Charlie utters a
tsk
. “Why the hell are
you
interested in
him
?” He extends the bottle to top off my glass.
“How do you know I’m interested?” I ask as he pours. My words are dragging.
“You’re all interested. Girls like him. He’s got magic,” he mumbles sarcastically. “You’re sitting here, watching the ocean. Do you like the way it sounds?”
“Love it,” I say before taking another swallow.
“You respect it, don’t you?” he asks in a serious tone.
“Very much.”
“You’re too deep for him. He’s a rigid asshole, and you’ll get bored.”
“Or he’ll get bored.”
“Nah, he won’t.” Charlie sounds sure about that.
“Oh yes, he will. And you would too. Didn’t I tell you…” Jeez, I already forgot what I was going to say. I’m officially intoxicated.
“Didn’t you tell me what?”
Shucks. My head is spinning. “Didn’t I tell you that my boyfriend left me for my best friend? She’s obviously the desirable one.” I close my eyes and inhale the fresh, crisp beach air. Clips of Maya run through my head. “She’s always there, you know? Smiling and extra nice while I shrink into the background. A shrinking violet, that’s what I am…”
He snorts cynically and holds out the bottle to pour me another. “Oh, she’s one of those kinds of girls.”
“Yeah, likable. Desirable.” I should pass on the refill, but I don’t.
“More like competitive. Easy.” He fills my glass to the rim.
“She’s not easy,” I scold, which is surprising.
Am I seriously defending her after what she’s done to me?
“You’re smart, Daisy. I can tell. Deep down, you know what I’m talking about. I dine on chicks like her.”
We fall silent as I think. Maya does like to be the center of attention, and I allow it. I’m certainly not comfortable standing behind her, looking stupid as my mind processes everything that’s going on. She’s quicker than I am. Like the time we were having lunch at the Patio Galley Café off Venice Beach. Two firefighters sat at the table next to ours and appraised us admiringly. I’ve been all over the world, and the firefighters in Los Angeles are the only ones who live up to the cliché. If I were sitting there alone, I would’ve never said one word to them. I would’ve opened my notebook and worked on an article. Plus, I had a boyfriend. But not Maya–she always flirts.
She’d started a conversation with them that lasted an entire hour. First, she commented on how big their feet were in their work boots. Every time one of them tried to include me in the discussion about what parts of the city they were called out to the most, Maya would subtly remind them that I had a boyfriend.
“Oh, her boyfriend lives in that area.”
“Oh, her boyfriend worked at the studio when it caught fire.”
“Oh, Daisy’s boyfriend said that too.”
What caught me off guard was that one of the firemen said, “Oh, is that your name? Daisy? Like the flower?” He seemed upset that Maya monopolized the entire conversation.
He and I smiled at each other, but then Maya found a way to focus his attention back on her. She dropped her fork near his big foot and leaned across the aisle to get it. She made sure he got an eyeful of her perfect, perky 34D implants–which she’d fashioned after my 34C real ones. I turned to look dejectedly over the boardwalk.
Maya and the firefighter ended up exchanging phone numbers. They went on a few dates before, according to her, she got bored and decided to cut things off with him.
Maybe Charlie’s right. Maybe she wasn’t interested in that firefighter until we smiled at each other.
Struck by enlightenment, I look at Charlie. He’s already staring at me. I think we’re caught in a moment. Then I hear a familiar voice say, “There you are!”
Charlie and I quickly look behind us. It’s Belmont, and he has a glass of wine.
“The burgundy you requested,” he says, staring daggers at his brother.
“That’s okay,” I say and lift the glass in my hand. “I already have a drink. Charlie’s special brew.”
Charlie is facing the ocean. I’m the only one smiling. Of course, I should be angry with Belmont, but I’m not. After my talk with Charlie, the ocean, and the spirits, I feel as though I can finish out my two weeks, write a spectacular article, and move on with my life. Yet the moment is awkward. I’m not sure who Belmont is angry with: Charlie or me.
“When I came back to find you, you were gone,” Belmont says in an accusatory tone.
Twisting in the chair to look at him feels awkward, so I rise to my feet. “I…” Then my weakened knees give out. I fall back down in the chair and drop my glass, spilling the red liquid.
Belmont is right there to collect me, lifting me out of the chair with one arm and holding me against him. Jeez. My head feels as if ducks are revolving around it. The side of my face is pressed against his hard, warm chest.
I listen to his heartbeat as he growls, “What the hell are you doing, Chuck?”
Before Charlie can respond, Belmont whisks me up and walks me carefully up the stairs.
“I can call a cab,” I burble.
“You’re not calling a cab, Daisy,” he grumbles. “You can sleep it off in one of the guest rooms.”
“No, I can call a cab,” I insist.
“There’ll be no cab calling,” he says as if that’s final. Belmont sets the glass of burgundy down on the stoop of the guesthouse and walks me to an unlit part of the main house. He fishes keys out of his pocket and unlocks the back door. Since I’m dizzy and groggy, I close my eyes as he leads me up another flight of curving stairs. I walk blindly until I make contact with a fluffy duvet on top of a soft bed.
One by one, Belmont removes my sandy sandals. Then there’s nothing: not a sound, no more touching. I struggle to lift my heavy eyelids, and I see my caretaker standing at the side of the bed, gazing at me.
“I didn’t mean to drink too much. I only had a glass and a half,” I manage to say. “Maybe two.”
“I’m not blaming you. I blame Chuck. I’m not going to leave you by yourself in this condition.”
“I’ll be fine.” He watches me intensely as I curl up. “I’ll sleep it off in two hours. You can go back to the party.” I mumble something about the bonfire I already regret missing.
The next thing I know, the bed dips as his body settles beside me.
Plop
–one of Belmont’s shoes hits the floor and then the other.
“It’s not you that I’m worried about.” He stretches out. Our faces are close. “Daisy?”
“Yes?” I croak, unable to open my eyes. I’m not so out of it that I can’t hear the yearning in his voice.
“Will you let me hold you?”
I gulp and nod against the most comfortable pillow I’ve ever laid my head on.
Belmont reaches over to rotate my body, and now he’s spooning me. His ready bulge is pressed against the crease of my butt. My heart starts thumping, my nipples stiffen, and my body craves more of him. However, I have no plans to go all the way. After all, I only met him today and in the fragile state that I’m in, there’s no way of trusting my own emotions or desires. Maybe I’m simply vulnerable. Maybe I’m on the rebound.
But his body does feel like heaven against mine.
“Daisy?” His voice warms my ear.
“Humph?” I hum comfortably.
“What’s my type if you’re not my type?”
“Huh?” I’m wide awake now. “You heard that?”
“Every word. So what’s my type?”
I shrug.
“Stay still,” he warns and then grinds his package against my tender bottom. “Please,” he pleads vulnerably. His fingers strum my belly and work their way up to my breasts.
I try not to moan. I want him to stop and to keep going just the same. I want to throw common sense and caution to the wind and let him have my body. I clasp his hand to stop him. “Please,” I say in the same tone he just used.
He chuckles, and it sounds so sexy. “All right, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“What do I think your type is?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“More Barbie-ish.”
“You mean blonde?”
“Barbie comes in all colors. But they all have the same hair, makeup, stilettos, and plastic. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just far from who I am.”
“Do you really believe I’m that shallow?”
“I don’t know. You just have a look about you.” I yawn. “When I saw you, I said, ‘Not his type, not my type.’”
“When did you first see me?”
“On the pier.”
“Did you see me staring at you?”
“No,” I whisper.
“I wanted you then. But you’re wrong about me, Daisy.”
“I am?” I mutter.
“You are.”
A long moment of silence lingers. I’m halfway asleep. I’ve never felt this comfortable in a man’s arms. I feel like if I sleep, then he’ll slay any dragon and conquer any army that seeks to destroy me in my dreams.
“Daisy,” I hear him ask faintly.
“Humph…”
“Are you asleep?”
“Humph…”
I feel his package grind against me a few times. His lips kiss the back of my neck. Then he takes my shoulder and guides me around to face him. Our lips and tongues lock. Our kiss is deep and passionate. My head is spinning for so many different reasons, but my escalating dopamine levels caused by arousal is the main one.
“That’s all I’ll take from you for now,” he whispers as he sucks on my neck one last time. Belmont gently helps me face away from him, and he wraps his arms around me. He squeezes me tightly. Once again, I feel safe.
He says something in my ear but I’m already dreaming about floating on the raging Atlantic Ocean. I’m naked, and the sun is directly above me. I have a feeling that Charlie is sitting in the Adirondack chair observing me. Suddenly, Belmont is lying on top of me, and together we are being pulled into the deep, clear water. I’m waiting to drown. I’m waiting to hit bottom. But we’re just staring into each other’s eyes, falling into forever.
I open my eyes.
It’s morning.
I’m in bed alone, in a strange room, slowly recalling the events of the night that led me here.
Chapter 4
There’s A First Time For Everythin
g
“Sleep well?”
Startled, I sit up. Belmont is standing in front of one of the large panel windows that are standard for Colonials this size. Tamed light filters in from outside. I have to blink him into focus.
He certainly looks nice. Belmont is wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans and a well-fitting, pale gray, lightweight sweater. His look is effortless—down to his barely there and immaculately trimmed facial hair. Basically, his appearance is crisp and clean while I look and feel like a mess.
“What?” My arms spastically fly up to scrunch down my wild hair. I have mounds of it. I’ve been asked a million times if I wear a wig, but nope, it’s my own personal cumulus cloud.
Then it all comes back—drinking his brother’s—Chuck or Charlie—special brew. Their parents are dead, and they’re blue-blooded. But the most momentous recollection is that Belmont said he wants me and has “wanted me” from the first time he saw me.
I lift the thick blanket to get a look at myself. I’m relieved to see I’m still fully clothed and in last night’s dress. A faint taste of the special brew is still on my tongue.
“I have to brush my teeth,” I say as I kick off the covers. “I have to go.” My only goal is to escape to where no one can see me like this. Not even Adrian ever saw me look this disheveled.
“No way.” Belmont takes two large steps and stops in front of me. “I made breakfast.”
“But I have to brush my teeth, wash my face. I look terrible.”
He cracks a tiny smile. “I didn’t think you cared about all of that. Only a ‘Barbie’ would be that self-conscious.”
“Well I like to have fresh breath and a clean face and tamer hair,” I grumble.
“I like your hair like that. It’s sexy.”
I grunt, pondering that. “I also prefer it this way, but Adrian didn’t,” I reveal.
“This Adrian guy is starting to sound more and more like a major asshole.”
“No,” I sigh. “He’s not that. He’s just…” I can’t put him into rational words. “I just always felt like I had to be someone other than me with him. That’s probably why I loved him more when we had distance between us.”
“Come here,” Belmont says as he holds his arms out for me.
I latch on to his hands, and he lifts me into his arms. Against my better judgment, we kiss. A moan escapes him as he ends with a tiny bite on my top, then bottom lip.
“You taste intoxicating.” We chuckle. “But there’s a fresh toothbrush and towels for you in the bathroom.”
“Which way?” My head is spinning.
He points to the right. “That way.” He’s grinning, completely aware of his effect on me. Belmont still has his arms around my waist.
Even though we’re gazing into each other’s eyes, I haven’t committed to the embrace the way he has. My arms hang by my side. This cannot be happening. There’s no way I’m falling for him. Is he still a stranger? I feel as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. However, I do have a question to ask.
“By the way, who’s the blonde? The one you met at the docks? She was at the party last night, and she didn’t look happy to see me.”
He forces a hard breath out his nose. I sense I hit a nerve. I shake my head and pull out of his arms. “I’m leaving.” Before I can spin around and stomp off, I’m securely in his arms.
“That was Kara. She’s my ex-girlfriend.”
“Does she know she’s your ex-girlfriend?”
“Of course.”
“Then why is she here?”
“Because we’re still friends.”