Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle (22 page)

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” His eyes pierce through me. Completely knocking the anger out of me. The shades of blue speckled with spots of yellow make him look unreal.

I mean, I’ve had people compliment me on my green eyes before. But the brilliance of his eyes put mine to shame.

“Hello?” He pushes me for an answer.

I shake the shock from my head. “Um, sorry. I just. I um. I wanted to know if, um. If it was okay for me to just…move your bag? It’s in front of mine in the overhead compartment and I just didn’t want to touch your bag without asking first.”

Jackson blinks a few times and rubs his eyes. He glances around and motions for me to get up. I obey and follow him back to our seat where he reaches up and grabs his bag out of the way. He towers over me. Of course, at five foot two, a lot of people tower over me. But Jackson somehow seems bigger than most. He reaches deep into the back of the overhead compartment and grabs my bag for me.

“This it?” he asks.

“Uh, yea. Thank—thank you.”

“Sure, no prob,” he says as he shoves his bag back into the compartment and pushes past me back to his seat.

For
the rest of the flight, I’m dumbfounded. Jackson stays in his seat for hours, alone and quiet. I keep trying different things: humming, reciting my favorite poems, even eavesdropping on the conversations happening behind me. No matter what I try, I can’t seem to get Jo’s shaky voice out of my head.

And what did she say that made Jackson’s eyes gloss over like that?

I was sorry to hear about your sister. Why didn’t you tell me that she w—what? Won? No, that can’t be right. Why would someone be sorry to hear someone won something? Whimpered? Whined? Walked? What?

“Ugh,” I growl and jump up from my seat.

I don’t even know what I think I can do. Stuck on a plane over a foreign country. It’s not like I can just step outside for a minute to get some air.

Ugh.

I’m starting to feel nauseous.

I step into the bathroom and lean over the sink. I wish the airplane bathroom had running water. But, in the meantime, I make due with rubbing a few moist towelettes on my face.

Ew, lemon scented.
I shake my head.
That’s just great. Now my face smells like lemon.

I growl under my breath all the way back to my seat. As I slump down into my seat, I start to dwell on the thunderstorm that chased me into the airport. Did it pass? Was it still going?

I still haven’t reserved a fucking hotel
.

“Five days and four nights in paradise, And I’m going to spend the entire vacation sleeping on the streets.” I mutter. “Well, at least that’s something new that I’ve never tried before.”

Okay.

Five days and four nights in paradise. So far it hasn’t been the best start, but things are bound to get better.
And by the time you have to go back home, I’m sure that flight is going to go much better
I lied to myself.

Finally
, we land and I can get off this plane and put the entire flight behind me. I grab my bag and wait for the smiling flight attendant to open the door and release us.

Jackson, as it turns out, is standing ahead of me in the aisle. Instead of opening the door to let us out, the flight attendant is flipping her hair behind her ear and smiling at him. That’s when it dawns on me: I haven’t seen the other flight attendant in a while. I wonder what happened to that one?

Whatever happened, losing his mile high club initiate doesn’t seem to be bothering Jackson one bit. I see the flight attendant slip a card of some sort into his hand and whisper into his ear. He smiles and nods as she finally unlatches the door to let us through.

Apparently, the crowd of people lined up behind me are all on their way to somewhere far more important than any plans I may have. They push their way past me so they can climb down the jet bridge first. And just like that the humid air hits my skin, holding down the fabric of my blouse against my skin. Salty, fresh air. With the last streaks of sunshine painted across the sky.

It’s beautiful.

And gross.

I sludge my way over to baggage claim to grab my other bag. Twice I nearly lose my balance as people shove me over to reach their bags.

“Hey, watch out,” Jackson says as I almost fall backwards into him.

“Sorry. I—he. Forget it.” I say and shake my head.

Jackson glares at me for a second. I can’t tell if he noticed the man who shoved me back or not. “Just forget it,” I whisper again and reach for my bag.

I just want to get to the hotel, take a shower, and eat something. Fuck. I need to find a hotel.

Next stop, yet another airport bar. Only this time, I need to make sure I actually find a hotel.

And maybe a bottle of wine.

The
lobby at the hotel proves to be just as irritating as the flight and the airport were. People crowding around the information desks. One lady is spending more time on her cell phone than she is talking to the man trying to check her into her room. Jackson is leaning up against the information desk, smiling at the young lady helping him.

Of all the hotels on this island that I could have picked, what are the odds that it would be the same one he is checking into? Apparently, one in a one shot.

And he makes everything look so easy. People everywhere seem to be fawning all over him. He just smiles and they want to trip over themselves to help him with everything. Sometimes I wish I can do that. I wish I can just smile and people just like me and get me what I want. But of course, the problem with that is having to smile at people. And right now I really am not in the mood to smile at anyone.

There’s a reason I am on vacation alone
I remind myself as I shake the jealousy out of my thoughts. Let Jackson flirt his way into anything he wants. Clearly he is the type of man who requires attention. And the only way he knows to get it is to flash those piercing blue eyes and perfect, white teeth.

Stop it
.

The walk to find my hotel room didn’t seem like it was going to get any better than the rest of my trip had been so far. I find myself following the same man all to way to my room. And he stops right next to my door.

He’s going to be sleeping right next door? Are you kidding me?
I roll my eyes yet again and dig my hotel key out of my pocket.

He turns, his mouth hanging open as if he’s about to say something.

“Hi!” He smiles.

I paste the best fake smile I can muster across my lips and get ready to say hello back.

“Hi!” another voice calls out from behind me.

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I turn around and see another woman trotting up the hallway, waving at him.

Of course he’s not talking to me
I chastise myself as I try to swipe the key again.
Why the fuck would he talk to me? Because I asked him to get my bag down?

The door is still locked.

She lands on him tongue first, plunging into his mouth.

Another swipe at the door.

Finally, the indicator light changes from red to green and the door grants me access to my room.

I dart into my room and close the door behind me.

Finally
.

Quiet. Peace. I take in a deep breath and search around my room.

Even knowing how much money I spent on this vacation, how much money
John
spent on this vacation, I’m still a little surprised at just how luxurious everything looks and feels.  Even the rug feels plush against my bare toes. The soft comforter on the bed invited me in for a nap.

But first. Shower.

I glide into the bathroom and turn on the water. Steam fills the air. Nothing in the world feels better to me than the first minutes of a hot, steamy shower. I close my eyes and revel as the steam rolls over my flesh. I open the glass door and step into the hot cascade. The cool tile shocks the bottoms of my feet. I close my eyes and lean back against the tile wall, letting the water form hot streams that cascade down my curves.

After a few minutes, I turn my back to the water, leaning into the heating tiles and breathing in the steam. The water pelts the knots in my back. I lean up, arching my back under the water’s delicious assault. My auburn hair starts to stick into curly tendrils under the steam. With one more stretch, I reach over and grab my loofa. After drizzling my shower gel into the folds of the loofa, I glide the sponge over my body. Steam carries the scent of lavender and vanilla upwards for my pleasure.

As the suds build up and cover my skin, my hands start to wander. My nipples harden under the pressure and I hold my breath. The sponge scratches lightly along my nipples. I groan at the soft biting sensation. Lather hugs and glides around my curves. My hands work their magic under the downpour of liquid heat.

With every touch, my hands return to my breasts. Grazing over my hard nipples.

A groan escapes my lips as I pinch.

I roll my nipple between my fingertips, arching my back. Lightning rides my nerves straight down to my core, igniting every desire.

Every touch ignites excitement.

My pussy drips, calling for my hand to slide down. I swirl my fingertips around, coating them in my juices and groaning as my other hand continues to pleasure my breast.

Shivers run up and down my frame as I part my thighs. My clit throbs for more.

I catch my breath and hold my hand still. My pulse is teasing.

I stand still in the shower, reveling in the hot beads traveling down my curves. My clit throbbing up against my fingers.

Waiting.

Needing more.

I stare up at the shower head. Steam is coating every glass and metal surface in the bathroom. My breaths are sharp.

Then I grind.

My hips rock against my fingers. I close my eyes and grab onto the door handle as my clit glides across my hand.

Every rock of my hips causes me to press harder. To groan deeper.

Pleasure ripples through every nerve ending as I grind against my hand. Secure with my grip on the door handle, I close my eyes and plunge my fingers deep into my pussy. Then I pull out slowly, allowing every inch of my finger to graze against my clit before I plunge back in.

My groans intensify as the pressure increases.

And before I know it, my body is crumbling under the force of my orgasm. Water pelts my face as I plunge my fingers deeper into my throbbing pussy.

I take a few minutes to calm my breathing and finish cleaning up, taking full advantage of the amazing water pressure and steam.

The soft towels drape around my curves and catch the remaining streams of water trying to drip down. I step out of the bathroom and glance at the clock.

Forty-five minutes.

I wonder how many orgasms I could have before the water actually starts to run cold
I joke with myself as I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

Being
a firm believer that no exotic vacation can be complete without food, I snatch up the hotel’s complimentary menu and drool over the amazing selections it offers. The only debate that stands now is: do I get dressed and head down to the hotel restaurant and eat there? Which, of course, requires seeing and dealing with people. Or do I just call down and order room service to deliver to me? Which requires dealing with a person.

Room service wins.

I call down, place my order, ask for it to be billed to my room, and pull my laptop out of my bag.

Okay, so this is what I’m going to do? I’m going to write a book?

I carefully get everything set up and plugged in. After following the directions for getting set up on the hotel’s free wifi service, I turn everything on and open up my word processor. And then I sit.

And stare.

And the blank screen stares right back at me.

A few minutes later, the peace and quiet is broken by screaming from next door. The voices are muffled, but most definitely angry.

First a male voice yells muffled arguments. Followed by the female voice. Curiosity burns inside of me. I edge over to the wall, leaning in as close as I can. My new position offered no help in deciphering the arguments.

Then the knock came at my door.

The yelling fell silent.

Damn
I thought.
They must have heard room service knocking and decided to stop arguing
.

I unlock the door and pull it open to greet the smiling man carrying my food. As he carts in my food, the door next door flings open and the yelling pours into the hallway.

“Fucking vulture!” Jackson screams.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Her naked sounding board scrambles to hold the sheets up around her as she yells back.

“Get out. Get out! Get. The fuck. Out!” Jackson yells as he starts throwing clothes out into the hallway after her. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but get out!”

The girl glances over at me, her cheeks pink with anger. Or maybe it’s with embarrassment. I duck behind my door, cursing my bad luck that this would all happen while my door was wide open.

“I came down here to get away from people like you!” Jackson is still yelling at her. “And you got to pull this shit! Get out!”

A few seconds later, she runs down the hallway. When Jackson notices her clothes still laying scattered in the hallway where he tossed them out at her, he wads them up piece by piece and hurls them down the hallway after her.

“Don’t think you can come back for these! Don’t come back here for anything!”

“Fuck you!” the lady yells back down the hallway at Jackson. “You’re a fucking piece of shit, Jackson! You fucking psycho!”

Jackson steps further into the hallway and throws her rolled up pair of jeans down at her. “Get out!” he screams. “And here, don’t forget your fucking voice recorder.”

His eyes dart briefly over to me. His muscular chest heaving under the weight of heavy breaths. Beads of sweat dripping from his pectorals. Claw marks criss cross along his broad shoulders. The towel wrapped around his waist holds firm.

The elevator bell dings, letting everyone know her ride downstairs and away from here could commence.

I lower my eyes as if to apologize for overhearing their argument and move over so the trapped delivery man can get through. As he darts down the hallway, I close the door and press my ear against it.

Silence.

Seconds later, the door next door slams, shaking the wall enough to tingle at my cheeks.

“
What
the fuck was that?” I whisper to myself as I turn my back to the door.

The sweet, salty aroma of Thai food filled my room, reminding me of my hunger. I grab the plate and start to dig in. Clicking through channels on the remote control.

Every station reported news in some form or another. This had never been so clear to me until days like today when I was trying to stay away from the news. Even the cartoon network had some animated douche reporting news.

“Ridiculous,” I say as I turn the television off.

Just as I shoveled the last bite of food into my mouth, a knock echoed against my room door.

I saunter over and peek out the tiny peephole.

Jackson?

Why the fuck is he here?

I open the door, ready to apologize for eavesdropping and pretend that I didn’t hear anything during his screaming match with his lady friend.

“In house directory.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head. “My room seems to be missing the directory. The list with all the numbers on it. I was wondering if I could use yours?”

“Oh. Yes. Sure. Hang on.” I leave him standing in the open door while I trace my steps back over to where I left the paper in question. I hand it over to him with a smile. “Here you are.”

“Thanks. I, uh. I hope that the little scene earlier didn’t wreck your uh. I mean I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“No, no,” I say as I wave my hands. “Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.”

He nods and stares at the list of phone numbers. “Okay. Well, thanks again.”

Without waiting for a response, he bolted back to his room next door. Leaving me with about eight hundred burning questions.

Like what the fuck was that?

I sit back down in front of my laptop and stare at the blank document.

Next thing I know, I’m hopping through social media. Facebook, Twitter—I even start a brand new Instagram account. In between complaints of writer’s block and a lack of time, I get exactly nothing written.

Nothing.

I can’t believe it.

With all my experience I thought that writing a book would be easier. Simpler. Why does it seem so hard to write now?

Why can’t I seem to do this?

I pace about my room, fingers laced behind my head and my eyes closed. I’m not used to having writer’s block. I normally have so much to say. So many ideas. And usually the ideas hit me all at once, making it harder to sift through and decide what I want to use.

This was all new territory.

I throw my hands back to my sides and shrug. I’m not going to get any ideas pacing around that way. Then I remember I always had an agenda before. An outline. Of course this is harder, I’m trying to pull ideas out of thin air.

My eyes happen to fall on the balcony staring out over the ocean.

That’s what I need.

I came down here to get away from everything. Live life. And so far all I’ve done is almost sleep with a stranger in a bathroom, pleasure myself a couple of times, and lock myself into a hotel room away from the world. That’s not living. Of course the ideas wouldn’t flow if I lock myself into my room like this. My suitcase lands on the bed with a heavy sigh as I dig into it. The hidden compartment just inside the lid: perfect for holding that bottle of wine I picked up at the airport.

I pull out my wine and glance around the room. Well, they aren’t wine glasses, but the plastic cups sitting next to the coffee pot will definitely hold wine. I grab a cup and start looking through my chaotic suitcases for my wine bottle opener.

It’s not there. I search through the drawers and shelves around the room. Nothing I can use to open this bottle of wine.

“Come on there has to be something,” I mutter.

I take one last look at the delivery cart that carried in my food. And then I can take a breath of relief. Hotel wine bottle opener in hand, I can head out to the patio.

The hot breeze kisses my skin as I sit down and stare out into the ocean. The moon glides across the black waves below. Lights flicker around at the other windows. It looks like a private beach right in the center of the hotel.

I take in a deep, humid breath and smile. Oh yes. This is what I need.

And then someone behind me coughs.

I
whirl around, nearly dropping my plastic cup. Jackson. How in the world did he get onto my patio? Then it hits me. I’m on his patio.

It’s a shared patio.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he grunts. “I just came out for some air.”

“It’s, I mean you’re okay. You’re fine. I’m not. I mean I just came out here for some air, too.”

He leans back against the wall separating our doors and stares up at the stars. “Seems weird that we keep running into each other, huh?”

“Yea, kind of funny.” I feel like a complete moron. Someday, a man will say something to me and I will have a response that sounds a little more human and normal. But apparently, that is not this day.

I swear his blue eyes reflect every single star right back out to me. As if they were made to send the stars to me.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” he says and straightens his back. His white undershirt is stuck to his muscles thanks to the humidity in the air. And the moonlight is highlighting every inch.

“No, don’t. I mean. Would you like some wine?” I hold up the bottle of red Shiraz.

He smirks and nods as he takes a step closer. That’s when I realize I only have the one plastic cup.

“Hang on,” he whispers. “I think I have its pair.” He walks into his room and returns with a matching plastic cup.

“Perfect,” I say with a smile as I pour the wine into his cup.

He holds his cup up in a mock toast and takes a sip. He swirls the wine against his tongue for a few long seconds and then swallows and takes in a deep breath. “Oh, that’s good. What kind of wine is this?”

“South Eastern Australian Shiraz,” I gloat.

“That’s a mouthful. They sell Australian wine at the hotel?”

“No idea.” I giggle.

“You smuggled it in?”

“I guess technically. If you put it that way.”

He chuckles and takes another sip of wine.

“Are you going to turn me in?”

“No,” he says with a smile. “I can’t anyway. Even if I had thought to I already drank some. That makes me your accomplice.”

I smirk at the joke and sip at my wine. I try to force my eyes to leave his moonlit muscles and return their gaze back to the ocean.

Minutes tick by like hours and we both just sit and stare out into the distance. The only sound around us is the purr of the hot wind and the sips of wine as it tumbled down our throats. When my cup empties, I pour a bit more in then turn back to Jackson to see if he would like more.

He holds his cup out to me. I pour more wine into his cup and watch his bright teeth come out into a smile.

At the end of the bottle, I am already giving myself the mental reminder not to jump into bed with Jackson. Not that I expect him to hit on me. But so far this is the first I’ve seen him without his hand roaming along someone else’s curves. Images of his hands exploring my body flash behind my eyelids even as I try to muster up the willpower to tell him no.

And then. I didn’t have to.

“Well, thanks for the wine. I really owe you one,” he says as he salutes me and walks back into his room.

Did he just salute me?

Yep.

Left alone and dumbfounded yet again, I head over to my own room and rinse out the empty wine bottle. I turn out all the lights, glance at the clock, and crawl into the bed.

1:43 AM.

As I sink into the soft mattress, the comforter billows up around me. An exhausted moan presses through my lips and I glance around the dark room. The only lights come from outside. Minutes later, the muffled noises of a television come in from next door.

I roll over and stare out the patio door. Light from his room is shining across the patio. I wonder if he just fell asleep with all the lights and his television on, or if he is really awake and watching television. The air conditioner hummed to life just then, drowning out the music coming from his television.

Once again, curiosity burns through me. Jackson is a mystery. A man whore who didn’t hit on me? Didn’t even seem interested in hitting on me.

And why am I so bothered by that? I planned on turning him down, anyway. So am I really so shallow that I’m mad at not having the chance to turn
him
down?

I jump from my bed and inch over to the patio door. He’s not sitting out there. Light from his room continues to bounce across the furniture there. Finally, I hold my breath and slide the door open. The television seems louder out here. I step out a bit further, trying to peer into his room without being seen.

Jackson isn’t even in his room. Confused, I step over closer to his patio door. So far I’ve been able to hear everything in this room. When he opened the door, turned on the television, even when he talked on the phone. So how had he left the room without me hearing him?

Then his reflection catches my eye.

The mirror across from his bathroom showed the open door with steam pouring out of it. And there he was, leaning against the wall, clenching his eyes shut. His hand wrapped around his cock as he fantasized.