Bring Me Back

by Karen Booth

  They both looked away while we removed our robes and we climbed onto the tables, starting face up. They didn’t give us much to cover up with, Chris had a single towel and I had two. I’d been so relaxed with Chris that I hadn’t taken the time to worry about a stranger looking at my bare belly, let alone putting his manly hands all over it.

  The massage put my every expectation to shame; gusts of ocean air and the rustle of the sea only magnified it. I stood as much chance as a stick of butter in the sun as Tristan smeared me with massage oil scented with lavender and orange. His firm hands kneaded away every shred of uneasiness festering in me, which was saying a lot. There was always something brewing.

  I kept an eye on Stephanie for a minute and watched her work her way into Chris’s frame, feeling a strange fondness for her. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve felt a wrench of jealousy, watching such a witchy woman with her hands all over him.

  By the time our ninety minutes were up, Chris and I were both so at ease that you would’ve thought we were dead, but it was a lovely kind of dead. We were slow to get up once they left us, both of us with creased foreheads from the table headrests. I slinked over to give Chris a kiss, but it was before I’d put on my robe and that was a mistake. That one brush of our bodies after all of the rubbing and massage oil put us both in the starting gate, Chris suffering from the outward evidence of the kiss. We both looked down, me feeling childish when I laughed.

  “Great, thanks,” he said. “You couldn’t wait five minutes for them to leave?”

  I giggled. “Sorry.” I put my robe back on while Chris did the same, struggling to tie his and remain inconspicuous.

  “This is all your fault. I could shelter small animals under here.”

  We both laughed.

  “I’ll stand in front of you.”

  “That won’t bloody work. I’ll go in the loo and wait. You can pay them. My wallet is on the top shelf of the closet. It was three hundred. Give them five and get them out of here.”

  “No problem. Got it.” I fetched his billfold and jogged back to open the door.

  Tristan and Stephanie brought us bottles of water and Stephanie said to be sure to drink plenty, to flush out the toxins. Chris’s wallet was fat with hundred dollar bills, which made the math easy enough.

  “The coast is clear,” I whispered, traipsing into the bathroom. Chris was leaning against the counter, looking at his phone, which he promptly put down.

  “You’re in trouble,” he said, while he pulled me closer and untied my robe, pushing it off my shoulders and on to the floor.

  “That’s not fair.” I yanked at his tie, watching for a reaction, but he did nothing but stare at me, his startling eyes wide awake. “It was an innocent mistake.” Once I’d brought his robe down, he made his move.

  He drove his shoulder into my stomach, lifting me off the floor, my butt in the air. I pretended to struggle because I figured that was what a girl does in that situation.

  “Stop squirming so much or I’ll drop you.”

  I assumed we were going to bed, but he had other plans, boldly walking out into the courtyard. The sun was like a white hot flash and I squinted like crazy. “Where in the hell are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise.” A few of his extra long strides and he stopped between the deck chairs.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I would.”

  The massage oil began beading up on my skin the instant my body hit the warm water. I came up for air, laughing, shaking drops from my face as he skimmed along the pool bottom. He reached for my legs and I shivered as he rose to the surface with a sober look on his face. He scooped me up in his arms and said nothing while I clutched his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. I couldn’t help but notice the matter that started our spat as it rubbed against my leg. Pool or not, that wasn’t going away without some effort on my part.

  I pushed his dripping hair from his forehead. He kissed me by only faintly touching his lips to mine, frustrating me. I couldn’t reconcile my feelings about it—half of me craved one of his potent kisses and the other loved the tease of this approach. The lavender and orange of the massage oil perfumed the air, but it was different on him, more like bourbon than anything flowery.

  He waded us deeper as we kissed. He took me by surprise when he pushed me up against the wall of the pool, the glassy cobalt tiles cool and slippery against my back.

  “Don’t let go,” he said as he gripped my hips, my legs loosely wrapped around him.

  I looked up at the whitish blue sky and then back down at the black and blue of the pool as he pulled me down to him. I gasped. “A condom.”

  “I’ll pull out in time.”

  He was rougher with me from the start, bearing down against my pelvic bone, driving me closer to my peak with every crush of his body. The raw fervor on his face was a total turn-on—he was in charge, with no input needed from me.

  He kept one hand at my back, jerking me closer, and the other kneaded my breast. He didn’t even seem to want to kiss me as he pressed his forehead against the top of my head, and that was fine. Between the massage and my over-active brain, kissing was no longer necessary.

  The tiles stung my back and it was nearly unbearable by the time I reached my release, an incredible contrast to the burn. We both recovered in the deep end, sucking in breaths, my arms draped over his shoulders.

  He let me go, playfully splashing me in the face. “You know, that was strictly for Jean-Luc’s benefit. I’m sure the pool chemistry is all dodgy now.”

  ****

  I’d started to wonder if I would ever see the island. After the pool, we had lunch and collapsed in Chris’s room having only the energy for a nap. He left the windows open and the curtains coiled in the wind as we slept enmeshed. It was pleasant and in no way sexual, which was a distinct change of pace. When we woke up, it was late in the afternoon. I didn’t want to be the one person in paradise who cared what time it was, so I used Sam as my excuse.

  Chris grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “It’s half four. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute.” He propped himself up on the pillows wearing his old shorts and equally well loved gray t-shirt.

  I scooted closer and set my chin and a hand on his chest while he fiddled with his phone. “Any naughty messages from strange women?”

  Chris smiled, distracted, and held up his finger to signal me to wait, a habit of his that was really starting to perturb me. “I have a text from Graham. He and his wife are flying in, in the morning. We should have them for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Graham as in Graham Whiting?”

  “Yes. He’s the only other member of the band who kept his place here.”

  Compared to the many impressive things that’d happened since I’d met Chris, this was still remarkable. It had never crossed my mind that I’d meet any of his former band mates.

  “It’ll be fun. You’ll get a kick out of Graham and I’m sure you and Angie will get along great.” Chris turned on his trademark smirk. “I just don’t want you to wear your Banks Forest tour shirt to dinner.”

  “Very funny. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to geek out,” I said, mentally adding something to my post-island to-do list: hide Banks Forest t-shirt.

  He pushed me over and kissed me. “They’re going to love you.” He sneaked his hand under my tank top just as the courtyard door made a heavy thud.

  “Mom! Chris! We’re back.”

  Sam and Jean-Luc were waiting for us outside, acting less friendly with each other than before they’d left. Sam’s eyes were watery and Jean-Luc watched her like a frightened puppy dog.

  Chris slung his arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Everything okay with you lot? No jellyfish stings?” he asked, politely staring down Jean-Luc.

  “We had fun,” she said.

  Jean-Luc quickly excused himself.

  As soon as he was gone, she turned to me. “Mom, can we talk?”

  “Sure, honey.”

>   Up in her room, Sam flopped onto the bed, the teenage drama likely for my benefit. “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “No, of course not.” I sat on the mattress and rubbed her back. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I tried to kiss Jean-Luc today and he kept stopping me. I don’t get it. He acts like he likes me and he’s always staring at me, but I tried to kiss him and he turned away.”

  I’d only imagined a scenario with Jean-Luc as the aggressor—I never suspected Sam would make the first move. I didn’t dare tell her about Chris’s talk with Jean-Luc. She’d be furious if she knew we’d interfered to such a degree.

  “He’s being a gentleman. He’s French. They’re much more polite,” I added, making up everything as I went.

  “I even went topless at the beach. That didn’t work at all.”

  My heart sank. My plan had officially backfired. I searched for the right thing to say, but all that came to mind was the lies we tell our children to get them to do what we want them to do: Santa Claus and the magical dye that’s released if you pee in the pool.

  “Showing some guy your boobs is never the way to go.” I knew the opposite to be true, that you could get almost anything you wanted if you were willing to take off your bra. That was a lesson she’d have to figure out on her own. “We’re only here for a few days and then you won’t see him again. I want you to be smart about this. You need to think about Andrew too.” Although the idea made my brain swell, I knew I had to let her make her own mistakes.

  “You’re acting like Andrew’s my boyfriend or something.” She turned over and her baby-blues were ringed in pink.

  “If Andrew’s not your boyfriend, then what was with the long goodbye in the driveway? What about the late nights up in your room?”

  “I like him, we’ve kissed and stuff, but he can’t make up his mind. He’s sweet when it’s just the two of us but then he’s kind of a jerk to me when we’re at school. It’s very confusing.”

  I sighed, so thankful to not be a teenager anymore. It had been fun to reminisce about it when I met Chris, but there had been plenty of rotten parts, too. “Boys can be like that sometimes. But, if he likes you, he needs to treat you nicely all of the time.”

  She picked at her fingernail. “I want to have fun while I’m here. I really like Jean-Luc.”

  That string of words was like a pillow smothering my mothering instinct and me along with it. Now I had to ask Chris to call off the dogs with Jean-Luc and hope Sam didn’t turn around and do something stupid.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’ll be careful.”

  We sat for a moment. “Um, I was hoping we could talk about Chris.” When the words came out, it struck me that I sounded just as confused as the seventeen-year-old. “I’ll probably sleep in his room while we’re here. I thought it was best to tell you so you won’t be surprised.”

  Her face came alive and she raised her hand, “Up top, Mom.”

  I laughed and gave her the high-five. “You’re funny.”

  “That’s so awesome. He’s totally the first guy you’ve gone out with that I thought was good enough for you.” She had the sweetest look on her face and then her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I forgot to tell you one thing. It’s kind of embarrassing.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you go topless at the beach, make sure you put sunscreen everywhere.”

  I skulked downstairs after my talk with Sam. Chris was playing DJ in the living room and tried to dance with me, kissing my neck and goofing around. At any other time, I would have soaked up every minute of his charm.

  “We have a problem.”

  “Mmm. I love it when you talk dirty.” He moved me around the room, pressing his long body against mine and rooting around in my neck.

  Marisol was busy with dinner and I had to whisper. “No, really. We need to talk.”

  He stopped, finally grasping that I was serious, and led me outside. The sky had darkened and the wind came in fierce gusts out on the terrace. Most of the time, it was so calm in the courtyard that I forgot we were on a cliff in the middle of an ocean.

  “The Jean-Luc thing backfired.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris furrowed his brow. “Did he touch her?”

  “No, and oddly enough, that’s the problem.” I blinked at how backward it was, explaining what had happened.

  “She tried to kiss him. We didn’t see that coming, did we? She obviously takes after her mother.” He pulled me into a debilitating hug before I had a chance to hit him. “Claire, it’ll be fine. On the bright side, nothing happened today. That counts for something, right? I’ll talk to him again if you want me to. But, you’ll have to decide what your new rules are.”

  I groaned. “I have no idea.” I shuddered from the chill of the tropical winds and nervously peered over the short stucco wall protecting us from a gruesome death.

  “She’s your daughter. I can’t tell you what to do. I’ll tell you what I think, but you can’t get mad at me.”

  “Fine.”

  “Well, I think we tell him that it’s all right if he has physical contact with her as long as he takes it slow and it’s consensual.” I was ready to blast his stupid opinion, but he continued. “And I’d tell him that we still expect him to be a perfect gentleman, and if Sam told us otherwise, we’d have problems. I mean, he’s nineteen and she’s seventeen. There’s not a whole lot you can do. If they want to have sex, they’ll find a way.”

  Chapter Twenty

  That night marked the third time we made love, and it was again different. Chris was still working on curbing his penchant for sex talk, but I let it slide. We all lapse into bad habits and his commentary was easy to take coming from his gorgeous mouth. I did not, however, allow my handsome wordsmith to busy himself with only his verbiage and he quite decisively rang my bell—four times, not that I was keeping score.

  His rumbling stomach woke us both the next morning and I understood that Chris had no need of a clock or watch. I wondered if he’d been born hungry or if his appetite kicked in when he was older. Either way, his poor mother—she’d probably been at the grocery store every day.

  Marisol had set out muffins and milk, berries and juice for breakfast. Sam was already up, lounging poolside in her bikini as any good teenage girl would do and we chatted while I sipped my French Roast. Her expression changed when Jean-Luc arrived, a coy smile replacing quiet contentment.

  Chris motioned to me from the kitchen, looking as if he was scheming and plotting again. He wrapped himself around me the instant I was within reach, regarding me with eyes that were especially vibrant in the morning light. “Jean-Luc wants to take Sam to the beach and lunch today. I told him I thought it’d be fine, but I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

  I’d dim-wittedly given Chris the green light to relax the rules on a Sunday when Jean-Luc had most of his day free. “I can’t say no without making her hate me.” I turned and watched the two of them talking by the pool. Samantha’s giggles reverberated throughout the courtyard. From the back of my head, my mom urged me to put my most positive thoughts out into the universe, and hope for something good to come back.

  Chris placed his hand on my cheek. “I want to take you somewhere special today.”

  “Outside of the compound?”

  “I can’t keep you locked up in the castle forever.”

  An hour later, Chris had us racing along a winding dirt road. “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” I yelled. The white noise in the swift moving jeep, with the top down, was deafening. “It’s not like I’ve been here before.”

  He looked over, his hair flopping around in the wind and shoulders jumping with the motion of the car. “I want to see if you recognize it when we get there.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  He pursed his lips. “Will you stop? We’ll be there soon enough and if you don’t recognize it, I’ll tell you.”

  We drove for several more m
inutes, the car jostling us with every rock it ran over, sometimes coming treacherously close to the edge of the narrow roads.

  Chris pulled to the side and parked, no beach in sight. In fact, we were still far up the mountain. I couldn’t begin to estimate how far we’d driven.

  “Ready?” His antsy boyish smile chiseled a fracture in me. I’d grown nearly immune to his aura, but every now and then, he caught me.

  He’d advised me to wear my running shoes because we’d have to hike. At first, it was down a dusty path among low brush that scraped my ankles and the occasional brown lizard that would dart at the sight of us.

  It was another ideal day with the sky and ocean composing a sweep of closely matched blue. I followed Chris and he held my hand behind his back when the pebbly path became skinny and harrowing. The mountain was blanketed in green, nowhere for us to go but forward or back, with a precipitous drop to the sea on the right, and on the left, the slope raced up at an illogical angle.

  Once we began to descend and curve around the far side of the mountain, the ocean was finally visible ahead. Sweaty and overheated, I was relieved to see a discernible path to the water, and as soon as I saw the beach, I gasped.

  Chris laughed. “See, I told you. I knew you’d recognize it.”

  Seeing the beach in person caused a thrill, a flash; another of my teenage daydreams coming true. The familiar, sprawling white sand wrapped around a tranquil inlet with a dozen boats anchored, bobbing and floating with flags from different countries. A handful of people swam and waded in the crystalline water. One jump off a high sand dune and Chris and I were down on the beach.

  “This is so amazing.” I looked in every direction, taking it all in. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “Tell me where we are.”

  “This is where you filmed the video for Love, Destroyed.”

  “You really were the president of the Banks Forest fan club.” He put his arm around me, apparently pleased that his plan had worked.

  Love, Destroyed had been far and away the biggest hit Banks Forest ever had, topping the charts in the U.S., England, and the rest of the world for months. Like many of their songs, Chris had written it, about whom I didn’t know. He was stunning in the video, dreamy and tan and bare-chested, of course. Banks Forest was one of the first bands to shoot their videos with film, making them seem visionary and groundbreaking, but the truth was that they’d probably done it because they were known as much for their good looks as their music.