* * *
Chloe
* * *
I was forced from my home, my college, and the only life I’ve ever known by a vindictive ex-boyfriend and a sex tape that went viral. It ruined my reputation, stopped my career before it even began, and nearly ended my life. But I’ve rebuilt it all working at this orphanage in rural Brazil. The last thing I need is some testosterone filled bad boy messing with my mind and making me do something I’ll regret. He may be hot as sin and he definitely wants me, but he’ll just have to move on. Even though he also taught me how to let go of my past truly and completely, and given me a taste of the freedom I haven’t had since my life went to pieces. Maybe not even before that.
* * *
But he’s not here to stay, he doesn’t know how to. And I’ve worked too hard and for too long to have my heart shattered all over again when he leaves me behind.
CHAPTER 1
CHLOE
The orphanage won't survive this year's rainy season without major repairs. That was one of the last things Dom Gustavo said to me before he fell asleep for the last time. I should say, "died", but given what I've been through, I can't even think that word without shivering. He also asked me to keep this orphanage running no matter what, but I made that promise to myself long before Gustavo asked it of me. Taking care of the orphans here is my life’s purpose and all I have.
"Come inside, Chloe!" Eduardo's shout reaches me over the hissing of the rain. He's sticking his head out the window of the house we use as the cafeteria. "No use standing in the rain and getting wet. If it goes, it goes."
I wave my hand at him dismissively and return to studying the soil erosion caused by a particularly large and aggressive stream the rain is filling with alarming speed. All the buildings that make up our little orphanage in the jungle are built on stilts, since the river that flows down the incline on top of which Dom Gustavo's home stands sometimes floods. But the flooding has never been this bad since I came here three years ago.
We've done many repairs ourselves, adding additional stilts and fixing the ones that were damaged, but the houses are very old. They've been here for close to one hundred years, and were built to house the laborers that used to work on Dom Gustavo's estate. I wish we had enough money to tear it all down and build more suitable houses, but we'll never have that kind of money and these structures are still a lot better than the orphanages in Rio de Janeiro, which is about fifty miles from here.
The stream I'm most worried about is a small river by now, and comes down hard right under the stilts that support the left side of our schoolhouse. I don't know a lot about construction and such, but I think the water might erode enough of the soil around the stilts to make it collapse very soon.
Eduardo appears beside me, holding a large and very broken umbrella over our heads. The rain is mostly coming in sideways today, so the umbrella is useless.
"These houses were built for the rainy season," he says. "The stilts will hold, trust me."
Eduardo and me are both volunteers here at this orphanage, but we both grew up in cities. Him in Rio de Janeiro, me in San Diego. Ed doesn't know much about the traditional way of life in Brazil, or what buildings such as this one can withstand.
"I don't know, Ed," I say. "Dom Gustavo didn't think the stilts would hold, and looking at this, I'd tend to agree."
"I think it might be time to move on," he says, looking off into the distance although there's only jungle there.
I hate hearing him say that, and he's been doing it more and more often lately, but I swallow my annoyance. Ed is the only male volunteer that stayed after Gustavo passed. The rest fled, because the ever-present threat of the cartel running us off is worse now that we no longer have Gustavo's protection. Me, Ed, and Olivia are the only three adults left here. And we have twenty orphans to take care of.
Even the villagers won't come help us out anymore now that Gustavo is gone, since the cartel has made it plain that they want this land. We need Eduardo here. I need him. I've invested the last three years of my life into this place. Being here, helping these poor orphans lead a peaceful, nurturing life and preparing them for the future is my only concern. The only thing that matters in my life. I'll stay here and run this place by myself, if I have to, because I will not force the kids to go to an orphanage in Rio. I spent two months as a volunteer at one there when I first moved to Brazil, and I still have nightmares about it. So I ignore Ed's suggestion.
"We'll make the school off limits for now, and I'll go into town and find a worker who actually knows, if this is a problem or not," I say.
He shakes his head. "No one will come, you know that."
"Someone will. I can ask really nicely." I offer him my best Southern Cali girl smile, complete with dimples and bright white teeth. I used to smile like that all the time before my whole life back home was destroyed. My smiles don't come easily anymore, especially big and bright ones require a conscious effort nowadays. But that's OK, the smiling, bubbly, carefree, surfer girl who smiled like this is who I was. Now I'm a woman who knows life isn't all sunshine, big waves and long, lazy afternoons. But I will do all I can to protect the children at this orphanage from that fact for as long as I can.
That's why I don't much like that Ed's reaction to my big smile is a wide one in return with just a hint of desire in his eyes. When Ed first came to work here about a year ago, I told him no way when he made his moves on me. I'm done with men. Choosing the wrong man here could destroy more than just my life, and I'm known for choosing completely wrong. Ed didn't persist at the time, but this smile tells me he did hold on to the hope that I’ll change my mind.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders, making my whole body stiffen. "Let's get out of this rain and have a beer. It's getting dark, and this rain is only going to get worse. Maybe we can even all sleep in Gustavo's house tonight."
There's no mistaking where his suggestion is actually leading. The idea that he'll get me in bed is written all over the smile that's still plastered on his face, and in the way his arm is resting heavily around my shoulders. Even if I were willing to let another man into my life—which I probably never will be—it won't be Ed with his bushy hipster beard, slight build, and slender, long-fingered hands, which are now caressing my upper arm.
I move out of his embrace and face him. "We're selling Gustavo’s house if we can, and you know very well we need to clear it out first."
"I'm sure we can find some room," Ed says, grinning at me.
The rain has changed direction. It's coming straight down now, and hard, drenching me like someone is emptying bucket after bucket of water over my head without pausing. "Ed, you're my friend. Let's keep it friendly."
The hardness in his brown eyes tells me he doesn't like hearing that. Even through the sheet of rain blurring my vision, I can see that. And I suddenly don't want to be around him anymore. The look in Ed's eyes reminds me of the one my ex gave me when I broke up with him. It happened only days before he uploaded the sex videos of us to all the major free porn sites, and pretty much ended my life. Almost quite literally ended it. I shiver at the memory, but I've decided ages ago not to think of that ever again. It's in the past, might as well have happened to someone else. Because my new life is all about keeping this orphanage running.
A stream has broken off from the one threatening the stilts of our school, and it's already deepening as it approaches the cafeteria. And those two are not the only buildings facing this problem. Several of the smaller bungalows are impacted, as is the large one where the girls sleep. The rainy season hasn't even officially started yet and the problem is already severe. And we have very little time to get it fixed before the real rains come in about a month.
"I'm going into town to find someone who can fix this," I say and walk away towards my bungalow. I also just want to get away from Ed.
"I'm probably leaving tomorrow," he calls after me.
I halt, but don't turn.
"Unless you want to convin
ce me to stay," he adds.
It sounds horribly offensive on the face of it, but I'm sure he didn't mean to suggest he'll stay, if I sleep with him. Ed is a nice, slightly nerdy guy and his English is not the best.
"Do what you need to do," I say, turning to face him. "But please, think of the children while you decide."
There's no trace of a smile left on his face, just shock and maybe remorse. I know him well enough to know he's the kind of guy who does the right thing, and I hope he will in this too. But I won't beg him to stay, and I certainly won't let him fuck me to make it happen.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm driving towards the village in Gustavo's jeep, which is the only working vehicle we still have. My station wagon and the minivan cannot be fixed by any of the mechanics in the area. The cartel is behind that too, it's just one of the ways they're trying to run us off this land. But I don't scare so easily. This is our land, Gustavo left it to us, and we're staying.
I don't even know what I'm hoping to achieve in town tonight. I'm sure no one will come work on our schoolhouse right now. Probably not tomorrow either. But I couldn't stay there with Ed, and I won't abandon all hope until I absolutely have to.
RIDER
* * *
THIS DAMN STORM is the second one I couldn't just ride through. At least the first one hit me on the outskirts of a big city, not in a rural, fancy resort-infested stretch of coast like this one. But there's no riding this deluge out. If I tried, I'd have bigger things to worry about than spending a couple of nights in a fancy hotel. Like a flooded engine, for example. Not that I'm planning on spending the night in a fancy bed either. I don't have the money to waste on something like that. My stash is running low as it is, and I want to ride for awhile longer before I have to work again.
Maybe the bartender of this bar where I've been forced to drink insanely overpriced beer for the last three hours will let me crash on the covered porch after he closes for the night. There's a hammock out there just calling my name.
"So, you think this rain will stop anytime soon?" I ask, finishing my beer and indicating I'd like another.
He gets a bottle from the fridge at the end of the long bar, and wipes off the condensation, which erupts all over it in the minute, or so it takes him to open it before handing it to me.
"This one might," he says. "But more rain is coming."
"All this rain must be bad for business," I say, then take a swig of my fresh beer. My vague idea so far is to offer him some money, so he'll let me spend the night here, which is why I'm trying to steer the conversation in that direction.
He casts his eyes over the empty bar and shrugs. "People will come, they always do. I am not worried."
There were more people in here when I arrived, mostly soaked tourists, but they've all already left. He doesn't sound worried at all, so I guess he's telling the truth. I hope that doesn't mean he won't let me stay the night here.
"When do you usually close?" I ask, checking my watch. It's almost ten, and that's the hour I'm hoping he'll name.
"Soon," he says instead and starts wiping glasses again. The same ones he's wiped at least twice, since I got here.
He's not much for talking, this one. Though I've been here for a long time, so maybe we've just covered all available topics.
The sky outside illuminates with the color of fire in the same moment that a particularly vicious roll of thunder sounds outside.
A band of red is still burned into my vision when I look away from the window. The bartender is standing way on the other side of the long bar now, talking to a long-haired blonde. Her shorts and t-shirt are soaked through, leaving no doubt that she's built like a Victoria’s Secret Angel—one of the curvy ones—or just an angel in general. Not in the biblical sense, unless it's in the sense that she was sent down from heaven, so she can share that hammock with me tonight. But there won't be much sleeping, if that happens.
I should stop with the biblical metaphors before they get any worse. I blame Father O'Reilly for always being so quick to come up with those. He was drunk half the time while he took care of us at the orphanage, but he knew just about every line from the bible and how to apply it to real life.
The godsend is talking to the bartender in an animated way that suggests they know each other well. Which annoys me, since it might mean they're dating, and I want to be the one to peel off that hot pink bra that's clearly visible under her wet white t-shirt tonight. Even if he is her boyfriend, she doesn't look happy with him right now, so there's that.
"You're the only one left, Fernando!" she yells suddenly in a perfect southern California accent, which takes me totally by surprise. I haven't heard the sweet dialect of my home country, since I left the US almost six months ago. Not that I miss the valley girls. I never had much use for them. But this one could change all that. "If you don't help us, I don't know what I'll do."
Fernando the bartender looks angry now too, his face even darker than it was a couple of minutes ago.
"You know how it is," he says. "I cannot help you."
"Maybe I can help," I call out. "What do you need?"
I hope my dick is one of the things she needs, because it's raging hard for her now. Especially after she turns to face me, her long, wet hair whipping around, and her full breasts bouncing.
She gives me a once over, and she has the best view, since I'm sitting here in just my jeans while my shirt and cut dry on the stool next to me. Her eyes linger on my arms and my abs, but they're stern like a teacher's when they meet mine again.
"Thank you, Sir, but I'm all set," she says, equally sternly.
"Sir?" I say and laugh. "I don't think anyone's ever called me that before."
It's the truth, and she doesn't look much younger than me, five years tops, so I don't know why she's doing it.
"Thank you for your offer," she says and turns back to Fernando, who doesn't look too pleased with the prospect of getting badgered with any more requests for whatever she wants from him, and he doesn't want to give.
"I can’t help you," he says before she has a chance to speak.
"But we'll lose everything if you don’t," she says. "The whole place will be washed away, if someone who knows about construction doesn't help us fix it."
"I know a lot about construction," I say taking the opening without really thinking about what I'm saying. Hell, maybe I just wanted her to look at me again.
"You do?" she asks. Her golden brown eyes aren't as hard as before, but they're very skeptical. "Or are you just saying that?"
"As God is my witness," I say, channeling Father O'Reilly again it seems, and I should stop. "I've worked in construction since I was seventeen, and I built at least fifty houses, and a couple of skyscrapers. Even a stadium out in Iowa."
"Do you know anything about houses on stilts?" she asks.
I don't. "A house is a house," I say instead of telling her that, since I want to take on this project more and more with every minute that her gaze stays on me. Right now, I'm wondering what that voice of hers would sound like moaning my name. Or how good her full, soft thighs would feel wrapped around my back on the bike. So yeah, I will know all about houses on stilts for her.
"Why don't you join me for a beer and tell me all about this project of yours?" I say and tap the stool next to me.
Both her and the bartender are looking at me now. Her face contorts, and I can just see her struggling with whatever is actually preventing her from jumping on this offer I've made her.
I'm sure all the muscles and tattoos I'm displaying might be a little imposing, but nowadays every other college boy is more tatted up than me. Though my muscles are the result of genuine man's work, like carrying rocks at construction sites and getting into fights, and not carved out at some air-conditioned gym.
"Come on, I don't bite," I say, and want to add, “unless you want me to”, but stop myself just in time. This isn't that kind of a bar pick-up, and she's not the kind of girl who'd go for a line like that. But I will g
et her to go for me in other ways.
"OK, yeah, sure," she says and walks over. The bartender looks visibly relieved as he hands us each a fresh bottle of beer. As for me, I'm about ten thousand times more tense now that she's sitting close enough to smell.
So I focus on the leather bracelets covering almost a third of her left forearm, since it's the only bit of her that's safe for me to look at if we're to have a conversation. She covers them with her right hand like I’m not supposed to be looking at that part of her either. But she's letting me buy her a drink, and that's always a good step in the right direction. And sleeping in her bed tonight would sure beat that hammock out on the porch.
CHAPTER 2
CHLOE
I wish he'd put on a shirt, and I don't at the same time. Before I moved here, I used to spend most of my time on the beaches of San Diego among surfers, so I'm pretty much immune to the sight of hot, muscular shirtless guys. But the sight of this one stirred pure desire in me of the kind I haven’t felt in years. Nor let myself feel. He's big and tall, his biceps wide, and his stomach sporting an eight pack, not just a regular six pack. He has a pretty conservative number of tattoos, but they still add to the allure. I've had zero inclination to bring a guy to my bed, since breaking up with my ex and all that happened afterwards, so the flash of desire to change that for this guy when I first looked at him was as surprising as it was momentarily enjoyable. And the pull he has on me is still persisting now that I'm sitting close enough to feel the heat he gives off.
Maybe all that's just from the way he was looking at me. He's still doing it now, eyeing me like I'm naked and not found wanting at all. Like he'd enjoy getting naked with me. But I'm thinking clearly again. He was very quick to say he's an experienced construction worker, and coupled with this sexually charged look he's giving me, I'm afraid it was just a lie.
Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads Page 18
