Mad Love (3 page)

“You’re terrible.” I shake my head at Erik as I look on the sky map.

Only three more hours to go.

2

My eyes are closed again and I’m stretched out in the waiting lounge of the W Spa and Resort. After we landed, we were ushered here by the welcoming committee, which would take us out to the resort in a seaplane. I changed from my plane pajamas into loose pants and a tank top because it’s really hot. Orie, who happens to be a famous hairdresser, has braided parts of my hair and artfully pulled it back, a look he tells me will make me blend right in with the island girls. I just go with it.

It’s early morning in the Maldives and all I want to do is sleep. Jet lag sucks. I’m using my carry-on bag as a pillow, and Erik and Orie are to the left of me chatting away, completely adjusted and okay with the time difference. They look good. Really, really good. It’s unfair. After almost twenty-four hours of flying they look fresh and flawless. Orie’s black hair is perfectly combed back from his good-looking face and Erik looks immaculate. On the other hand, it’ll take a good scrub and a nap to make me feel like myself again.

I hear voices and know that more guests have entered the resort’s private waiting room. I assume they’ll be on the seaplane with us to our destination. The guys are quiet for a moment and I know they’re checking out the new arrivals, evaluating the other people who’ll be at the resort. I decide to take a quick peek myself. I’m instantly glad I have my sunglasses on to conceal my blatant appraisal of the guests.

Wow.

Let me rephrase that. Holy shit.

A vision of a perfect male specimen is in the room. He’s standing in a corner and talking to what I assume is one of his friends. He has light brown hair and cerulean blue eyes that are so bright they make my heart skip a beat. His lips are full, sensual, and he’s got a straight, perfect nose.
His face is utterly masculine and hot. He’s tall, really tall, well over six feet, broad shouldered, and is sporting a natural tan that hints at a life spent out in the sun. He looks like he’s in his early to mid-thirties and he exudes worldly sophistication. I stop breathing. I can’t help it. I think I even might have forgotten how. He is the most good-looking man I’ve ever set eyes on. He literally looks like a walking piece of art. Erik puts his hand on my leg and squeezes hard. He sees what I see. I ignore him.

But Erik’s movement catches the gorgeous man’s eye and he glances over him at me. His gaze slowly moves along my outstretched body, lazily assessing me, from my sneaker-clad feet to the top of my head. He stops at my face, staring intently, almost like he can see through me, and I hold my breath again. Does he know I’ve been looking at him? He can’t, I tell myself. He isn’t Superman, he can’t see through my shades.

But his gaze remains fixed on me, staring so intensely now that it makes me incapable of movement. It’s the kind of look Daniel Day Lewis gave Madeline Stowe in
Last of the Mohicans,
when he literally devoured her with his eyes right before he dragged her off for the epic love scene. It is still one of the best love scenes of all time. I used to imagine what it would be like to have someone give me that Hawkeye stare. And now it’s happening, for the very first time, from the drop-dead gorgeous stranger.

Erik has a death grip on my leg, clutching it so tight that I think I’m losing circulation. Clearly, he’s witness to this most incredible moment, so it can’t just be my jet lag or runaway imagination.

The stranger’s bright gaze moves to my lips and they part of their own accord.

He smiles.

Oh my God! He knows I’m staring. I close my eyes and try to control the mortification that comes over me. How embarrassing!

I count to ten then open them again.

Shit. He’s still looking.

Is my heart still beating?

Since I will just look back I try to save myself the embarrassment and flip around so my back is to him. I need to get a grip. Good Lord, this has
never happened to me before. I’ve seen hot men before. LA is filled with good-looking men and women. What is wrong with me?

I hear a chuckle.
His
chuckle.

It’s deep, masculine, and totally sexy. I know it’s him. I just know it. Oh Lord, is he laughing at me? Erik leans down nice and close to my ear and whispers in a not-so-very-subtle way.

“Turn around and just stare, babe. He’s a shining example of what a sperm and an egg can come up with if they try really hard. He gives me a reason to contemplate breeding. Flawless. Impeccably dressed. And confident as hell. What more can you ask for?”

Lord, Erik is right on the money. I slowly turn around to take another quick peek. My gaze meets his penetrating blue eyes. Oh my. I smile slightly and try to act cool as I look over at the people I think are his friends. He’s standing with three other men and two women. They’re all expensively dressed with designer handbags and luggage. They reek of sophistication and clearly come from a world of privilege. Suddenly I feel self-conscious in my baggy harem pants and tank top.

There’s no smile, no welcoming look, just a piercing gaze like he’s trying to see into my soul.

I take my glasses off and turn to Erik and Orie.

“Have. You. Ever?” Erik asks me in a low voice.

I shrug my shoulders. No, I have never. But do I want to say it out loud? What if Mr. Adonis hears me? Before I’m further tortured by my friend a woman from the resort enters the waiting room.

“Welcome to Male. The seaplane is here to take you all to what we know will be a fabulous holiday. Please follow me.”

I stand quickly and pick up my carry-on bag. Erik and Orie get distracted gathering their things and I’m blessedly given a reprieve. I keep my head down and start to walk toward the door. His friends follow the woman but Mr. Gorgeous lingers, almost like he’s waiting for me to catch up to him. But I know that’s just got to be wishful thinking on my part. I try to walk slowly, but I’m next to him in a second. He towers over me but in a good way. A really, good way.

“Can I help you with that?” he asks me politely.

I’m so startled by his question that I’m incapable of speech. I look up at him and hope my mouth hasn’t dropped open. Up close he’s even better looking. More appealing. How’s this even possible? It’s so unfair. It’s like dangling a piece of chocolate in front of a contestant on
The Biggest Loser
. I look around quickly to be sure he’s even talking to me.

“Pardon?” I manage to stumble out.

“Your bag. It seems heavy. Can I help you with it?”

He
is
talking to me
.
I’m so floored I don’t answer him.

“Allow me,” he says.

His voice is lyrical, low, sexy. He has a faint accent. Very faint. I wonder where he’s from. Even though he’s said only a few words, I could listen to him talk all day long. God, maybe being a twenty-three-year-old virgin has made me incapable of small talk with the opposite sex.

“I’m good, thanks,” I respond as calmly as possible.

He looks at me for a long moment as if he’s weighing my words then cocks his head to the side.

“My name is Clayton Sinclair.”

Clayton, I think dreamily to myself.
Clayton.
It’s a good name. Strong. Regal. The kind a hero usually has in a period romance novel. And I should know, considering the closest to sex I’ve ever gotten is from guilty-pleasure reading. I’d die before I’d ever admit that, thank you. I snap back to reality.

Speak, Sophie
. Words. Now.

“Sophie Walker,” I say back softly.

“Nice to meet you, Sophie,” he says with a smile then proceeds to take my bag from my hands. “My mom would be really angry if I let a woman carry a bag I’m perfectly capable of carrying.”

He takes it from my hands and I just watch him in bewilderment and say the only thing that comes to mind.

“You really don’t have to.”

“But I do,” Clayton says smoothly. “After you.”

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

I try to smile, but I can’t. I’m just a quivering mass of nerves. I walk past him, acutely aware of my size and his, and wonder what it would be like to be wrapped in his arms. I know it would be a pure, masculine embrace one that envelopes you, sucks you into warmth and passion, then culminates with the kiss you’ve dreamed about all your life.

Stop. Oh God, stop Sophie
, I think in annoyance. My mind is like a bad drunk. Once it starts there’s no end in sight. Ever.

I turn around to look for my moral support, Erik and Orie. But they are suspiciously absent and I’m left all alone with the most handsome man I’ve ever met in my entire life.

I look up at Clayton, who cocks a brow.

“Forget something?”

Just my sanity and the ability to breathe properly.
God, why are you so damn good looking?

I shake my head. “No. No, I think I’m good,” I say again.

“You’re fine, Sophie. Don’t worry. You’ll be taken care of.”

My heart flutters at his words. For the briefest second I think what it would be like to be taken care of by someone like him.

Five minutes later I’m sitting across from Clayton on the seaplane. It’s hot as hell and I can feel the sweat dripping off my face as the propeller’s noise roars through the small cabin. Instead of enjoying the view outside the window, I’m worried whether I’m sweating in a really unattractive way. We’re all wearing life jackets in case the plane goes down—not a very comforting thought—and the additional heavy layer doesn’t help the heat situation. Erik and Orie are across the aisle taking pictures and having a ball but I’m so nervous about being in such close proximity to this man that I can’t even manage a smile or enjoy the experience of being on a seaplane for the first time in my life. His legs are so long they practically cradle mine. It’s so intimate I get an adrenaline rush. The windows are slightly cracked in the seaplane to allow a light breeze. Clayton’s white linen shirt billows in the wind, exposing a beautifully sculpted, tanned chest. He leans back and laughs at something with his friend, revealing his perfect white teeth.

Seriously? Where’s the flaw?

“Take a picture, baby!” Orie shouts out to me. “
Smile, girl!”

The two lean over their seats and pull me in close. Erik lifts me up with an arm and puts a hand on my leg, squeezing me into his body as Orie takes a snap shot. I’m surprised when I feel another hand on my thigh and it’s not Erik’s. It literally burns through the thin material of my pants. Hot electricity rushes up my leg. What the hell? I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life.

“That’s really dangerous. You should sit in your seat.” I look from Clayton’s hand to his face. He’s leaned in nice and close to me. I stare at his perfect lips.

Oh Lord, there goes my breath again. Erik doesn’t say a word as I move away from him and sit back down. Clayton assumes his position, legs inches from mine, and smiles like he’s won something. And I realize he kind of has. I just listened to a complete stranger’s orders. What in God’s name is wrong with me?

He puts on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses and stares at me. Jesus.

They look really good on him.

The short flight to the resort is fast and bumpy but I don’t really mind because of the company I’m in. When the plane lands smoothly on the water I’m saved from the possibility of embarrassing myself again. I take a moment and just look at the sheer beauty of the tiny resort island. It is breathtaking. The water is crystal clear, heavenly, and looks extremely welcoming in this heat. Straw-thatched bungalows stretch out over the ocean and I’m struck by the allure as the sun hits the water in a perfect way, creating shimmers of light, like jewels in the sea. It could not be better. If I pictured heaven this is what it would look like. I can’t wait to pull out my sketchpad and start a Maldives-themed series. This place is a painter’s dream and is already giving me a feeling of sensory overload.

Once the seaplane pulls up to the dock, Clayton gets up and holds out a hand to help me. I blush again from the attention.

“Thanks.”

His grip is sure, strong, completely enveloping my hand and sparks shoot through my body. I tingle all over. His touch, a single touch, makes
me feel more alive than I have ever felt in all my life. Is this what real attraction is like?

He helps get me out of the plane, which is not so steady on the water as it sways in the current, and I end up falling right into his arms. My hands instinctually reach out and grab his chest for support and I gasp. The man is made of steel. And heat. I feel like I’ve been burned. Branded. I think I hear his breath hiss and I’m afraid I’ve landed too hard against him.

“I’m so sorry,” I say lamely.

“Don’t be.” He helps me regain my balance on the dock and then clicks open my life vest. “Let me help you with this.”

I keep reminding myself that I just met this man and here I am letting him hold my bag, take my life jacket off, and generally act like he’s known me forever.

“I’ve got that,” I tell him shyly. My hands move up and are instantly entangled in his. It happens again. The jolt runs up and down my spine. I look up at him, wondering if he felt it too, but I can’t read him.

“It’s done,” Clayton says softly as the jacket comes open. I step away from him quickly, needing space to breathe properly again. And not to be consumed by the heat of him.

3

We stand under the canopy next to the seaplane and wait for the W Maldives staff to take us to our villas. I look over at Erik and Orie and step close to them, needing their protection. Clayton stands a few feet away, stares at me for a second more then turns toward his friends, who’ve been watching the entire scenario closely. The women, I note, don’t look too happy with me or with him.

Three women from the resort walk over with wet towels and drinks. I take both gladly. I wipe my face with the towel and then take a long sip of the drink. I notice that Erik and Orie are suspiciously quiet. I raise a brow.

“What?”

“You know what,” Erik whispers.

“I think you might get laid on this trip,” Orie says a bit too loudly.