Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3)

by Robin Bielman

  “Hey yourself. I didn’t expect to find your girls’ night over so soon.”

  “Yeah, Landon came early to pick up Gabby, so then Sutton figured she’d go home to check on her kitten, and Jane’s cousin is staying with her so…”

  “So, lucky me I have you all to myself,” I say without thought.

  She turns her head away, but not before I catch a small twitch to her lips. “Thanks again for all the food. You’ve been so generous and I can’t thank you enough for everything.” She lifts up onto her toes to put the glass back in the cupboard. She’s wearing her usual pajamas—cotton sleep shorts and a V-neck tee—and my gaze sweeps down from the curve of her neck to the backs of her calves.

  “No problem.”

  “I saved you a piece of pie.” She dries another glass.

  “There’s only one piece left?”

  She looks over her left shoulder at me. “Yes, there’s only one piece left. You know lemon meringue is my favorite so be grateful I saved you any,” she teases.

  I do know that about her. Discovered it the other day when she was snacking on Lemonheads candy. “Here, let me help you with that,” I say when she struggles to fit the last glass into the cupboard. Her stretch isn’t quite long enough to reach the higher ledge.

  My front presses against her back as I surround her, taking the glass from her hand and placing it alongside others on the uppermost shelf. The top of her head comes just under my chin. My blood heats. She’s soft and warm and her hair smells fantastic.

  I don’t immediately step away. I physically can’t. I’m lost in her feel and her scent and for a moment, I take it in. Commit these few seconds in time to memory.

  When I do move, it’s with a semi in my slacks. This is a recurring situation as of late.

  Alejandra slowly turns around. Like a good boy, I do not dip my eyes to her chest. Nope. I keep them on her whiskey-colored irises.

  “I’m going to do some work in bed,” I say. And yes, some of that work will entail using my hand on my current problem. “We still on for our date tomorrow?”

  She leans against the counter like she needs it for support. “Uh-huh.” She’s going with me to Justin’s boat party tomorrow.

  “Great. Good night, then.”

  “Wait.” She wraps her slim fingers around my forearm. I’m wearing short sleeves and her touch burns. She takes a step closer. Her gaze slides to my mouth.

  I don’t move a fucking muscle.

  I’m hot under the collar for no other reason than she’s looking at me like she might kiss me.

  Do it.

  DO IT.

  Her face alights with gladness as if she heard my thought.

  She’s running this show so I hold my ground while she takes her sweet time inching closer. I watch her watch me until finally her long, dark lashes sweep down and over her cheeks and her lips meet mine.

  I think I hear angels sing.

  The problem in my pants becomes a bigger issue—pun intended, sorry angels—as her mouth presses against mine with the perfect amount of pressure to blow my mind. It’s soft. But firm. Gentle. But demanding. She kisses me with tenderness. Care. This isn’t a let’s-go-to-your-bedroom-and-fuck kiss. This is a fairly innocent first kiss. A getting-to-know-you kiss, which is epically sexier and more consuming because it tells me she wants more at some point.

  I kiss her back. I slant my mouth over hers, put one hand on her waist and the other on her cheek, and give as good as I get. She tastes like honey. Sugar and spice.

  And so much more than nice.

  She makes a breathy sound, grips the front of my shirt in her hands. She holds tight, but our kiss is relaxed. Languid. We explore without using our tongues and I’m surprised by the intensity of it. Sparks skitter down my spine. Pure joy blooms in my chest.

  Before I’m ready, she puts on the brakes, stepping back and gazing up at me under heavy-lidded eyes. “Good night,” she whispers then walks away.

  I stay rooted to my spot until I hear the click of her bedroom door. I hope she locked it, because it’s taking everything I have not to follow her and continue the hottest kiss of my life. Patience, man. There’s no rush.

  Chapter Eleven

  Second Date

  Alejandra

  My first time on a boat is as I predicted: fun but nauseating.

  How can I smile nonstop and feel nauseous at the same time? Easy. I’m with Drew. Add in the sun on my shoulders, a sea breeze, and dolphins popping in and out of the water in the distance, and with minimal effort, I’m okay.

  What isn’t so easy is keeping my motion sickness from Drew. He doesn’t need to know I’ve thrown up in my mouth twice today. If he knows that, he won’t want to kiss me again.

  And I really want to kiss him again. (Don’t worry, I’ll drink plenty of water and I have breath mints. I’m not gross.) Last night, when I’d boldly made the first move, I had no idea it would lead to pent-up sexual desires I didn’t know I had, going hog-wild in my head. I mean, I had some idea his kiss would rock my world given my attraction to him. But after having the dirtiest dream of my life last night, where Drew fulfilled my every fantasy, I’m craving more of him.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Today is shaping up to be a great second date and there’s no reason to think we won’t kiss later.

  Releasing the handrail, I turn and lean against it. I’m standing on the upper deck of the yacht. There are three small couches and ottomans, two of them occupied with party guests. At the front of the boat there’s more seating. The vessel has four bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, and several comfortable spots for lounging on the deck below. Justin, the owner of the boat and Drew’s friend, is very proud of his purchase and was happy to show us every detail after we arrived.

  We’ve been at sea for a little over an hour, the shoreline visible in the distance while we sail horizontal to the coast. Drew’s been at my side the whole time until now. He needed to grab something. I’m fine standing here alone in my white Capri pants, the blue striped off-the-shoulder top I bought at Target just for today, and white tennis shoes. I hope I look like a sailor even if I don’t feel like one.

  A group of birds fly overhead in a V-formation. Someone laughs from across the deck. Another boat passes us going in the opposite direction, the people on board waving. I wave back.

  My gaze lands on Drew next, climbing up the circular staircase, and my stomach immediately tightens. He’s so effortlessly sexy in his slim dark gray chino shorts and white T-shirt. Thick watch on his wrist, athletic shoes sans socks on his feet, windblown light brown hair and thick stubble along his chiseled jawline.

  I zero in on the shape of his lips. The bow on his top lip almost reaches his full bottom lip and as far as mouths go, his is a ten on the sensual scale. A ten on the lush scale. And a ten on the taste scale. Last night when I’d pressed against them, nothing had seemed more important than touching him in that way. Letting him know he affected me, but that I needed to get my feet wet before I jumped.

  “Here you go,” he says, interrupting my musings and handing me a tumbler of something bubbly. He lifts his sunglasses off the neckline of his shirt and slides them on.

  I’d love a drink, but it’s not a good idea with my queasy stomach. “Thanks, but—”

  “It’s ginger ale. It ought to help with your seasickness.”

  My mouth drops open. “How did you know?”

  He takes my long ponytail between his fingers and gently flips it over my shoulder so it hangs down my back. “I saw the box of Dramamine you left on the kitchen counter.”

  I nod. I thought I’d put it away.

  “And you look pale.” He lifts my arm and places the glass in my hand. “Drink.”

  I do as instructed, appreciating the sweet gesture more than his bossiness. Carbonated beverages do help settle my stomach. I take a few sips.

  “You came with me today even though you get sick.” He takes a step to the right to block the sun from my face. “
Is a boat ride on your list?”

  “This definitely counts as doing something adventurous, but no it’s not the reason I joined you.” I take another sip of my drink.

  He once again blesses me with his magnificent smile. “I’m happy you’re here with me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “There you are,” West says, coming to stand beside us.

  Drew turns and puts his arm around my waist. On the drive to the harbor, he told me about his best friend, West. They’ve known each other for ten years, having met their freshman year of college. “Besides my brothers,” Drew had said, “there’s no one better.” When Drew introduced us upon arrival on the boat, I recognized him as Romeo Number Two from the bar. His date for the day—according to Drew, West is the definition of noncommittal—wore huge diamond earrings and little else to go with her kind eyes and friendly hello. She isn’t with him now.

  “Here we are,” Drew responds.

  West tilts his face to the sky. “It’s nice up here.” He drops his chin to look at Drew. “I forgot to tell you I’ve got an investor from New York coming into town this week and I’m putting him up at your place.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it. Send me his details and I’ll have a bottle of Dom delivered to his room.”

  “That would be great. Thanks. So, Alejandra, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m the activities director at a senior community center.”

  He gets a funny look on his face. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

  “The Davis Senior Community Center in Santa Monica. Have you heard of it?”

  West runs his palm over the side of jaw. His gaze, blue and steely, flickers between me and Drew. “Yeah, I know it. Very well, actually.”

  “Really? That’s great. Do you have a grandparent that visits? What’s their name? I know all our seniors.”

  “No, no family member there.” He cuts a look to Drew again. Something I can’t decipher passes between them.

  And then Drew stiffens. He drops his arm from around me and twists to look me in the eyes. “West is in real estate development. Is there someone already focused on buying the center?”

  My stomach roils. I think I’m going to be sick. I stare at West. “You’re the one eyeing the property?” I say to him.

  “The company I work for is, yes.”

  “Dude, you own half the company,” Drew says.

  I look pleadingly at West. He’s Drew’s best friend. Surely that scores me some points. Gives me some leverage I didn’t have before. “What do you think about investing in us rather than waiting for us to fail so you can swoop in?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It never is when money’s involved,” I assert, not liking my tone, but the center is more than my livelihood. It’s my second home. I can’t believe West is the person—or company—who wants to tear down our center and build luxury condominiums instead. “Have you ever been inside the center?”

  West doesn’t look the least bit remorseful when he says, “No.”

  “Then you have no idea what you’re really doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing, sweetheart.”

  “Do not call me sweetheart.”

  He raises his hands, palms flat. Didn’t mean to insult you. “Business isn’t always pleasant, Alejandra. I need this property as much as you need the building.”

  I glance at Drew. He gives a barely there shrug, seemingly sympathetic to both of us.

  “How can you say that? The center serves the community in ways a condo complex never could. We serve hundreds of seniors every month, offer access to programs and activities they couldn’t get or afford otherwise. We’re improving their overall quality of life. We’re their friend, their advocate, their family.”

  Drew takes my hand, laces our fingers together. I appreciate his support. He’s been to the center. He’s witnessed the magic there. He has a special relationship with his grandmother. He might not vocalize it, but surely he’s on my side here.

  “Aren’t there other buildings you can steal?” I say, my unwavering passion for the center clear in my troubled tone.

  “So you’d throw someone else’s home or place of business or life-improving facility under the bus without seeing it in person?” West asks.

  That shuts me up. He has a point.

  “This isn’t personal,” he continues. “Business like this is about profit, yes, but we also do our research, and what was good for the city twenty-five years ago isn’t what’s needed now.”

  “I politely disagree.”

  “I respect that and ask that you respect my position.”

  “Fine.”

  West and I exchange small, civil smiles. “I think I’ll go find my date. Catch you guys later.”

  I put my drink down on the wood-planked deck then turn around, grip the handrail again, and contemplate the ocean. How long do dolphins live? How many fish are there in the sea? And lastly, if I jump overboard, could I swim all the way to shore?

  “I didn’t know,” Drew says quietly.

  “I know.”

  “I wish there was something I could do.” He wraps his hand around mine atop the handrail.

  “How are you at grant writing? Or I don’t suppose you’d like to make a donation? Nothing crazy, just enough to get the center back on its feet.”

  He visibly flinches at my suggestions. Releases my hand and takes a step back.

  “Drew—”

  “Is that why you’re dating me?”

  “What? No.” I shake my head. “I would never do something like that and for you to even think me capable…” I give him my back so he doesn’t see how much his accusation hurts. When have I ever made him think I was using him? Yes, he’s been extremely generous, but I didn’t ask for any of it. He offered me a place to stay. He asked me out on a date. He came to the senior center without my asking.

  I spin back around. “You just asked if there was something you could do,” I assert. “So I answered you. Honestly. The truth is you do have the means, but now I don’t want your help. Any of it. Period.”

  “Shit.” He jams his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Alejandra. You’re right. I did. And then I panicked. It’s not you. I swear it’s not you. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  He walks over to a vacated couch and sits down. A defeated look mars his usually happy face as I pick up my ginger ale and follow, my sea legs not so steady and my stomach queasy for more than one reason now.

  “Finish that and I’ll get you some more,” he says.

  “Drew, I need you to talk, not get me more to drink.”

  “I know, but I need a minute first and that will—”

  “Okay.” I finish the last few sips so he can leave to gather his thoughts or courage or whatever it is he needs. He’s never sounded so distraught before. It’s unsettling. He takes my glass and returns a short time later with a refresher for me and a bottle of beer for himself. We’re quiet for several minutes. A couple of other guests on the boat stop to chat with Drew.

  When we’re alone again, he says, “Something happened to me in college and West was there to help pick up the pieces. When I said I wish there was something I could do to help the senior center, I meant I can’t because I would never go against him.”

  His quiet, almost secretive tone is one I’ve never heard before and, unable to stop myself, I immediately turn my body to his to let him know I’m here for whatever he has to say.

  “What happened?” I ask softly.

  Drew searches my face, his gaze warm but tentative. Whatever he’s about to tell me is a big deal.

  “There was a girl who took advantage of me,” he says. “Miranda.”

  A swallow doesn’t just work its way down his throat, it chokes him, his eyes empty of any expression. Emotion clogs the back of my throat at seeing him so vulnerable. Fallible. Of flesh and blood like the rest of us. I stay silent, giving him as much time as he needs.

  “S
he was the whole package, or so I thought. We met at a tiny pizza place off campus when she commented on my slice of meat lovers pizza with some cute innuendo that I found I was helpless to ignore. She had a daisy in her hair, was barefoot, and I thought this girl isn’t just down to earth, she’s part of the earth, and I really liked that.” He pauses, rubs behind his ear.

  The boat rocks on the water as it turns to go back toward the direction of the harbor. I take another sip of my ginger ale.

  “She didn’t care about anything more than my first name and simply being with me, and I liked that, too. I worked hard at my studies so in my free time we just lazed around on the grass, at the beach, in fields, and talked for hours. She didn’t want anything from me but my time. She was a psychology major and loved to do quizzes with me. Relationship ones, mostly, and we ticked off all the same bubbles. She made me feel, I don’t know, alive in a way I never had before. I appreciated nature more, appreciated being with someone who liked me stripped down.” He runs his hand through his perfectly messy hair again. “Literally and figuratively. We dated for three months and in that time I trusted her with everything. I was in love with her.

  “Big mistake.”

  I wrap my arms around my stomach. I’m more afraid of what he’s going to say than I am about the possibility of being seasick.

  “She had me fooled. She had all my friends fooled. One night I was playing guitar at my favorite pub. I played there a few times a month and Miranda always came to watch me. After the gig, we had a drink, laughed, and left together hand in hand. I had my guitar case slung over my shoulder and I distinctly remember feeling on top of the world. I’d played great. Had a beautiful girlfriend. Was acing all of my classes.

  “My car was parked on the street up a ways from the pub and as I was pulling my key fob from my pocket Miranda yanked her hand free of mine and stepped to the side. The next thing I knew I felt something hard and heavy hit me in the back of the head.”

  I gasp. “Oh my God.”

  “I woke up in the gutter, stripped of everything but my clothes.”

  “Drew.” I wrap him in a hug. His arms stay at his sides, but he leans into me. His breath tickles the side of my neck. I squeeze tightly, holding on for a bit longer before I let go.