “Oh, I love it. I designed it myself. But after a couple of months here, I felt disconnected and found myself back on the ocean where I’ve always loved to be.”

  “Well, yeah.” I scoffed. “I half expect the Dalai Lama to live up here.”

  “That would be me.” He kissed my cheek.

  Inside the garage, he cut the engine and dismounted the bike, helping me off. “Don’t write about my house in the book or article, please. It has nothing to do with this island’s history. Just an oversized white elephant. I was falling into the greed trap a couple years ago, but I’ve since realized I don’t want any part of this.”

  “I want part of the greed trap!” I cried. “Holy shit, Tristan. Have you ever lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the crappy side of town?” I knew I was throwing him hefty shade. “Have you? If you have, then you’d understand how beautiful this is.”

  “It’s the people inside it who make it beautiful, Paris,” he said, which I couldn’t argue with. He took my hand and led me to the entrance. “So, let’s go inside.”

  On the inside, the house was decorated in minimalist style with gorgeous sleek furniture, recessed bookshelves in the wall, which I loved, loved, loved, and a few pieces of art hanging from white walls. The dining room featured a broken piece of machinery from the sugar mill we’d visited, only here it looked like modern art. His living room was all white, his balconies were all white, and his bedroom was all white.

  “You probably think it’s devoid of color. Or of life,” he said, pressing a button and watching the shade lift inside his bedroom. “And you’d be right.”

  “Actually, knowing you and how much you love the ocean, I get it. The house was designed not to draw attention to itself but to highlight your view of the Atlantic. Am I right?”

  He lit up happily from my assessment. “That’s all it is, love. The house is a window to the world, not the other way around.” He wrapped his massive arms around my shoulders, drawing me in for a tight hug. “I love how I don’t have to explain myself to you. You just get it. You get me.”

  “Can I get you where I want you?” I bit over my impish smile.

  “And where, pray tell, would that be?” He was looming in on me, pinning me to the wall. The intoxicating smell of Tristan again, and my mind desperately wanted to get drunk tonight.

  “Do you have neighbors?” I asked, letting his mouth graze along my neck and collarbone. On the wall next to me, his palm covered a panel of three buttons, and the doors to the balcony began to slide open, inviting the warm breezes of the West Indies into the spacious room.

  “No, and I like the way you think. Take me outside, Paris.” He stepped away, tugging my hand with him, and I led him onto the second story veranda. Stopping at the edge of the railing, I took in the massive expanse of the domains before me. I’d never had such a large audience of ocean to myself, and rather than feel tiny and insignificant in its presence, as I’d expect, from here, I felt like Queen of the World.

  “The only thing wrong with this view,” he said, circling his arms around me from behind. I held onto his forearms, marveling at his roped veins and sheer masculinity. “Is that we’re too far. You can’t feel her waves from here, can’t feel the undertow, can’t see her up close and personal. She’s a painting of a beautiful woman whereas living on the boat on the other side, I get to touch her…” His fingertips traced lines up my arms, his thumbs massaging my shoulders. “I get to taste her.” His lips and tongue created swirls of heat on my earlobes to my neck, then when he swiveled me around, on my chin, neck, and collarbone.

  The sun warmed our skin, making me feel dizzy, with what I wasn’t sure, but I wanted out of my shorts and shirt, wanted him out of his. I wanted us completely naked on this deck, like two sacrifices before a sun god. Earlier this week, I’d told him I felt like I was on the precipice of something, like something was about to change in my life. Sitting here on the edge of the railing Tristan had lifted me onto with my legs spread wide, he held me tightly in place, and I never felt, not once, that I might teeter backwards and plummet to my death.

  I felt safe.

  Tristan would kill himself first before letting the sharp edges below claim me.

  And when he guided his length of hardness into my sweet and saturated folds, aching for the filling thickness I’d become familiar with, I knew instantly why I’d dubbed this place Surrender Isle. Because only until I’d conceded, until I’d trusted another with my life, with my pleasure and my heart, could I ever know the true meaning of letting go, of giving up, of surrendering.

  I’d been trying for too long to control every aspect of my life without really enjoying it.

  I’d put my happiness in fate’s hands, which led me to Tristan’s. A precarious place to be, in the hands of a man like him, someone who could drop me any time he wanted. Not physically, but emotionally, mentally. Realistically, any woman could come along, more interesting, richer, more beautiful, with a more amazing body…and I’d be finished. Replaced. But I pushed those thoughts aside and considered myself his queen, because I was.

  He had chosen me over anyone else. And he’d done it because he appreciated me. Here on the altar of this beautiful blue world. Likewise, he was my king. It made him happy to please me, and somewhere in his final thrusts, I surrendered. And so did he. I was completely his. And he knew it.

  Chapter 14

  Three years ago, I was twenty-five when I built this house and thought I was the biggest shit since indoor plumbing. There I was, only a quarter way through my life and already living in my very own custom-designed house overlooking the magnificent Atlantic, building a resort on a deserted island, having parties every other weekend in my kickass digs.

  Slowly, the parties moved over to Reece’s house on the west side, and I migrated outdoors. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my house anymore, it just felt empty of soul. After the guests had gone, and the straggling sleepover girls all made their way back to their cabins, villas, boats, or planes back home, I was alone. Just me and a cold, sterile house.

  This bedroom in particular had the best view. I’d made it this way for a reason—to always appreciate the enormity of the ocean. Except, I’d forgotten how beautiful the indoor space was, too. With Paris asleep in my arms, under brand new sheets and her old soul, it was home again for the first time in a long time. What was this girl doing to me? Why was I letting her affect me so deeply? What made her so special, so different from anyone else I knew?

  All my life, I’d heard people say, “We just clicked. It was an instant connection.” I never believed it until now. I told myself to stop questioning why and just start appreciating our time together. Especially since we had no idea when it would end. At the end of the book project? When Tatianne arrived next month? When she got sick of me?

  I
stroked the blonde-brown strands of her hair that were starting to lighten into strawberry blonde from the sun and carefully slid over to reach for my phone. In a perfect world, I would’ve stayed here all night with her, but in the real world, Tasha was waiting for reports from me, and Simon and Reece were waiting for Paris’s new article so they could approve it and get that over to BuzzFeed, ASAP.

  Judging from the deepening purple sky and fluffy orange clouds, I gathered it was roughly eight-thirty in the evening. Maybe I could snooze thirty minutes more before sending those reports. An incoming text vibrated against my side—so much for relaxing. The text was from Simon. His words sent a shot of dread plummeting down my chest, and I sat up, dumping Paris onto the bed next to me:

  Houston, we have a problem. Ms. Moreau is here. Hide your girlfriend.

  Tatianne.

  FUCK.

  He may have followed up his text with an innocent, one-eyed laughing emoji, but the panic I felt was real. “What? What is it?” Paris rubbed the grogginess out of her eyes. “Your heart just started pounding. Wow, what time is it?”

  “We have to go. Get dressed.” I reached for my underpants and shorts.

  “Is everything okay, Tristan?”

  “Yes, sure.” I dropped my legs over the edge, searching for my shirt and sandals. “Just work stuff I forgot was due today.” Just my ex-lover slash investor dropping by, no doubt wanting to know why her villa’s occupied.

  Where is she now? I texted Simon.

  Her plane just arrived.

  Make sure she goes to the main house first. Keep her busy.

  Aye, aye, Captain Uh-oh.

  Good, I had time to cut her off at the pass. Tatianne had never not arrived when she said she would, so why had she come to Sorendi so early? Women had a sixth sense about things, I swear to God. Could she somehow know that a woman was here with me? It was true that I hadn’t called her much over the last two months, but then again, we’d had nothing left to talk about besides her repayment schedule.