Burn Me if You Can

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Burn Me if You Can

Copyright ? 2011 by Mahalia Levey

ISBN: 978-1-61333-057-9

Cover art by Dara England

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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Burn Me If You Can

Mahalia Levey

A 1 Night Stand Story

~DEDICATION~

This book is dedicated to my family for their support, the team of people who
help make my work glow and to the readers who give me joy to write for.

Burn Me If You Can

San Juan’s reputation for beauty was accurate. From the moment they touched ground and she’d gotten her first good look, she’d been mesmerized. Tucked away from the stifling heat in a posh limousine, she appreciated the little luxuries, such as air conditioning. When she heard of the opportunity offered by Madame Evangeline from a close friend, ambition drove her to say yes. So many dotcoms deluded people into thinking they could find a life-mate with their help.

As she sat in the plush interior of the car, she sipped a flute of champagne to take the edge off and center herself.

Newsflash:
The concept of finding a “happy forever” with one person went out the window decades ago. Those who believed in love at first sight were simply confused by a hefty dose of lust. She should know. No
bam
moment had ever made her breathless. No first touch had her made her scream,
Hallelujah! He’s
the one!
In any event, Rebekah finally had the chance to do an expose that would land her a syndicated column—if she could get the goods. Her interview went well. She didn’t hide that she worked for the newspaper but didn’t allude to her aspirations either. The application itself was insanely detailed. At one point, she thought she should type out a resume. The outlandish thought had made her laugh. Essentially, the matchmaking businesses of the world were human resource departments trying to fill a quota. She completed everything to the best of her knowledge and included a recent picture of herself.

Madam Eve had handpicked her date. Soon, she’d be face-to-face with Ashton Foster. His profile, like, dislikes, etc. all called to her, and his charismatic face had made an imprint on her mind.

She wondered if he had some mental issue; what was wrong with him that he needed to meet a date on a website. But after reading the intelligent, handsome man’s profile, she couldn’t wait to meet him. The only thing that seemed off to her was his vague job title. In the job section of his profile, he talked more about his day-to-day activities than what he did professionally, and that threw up 1

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warning flags. Rebekah finished her wine and set the flute in the compartment provided for used glasses.

Beautiful didn’t begin to describe the lush landscape zipping past them. With a subtle crane of her neck, she took in the colonial architecture of the island and the green vegetation lining the narrow road.

“We’ll be pulling up shortly, Ms. Shayne.”

“Thank you.” She adjusted her outfit to insure the tiny microphone remained tucked securely in the pretty bow decorating her bra, snuggly between her breasts. Deciding on the proper attire hadn’t been easy. She’d wrestled with business casual slacks paired with a seductive top, a CFM—come fuck me—dress, or a casual dress hugging her curves and showing off her legs. Not wanting to come off as classless, she chose the last. The private jet to San Juan had excited her. No one had told her such an extravagant ride was part of the package, or that her date location had changed from Vegas to San Juan until a week before her scheduled departure. In fact, she didn’t know what would occur upon her arrival in San Juan. Her boss’s personal assistant handled the arrangements for her trip to the Castillo Resort. Researching the popular Cuban resort, with its colonial architecture and lush grounds gave her insight into the history of the Castillo family-owned resorts. Jackson Castillo’s photo currently graced the brochures for the chain. The small, three-page fold out detailed the history of the Castillo empire. Jackson was a first-generation American citizen whose parents had immigrated to the United States from Cuba many years before. Aside from that small amount of personal intel, the rest of what she was able to turn up remained business oriented, denoting star quality accommodations, consumer ratings, and relevant awards.

Finding out she’d be having a miniature vacation while working excited her.

She’d always wanted to visit San Juan but hadn’t made her way to Cuba’s shores.

Her stomach fluttered, and she crossed and uncrossed her legs, gripping her handbag with sweaty hands. “Excuse me,” she said into the intercom.

“Ma’am?”

“How much longer?” She rubbed her lips together then took out her gloss and dabbed on a fresh coat.

2

Burn Me If You Can

“We’re pulling up now. Look to your left and you’ll see the resort ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Rebekah smoothed her clothing and checked the mirror for stray hairs. Luckily, what she’d packed for desert weather was equally suited for humidity and bright beaches. The resort sat on Cayo Santa Maria, within Cavos de La Herradura, where white sand stretched far as she could see, and the crystalline waters were said to hold a serene quality. They passed the onsite pool and she noticed the lilypad-shaped, padded chairs floating atop the water.

Her body thrummed in anticipation. Suddenly her story didn’t matter as much as living for the moment and having a fun two days. How long had it been since she’d taken time off? Forever.

This is not a romantic trip.

She didn’t believe in magic, so why was the pretty island tugging at her heart and the thought of having a memorable time surging through her? Daydreaming wasn’t for reporters. This is a business trip. That little thought helped immensely.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of the hotel registration entrance. The chauffeur opened the door and extended his hand to help her out. She took it and stepped into the fresh, warm air. Once she cleared the car, she dropped his hand and slipped her shades on. “Thank you. May I tip you?”

“No, ma’am. The required fees and compensation have been taken care of. I will unload your luggage while you check in.”

“Oh. Thanks…again.” She felt like a clod for over thanking him for doing his job.

“Enjoy your stay; that will be thanks enough.” The man smiled and loaded her garment bag and suitcase onto a cart. She followed him inside, removed her glasses, and headed to the registration desk.

“Afternoon, I’m Rebekah Shayne, checking in for the next two days,” she said, breathless from the opulent interior of the resort. She wasn’t a connoisseur of building structure and decor in the least, but she knew raw beauty surrounded her in all directions.

“Welcome to Castillo San Juan. We have a message for you from Mr. Foster.

He wishes for you to get settled in your suite of rooms before joining him for dinner. Here’s your magnetic keycard. The elevators are through the double 3

Mahalia Levey

doors to your left, and you’re on the fourteenth floor, just below the penthouse suites. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

Rebekah accepted the key and headed toward the elevators, taking in all the details of the luxury hotel as she passed. She slid her key into a slot to gain access to the elevator and slipped inside. Soft music filtered from tiny speakers above her head as she rode to her floor. Once there, she peeked out the bay doors and then followed the signs to her room. The opulence that greeted her there added to her awe. “I have died and gone to heaven,” she told no one but herself, and gave into falling on the bed like a teenager. Squealing-girl behavior out of her system, she moved over to the double-wide veranda doors that opened outward.

Immediately she was washed with the scent of fresh sea air and as far as the eye can see view of the Caribbean Sea. Mesmerized, she stood with her hands on the iron railing taking in the scenery. How could one not fall in love with such paradise? Feeling a bit over-stimulated, she turned and entered her suite, noticing her belongings already hanging in the closet, her extra set of heels and flip-flops resting on the closet floor. How nice, she thought, and decided to slip into a new coral-colored sundress and freshen up for her date.

If she’d thought she suffered from butterflies coming into the establishment, entering the Aqua Lounge was much worse. She cast a surreptitious glance at the bar, her eyes widening at the sublime man chatting easily with the bartender. It was all Bekah could do not to fall over or drool. He presented a side pose, his relaxed shirt fitting the contours of his broad shoulders and back. Land sakes, when he stood up, she got the most delicious view of his ass. And what an ass it was—nice, round, and muscular. He stuck his hand in his pocket and shrugged at something the bartender said. She eyeballed him for all she was worth, getting the ogling out of the way. One glance was all she wrote. She hadn’t expected her date to be ultra hot. If not for her drenched panties, gravity would’ve pulled her cream along the inner seam of her thighs. The decor of the lounge fell away.

Honed in on her date, she sashayed her way across the floor, adding a little bounce to her step, her breasts jiggling. The stool next to him remained unoccupied. She smoothed her kimono-style sundress to mid-thigh.

“Ashton.” Where did her normal voice go, and when did she start speaking in 4

Burn Me If You Can

such an earthy tone. Hands clasped ladylike in her front of her, holding onto her pocketbook. Her breath came out in a swoosh when he turned to face her. A burning warmth filled the sexiest eyes, and not just any brown, but the color of milk chocolate, a shade lighter than her skin tone.

“Bekah, we finally meet,” He extended his hand to take hers. She accepted his hand and let out a startled sound of surprise, ill prepared for the jolt of awareness humming from such brief contact.

“Yes, we did…do.” She fell over her tongue, color rising in her cheeks. Boy, did she feel hot. He broke out in the sexiest smile—lordy above, a perfect smile—and her name all but purred from his mouth. He could call her Bekah anytime.

“You okay?”

“Peachy keen.” She licked her lips and studied him from under her lashes.

“Would you like a cocktail?”

“Can we just go straight to shots?”

“Nervous?”

His teasing demeanor made him all the more attractive. His manners pleased her, as well, when he stood, showing her his height, and pulled out her barstool.

She sat, and he returned to his position on the stool next to her, his gaze never leaving hers, until she had to break eye contact to gather her thoughts. He inspired instant hot, naked, orgasmic fantasies. A flicker of question crossed his features, pulling her back to the present. Fantasy in check she smiled. “Very.”

“Me too,” Ashton said, motioning for the bartender.

“Really? You have such confidence about you.” She found herself relaxing, and hoped her mic caught all their byplay. When he leaned over to whisper in her ear, her first reaction was to pull back, but his warm hand settled over hers, brushing in gentle sweeps. She gulped in anticipation.