by Kelly, Erika
He glanced at her, taking in the wide smile. She practically glowed with energy. And just like that the thick cloud hovering around him dissipated. Just being with her made him happy.
At nearly six o’clock, the sun was still bright. He pulled under the portico of the resort and handed off the car keys to the valet. Grabbing Sophie’s bag out of the back seat, he met her on the pavement.
When she looked up at him with a serious expression, he worried his mood had ruined her trip. “I’m going to check in and change, but I wanted to point out the obvious. You don’t have to stay with me. I know you don’t care about Chef Tomas’s sampling menu or the volcano I’m going to see tomorrow. And it was really nice of you to come with me today, but I know you’ve got other things you’d like to be doing.”
He looked away from her, only aware of his sunburned neck when the collar of his shirt scraped against it. She was giving him the out he knew he should take. Because he should go back to the resort. He flexed his toes inside the leather shoes.
“Go on and head back. I’m in a thousand-dollar a night resort. If I ask for a car, they’ll find me one. Or I’ll hire a driver. You’ve been awesome, but it’s okay. You can go.” She stepped closer to him. “Look, I know you’ve got this thing about not upsetting the people that matter to you, but I’m not your alcoholic mom or your dad who couldn’t handle things. Besides, I’m super boring. I’m just going to eat my sampler meal, walk on the beach, take a shower—”
“I’m in.”
She laughed. He loved when she did that. It lit her up, made her eyes sparkle. “What?”
“You had me at shower.”
“I didn’t say I’d shower with you.”
“Didn’t you? Sorry, my mind must have made the leap.”
The energy crackled between them, and he felt the joy of it sink into him like a hot coffee on a cold day. “Go check in. I’ll grab our table before they give your reservation away.”
The look she gave him—so happy, so unabashedly joyful—made him happier than he’d felt in a very long time. “Sounds perfect.”
Even though she’d only booked the reservation a week ago, she’d managed to score the nicest table in the room. Ryan breathed in the salty air, as he gazed out the open window overlooking the sea. With the steady crash and drag of waves the only music in the low-lit room, he started scrolling through the text messages.
He had three from Emma.
I hated that phone call. Nothing’s right between us.
We’ve been apart too long. We need some time alone. It’ll be better when we’re together.
I’m coming to see you. Already booked my ticket.
Jesus, why wouldn’t she let up? He didn’t know how much clearer he could be. He wasn’t getting pulled into her drama.
The best thing about Sophie was her straight-up, in-your-face honesty. It made him see how hard he worked to manage everyone’s feelings and expectations.
What Sophie had said earlier—that not everyone was like his alcoholic mom or frazzled dad—hit him. Really, his only childhood memories were of irate parents. They’d gotten into physical fights—his dad prying the bottle out of his mom’s hands, restraining her when she threatened to off herself. And all because of Ryan’s temper. His demands.
He’d always caused trouble. Demanding food, rides. Always wanting something.
The same wild frustration that drove him to this island was what he’d grown up feeling in his home. The countless times he’d wanted dinner but had found his mom passed out in bed. He’d shake her, demanding to be fed. Then, when his dad came home, Ryan would nearly attack him, all sweaty and angry. He’d never forget the way his dad’s complexion would get all mottled and red, how he’d push Ryan aside, storm into his mom’s bedroom, and slam the door. Not only would Ryan still not get dinner, but he’d cause yet another screaming match between his parents.
So, yeah, maybe he did work to avoid confrontations. All that chaos of his childhood? He’d instigated it. And while nothing had bothered his younger brother, Ryan would never forget the haunted look in his little sister’s eyes. She’d seen everything.
I did that. By demanding so much, he’d created the chaos.
He hadn’t thought about it before, but he suspected Sophie was right. Not everyone would react the way his dad and mom had. And even if they did, it was slowly killing him trying to keep everyone happy.
He wished he’d told Emma flat-out that it was over between them. Staying friends was only preventing her from moving on.
And damn if that didn’t hack a wide swath of relief through him. Should’ve done it months ago. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he looked up and did a double-take on the stunning brunette heading his way. His heart pounded, and he gripped the cloth napkin in his lap. Sophie. Jesus, when she smiled his heart actually hurt.
“Hey, handsome.” She slid into the seat across from him. Her smile faded. “You all right?”
She’d put on make-up—a touch of raspberry on her lush mouth, a brush of pink across her cheeks, mascara to frame those startling blue eyes. He had to force himself to breathe. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh.” She looked away, unrolling her napkin, spreading it across her lap. “I didn’t have time to shower, so I probably smell like sun tan lotion.”
But she didn’t. She smelled like she always did—that soft hint of sweetness that stirred his blood.
The server approached the table. “Good evening. Miss Valentine?”
Sophie beamed her dazzling smile. “Yes.”
“I see you’ve brought a guest. Will he be having the sampling menu as well?”
Ryan didn’t have a clue what was on the menu, nor did he care. “Sounds fine.”
Sophie reached across the table for his hand, the action plumping her breasts in the round neck of the slinky, sky blue dress. “You don’t even know what’s on it.” Then, she smiled at the server. “Can you please leave us the menu, and he’ll decide what he wants?”
“Absolutely.” The woman set a menu down. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
She left, and Ryan pushed the menu away. “I really don’t care. Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“What’s the fun in fine?” She crooked a finger, beckoning him to her side. “Come take a look at the menu with me.”
He couldn’t have cared less about the menu, but he wouldn’t miss the chance to sit next to her.
As soon as he slid in beside her, she opened the menu. “So, what looks good?”
Candlelight flickered over her features, accentuating her rosy cheeks. Her hair had dried all wavy and loose and smelled like sunshine and flowers. Her skin glowed with health and vitality, and that lower lip, so plush and dark pink, stirred his arousal.
“Do you like shellfish?”
What had she said? “Sure.”
“Really? I hate it. Why do people even eat oysters? Aren’t they like eating globs of snot? And mussels?” She shuddered. “I don’t get it. And that’s all they have tonight, shellfish. Do you want hocked-up loogies?”
He wanted to kiss her mouth. Instead, he laughed. “No, Sophie. No loogies.”
“Then pay attention because that’s what you’d get if you let someone else decide what you’re eating tonight. What do you like?” Her blue eyes glittered with humor. “How about venison?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Because it’s not on the menu. Can you please pay attention?”
“I promise I’m paying attention.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m paying attention to the only thing in the room that matters.” He placed his hand on her thigh, felt the soft material of her dress and the heat of her skin underneath. He gave her a squeeze, and he loved the way her eyes heated.
“Trust me. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience tonight. You should really choose the kind of food you like.”
“I’m pretty easy.”
“Yes, we know. But being easy isn’t making you ha
ppy.”
“I’m happy.”
“Is that why you’re here instead of playing shortstop with your team in front of the scouts?”
Ouch. She hit hard.
“You know, expending all your energy trying to keep everyone else happy is a losing enterprise. Why not expend it on figuring out what makes you happy?”
“You make me happy.” Her lips parted, her eyes rounded, and color rushed into her cheeks. He shrugged. “You do.”
“Ryan.” Doubt fell across her features, and she grew uncomfortable. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re being charming or real.”
“I’m real with you.”
“Yeah. I think you are.” She reached for his hand. “Were you real with Emma?”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Okay, well, if you pay attention to your life, maybe you won’t wind up in any more six year relationships that drag out long past their end-dates. Now, let’s figure out what you like to eat.”
He pulled his hand away. “Fine. Give me the menu.”
She handed it to him. “Why would you ever just eat for fuel? Eat because it tastes delicious. Because it makes you happy.” When she leaned closer to look at the menu with him, her breast grazed his arm, and all the blood in his body rushed to his cock. “Look at the desserts. They’re supposed to be out of this world.”
“Gruyere donuts with maple syrup? That sounds disgusting.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Ginger-flavored panna cotta with poached pears?” Was she joking with this shit?
“Keep going.”
“Honeycrisp apple Napolean with caramel custard, cider syrup, and vanilla spice gelato. That sounds okay.”
“I like the chocolate cake.”
“You’re showing me all this crap, and all you like is the chocolate cake?” He slammed the menu closed.
“At least I’ve looked at the other choices and eliminated them. If you’d taken whatever they gave you, you’d be biting into a gruyere donut.”
“True.”
“So, if you don’t want roasted kitten with caramelized onions and a sherry lime sauce, you should look at the menu.”
But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wanted to suck that plump lower lip into his mouth. He wanted to press her down on the banquette and feel her soft curves under his body. He was so hard right then he didn’t give a shit what the waitress brought him to eat.
The heat of her hand at his temple, the scrape of her nails across his scalp, made him turn his mouth to press a kiss to her wrist. But she pulled away. “You should probably order.” Her gaze slid past him to where the waitress waited.
The last thing he wanted to do was pay attention to the menu, but for Sophie he’d do anything. Scanning it, he saw he had three choices. The tasting menu, the prix fixe, and the sampling one Sophie had ordered. When he saw that it included a bite of every item on the menu he gawked. “That’s what you’re getting?”
She nodded with a mischievous smile.
“You can’t eat that much.”
“It’s literally a bite of everything. Just to show off the chef’s cuisine. It’s awesome.”
“Fine. I’ll have a bite of everything.” He handed the menu to the waitress, who also took their drink order, before disappearing into the dimly lit dining room.
His hand found her thigh, gathering up all that slinky material and sliding it higher to expose her creamy skin. His heart raced, and he needed more. “You’re not going to eat that much.”
“Maybe. But I want to see it. It’s going to be a beautiful presentation.”
His hand glided higher. “Beautiful, huh?”
“Am I too hard on you?” Her words came out on a soft gust of air.
He brought her hand to his hard-on. “Yes.”
She gripped him, looking all hungry and needy. That pink tongue came out and wet her lips. “I’m sorry. I just feel like I can see the stuff in your life that maybe you can’t right now.” The heel of her palm pressed down, as she slowly rubbed his cock.
Sparks fired in his blood. His pulse skyrocketed. “Fuck, Soph.” Tipping her chin, he pressed his lips to hers, licking the path her tongue had just taken. She leaned closer to him, her scent filling his senses. His kiss turned carnal, as he stroked into her mouth. When her hand closed around his cock and squeezed, his knees hit the table.
He pushed her up against the half-wall of the booth, pressing that sexy as fuck body as close to him as he could get. He needed to feel her skin, needed her body wrapped around him. God, he wanted every inch of her bared to him. Fuck the menu, he wanted her to be his feast.
Smoothing out the material of her dress, he slid his hand between her legs. When he felt dampness on her inner thighs, his skin prickled with anticipation. And then, when his fingers brushed her damp curls, electricity flashed through him. “You’re not wearing underwear.”
Her hands cupped the back of his head, and she whispered in his ear, “I was in my bathing suit. I only brought one pair, so I thought I’d save it for tomorrow.”
“Sophie,” he breathed, before taking her mouth. She opened right away, her hand sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Fuck, he couldn’t help himself. He had to delve into her slick heat.
She shifted restlessly, parting her thighs, letting him inside. Between her hot, wet mouth and the honey between her legs, his pulse spiked and blood pounded in his cock. He kissed her hard, licking into her mouth, tangling with her tongue, his fingers plunging inside her slick channel.
Fucking hell, she felt so good, so soft and lush. He pressed against her, pushing her back, his hand so far up her dress he’d exposed the tops of her thighs.
“What’re you doing to me?” His blood surged and his body roused with the imperative to sink inside her, pound into her until he finally relieved this constant ache, this powerful drive to fuse with her.
“And here we are.” The waitress’s voice tore into his lust-driven state of mind.
He quickly withdrew his hand, pulled her dress down, and sat up. Dragging his palm over his mouth, still wet from their kiss, he had to shake some sense back into himself.
“Your drinks.” The waitress poured sparkling water into the glasses and then left the bottle on the table.
After she left, he said, “I’m sorry.” Jesus, he’d mauled her in a restaurant. If the waitress hadn’t interrupted him, he would have absolutely taken Sophie all the way over the edge. No question.
He’d completely lost control.
He never lost control.
Sliding out of the booth, he scrubbed his jaw. “Excuse me.”
Needing air, he stalked away. He pushed through a side door that led to a garden. Immediately, the warm, flower-scented air cleared his head. A fountain with tinkling water drew him further in.
He was more screwed up than he’d realized if he’d just about finger-fucked Sophie in a three-star Michelin restaurant.
Needing a slap of reality, he pulled out his phone to find dozens of texts.
Jake. Where are you?
Another. You left with that chick hours ago. When you coming back?
A third. Are you still with that girl? What’re you doing?
A fourth. Six years with one chick, and you jump into the next relationship that comes your way?
He didn’t need to read anymore. Of course Jake was right. Stepping around the fountain, he stood on a teak deck overlooking the ocean. Gas lamps lit a path to the beach. A couple strolled hand in hand along the shore.
Of course he wasn’t in a relationship with Sophie. He was…what was he doing? He didn’t know, but the idea of being a couple again…fuck, no. He didn’t want to be tied to someone. Relationships required time and attention he absolutely couldn’t give. Forget that. Attention he didn’t want to give. Compromises. Jesus, the compromises to make Emma happy had nearly driven him out of his mind.
He checked his voicemail and found one from Doug Saunders.
A
chill blew through him. What the hell did you think? Your agent wouldn’t have something to say about you taking off without telling him?
This one he had to hear. He jammed a hand deep into his pocket and waited for his agent’s voice.
“Hey, Ryan. Doug Saunders here. Heard about the family emergency. Let me know as soon as you can whether you’ll be at the next game. I can reprogram the scouts if you’re not, but I’ve got to tell them something. Hope all’s well. Let me hear from you soon.”
Ryan thumbed the pad, ending the message. He stood there in a dark corner of the garden, sick to his stomach.
His coach, his teammates, his agent, the scouts…he’d lied to all of them.
He’d never been more ashamed of himself.
He’d worked hard to be the guy coaches counted on. First kid at practice, first to pitch in to help. It had taken a lifetime of good decisions to earn his great reputation.
And in one stupid moment, he’d blown it all to hell.
His dad was right. It had taken a whole community to make him into the player he’d become. A player good enough to make the majors.
He’d failed them, and he’d failed himself.
It all bore down on him. He had a good enough relationship with his coach that he could be forgiven for this one aberration in his behavior. But his agent? Every year Doug had a roster of up-and-comers from colleges around the country. If he came clean, Doug wouldn’t hesitate to dump him. Knocking Ryan O’Donnell off the list wouldn’t mean shit to him.
He shoved his hair back from his temples, gripping his skull. What the fuck are you doing? Very few draft picks started out in the majors, but Doug thought Ryan had a shot. But if the truth came out that he’d bailed on his team to spend spring break in the Caribbean, he’d be toast. Dread pinched his nerves, making them sting.
His forty-eight hours ended tomorrow. Going back for the next game would clean up his mess. His agent would never have to know about the lie. Ryan would stay on track.
Either way, this thing with Sophie had to end. Tomorrow, first thing, he’d head back to the resort and make his travel plans.
His life was careening out of control. And he had to fix it.
