Taken (9 page)

“Come with me. I’m so close.” Your words are a husky rasp.

Flames ignite up my thighs, pulling them apart even farther, make my hips quake and my back arch. “Oh, God, yes!” I cry, throwing my head back into the pillow, enjoying the throbbing around my fingers, relief flowing over me like warm water.

“Ah, shit. Rachael, “You gasp and groan. I watch you stroke your tip lightning fast, come erupting out of you. You shudder, find my eyes and slide down the wall, spent, panting. I want to touch you so badly it hurts. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“How long were you standing there?” The thought of you watching without my knowing simultaneously excites and terrifies me.

“I said your name as soon as I saw what you were doing. I wouldn’t…do that. I told you I respect your privacy—always have.” You stand and clean up with your discarded t-shirt before fastening your shorts and lying on the couch, your head at the far end so you can see me.

I roll to my side and let myself get lost in your gaze. Neither of us says a word; we just appraise each other for the longest time. “You’re so beautiful and sexy,” you finally say. “I’ll never forget that.”

“Neither will I.” The vision of him pleasuring his incredible body while watching me sends pulses of heat between my legs. If I don’t stop thinking about it soon, we might have to have a repeat session.

You yawn, roll onto your side and curl your knees up. “Goodnight, sweet Rachael.”

“Sweet dreams,” I whisper.

You let out a low, guttural chuckle. “There won’t be anything sweet about the dreams I’m about to have.
Stimulating
, yes. Sweet, no.”

I smile into the pillow knowing I did this to you, and I’ll do it again.

The next morning I wake to a single yellow calla lily laying on the nightstand on top of a note written in scrawled, manly handwriting. With the flower in one hand, I hold the paper in the other.

This reminded me of you and last night. Beautiful with soft pedals leading into dark places I can only hope to touch. -M

The lily’s pedals fold back revealing a deep, dark, narrow cup where the flower meets the stem. It does resemble a certain part of the female anatomy. The gesture is sensual and full of meaning. I run the flower across my cheek smiling and flushing from head to toe. Never have I had the courage to touch myself in front of a man before…before you.

Another yellow calla lily lies at the bottom of the stairs on the floor in the entryway. I pick it up, and my eyes fall on yet another under the archway leading into the hall. One after another, they lead me through the lounge, out onto the patio and through the wrought iron gate.

The hot sun beats down on the ground still damp from yesterday’s storm making the day hazy and humid. Birds chortle and chirp in the tangle of trees and flowering vines. The air smells like honeysuckle and rain. Another flower lies on a chunk of broken pebble sidewalk that used to form a path to wherever you’re leading me.

I weave through the trees collecting my lilies. Up ahead, there’s a cloister—thick wooden beams and white stucco supporting the same red-tiled roof as the hotel. Underneath, you lounge in a rope hammock watching me. “Morning,” you call out. “You found me.”

I hold up the lilies. “It was hard not to.” I make my way over to you. The covered walkway encloses a square courtyard with a pool in ruins in the center. Palm trees tower over the rubble from each of its corners. Tiny multi-colored tiles that once lined the pool lie scattered and broken in the grass and piled in the bottom.

“Wow,” I say. “It’s beautiful even in ruins.”

“It is beautiful.” You hook your finger around mine. You’re looking at me though, not the courtyard. “I have something for you.” You reach down beside you and hold up my wristlet—the one I had at the club the night you took me. “I charged your phone if you want to make a call.”

My fingers wrap around the wristlet, and I clutch it to my chest. You trust me to have my phone? “Aren’t you afraid of who I’ll call?” What if I call the police?

You sit up, your chest still bare from last night, and train your despondent eyes on mine. “After last night…” A heavy sigh passes between your lips. “I can’t make you trust me. I know what I’ve done to you. You either do or you don’t.”

“That’s a lot to ask someone you’ve only known a few days.” I lower onto the hammock beside you, sliding down into the center, our shoulders and thighs press together tight.

“It’s been…” You reach up and brush a piece of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “An intense few days.” You put an arm around my waist. “Here, lean back and look up.”

I let you pull me down beside you so my head rests on your warm shoulder. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” My eyes follow your finger, pointed up to the top of one of the wooden beams supporting the roof.

“Do you see those initials up there, A.W. plus I.B. with a heart around it?”

I squint and tilt my head toward yours a little. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Do you know who they were?” Your finger comes down from pointing above us and loops through my hair, wrapping a strand around it.

“No. Should I?”

You turn your head to face me. Your nose glides across my cheek and up through my hair over my ear. “I thought you knew everything about Turtle Tear Hotel. Does the name Archibald Weston ring any bells?”

“A.W.—he built the hotel.” I fight the distraction of your warm breath on my neck.

“I.B. was Ingrid Burkhart, his wife.” Your finger loops through my hair; your nose nuzzles my ear. “Well, eventually she was his wife. He built this hotel as a surprise to win her over. When it was finished, he showed up on her doorstep and whisked her away, bringing her here. She never wanted to leave.”

I gaze up at the initials etched into the almost century old wood. “Is that where you got the idea?”

“It crossed my mind.” Your chuckle sparks goose bumps over my chest and down across my stomach. Your finger traces from my temple down to my chin. “If I offered to take you home, would you stay anyway, Rachael? Just for a little while longer?”

My conflicted mind starts pushing and pulling, emotion, passion and desire pitted firmly against logic, reason and morals. “Don’t offer. I don’t want to have to think about it.”

“I think maybe you have,” you whisper, “and that’s why you don’t want me to offer. You’re afraid you’ll stay here with me.”

I place a finger over your lips. “Shh. Don’t. It makes my head hurt thinking about it.”

Your tongue traces my fingertip before you take my hand away and hold it in yours. “Are you hungry? You have to be. We didn’t eat much dinner before things, um, took a turn last night.”

“Strangely, I’m not. I think I had too much wine. My stomach’s a little queasy.”

You dangle your leg over the side of the hammock and nudge your toes on the patio, rocking us gently. “I like my boxers on you.”
 
And off of you,
lingers unspoken between us.

“What’s your timeline for the hotel renovation?” I have to stop this steam train before it derails me again.

You kiss my knuckles before answering. “That’s up to you.”

“I’m not the project manager, remember?”

“You can call yourself whatever you want to, but you’re here now. I told you this place is yours.”
 
Your dark eyes flicker up to the initials carved on the wooden beam, leaving my heart to beat wildly in speculation of what’s running through your mind. “Yours to do whatever you want with.” Your hand holds mine firmly against your chest, directly over your heart.

“Merrick…” I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know what that means.”

You turn to me again, your lips brush my cheek as you say, “It means I want you to stay here with me, Rachael. I want you to make this hotel into your dream—however you envision it. I want to give that to you.”

“Why? I know you said you heard the passion for this place in my voice when we talked on the phone, but that’s no reason to bring a woman you don’t know down here and ask her to stay. Merrick, you don’t know me.”

You push up on your elbow and gaze down on me. “What do I need to know? A driven, smart, beautiful woman is in love with this hotel—just like I am. She turned it down. It’s impossible to think about anyone else working on it. I swept her away like Archibald Weston with Ingrid Burkhart.” You rub your thumb over my cheek. “Nobody else belongs here. I don’t want to share it with anyone else. Turtle Tear’s story won’t be complete if you’re not in it, Rachael.”

God, what happened to the business savvy man I thought you were, and who replaced him with this gorgeous, romantic creature lying beside me with his eyes melting into mine.

“You know I don’t have a job,” I say. “I’ll have to go back and find one. I can’t live without money, and I can’t take this on as a full time position. I’ve already turned it down—my mom will be coming home—” Your hand clamps down on my mouth, and you grin widely.

“I’ll take care of you here. Don’t worry about anything. Your obligations will be met. Shannon will get her half of your rent. All your other bills will be paid. Everything will be taken care of.” I shake my head no, but you won’t take your hand off my mouth to let me refuse you. “Consider it a consulting fee if you have to.”

I bite your finger and you snatch your hand away.
 
The shocked expression on your face makes me laugh. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“A grown woman biting me? Well, I can’t say it’s never happened before, but…”
 
You laugh and pull me up off of the hammock with you. “So will you keep the pool here?”

With my hand in yours, I follow you out into the courtyard. “I haven’t said I’ll do it.”

You take both of my hands and stand facing me. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want me to offer to take you home, so you’re going to be here, but you haven’t agreed to plan the renovations. So,” you lean in and kiss my jaw, barely at the edge of my lips, “Rachael, why are you here?”

“Because you brought me,” I say, resting my hands on your pecs and letting my head drift back as you kiss my neck.

“Why are you staying?” you whisper, tugging on my earlobe with your lips.

“Because of this.” The words are out before I knew they’d been on my tongue. I don’t remember thinking them. It’s a completely blatant response.

“I was hoping that was the case.” You pull me against you and press your lips to mine. Your kisses are slow, savoring every second. These aren’t the urgent, frantic kisses of last night. These are slow and painfully sensual.

My fingers spread on your chest feeling more of your skin. Your tongue hasn’t touched mine, and I ease mine out to find yours. You pull your mouth away, grinning. “Keep it slow. We have all day.”

“I thought I was in control of this?” I lift my brows at your smug expression.

“You kissed me, so kisses are fair game.”

“Oh, you got the green light, so now you’re taking over?” I pull away and jab my hands on my hips.

You smirk and your dimple dips in your cheek. “I apologize, ma’am. You have full authority over all physical contact between us.”

“Ma’am,” I mutter. “You make me sound like your grandmother.”

You grab me around my hips and lift me up off my feet. “How about sex kitten? Is that better?”

I slide down your body as you slowly release me and latch onto your lips again. “Sex kitten sounds like I’m a porn star,” I say between kisses.

“You kind of were last night. My own private show.” You breathe out heavily into my mouth. “I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

“Me neither.” I take your bottom lip into my mouth and tug before letting go.

“You were so hot.” Your tongue traces under my upper lip.

“So were you.” You lift me back up and cup my butt, urging me to wrap my legs around your waist. I smile against your lips. “What happened to taking it slow? We have all day, don’t we?”

You groan and lean your forehead against mine. “You’re right. And you are a sex kitten, getting me all worked up again.”

“Calling me a sex kitten implies we’re having sex.”

“Maybe we will.” You touch your nose to mine.

“Maybe we will. Maybe we won’t.”

“It’s your call.”