by Ella Miles
I frown. “What’s wrong?”
Her smile falters. “Oh, nothing. Just allergies.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“You’re one to talk. You lie all the time.”
“No, I don’t. I have made my intentions very clear to you. I want you. In my bed. As soon as possible. Now, what is wrong?”
“My grandmother died.”
I feel her pain immediately. It’s clear that she was close to her grandmother.
“I’m so sorry.”
I see the tears forming in her eyes again, but she holds them back, not letting me fully see her pain.
“You should be with Wes tonight. We can reschedule, or I can…” I can’t quite convince myself to say that I’d leave her alone. Because I can’t promise it. I want this too much. I want to steal her heart and know it’s mine and not his. I want to be the cause of her pain. But I’m not devil enough to do it when her grandmother just died.
“Wes is gone,” she says.
“Gone?”
“He’s in LA on business.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Are you going to be able to forgive him for not being here?”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
She shakes her head, and I drop the subject.
“Come out with me,” I say without thinking.
She wraps her arms around her shoulders, and I’m afraid that she won’t be able to stand on her own two feet much longer, much less come out on a date with me.
“I don’t mean as a date. Just that you shouldn’t be alone. I can be good, I promise.”
She looks down, obviously thinking about it but not yet convinced.
“Just let me feed you and distract you for a few hours. You can talk to me about your grandmother or not. Or you can yell at me and call me names if it will make you feel better. Whatever you need. Today, I’ll just be a friend.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being the monster you think I am.”
At that comment, I get the tiniest smile out of her.
“I know you are.”
I nod.
“I’ll come as long as I can leave when I want.”
“I’ll bring you back whenever you want.”
“Yes then.”
We both smile when she says yes instead of her giving a less convincing answer.
“Let me just grab my purse.”
“No. Change into something comfortable and at least bring your swimsuit.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because the ocean can be an incredibly healing thing whether I’m there to enjoy it with you or not.” I take a breath. “And, if nothing else, I’ll get to see you in a bikini.”
I wink, and to my surprise, she chuckles. It’s not a full-body laugh, but it’s enough for now.
“Fine. I’ll wear my bikini underneath something more comfortable.” She starts walking to her bedroom. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”
She closes the door to her bedroom and leaves me in her living room. I walk around, staring at all the things in her living room that are varying shades of white. I’m surprised that I don’t find many photos in her living room. I don’t see any of Wes. The only one I see is a picture of Sloane with who I assume is her grandmother.
I pick the picture up and study it a moment. Sloane is a little younger-looking in the picture but not much younger. She has her arm wrapped around her grandmother’s shoulders while her grandmother blows out the candles on her birthday cake. It’s a sweet picture. Full of love. It’s obvious that Sloane loved her grandmother.
I place the frame back on the end table where I found it, and a familiar feeling washes over me. I shake it off because the feeling makes no sense. I haven’t been in this building before and certainly not in Sloane’s place.
I walk over to the kitchen counter and see a pile of pictures and papers piled up. I don’t think anything of it at first until I spot a surfboard that is very familiar, sticking out from beneath one of the papers. I pull it out and see a picture of myself staring back at me.
What the fuck?
Why does Sloane have a picture of me?
I rifle through more of the pictures. They’re all of me. Then, I realize what the pictures are when I spot Wes in the background. Sloane is the one who hired me to take the ad photos and video. That just leaves me even more confused. I know Sloane works for a nonprofit, so why would she want to have photos of a surfer for advertising? It doesn’t make sense to me.
“I didn’t realize it was you that I had booked; otherwise, I wouldn’t have booked you,” Sloane says from behind me.
I turn and look at her, and I completely forget about the photographs. “You’re beautiful.”
She shakes her head and blushes a little, which makes her all the more enduring. She doesn’t blush when she should be embarrassed, but one tiny compliment, and she’s a blushing fool.
Sloane runs her hand through her hair, shaking out the curls that were there before. “No, I’m not. I’m in a T-shirt and shorts. I don’t have an ounce of makeup on, and I’m blotchy from crying. It’s not possible to look beautiful at the moment.”
I frown, trying to come up with the words that will make her see what I see. I doubt I can convince her of anything in the moment. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. You’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And, right now, you are more beautiful than I have ever seen you,” I say, meaning every fucking word, my eyes glued to hers.
She stares back at me until she is finally convinced that I am telling the truth. I don’t know when she’ll realize that I never lie. Never. I don’t lie to women to get them to leave their husbands. I want an honest fight. I just usually win, which must mean that the women don’t really want to get married. Marriage is a ridiculous concept anyway. No one should be with just one person for the rest of their life. People are constantly changing and not always in the same way.
Why would you stay with the same person when you no longer fit together anymore?
I try to search her eyes to see if she is just like the rest of the women, who were looking for an escape from a marriage that they thought would be everything they’d ever dreamed up but realized too late that it was going to be a nightmare that there was no way out of. But whatever she feels, she hides it well. She might just be the exception. She might really love Wes and want to marry him. I just can’t see how a woman like her, who seems to have such ambition and is constantly changing and wanting more out of life, would be happy with settling down with one man for the rest of her life.
“The video and pictures we took are for an ad my new head of marketing came up with. I don’t love the idea, but she is insistent that, since I spend so much time in Hawaii and many of our donors live or at least vacation here, we need to add more inspiring images of what our children and families could eventually achieve with the money they are given instead of just images of hungry children.”
“Why don’t you use images of people who have gone through your program and made something of their lives?”
“We did.”
“I didn’t do any ads with children that have gone through your program.
She shakes her head. “You did.”
I pause for a second. “Wes? Really? But he always seems like—” I stop myself from saying how I really feel about Wes.
Sloane smiles though. “Like a spoiled rich kid.”
I nod.
“He thinks he needs to act that way to fit in with me and my family.”
I glance around her expensive apartment and raise an eyebrow. “I can understand why.”
She lets out a huff of air. “I guess so.”
I don’t want to spend the rest of the evening talking about Wes. My job today is to cheer her up and be her friend. I made a promise, and I won’t go back on my promise.
I hold out my ar
m to her, like the gentleman that I am. “Hungry, or should I take you to the beach first?”
Sloane walks toward me. Her hips sway as she does, and I have never wished I were standing behind a woman like I do right now.
I think she is going to take my arm, but she stops short.
“Beach. I don’t have an appetite for food.”
She walks past me and toward the door, and I finally get the view that I was desperate for a second earlier. Her tight ass moves from side to side, just barely covered in her tiny shorts, making the fact that she isn’t holding on to my arm so that I could feel her skin worth it.
“You coming, or do I have to go myself?”
I grin. “Definitely coming.”
Sloane is beyond independent. She doesn’t let me do anything for her as we make our way out of her condo building. I don’t get to open a door or press an elevator button or rest my hand on the small of her back to guide her. She avoids me at every turn.
Her surfboard is waiting for her in the lobby when we get down. How they managed to get it so quickly, I have no idea since she just texted them that she needed it when we got into the elevator. But, somehow, they managed or knew that she would need it. Because here it sits.
I run forward to take it off their hands before Sloane is able to.
“Relax, Asher. I appreciate the help, but I can carry my own surfboard.”
I hold it up high over my head, so she can’t reach it. “I don’t care if you can. You shouldn’t have to.”
She frowns and crosses her arms. “I don’t need a man to take care of me. If you think that’s why I’m marrying Wes, you’re wrong.”
“I realize you don’t need a man or anyone else to do anything for you. But that doesn’t mean you should stop every man from doing something nice for you.”
She rolls her eyes and then begins walking toward the parking lot. I can’t tear my eyes away from her ass as she walks. I’m too focused on Sloane to notice another woman in the room, one that I should have been paying attention to.
I feel the slap before I notice the girl. I grab my stinging cheek as I look at the woman who just slapped me.
“You’re an asshole! I can’t believe you had the nerve to come back here. Leave me the fuck alone!” she screams at me before turning and walking out of the condo.
I glance up at Sloane, who has her head cocked to one side, her arms folded across her chest, and the cutest grin ever on her face.
“Who was that?”
“Nicole,” I say, realizing why I had a familiar feeling while I was in Sloane’s condo. I’ve been here before—with Nicole.
“And why did she slap you?”
“Because I’m an asshole.”
Sloane laughs.
“Did you bring your surfboard? If so, we can just surf right out here. It’s a private beach.”
“No, I didn’t bring it.” I think that is the first time I have ever spoken such a sentence. I always bring my surfboard. This is exactly why I always bring my surfboard and swim trunks with me.
“My car is just over this way. I can drive you to wherever you want to grab yours.”
I smile when she mentions her car. Of course she wants to drive. She wants to do everything herself. And, since I’m trying to appease her and make her forget about how sad she really is, I’m not going to argue, no matter how much I want to show her how well I could take care of her if she let me.
I follow her to her pristine white Jeep that doesn’t look like it has ever been driven.
“Is there something wrong?” Sloane asks when I stop and stare at it.
This woman is the epitome of contradiction. She works for a nonprofit, giving money to those who need it most, but also has more money and spends it like she enjoys showing off the money she has. She likes surfing and adventure but dresses like she never leaves the business room. I can’t understand her.
“Nothing,” I say.
I place her surfboard on top of her Jeep, quickly strapping it in, before climbing into the passenger side. Sloane is already on the driver’s side and begins backing out as soon as I get in.
We drive in silence. It’s clear that Sloane is lost in thoughts of her grandmother, bringing back the feelings of sadness and pain that I can’t stand to watch. It’s not hot in her Jeep. The AC works almost too well, which is strange for me since I can’t recall my truck’s AC ever working.
I roll my window down and stick my hand out into the warm breeze, like you should in Hawaii.
“What are you doing?” she asks sternly.
“Enjoying Hawaii.”
Her hair blows as the breeze gets stronger inside the car. She runs her hand through her hair, trying to keep the wind from further tangling it.
“But it’s too warm outside, and the AC is working fine. Why would I open the window?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Do you really never drive around with the windows open?”
“No. It’s much too warm here.”
“Turn the AC off, and open your window.”
“No.”
“Stop being stubborn, and just do it.”
She looks at me like I’m mad but finally concedes. Her hair becomes even more tangled, blowing in front of her face as she drives. She seems agitated and annoyed, which is the opposite of what I’m going for.
“Now, relax, and stick your hand out the window.”
She raises an eyebrow at me.
I laugh, my whole body shaking. I can’t help it.
“Are you sure you grew up here? You are acting like you grew up in outer space.”
She frowns, clearly not amused.
“Like this,” I say, sticking my hand out the window.
She does the same, and it only takes seconds for her to relax. To breathe and become one with the wind, letting go of some of the sadness was overtaking her. But there is too much sadness and pain in her for a simple car ride with the wind blowing around us to fix. Not that anything is going to fix the pain or sadness. I know that as well as anyone. I’ve experienced it myself and caused it in others. I’ve watched them all handle the pain in different ways. Some handle it better than others, but then some weren’t really in love.
Sloane loved her grandmother. So, the pain will never go away. But she does need to learn to live with it, and the sooner she does, the better. If only for my selfish reasons. Because, the sooner she heals, the sooner I can rip her heart out.
“Pull over,” I say.
“Why?” Sloane asks but doesn’t pull over.
“For once, can you just do what I tell you without asking why?”
She frowns. “No. We haven’t known each other long enough for me to do that.”
I laugh. “Do you do what Wes tells you without asking why?”
She scrunches her nose. “No.”
“Exactly. It doesn’t matter who is asking. You always have to be in control. For once in your life, let someone else have control. Don’t think. Just do.”
I reach over and touch her hand that has a firm hold on the steering wheel. She doesn’t flinch even though that was what I expected. She doesn’t glance down either. She acts like I’m not even touching her.
She’s a much better actor than I am. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest at the touch of her soft skin. I have to be good today. I’m used to practicing self-control. But Sloane makes that incredibly hard to do.
“Pull over,” I say calmly.
Sloane takes a deep breath. I watch her chest rise and fall and wish she weren’t wearing the T-shirt covering the bikini underneath. Better yet, I wish she were wearing nothing.
Sloane pulls the car over onto the side of the road.
“Now, put the car in park.”
She does without hesitation.
“Turn the car off.”
She slowly reaches up, and I reluctantly move my hand away from hers as she turns the car off.
“Take a deep breath, and then get out of the car.”
I watch h
er chest rise and fall again, and then she gets out of the car. I do the same and pull her surfboard off the top of the car. I begin carrying it to the beach.
“What are we doing? You don’t have your surfboard or swim trunks, and this is one of the worst places for surf on the island. There isn’t even anyone here.”
I shake my head from side to side. “No questions. You have to trust me. This is what you need.”
She frowns, but I keep walking toward the edge of the water with her surfboard in tow, not giving her another choice.
She walks behind me.
When I get to the water, I stop and wait for her to catch up. I hand her back her surfboard.
“Now, surf, and don’t think. About me or Wes or your grandmother. Or anything else. Just surf. Go through the motions.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I put a finger up to her lips to stop her. Her lips are as soft as I imagined. She bites her lip, and I pull my hand away.
“Don’t say anything. Now, go.” I point toward the ocean.
She grins. “I was only going to say, can I take my T-shirt and shorts off first?”
I want to say no because it doesn’t matter. She’s thinking too much, and she needs to just get in the water. But I’m desperate to see her in nothing but her bikini. I can just imagine her walking back toward me after surfing, beads of water dripping down her breasts. I need to see her body like that. Although a white T-shirt drenched in water might be equally as awesome.
“It was implied,” I say.
“Sure it was.”
She shimmies out of her shorts first, but her T-shirt is long enough that it covers her ass, revealing nothing new to me. But then she removes her shirt, revealing the toned body that she was hiding beneath her T-shirt.
Damn. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting this.
She’s toned and fit beneath her tiny black bikini. I can see the muscles rippling in her stomach, arms, and legs. But she also has the perfect amount of curves outlining her muscles. Her breasts have me aching to touch them. Her hips are curvy, making me want to grab her and have her right here in the sand. Even though I’ve done that before and as much as I like the beach and ocean, fucking a woman on it is much worse than the fantasy.
