by Jillian Dodd
She immediately brings her hand up to her lips, like she has something on them. “Why?”
“They’re exactly as I remember them. Full. Lush. Perfect. And you still wear the same color lipstick.”
She smiles. “It’s funny, I just started wearing red lipstick again. I wore it back then because it made me feel confident. I guess that’s why I’ve been wearing it lately.”
“Why in the world would you need help feeling confident?”
She looks at her watch. A beautiful diamond encrusted one. The kind a man who has both money and taste would have bought her.
I look at her left hand. No wedding ring has appeared since the last time I checked ten minutes ago.
How is it that she’s not married?
“It’s nearly lunch,” she says. “I’m going to need a martini if we’re going to get personal.”
“A drink sounds good to me.”
Captive Films - Santa Monica
VANESSA
“Do you have a car or would you like me to drive?” I ask him as we head outside.
“I have no idea where to go, but I’d love to drive.” He points toward a gorgeous new red Ferrari.
I try not to cringe at his choice of cars. My ex, Bam, had a thing for Ferraris. He even had their prancing horse symbol tattooed on his chest. “You like Ferraris, I see,” I say, trying not to choke on the word.
“Don’t tell Keatyn, but it’s not really me.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s a little flashy, don’t you think?”
I laugh as he opens the door for me. “Yeah, just a little.”
As he joins me in the car, he’s still talking. “But, I will admit, she’s fun to drive. And listen to this engine purr. Maybe if I ever get one for myself, I’ll get it in silver. This looks more like Riley. Have you ever seen his neon green Viper?”
“I have. And out of all the cars he has, that’s still his baby. It was his 18th birthday present, right?”
“Yep. That’s a tradition in the Johnson family. All the men get together and choose your first car.”
“What’d you get?”
“A modified silver BMW,” he says, which makes me like him even more. “So where are we going?”
“It’s a gorgeous day. I think we should have lunch and drinks poolside at Chateau Marmont.”
“I’ve heard of that place. Isn’t it a hotel where lots of famous people stay?”
“Yeah, the history of the place is pretty great. And don’t be alarmed when we get there, but I’ll have to check us into a room.”
There’s an amused look on his face and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Probably that I want him.
Which, let’s be honest, I do.
“A room?”
“Yes, a poolside bungalow. So that we can enjoy lunch and drinks poolside.”
“Oh, I get it. You can’t use the pool without a room.”
“Exactly.”
He drives to the hotel and when we get there he says he’ll check us in.
Knowing what a suite costs, I balk. “Oh, I’ll do it.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, as he takes my hand to help me out of the car.
When I stand up, we’re face to face and he’s staring at my mouth again.
“I changed my mind,” he says. “This car matches the color of your lipstick. That alone might be reason enough to love it.”
My mouth goes dry, my knees feel weak.
He totally made me swoon.
When’s the last time a man made me swoon with his words and not his wallet?
I smile, I can’t help it.
Plus, I don’t know how to respond.
And I always have a quick comeback for everything.
Once we’re checked into our suite, I open the doors to the outside.
He stands close behind me, looking out at the view.
“I have to say,” he says, “I thought a lot about what my first day would be like. I never imagined this.”
When I turn around to reply, my chest grazes across his suit.
Even in my heels, I have to look up at him.
Our eyes lock and we share a moment. That perfect moment right before a kiss. I tilt my chin ever so slightly upward, giving him permission.
A flash of sadness washes across his eyes and he backs away from me.
In that moment, I vow to discover the reason for his sadness.
And make it go away.
“Too bad we don’t have swimsuits with us,” he says. “The pool looks amazing.”
“I can fix that. Let me make a quick call. Why don’t you go out and order us drinks.”
“Were you serious about a martini?”
“Yes, please. And, just so you know, I like it dirty.”
Dawson swallows—no, he gulps—when I say I like it dirty. And I realize that may have sounded a bit suggestive.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re talking about the martini, right?”
“Yes, of course,” I say.
“Okay. One dirty martini coming up.”
“Wait! You can’t go out like that.”
He looks down at himself. “Like, what?
“In your suit. May I?”
He nods, so I help him take his jacket off, fold it in half, and lay it over the back of a grey velvet lounge chair. Then I unbutton his shirtsleeves and roll them up.
“And this tie has to go.” I loosen it, remove it from around his neck, and then unbutton the first two buttons of his soft cotton dress shirt. As I’m unbuttoning his shirt, I notice that he gulps again. I’m making him uncomfortable.
Which is not the reaction I’m used to.
I place my hands on his rock hard chest and playfully push him away to ease his tension. “Much better, now you can go.”
He gives me a shy smile and heads out the door.
I immediately call my butler and ask him to bring me an overnight bag with a few essentials, including a new red bikini for me and swim trunks for him.
I peek outside, making sure Dawson is where I can see him, and call Captive Films.
“Tyler,” I say quietly when he answers. “I need the scoop on Dawson Johnson.”
“He is a fine looking man. You on the prowl for that? Meooowww.”
“No, I’m not on the prowl. I’m not even interested in that,” I lie. “Keatyn wants us to work closely together on some projects, and I just wanted to know his story.”
“His story, why Ms. Flanning, if you’re working closely with him, you should ask him yourself.”
“Tyler, stop playing with me. Is he married?”
“No, he is not. And that’s all I know.” But then he lowers his voice. “I can tell you what was on his resume. He’s had high profile positions in numerous designer companies, but he hasn’t worked in the last two years. I thought that was a little strange.”
“Interesting. Thanks, Tyler.”
I hang up, slide out of my heels, take off my suit jacket and join Dawson at a shaded table by the pool just as our drinks arrive.
“To new beginnings,” I say, carefully clinking my full martini glass with his.
“To new beginnings,” he repeats. “So, back to the question that brought us here. Why does someone like you need confidence? Your confidence was one of the first things I noticed about you. You were almost cocky.”
“Oh, come on, I wasn’t that bad.”
“I never thought it was bad. I liked it.” He smiles at me again. “And your taste in scotch.”
I laugh. “I did think I was the shit in high school.”
“So what happened after that?”
“I graduated, went to college, then law school. I was secretly married at nineteen to a guy I had known since we were young.”
“Secretly married?”
“Yeah, our parents would not have approved, but we didn’t care. Bam was . . .”
“Bam? That was his name? Like on the Flintstones, Bam Bam? I can’t picture you with a Bam Bam.”
I laugh, picturing Bam in a loincloth during the Stone Age. No fast cars. No servants. He wouldn’t have survived. If ever there was a boy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, it was Bam.
“Juan Fabio Martinez is his real name. He’s a professional polo player from Argentina. His family’s quite wealthy and he grew up with the best of everything. I met him when I was fifteen at a weekend party on his yacht. We hooked up for the first time that weekend and whenever he was in town. By the time I was nineteen, we were crazy in love and got married on a whim. Afterwards, he freaked out because his mother would’ve been crushed he didn’t get married in the church. We never told anyone we were married, but we lived together while I went to college and when I graduated law school, we did it up big. Proposal in front of his family. Married in the church he grew up in. Three lavish receptions in three different countries. An amazing three week honeymoon.”
“Sounds nice. What happened?”
“The short answer is he cheated on me. I’m not sure if it was often. He traveled a lot and I worked.”
“Did you need to work?”
“No, but I wanted to. I didn’t spend all those years getting through school just to be a polo player’s wife. I suppose that should have been enough, but I wanted more. For me.”
Dawson’s eyes smile at me.
Yeah, I meant that. Not only does his mouth smile but his eyes too. They have such warmth and depth.
I could get lost in them.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I took it pretty hard when my wife, uh, left.”
“When was that?”
“Two years ago,” he says. I realize that’s when he quit working. He must have taken it really hard.
Is that why Keatyn is going so overboard with him?
Does he have a drinking problem? Drugs? Is he mentally unstable?
I notice that half his drink is left, while mine is completely gone. I was sucking it down while telling him about Bam.
Probably not an alcoholic.
“How long were you married?”
“Whitney and I were married for eight years.”
“Did you get married while you were still in college?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” I ask, hoping he’ll just spill the story instead of me having to pry it out of him. He’s barely answering my questions.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Working with me? Shit. Here I am flirting with him and he wants to work with me.
But if he’s not interested, why the comment about my lips?
Maybe his wife leaving is a touchy subject and I should stop babbling on about it.
“So what do you hope to do at Captive?”
“Mostly, make an impact. Keatyn is a good friend and I don’t want to let her down.”
“Just how well do you know her?”
“We dated briefly in high school. Have been friends ever since. She’s a good friend.”
“When I found out Bam was cheating on me, I went through a lot. My business suffered. I lost most of my clients. Keatyn stuck by me. Shit, speaking of that, I need to get her press release out. And our swimwear should be here by now. Why don’t you order another round of drinks and bring them inside.”
I quickly send out the press release about Keatyn and Aiden’s engagement and follow it up with a few well-placed phone calls.
My bikini has arrived along with a sinful black dress for tonight and matching slinky undergarments.
You know, just in case.
I change into my bikini and as I come out of the bathroom, he’s just coming back inside with our drinks.
He stops in his track and stares at me. His gaze feels like fire as it feasts on my skin.
My insides react. I’m ready to throw this man on the bed and have my way with him. And I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s stopping me from doing just that.
“I have swim trunks for you to put on.” I thrust them in his direction as he sets our drinks on the desk.
“Awesome. I’ll go change.”
While he steps into the bathroom, I take a gulp of my drink.
“Hey, Vanessa,” he says, “can you help me?”
“Help you how?”
He walks out in the swim trunks, holding a knotted drawstring in his hand. “I can’t get this untied. My fingers are too big.”
Stop it, Vanessa. Stop thinking about what other things might be big.
You need to establish a friendly working relationship with him, so you can get a bigger chunk of Captive’s publicity. That’s all this is.
“I’ll be glad to help.” I take the drawstring in my hands and attempt to untie it. I was afraid he’d come out and be a little flabby in the middle, like many men get as their thirties approach. But, holy hell, not him. He looks like he’s done nothing the last two years but prepare this body, this shrine to mankind, for me.
And here my hands are, just inches away from the one thing I want.
And I’m not talking about his heart.
I pull him toward the window where there’s more light. Then I drop to my knees to get a better look at this knot.
“Uh, you know, it’s probably okay,” he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I just won’t dive. It’ll stay up.”
I glance up at him. “Oh, I’m sure it will,” I reply sexily, letting go of the string and thinking how I’d love to find out just how long Dawson can stay up.
He takes my hand and helps me to my feet. “I’ll grab our drinks,” he says. “You choose the spot.”
I pick out two chaises with a small table set between them. It’s perfect for our drinks and my need for a little separation.
This is business.
I look down at my skimpy red bikini and know that I have no intention of keeping things strictly business with Dawson Johnson.
I finish my drink as he lies back and takes his first sip. “What a gorgeous day. It’s starting to get chilly enough at home to wear a jacket.”
“You’re still tan,” I say, because how can I not notice how perfectly bronzed his skin is?
“Our family spends most of the summer in the Hamptons. Do you want to get in?”
“The water?”
“Yeah.” He stands up and takes my hand. And even though I really don’t want to, I get in the pool with him. Sort of. I sit on a step, being careful not to let the ends of my hair touch the water. I don’t want my blowout to get frizzy.
Dawson dives in and swims the length of the pool. When he comes up out of the water, he looks just like one of my favorite men’s cologne ads. The model in it is dark, his hair slicked back off his face, and his eyes are amazing. I realize now, that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it. The model looks like Dawson.
He grabs my waist and pulls me into the water with him. “You’re not one of those girls who doesn’t want to get her hair wet, are you?”
“Of course not,” I lie. “I love to swim.”
And right now, I do love it. Dawson has walked us out to where it’s too deep for me to touch. His big hands are holding my waist and I’m clinging to his muscular arms.
“Not a bad way to spend a day at work,” he says, reminding me again that this is supposed to be business.
“It doesn’t really feel like work.” I wrap my arms around his neck and look up at him.
Our eyes meet again. He looks at my mouth and runs the pad of his thumb slowly across my bottom lip. “Do you remember our kiss?”
“Kiss?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure we made out.”
“Yeah, but do you remember it? How it felt?”
“Maybe you should remind me,” I flirt.
“No, I’m asking if you remember it. Because I do. It was, hands down, the best kiss of my life.”
My heart stops. My throat goes dry. “Really?”
“Really. Do you think we could top it, now that we’re older?” he
asks, sliding his hand under my chin to lift it toward him.
“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe,” I say breathlessly, waiting for his lips to close the small gap between us.
But he doesn’t. He leans back a little and says, “Hmm. Well, once you decide, let me know.”
Is he fucking kidding me?
Dawson is a total panty tease.
Or bikini tease, in this case.
He is like his brother.
No, he’s not like Riley. Riley would have taken off his shirt, ordered shots, and had his choice of women. And he wouldn’t get them all hot and bothered and not follow through.
“Mr. Johnson,” our server says, “your lunch is served.”
Dawson grins at me. “I’m starved.”
I reluctantly let go of him and get out of the pool.
Because I can handle a challenge.
And my new challenge is named Dawson Johnson.
Jennifer’s beach house - Malibu
RILEY
Jennifer is out of breath when she answers the door.
And she’s topless.
Nice.
“You’re finally here!” she says, sweeping me into a hug. “Come out back. Some friends stopped by.”
Friends?
“I thought we were hanging out.”
She stops, turns around on her tiptoes, and kisses me. “We’re leaving. They’ll probably stay for a while. Do you want to swim first? Need a drink?”
“How about both?”
I follow her to the refrigerator. She opens it and lets me grab my only option, Bud Light in a can. I honestly can’t remember the last time I drank beer out of can.
I grab one, open it, and gulp down a flavor that reminds me of college.
Jennifer introduces me to three of her girlfriends, who are also sunbathing topless, and a couple guys in the corner who are smoking a fat joint. The way Jennifer is bouncing around, my guess is she hasn’t partaken.
She yells, “Cannonball!” and flies into the pool, splashing her sunbathing friends.
“Ahh!” they all yell when she comes up laughing.
I decide what the hell and do a cannonball too, knowing my splash will totally drench them.
When I come up, Jennifer is right next to me, laughing at her screaming friends, who have run into the house.
