I laugh, a soft breathy one that feels gentle. “Are you feeling sexually awakened, Long Beach?”
He rests a hand on his head, fingers woven in his hair. “I’m feeling something.” Me too, but I can’t say the words, he’s already telling me, “I keep replaying our conversation at your apartment that one night.”
That one night.
Can’t forget any second of his sleepy ass, the blow job from heaven, and me opening up about my family. I gush forth way too much to Jack all the damn time, but I can never find a lever or wrench to help me stop.
I finish coating his poison ivy splotches, and Jack rotates to face me. Bunkbed’s springs squeak beneath his weight. His legs are spread, and his knee knocks into my knee.
We’re bare-chested. Only one piece of fabric away from being buck-ass naked.
My eyes want to track down the ridges and valleys of his muscles. But I hang onto a slat of the bunkbed above us. Like I’m headed for a collision and need to brace myself.
Jack takes the ointment and smears the cream over my bicep. “You said half the fun of fucking is the discovery. I have questions.”
“No surprise there,” I joke.
A charismatic smile spreads across his face. “But after you said that, I realized I’d rather your body answer all the questions, not your words.”
My blood cranks to a detrimental high.
His smile falters, more uncertain. Probably because I’m not saying a thing.
Come on, Oliveira.
I intake a tight breath. “Is that wise? Look, I know what I said, but you’ve never been with a guy before. Maybe we should talk it out first and not after the fact. Basically what we didn’t do last time.”
“I liked last time,” he says confidently, setting the cream aside. “I’m more adventurous than timid, if you haven’t figured that out by now.”
I give the frat bro a once-over. “Oh, I have. Trust me.” I let go of the slat above my head. “But I’m probably stronger than any woman you’ve ever been with, Highland. The power dynamics are different. Even if I try to be gentle with you, I’m not soft. I’m going to feel rough and hard.”
He bows forward, forearms on his thighs, breath hitched. He’s aroused? His eyes flit over to me, then to the closed cabin door. “I’d do anything to feel you right now, Oscar, and usually, I can flash a smile and get my way but that works only 50% of the time with you. So I’d honestly grovel if that’s what it takes—”
“Don’t grovel,” I cut in and lean in, cupping the back of his head. We breathe hard, and my mouth is a teasing inch from his lips.
His hand skates up my abs in exploration.
“You want to know what I like to do?” I whisper against his mouth.
A jagged groan scrapes his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I want to know.”
I kiss him hard, bringing his chest against my chest, and I lift him up on the bunkbed further and bear my body down on his athletic build. His shoulders and back press into the flimsy mattress. I barely break the passionate, sweltering kiss, and his lips split apart to curse out a pleasured, “Jesus fuck.” His hands fly to his head.
He keeps doing that.
It’s actually really fucking cute.
I grind into him and clasp his thigh, stretching his leg around my hip. Jack clutches my bicep, his eyes open as he drinks in our bodies and the friction. He hardens against me, and blood boils down south.
I kiss him again. And again. His fingers grip my hair, and our foreheads press together. Hot, electric breath sparking between us.
Jack chokes out between breaths, “You prefer it rough?”
I try not to laugh. “You think this is rough?”
He puts a hand on my abs, telling me to take a pause. I do.
I hover over him, palms on either side of his head. My lips stinging. Camp4Ever! is written in green sharpie on the bunk’s wooden post.
Jack struggles to catch his breath. “What was that to you then”—he pants—“if it wasn’t rough?”
I skim him for answers and to ensure he’s okay. “Did you enjoy it?”
His smile bursts forth. “Yeah.” He wets his lips. “I definitely did.”
I’m grinning. “I’d call that me being more aggressive, not necessarily rough. I’m not yanking your hair, Long Beach. I’m just in control.”
His eyes sink into me. “You like to top?”
I lean closer and whisper against his ear, “What happened to letting my body show you?”
His body flexes, practically arching up into me. “Fuck.” He reaches down and palms his shaft, still constricted behind boxer-briefs. “You’re killing me, Os.”
Os?
I sit up off Jack in a jolt.
He has another hand on his head, face frozen in too many emotions. “I, uh…sorry.” He straightens up too, breath knotted. “It just came out.” He tries to smile. “You don’t like nicknames?”
I love them. I’d give him a hundred corny, sappy nicknames if I could.
But I listen to the signs that read:
Danger!
Warning!
Going too fucking far, Oliveira!
I can’t lie to the guy though. “Just don’t call me Ozzy.”
“Why not?”
“My college boyfriend wore that one down.”
“Noted.” He stiffens, and we both slide further back on the bunkbed, leaning against the wall. Our legs are scrunched up towards our chests. Knees bent.
I cut through an awkward tension by wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
He smiles weakly over at me. “I thought I fucked that up between us.”
“No.” I shake my head at him. “Just so you’re aware, being a top or bottom has nothing to do with being dominant or submissive. Dominant bottoms exist.”
He nods with another smile. “Good to know.” He tracks a hand from my kneecap down to my thigh, breathes in, and then retracts, like the intensity and swelling feelings are too much. My skin is still tingling from the touch, and I listen as he explains, “I can’t say what I’m into yet…being a top or bottom, I guess I won’t figure it out until I have sex.”
I push back curly strands out of my eyes.
I want to tell Highland right here that I do prefer to top. That the last time I bottomed was over ten-years ago. I want to tell him that I’ll take care of him if he’s nervous, and I’d never pressure him to do anything he’s not ready to do.
But I’m a coward and too afraid of his reaction to those words. So I don’t utter a single one. He could either run scared because he doesn’t think we’re sexually compatible. Or worse, he could believe we are.
And then what? We have mind-blowing sex, the best sex of my life? We find out we’re too good together in every aspect. Too perfect for each other, a match orchestrated by a twenty-one-year-old genius named Charlie Cobalt and maybe even a higher power.
Fate.
The stars in the sky.
Aligning for him and me.
And then Jack could call this a stepping-stone. Short-term fling. Maybe that’s all I’m good for while I’m in security.
Insecurities are such assholes, and I know I’m riding this one hard and dry.
So I swallow the pit in my throat, and I hug him closer and kiss the freckle on his temple. His lip rises at me.
He places his large hand back on my thigh.
“So,” I say, “when exactly did you know you were into me, Highland?”
He chokes on a sound that I think was supposed to be a laugh. “When I met you.”
I rock back, my skull touching the wall. “That was…five years ago.”
His fingers rake through his thick hair. “I didn’t know what it meant—my feelings for you. I couldn’t process them beyond the fact that they were so different than anything I’d felt before.” His Adam’s apple bobs.
My mind races back to that time and place. I met him around the same time I became Charlie’s bodyguard.
Jack Highland was just twenty-two and
a production assistant for We Are Calloway.
I was near the top in security.
It wasn’t until he became an exec-producer at twenty-five that his world started a head-on collision with mine. He was heading meetings with security during filming days, and we’ve had our fair share of flare-ups concerning Charlie and WAC shoots. But it was always professional.
Until the tour bus.
Until the FanCon.
And then…gloves off, I guess. His compliments became flirty, and I just gave in. Because why not? It was fun for a while. When I didn’t yearn and long for more. And then he rejected me, but now he’s embracing me, and he’s saying he’s felt a connection early, early on.
Jack holds my gaze. “When I talk to people, I love making them feel good, but with you…I never wanted it to stop. I wanted to come back for more, even when my work said, focus on your subject. I just wished that my subject was you.”
My chest rises.
I am in…way too deep.
And I don’t want to swim back out.
“Why do you think that is?” I ask him.
“I thought you probably just had what I had.” He flashes a smile. “Charm.”
I grin. “I do have that, Long Beach.”
He laughs. “Yeah, but it’s something else too. It’s more.” His gaze drifts and he rests his head against the wall next to mine. “How could I miss something this monumental about myself for so long? Twenty-seven-years, dude. It feels like fog is shifting and everything is so clear, and I just wish I had that clarity sooner.”
I would’ve asked him out.
No doubt, Highland would be my boyfriend by now, if he was comfortable with his sexuality way back then. That is, if he still liked me as much as he does in this second.
This moment.
The what if game hurts, and look at me, still playing that game.
Against the defenses around my heart, I turn to Jack and say, “I’m glad you’re finding clarity now. You can figure out your new path—a new life plan.”
The cabin creaks before he can respond, and a knock raps the door. Jane Cobalt asks if we’re okay. She’s been with Charlie in another med cabin.
“Yeah!” I call out. “We’re heading out in a sec!”
Jack is already scooting off the bed. He grabs his clothes in a heap and starts dressing. I follow suit, and when he buttons his jeans, he tells me, “I’m not planning out my future anymore. I’m just going to see where the ride takes me.” He makes a wave motion with his hand.
I laugh weakly. “How California of you.”
He smiles. “It is my favorite place on Earth.”
“The longer you’re with me, the more likely that’ll change to Philly.”
Jack tugs his shirt over his head with a brighter laugh.
It floods my chest, but I end up shying away so he doesn’t see my hint of unease. I realize that I just wanted brick-solid assurance that he’s here for me. I shouldn’t even ask for that when we haven’t defined what we are.
We like each other.
I’m helping him through the clouds.
That has to be enough right now.
19
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
Red velveteen boxed seats at an ornate operatic theatre, home to one of the most prestigious New York ballet companies—it’s fit for royalty, so no one should be surprised a Cobalt would be here.
Least of all me. The man guarding one.
I adjust my earpiece, the chair hard under my ass despite it looking soft. Only four seats occupy the box, and my client is sprawled out across the front two.
Charlie is sleeping, the program for Romeo & Juliet splayed over his eyes. He rarely looks tired. Rarely, if ever, yawns because he finds random and opportune times to catch sleep.
A good distance from my client, Jack and I are seated behind him. Giving Charlie and us space.
With the dimmed theatre lighting and the orchestra playing sweeping songs from one of the most classic, tragic love stories, I’m lured into the sensuality and romance of the ballet. Especially with Jack sitting next to me.
We wear well-tailored black tuxes. Like we’re the kings for the night.
Our eyes keep snagging, holding a beat too long, and I’ve edged closer to Highland. My arm wants to splay over his chair like we’re on a date.
Nothing has felt more like a first date than this moment with him. And I’m on-duty—how nuts is that?
My gaze melts over his neck. No more angry patches mar his skin from poison ivy. The Charity Fun Run is a couple days in the past.
And right now, Jack sucks on a lime sucker, the ball pushed against the inside of his mouth. It’s driving me mother-effing wild. I run my fingers across my jaw, and his glittering eyes smile more than his lips. While he watches the ballerinas, he whispers to me, “Would you attend the ballet if it weren’t for Charlie?”
I hadn’t given it too much thought. “Probably not.” My voice is hushed next to his ear. “I appreciate the ballet, but it’s not something that completely interests me.” I look him up and down. “What about you, Highland?”
“Probably yes.” He tilts his head to me. “I really love art.”
He is a filmmaker, and I start wondering if his family approves of his profession. “Are your parents pro-arts?”
He shifts the sucker with his tongue. “I’d say they’re more pro-business. They respect what I do, especially after I’ve succeeded, but they would’ve preferred I went into some sort of finance sector.”
Finance?
I don’t crunch numbers all day. I chose a career that outwardly showcases brawn more than intelligence, and not everyone can see how much common sense, strategy, and brains it takes to be a damn good bodyguard.
What if his parents envisioned him with a business-minded entrepreneur?
That’s not you, Oliveira.
My chest tightens. What do I care? It’s not like we’re a couple, and I might never meet his parents. But I do know Jack’s family means a lot to him, and naturally, I don’t just want to be on their good side or best side, but rather their favorite side.
He lowers his voice to explain, “My parents weren’t always as business savvy as they are now. My dad—Jack Sr. served in the Navy. During a mission in the Philippines he met the love of his life, Eleonor Loanzon.”
“Your mom?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He has a softer smile when he talks about his family. Like he’s cradling all the loving memories. “Anyway, she studied nursing at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila. Their ambitions started out practical, but she quit nursing after they got married. His service ended, and they both wound up in my dad’s hometown.”
“Long Beach?” I ask.
“Long Beach,” he confirms with a nod. “They chose a new path together and went all-in on real estate, and it panned out.” I can’t ask more; he’s too quick with a question. “Would your parents hate the ballet?”
I nod strongly. “Oh yeah. Without a doubt.” We stare ahead as a ballerina playing Juliet floats across the stage, and I add, “Though, my mom will enjoy anything the first and hundredth time. She really relishes in the experience.”
Speaking of my mom.
My phone vibrates in my fist. I silence the fifth call from her tonight and text: I’m on-duty.
The biggest meltdown on the Oliveira crisis line yesterday was a fictional death on a Brazilian novela. My mom rehashed the entire episode over the phone to me before I had to cut her off, and I expect today’s catastrophe to be similar.
But damn am I wrong.
Please call Jo. She’s saying she’s moving to Alaska! – Mom
I try not to roll my head back in frustration, and I text: I’ll call her later. I have to put my family on hold in order to stay on-duty. I’m lucky I even have this time with Highland.
I pocket my phone in my black slacks.
“Everything okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, just family drama.” I check on Charlie with a q
uick glance, then zone in on Jack.
He’s tinkering with an ancient camcorder on his lap. Reminding me that he’s also working tonight, but I can’t imagine that equipment is for Charlie’s show. Honest: I haven’t seen a video camera that old since I was in high school.
And Jack has told me that he’ll pay top price for the best quality cameras and lenses so they’ll hold up. Even Jesse’s Canon looked like it cost a fortune. His little brother isn’t at the ballet shooting B-roll. Jack said he’s organizing equipment at his Philly apartment.
We both open our mouths like we have too much to say in so little time, but the orchestra pumps up the tempo. Our gazes veer to the stage again.
A dirty-blond-haired Romeo serenades a thin, brunette Juliet from her balcony. I lean into Jack to whisper, “We don’t like him.”
“Romeo?”
“The guy who plays Romeo.”
He nods, understanding. “Leo Valavanis. Beckett’s rival in the company.” He smiles more as he asks, “Who is we? You, Donnelly, and Farrow?”
“No, no, no.” I hold up a hand. “At least not Farrow. Donnelly, yeah. We encompasses anyone who’s Team Cobalt, and Farrow has always been Team Hale, even before the Husband.” I tease, “Choose your sides wisely, Highland.”
He leans back in his chair. “Production can’t pick a side. I’m Team Everyone.”
A grin edges across my mouth. “That’s way too diplomatic. I hate it.”
He forces back a laugh, then wets his lips. We watch the ballet for another five minutes before he whispers, “You know, if I had to pick a side, I’d just choose yours.”
My chest swells, then knots. On guard.
Not wanting to be, and maybe his lines aren’t manufactured for just anyone. Deep down, I know they’re genuine and made specifically for me.
I have a lot of responses:
Wise, Long Beach.
I’d choose your side too.
We can make our own side.
But I land on the worst one.
“I’m not famous.” My voice sounds too curt.
Jack stops tinkering with the camcorder. He looks from me to the stage and back again, and when I catch his gaze, I nod to him like, we’re alright.
Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7) Page 19
