The Reality of You (5 page)

My room was amazing.
Decorated in various muted-tan tones and a cream bedspread, it appeared elegant
yet subdued—I think that’s how Jules would have described it. My bags were
already there, sitting in front of the closet. Beyond the sliding glass doors
was a small balcony. Beyond the balcony were palm trees. And beyond those, I heard
the ocean.

I stood there for a
moment listening to the rolling waves. I’d be spending the next week with Reese
Jordon. Never mind that I had no idea where he’d gone. I’d just follow the
itinerary. I let out a sigh into the ocean breeze then strolled back into my
room, shutting the curtains behind me. Inside, I danced around the king-sized
bed.

I was spending the
next week with Reese Jordon!

Chapter 5

Pilates.
At nine a.m.

Yuck.

Pilates. At nine
a.m. with Reese, er…Mr. Jordon.

Yum.

I worked out. Daily.
I usually ran four days a week and cross-trained the other three. I had played
soccer since the age of four—on a traveling team from nine to thirteen, all
four years of high school on varsity, and almost four years of college. The last
year of college had been cut in half by the accident. After the awful car
accident, I’d spent a year in physical therapy, working my ass off to get back
in the shape I was—or as close to it as possible. Exercise and training had
always been part of my life.

But because Pilates
didn’t include shoes and required balance, I hadn’t jumped on the gym craze to
take classes like most people. The accident had left me with one leg slightly
shorter than the other. I always wore a specially made instep in my left shoe.
If it weren’t for the chance of seeing Reese work out, I would be dead set
against this whole thing. Would have claimed being sick or something. Yet the
lure of Reese was too much.

Though I was ten
minutes early, I ran into Reese in front of the spa. I would have been even
earlier, but I’d checked my hair and makeup at least four times. Like me, he
was dressed in tight running shorts and a sports tank. He must work out daily
too because holy hell. He was all solid muscle. The tank stretched across his sculpted
chest and showed off his muscled arms. The shorts hugged his powerful thighs.
All of that paired with his dark hair, a cut jawline, and intense eyes and the
man could have easily modeled for the cover of one of the many romances I
devoured weekly.

While I tried not to
ogle or drool, my hands tingled, itched, and sweated with the urge to touch
him. Fangirl bubbled up inside me again, Snoopy-dancing and letting out
screams. Just being close to him felt surreal.

“Good morning, Ms.
Porter,” he said with a curt nod, his square jaw cutting into the air as he
stepped up to me. “I’m aware we were separated last night. I’ll let it go
today. However, I would like to convene each morning in my suite at exactly
eight to preview the day.”

“Okay, yeah,” I
said, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my running shorts. “Um…where is
your suite?”

“We’ll go there
after our workout,” he replied curtly.

Even though he had
already turned away and dismissed me, a smile nearly broke out on my face. I
was going to Reese Jordon’s suite. Him and me and a meeting. I followed him to
the front desk in a dreamlike—okay, more like hormonal—state.

“Welcome, Mr.
Jordon,” the pretty receptionist behind the desk said with a warm smile. She
ignored me standing behind him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a private
class?” she asked, her gaze roaming over him.

“Perhaps another
day”—Reese glanced at her nametag—“Mariah. We’d like to experience the workout
with a class today.”

Mariah’s smile
stayed in place but didn’t appear as warm. “Well, then let me escort you to the
room.” Mariah sashayed ahead of us, her Kimono-like wrap swishing with each
step.

As I tried not to
stare at the man—specifically his butt—in front of me, she led us to a huge
room with a vaulted ceiling and a wall of windows that offered views of a soft
sand beach and breaking waves of the ocean. The view was beautiful and serene.
Hopefully, it would help keep my eyes from straying to Reese’s body.

Mariah instructed us
to remove our shoes and pick any of the mats lying in two rows across the
floor. Then she told us that the instructor would be here momentarily.

I slowly took off my
shoes and even more slowly followed Reese to the front line of mats. If I tried
to move fast in bare feet, I wobbled like a penguin. So
not
how I wanted him to see me. Soothing-sounding music filled the
room. I wasn’t soothed. He sat on a mat and began stretching. I did the same,
peeking at him and his moving muscles between reaching out and touching my
toes.

A few people
trickled in until the front row of mats was full, and within minutes, a blond,
thin woman stepped in front of the window. The living Barbie doll introduced
herself. I didn’t catch the name. I was too busy watching Reese’s reaction to
her. To Fangirl’s glee, he didn’t have one. His handsome features remained
stoic. Tall and willowy with a rack even I envied, the blond instructor
appeared the opposite of me. I was mid-height and slender but compact and
muscular.

Barbie began leading
us through some warm-up stretches.

Reese’s flexing
biceps in my peripheral vision. Then his taut thigh. After that, a sliver of
his lovely abs as he stretched up.

Concentrate, Naomi! Quit ogling the
man!

Strangely—or maybe
it wasn’t strange—my inner conscience’s voice sounded a lot like Kara.

I kept my eyes on
Barbie for the most part and copied her moves, which were starting to remind me
of a pretzel—or at least they were making my body feel like one. Surprisingly,
a thin sheen of sweat soon covered my body. Unfortunately, Reese’s muscles began
to shine too. Shiny, golden, luscious skin inches from me.

As I reached and
stretched, Kara’s voice screamed at me,
Stop
looking at him!
Do NOT touch!

This was harder than
I had anticipated. Besides the squawk of my stomach muscles contorted in a half
back bend, Reese’s body was next to me with his abs in a lickable position. I
was quite sure that his ‘secretary’ licking him during Pilates would be frowned
upon.

You think?
the inner Kara voice sarcastically
asked.
 

Forcing myself to
concentrate on Barbie and the current torture she was committing on my body, I
somehow kept my gaze from Reese’s body for most of the stretches.

During what I
guessed was the cooldown, we all stood a few feet apart, reaching sideways, and
I faced the taut flex of Reese’s muscular ass. Wow. Almost three years without
sex suddenly caught up with me. Big time. A flush shot through my body, hitting
each erogenous zone, and I snapped my head forward from the zing.

Which turned out to
be a bad, bad thing.

Contorted awkwardly
and on uneven legs, I completely lost my balance and fell sideways, crashing
into Reese, who lost his balance and crashed into the person next to him. And
on it went, a domino effect of grunts and groans that rang out as I lay on the
floor, facing the ceiling. Regrettably, the floor didn’t cave in and swallow me
up.

Reese’s bare foot
rested inches from my red face.

Of course Barbie ran
to him first.

“Oh no! Oh my!” She
kneeled before him as I struggled into a sitting position. Hand running down
his bicep, she asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said,
eyes on me while she helped him up.

Cringing, I glanced
away and then cringed again, watching the row of people push themselves up. The
combination of Reese’s continuous glare along with all the people behind him
had me mumbling, “I’m sorry. I lost my balance somehow.” The glares didn’t
change much as they rubbed different body parts. Necks. Hips. Backs. “I hope no
one’s hurt,” I squeaked out.

“Well, at least I’m
awake now,” an older man at the end of the row said, his tone overly sarcastic.

I frowned and
grumbled, “Sorry,” again.

Barbie had procured
a pile of towels and handed them out—Reese first of course. “Maybe the
beginner’s class would have been a better choice,” she said without looking at
me.

I was quite
mortified and truly sorry I had caused these people to get hurt, but Barbie and
her perfectly equal-length legs could go fuc—

“Let’s go,” Reese
said with an uncompromising nod toward the door.

Hobbling—due to my
old and new injuries—toward the exit and my tennis shoes, I kept my mouth shut.

Reese marched in
front of me. Once we got outside to the patio area, he spun around, his entire
body a livid whip. “I thought you were athletic…a basketball player or
something equally active?” His voice was low, his face smooth, yet the sleek,
tense line of his body conveyed his irritation.

Thoroughly
humiliated by the domino fall and now his disbelief, I somehow said, “Soccer. I
played soccer from the age of four to twenty-one.” I almost added that I would
have been on the Olympic team if it hadn’t been for a car accident, but that
didn’t seem appropriate at the moment. But I was still athletic. I just needed
shoes to balance me out. And more concentration when around Reese.

His mouth stayed
tight. His eyes narrowed as they swept over me, and if I had been red faced
while lying on the floor, I had to look like a damn beet as those hazel orbs
took in
my
biceps, the tight line of
my
stomach, and the hard curves of
my
thighs. I felt embarrassed that he
didn’t believe me, along with having to endure his lengthy, intense perusal of
my body, which was humiliating.

He only checked me
out because he thought I was a liar.

Which had me
slightly upset.

Okay, maybe very
upset.

I’d been checking
him out for forever, while he had obviously not noticed me. I might not be a
raging beauty or a willowy, big-boobed Barbie, but my body was rocking tight,
and I’d just stretched it two feet from him for an hour. I didn’t expect him to
be captivated. But he
should
have at
least noticed a leg, an ab, a something. Clearly, I wasn’t even a blip on his
screen.

His stare snapped up
when he reached my ankles.
He
studied somewhere above my head.
“But
no Pilates?” he asked incredulously.

“Um, no. More
running and weight lifting, muscle- and endurance-building stuff.”

When his eyes
finally met mine, his gaze was as incredulous as his tone. “Have you ever scuba
dived?” I shook my head. “Golfed?”

“A few times,” I
said.

“Horseback riding?”

“Once.”

“Kayaking?”

“Nope.”

His full lips thinned.
“Apparently, I need to change some of the itinerary.”

Somehow in the mist
of his disappointing gaze, I kept my expression smooth.

He sighed. “Why
don’t you go change? Then we’ll reconvene in my suite.”

My brows lowered at
his tight tone. “I don’t know where your suite is.”

He turned away from
me, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll send someone to bring you in an hour. Just
get dressed and be ready to work.”

Obviously, my
employer was irritated with me.

For good reason.

I
hated
Pilates.

Chapter 6

Looking
suavely secretarial, I followed the bellhop down a short stone path past the
tropical pool area. My outfits had each been packed in garment bags courtesy of
Jules. She didn’t trust me dressing myself. Today, I was wearing a pale pink skirt
that reached my knees, a white sleeveless blouse with a wide collar, wedges
with an open toe, and a long, silver necklace. An outfit I never would have
picked out, even back when I’d wanted to look good. People assumed girl jocks
were tomboyish. Other than my propensity for ponytails, I’d always been more
girly than tomboy. At least before the stuck-in-depression thing. Depressed, my
style had been all about pajamas. But Jules was a whole other level that went
beyond fashionista.
 

At the end of the
path, we came to a tall, wrought-iron gate in the center of a taller brick
wall. The bellhop slid a card into the lock and held the gate open for me.
Though confused, I hiked my bag securely on my shoulder, thanked him, and
strolled through the gate. Lush palm fronds lined the path leading to a small
limestone patio overflowing with tropical flowers. In the corner, under more
palm fronds, two wicker chairs faced a gurgling stone fountain of entwined
dolphins.

What the heck was
this?

Beyond confused, I
gradually made my way to the gleaming wood door and, after a moment’s
hesitation, knocked lightly. In less than a minute, Reese opened the door. He
was wearing
 
black dress pants and a
white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. First the workout
clothes, and now casual. Used to him in suits, I was a little overwhelmed with
the gleaming skin of his forearms
and
the open vee of golden skin at his collar. His eyes quickly swept over me as he
opened the door wider.

“You’re eight
minutes late.”

“Sorry,” I said
instead of blaming it on the bellhop, who had been late to get me. Reese was
stuck with me for a week; the bellhop most likely needed his job.

At his stiff nod, I
forced a slight smile. I strolled past him into a room with vaulted ceilings, plush
couches, a fireplace, a long dining room table, and a wall of windows. Past the
windows, a small pool surrounded by more greenery and tropical flowers shone in
the bright sunlight.

Stunned and
overwhelmed, I turned toward him as he shut the door. “What is this place?”

His nostrils flared
in evident annoyance. “My suite.”

Openmouthed and in
total awe, I blinked at my surroundings. A fireplace? A private pool?
Seriously? This was mad ridiculous.

After a shake of his
head at my expression of awe, he brushed past me, already irritated. “I’m set
up at the far end of the table.”

So much for my
luxurious room. It was a dump compared to this.

I followed him to
the long table, where he had his computer set out amid stacks of papers and pictures
of the resort. He pulled out a chair on the side then sat at the head of the
table. Face impassive, he waited as I dug out my iPad, paper, and pens.

Once I appeared
ready, he lifted a yellow legal pad and began giving me directions that I
quickly jotted down on a notepad.
Take
notes at all meetings with management and write a report due to him the next
morning. Write a report on all activities. Again due to him the next morning.
Pay attention to staff attentiveness, keep a log, and write a final report. Pay
attention to the food and food service for each meal, keep a log, and write a
final report.

My head swam with
all of his directions as he pushed a stack of papers at me. My pen paused,
actually slightly shook, when he explained that the stack contained the latest
data on the hotel and I needed to present it graphically. I was suddenly back
in college in the dreaded class where the professor expected too much. But at
least then I had a semester. Not a week.

He paused reading
his notes, tapped his index finger on the edge of the notepad, and looked at me
pointedly. Keeping my mouth shut, I continued scribbling out his demands. He
sat back and kept going and going and going.

Reports. Charts.
Documents. Notes. Logs.

I wanted to scream
and pull my hair out. Instead, my shoulders slunk with the weight he put on
them each time he opened his luscious mouth as I continued taking notes.

Before I collapsed
from all his expectations, a knock sounded at the door. Swimming in an
abundance of demands, I wasn’t fazed by the sound. He gave me another pointed
look. I stared back at him in confusion. His eyebrows rose, and I gradually
realized that he wanted me to open the door.

Feeling woozy from
the list he’d imparted, I pushed away from the table and moved toward the door.
Stone-faced servers and their carts waited in the little courtyard outside. At
the thought of food, my stomach gurgled. At the thought of a break, my brain
rejoiced. I opened the door wider.

Standing, Reese
instructed the servers to set everything up on the opposite end of the table
then removed his phone from his breast pocket and disappeared down the hallway
beyond the fireplace. On the end of the table we weren’t working on, the
servers laid out a table cloth, china, silver, white wine, bottled water,
flowers, and several covered dishes, all while retaining formal stone faces.

Slightly
uncomfortable, I stood to the side.

One server nodded
briskly as they left me alone with the savory scent of lemon garlic in the air
and an open bottle of wine. Both called to me. I craned my neck down the
hallway, ears super observant. The suite remained quiet.

After peeking down
the hall a few more times, with my mouth watering for several reasons, I went
back to my chair and my notes. The length of the notes had me gazing at the
wine bottle with longing. When Reese didn’t appear, I began flipping through
the pages and pages of data, trying to ignore the other smells my nose picked
up.

Was that pineapple?

Half an hour later,
though my stomach rumbled loudly in the silent room, I had most of the data
organized in piles when Reese finally came back. He drew out a chair by the
food.

“I thought we’d
discuss food expectations in the privacy of my suite prior to dinner tonight.”

Food expectations?
Forcing myself not to groan—I simply
wanted to inhale whatever sat under those covers at this point—I grabbed a pen
and paper then made my way to the chair he had pulled out. It was not lost on
my sense of irony that I was having lunch with the man I’d been watching during
lunch for months.

He filled my water
glass with bottled water. “I’m not expecting you to be a professional food
critic. However, you should be able to report on service, appearance, and of
course, taste.” He lifted the bottle of wine from the ice bucket. “And wine
pairings…” He paused, holding the wine above my glass. “You drink wine?”

I nodded.

He poured me a third
of a glass. “How familiar are you with pairings?”

“Never met him,” I
said with a laugh.

Reese’s winged brows
lowered a tad. I wanted to add,
Is it a
her?
I kept my sarcastic mouth shut.

Though a slight tick
creased his cheekbone, his expression stayed serious. “The wine should
complement the food. You’re essentially at work, but drink enough to make a
judgment on that. Simply take notice of the flavors and contribute your
opinion.”

Drawing in my
sarcasm, I wrote down more directions. This secretary stuff sucked ass.

Reese took covers
off the food. Shrimp in what appeared to be a garlic sauce lay over grilled
pineapple slices. A salad of exotic fruit and greens speckled with cashews
stared at me next. And lastly, I nearly drooled at the little cakes with slices
of candied bananas on top.

It was way past
noon, my normal lunchtime. I was a breakfast, lunch, dinner, and two snacks a
day kind of girl. One of the bonuses of being athletic equated to a healthy
appetite that didn’t cause my ass to grow. Since I’d eaten little last night on
the plane then skipped breakfast in my pursuit of looking good this morning, I
was starving, but the vision of me stuffing food in my face as Reese stared at
me in horror—worse than this morning—kept me from diving onto the middle of the
table.

Continuing with his
wine bullshit, he put a portion of shrimp and salad on each of our plates.

My nails dug in my
thigh under the table so I didn’t try to nab something off my plate while I
continued scribbling crap about aroma, body, and balance. His never-ending
directions were torturous.

Finally, Reese
reached for his fork and knife.

I put my pen down and
reached for my utensils as he chewed then took a sip of wine.

He studied the
golden liquid in the glass. “The combination has a nice balance. The wine
shouldn’t overpower the taste of the food or vice versa. And the aromas of the
wine pair well with the seafood and fruit.”

What-the-fuck-ever.
My father was a school custodian and my mother a nurse. I worked as a tech in a
basement. This wine stuff seemed a bit too fufu for me. Plus, I was starving.

Resisting an eye
roll, I sawed a shrimp and pineapple in two, speared that sucker, and popped it
in my mouth. It tasted as delicious as it had appeared. My eyes closed in food
ecstasy as I chewed the tender shrimp and tangy fruit, a luscious combination
of flavor. After swallowing the delicacy, I sluggishly opened my eyes, ready to
spear that other half.

Reese was staring at
me, his mouth open and his gaze piercing.

My
mouth started falling open at the sight of his face until
his expression changed in the blink of an eye.

From thinned lips,
he said, “You need to taste the wine with the food.”
 

Confused by the look
I must have imagined and provoked by his detached tone, I robotically popped
the other half in my mouth and lifted the wine toward him. At the taste of the
fruity wine mixed with the garlicky shrimp, my annoyance vanished from the
orgasm in my mouth. Whoa and yum. This wine stuff wasn’t bullshit. Was there a
wine that paired with Doritos? I wondered, closing my eyes again at the
combination of flavors.

When I opened my
eyes, Reese gaped at me, his eyes blazing, his hands clenching the edge of the
table.

Ignoring what must
be his constant irritation, I cleared my throat and tapped the wine glass
lightly with my fork. “I think it pairs well. The wine definitely complements
the shrimp and grilled pineapple, even the garlic,” I said, pretty much
rambling.

He started cutting
the food on his plate, his forehead creasing. “See how it pairs with the
salad.”

Orders from
headquarters, I loaded my fork with the fruit and greens glistening with a
peppered dressing. After a few chews, I took a sip of wine and held in a moan.
He was going to make me a wino—a big fat wino because I planned on drinking
wine with everything now. Doritos, yogurt, dips, pizza…cereal? There had to be
a wine that paired with Cocoa Puffs.

At his look of
question, I said nonchalantly, “The wine pairs well with the salad too… Um, it
doesn’t overpower it.”

He nodded, continued
eating, and scrolled through his phone, which sat on the table next to his
plate.

All right, facts
faced. Reese would be a horrible date. At least until the end of the night. I
had to believe that, after all of my day dreaming, in bed he’d be on par, or
better, with the men in the books I read. I almost flushed with that thought
and forced myself to concentrate on eating.

The silence was
uncomfortable, the food delicious, and the wine in my glass gone within three
more bites. I considered pouring myself some more, but he didn’t pour more for
himself, so I drank my water and refrained from glancing at the wine bottle
with longing.

The little banana
cakes were awesome—along with the splash of wine I got to pair with them. Too
soon, we were back to the other end of the table and more notes, including the
changed itinerary, for the next half hour. Though sexy and deep, the man also
had a monotone voice. It droned and droned and droned like nails on a
chalkboard. When he said that I could return to my room to work prior to our
round of golf, I practically fled from his suite.

Imagine that.

Me.

Desperate to escape.

Him.