The Reality of You (10 page)

He lifted his beer.
“I’ll observe from here.”

“You don’t know what
you’re missing,” I said over my shoulder, rushing toward the bar and far away
from him.

I joined the line
for the limbo dance. A group of tourist party girls were in front of me. Two
waitresses each held an end of the stick. For the first pass under, I boogied
under the stick like I was having the time of my life. The second time, I
glided under that stick, swaying my hips. By the third pass, a semi back bend,
the line had dwindled to six of us. Fourth time, I gently inched my way under
the stick. Finally, there were two of us in the line. For the fifth pass, I
scooted so low that my shoulders touched the ground, but I didn’t touch the
stick. The other girl did though.

And then I stood on
the stage next to the singer, who smelled like a very used pot bong. I was the
limbo queen of the night, complete with a plastic crown and a shot of rum.
Awesome prize.

 
Until they lit it on fire.

Chapter 11

“Wow,”
I said, yanking off the plastic crown and then releasing my ponytail. I leaned
my head on the back of my chair to stare at the stars. I was sitting back
outside on the deck with Reese. Luckily for my buzzed ass, there was only one
other occupied table in the opposite corner. “That fire rum went straight to my
head.”

“Liquid that has the
capability to burn would be potent,” Reese said dryly.

“Yadda, yadda, prep
talk.” I lifted my head and ran my hands through my freed hair. “I rocked that
stick though.”

A tight grin
flattened his full mouth. “Yes, you certainly did”—Reese lowered his chin—“rock
that stick.”

“Ha!” I let out a
hoot at the innuendo. “A guy would pick up on that. Even you!”

“Even me?”

“Yeah, you, Mr.
Business, out to make a name for yourself, probably out to be the richest guy
on the planet. But as a male, you wouldn’t miss
that
.”

“Out to be the
richest guy?” he echoed in a confused tone.

“Okay, maybe a bit
of an exaggeration. You’re quite driven though.”

“So you don’t think
I’m rich?” he asked in disbelief.

Something told me
that I was out of my element here—and it wasn’t the rum, more like his tone and
confused expression—so I cautiously said, “I think…I’m sure, compared to me,
you’re quite wealthy, just not Donald Trump rich. Yet,” I added with a smirk
for his ego. “I’m
quite
sure, one
day, you’ll be one of the rich and famous. Maybe even a billionaire.”

He stared at me for
several long seconds, his eyes wide, his mouth, to
my
surprise, slightly ajar.

“What?” I asked,
sensing again that I was somewhere in left field, picking dandelions while the
ball flew over my head.

“Nothing,” he
murmured, still appearing slack mouthed. He sat back as if registering some
momentous knowledge. After studying me for what felt like forever, he finally
lifted his scotch. “To your victory.”

“Um…thanks,” I
replied.

He set his glass
down with a clink on the glass table. “Watching you limbo, I was amazed.
Considering your past performances, I expected the dance floor to be
obliterated.”

Reaching for my ice
water—I had to slow down or it was going to be a hungover plane ride the next
day—I gave him a coy look, suddenly feeling a bit flirty—must have been the
rum. “Past performance?” I lowered my chin, copying him. “I don’t believe I was
that sauced the other night. Surely, I’d remember
that
.”

His gaze burned in
the low light. “Oh, you’d remember that.”

My stomach curled in
a fast coil of lust at how certain he was.

He pushed his empty
beer glass to the middle of the table. “First the soccer demonstration, and now
the limbo. Apparently, you aren’t without coordination. Were you purposely
sabotaging every resort activity?”

“Ah, no,” I said
slowly. “I… You make me nervous. You and sharks.” Rum also loosened my tongue.

For a second, he
appeared surprised then satisfied. “Why do I make you nervous?”

Because I’ve been watching you for over
seven months.
Oh hell
no.
Because you’re hot enough to melt my
panties off.
Really hell no. Thinking hard—like burst-a-brain-vessel
hard—within my buzz, I blurted, “Men in general make me nervous.” Lying worked
best as the truth revised.

Suddenly, he
stilled, frozen hotness across from me. “Why is that?”

“I, ah…haven’t dated
in nearly three years. Bad, bad end to a relationship in college left me
gun-shy.”

He blinked at me for
several long moments, his entire form immobile in astonishment. His body
gradually relaxed. “You haven’t been with a man in three years?”

“Something like
that,” I grumbled, not wanting to be reminded of my long dry spell. “I did say
almost.”

“Interesting,” he
said, staring at me and reaching for his scotch. He swirled the liquid in the
glass, his heated gaze on me.

My hands gripped the
arms of the chair. It seemed like I could see the thoughts swirling in his head
while the amber liquid swirled in my peripheral vision. Challenge. Seduction.
That hand holding the glass peeling back my clothes as I trembled with want and
trepidation. Moans. Lots of moaning.

Or maybe my
imagination was in overdrive, fueled from the rum.

He lifted the glass
to his lips, and I recalled that first time I’d seen him out of work at the
bar. I remembered the leggy woman’s pant as he’d drawn her to him, and in a
flash, images rolled through my head in which I was getting drawn against his
body then panting
and
moaning. I
seemed to have a huge moaning thing going on in my imagination.
 

Between his searing
eyes staring at me from over the rim of the glass and me wrapping my legs
around his waist in my imagination, I sprang up before I dove across the table
and attacked him all while moaning.

He set his glass
down. “Limbo round two?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the dance
floor.

“Ah…ha,” I said,
trying hard not to wring my hands in front of me like some virginal
schoolteacher. “My…ah…” I rambled. Reese’s brows rose slightly. I snagged my
empty water off the table. “I need another water. Mad, mad thirsty after all
that limboing,” I said, marching into the bar.

Inside, I didn’t
look back, just plopped down on a stool. I pushed my empty water glass toward
the bartender. “Refill, please,” I yelled since the music was loud.

As the bartender
filled my glass, I buried my hands in my face and tried to get control of my
emotions—or maybe hormones would be a better descriptor. My fingers dug into my
forehead. Okay, fine. I didn’t like Reese, but I was attracted to him. And
okay, fine. In my lust, I seemed a bit—a lot—superficial. Was it really that
bad that I wanted a guy I detested? I wasn’t a bad person. Maybe a bit of a
slut at the moment. We all had the freedom to get slutty, right? I mean, Jules
was kind of a slut, and I loved Jules to pieces. I dropped my hands with a sigh
and almost knocked over the water the bartender must have placed down while I’d
been considering my sluttiness.

None of my
hem-hawing mattered. It wasn’t as if anything was going to happen—well, except
in my overactive imagination, but that thought made me loathe myself more. Here
I’d panted after him and let my imagination conjure up intense gazes, whereas
he mostly likely considered me a circus freak.

Rum.

Too much and I turned
into an illogical idiot.

I pushed away from
the bar and grabbed my water, deciding it was time to go. Away from Reese, I’d
grow a brain and hopefully some
lady
balls.

Outside though,
Reese wasn’t at the table. I searched the dimness of the deck until I found him
standing at the bottom stair. He stood, facing away from me, apparently staring
at the luminous full moon over the ocean.

Dang nabbit. Just
what my overactive imagination needed. The dark. The romantic shine of the
moon. The soft lull of the waves hitting the shore. And Reese Jordon in
contemplation, holding a glass of scotch.

Imaginative moaning
echoed in my head at the sight.

Setting down my
water on the nearest table, I realized that I needed to tread carefully. My
overactive imagination could get me in trouble.

“Hey,” I said,
descending the stairs and stepping onto the sand to look up at him. “I’m
guessing you’re ready.”

He turned to me
slightly, his profile sculpted in shadow from the lights on the deck behind
him. His eyes glittered in the near dark as he stared at me. “Ready?” he echoed
in a deep voice.

Because he stood
above me, I moved around the stair rail, keeping something between us. “Ah, to
go?”

He took the last
step down. “Am I making you nervous?”

“Ha, naw,” I said
and waved an arm, my tone full of false confidence. “After all that work, you
kind of changed from man to slave driver.”

His brows lowered
and his jaw tightened. He moved closer. I refused to step back, though my body
screamed for space.

“So I’ve become
androgynous to you?”

I did step back
then, my heels hitting the trellis around the bottom of the deck. He smelled
fantastic. I had to smell like beach, sweat, and probably rum, while he smelled
spicy and dark and delicious.

“Well, I don’t know
about androgynous, but my nervousness evaporated more with each of your
demands.” I forced a slight smirk. “This week was probably a good thing for
me…ah…helping to conquer the strange nervousness around men that…that has…um…”
Was that a gleam in his gaze? And why did it have anxiety rolling through my
rum-soaked stomach? “That has kind of grown since I cut myself off—stayed away
from… Haven’t dated…”

Could sharks jump
out of the water? The ocean lay more than a hundred feet away. I wanted a shark
to swallow me whole and drag me to the deep, salty depths of the sea after that
ramble.

“Is that so?” he
asked lightly. He set his scotch on the railing behind me then grasped one of
the rails and leaned near me.

Too near.

“Now don’t get your
egotistical panties in a bunch,” I said lightly while my insides quaked.

“I’m not wearing my
egotistical panties,” he said in a tone that almost sounded dangerous. “I left
them back in prep school.” He leaned down closer. “This doesn’t make you
nervous?”

Fangirl squealed
inside me. I could feel the warmth coming off his body, and I wanted to feel it
more. Tension coiled in my stomach, but the challenge in his tone, in the air
even, had me holding my ground.

“Nope. Not in the
least.”

His lids lowered.
His gaze roamed over my face, stopping at my lips. He grabbed the railing with
his other hand, which meant that, although he wasn’t touching me, I was caught
between his arms and surrounded by him.

“What about this?”

Oh, my. Oh my. OH MY!
Fangirl about fainted. What the hell
was he doing? If I drew in a deep breath, my chest would rub against his. The
night had suddenly made a strange turn, and I felt lost, like I was groping in
the dark in another universe far, far away.

I cleared my throat.
“Um, this is just weird,” I said flatly. Unfortunately, with the last word, a
pant came out of me that sounded rather sexual.

“Weird?” he asked
from an expression like granite. He bent until his mouth was inches from mine.

My traitorous body
trembled in anticipation from his closeness.

A sly grin broke across
his lips. “Your response doesn’t seem weird. It seems rather typical.”

His words and breath
hit my face and lips like a soft caress. I was frozen. My brain told me to push
him away, but Fangirl and my body, drunk on his almost touch, a touch I had
dreamed about for months, were frozen in eagerness. Stupid, stupid body.
Especially when his ego had him so damn sure.

“My,
Mr.
Jordon, you’re egotistical. You
usually freak women out? ‘Cause this is a little too close for comfort.”

He bent even closer.
“I think you’re lying.”

Ah hell, I was
lying, but I
would
save face. “I
think
you’re
lying. You’re definitely
wearing egotistical panties.”
 

His glittering eyes
narrowed. He turned his head and slid his cheek against mine, his full lips
barely touching my jaw as his mouth moved near my ear. “You’re not a good
liar.”

As the deep timbre
of his voice echoed in my ear and shot straight down my spine, a breath escaped
me that sounded like a moan. Very slight. Maybe the music coming from the bar
had hid it. Or the cadence of the repeating waves.

A slight, sexy
chuckle escaped him. “From the sound of that, a very bad liar.”

So much for hope. I
brazed it out with words. “For being so uptight, you have quite the
imagination.”

In the dim light,
his eyes blazed with ire, his lips twisting in a tight, mocking line. “How
about you imagine this?” He bent forward, his bottom lip lightly brushing
across both of mine. That touch sent a zing of lust through my entire body.

When he did nothing
more, a garbled, frustrated moan escaped my throat.

“Liar,” Reese
whispered hotly before his mouth covered mine.

Though shocked, I’d
expected a punishing kiss that would break the spell of lust he had wound around
me. What I got was the slow, warm pulse of his firm mouth moving over mine. The
press of his upper lip sliding across my mouth. The lightly feverish glide of
his tongue. The taste of scotch. Each movement he made had me more inebriated
than the rum, even the fire-lit stuff. All coherent thoughts drifted into the
balmy night as his lips danced over mine in a soft caress and melted me, left
me boneless. Lifting my head, I opened up for him, tried to drink him and every
sluggish, sweet sensation in. I had wanted a toe-curling kiss, and Reese
perfectly delivered it.