Once she does fall into bed with me, which is inevitable, I’ll get her out of my system. Oh, yeah. I’ll take my fill—which, if my inferno of a libido has any say in this, might take a fraction longer than my usual wham bam thank you ma’am.
Then I’ll return to Chicago and get on with my goddamn life.
It’s the challenge I’m getting wound up by, that’s all this is. Her sassy refusal. Her pixie-cute face with its impertinent little scowl.
I’ll wipe that pout right off those bee-stung lips, that’s what going to happen.
Tonight.
I’ll lay it on thick as fuck. Because I fucking feel like it.
Women love that shit. They like to feel spoiled and special. I can do spoiled and special better than anyone, you bet your ass I can.
I shower and put on jeans, a lightweight shirt and a jacket. I smooth my hair into place and call for a limo. I debate getting flowers but decide it would be over the top. Technically, this isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting that happens to include some live music.
I’m still not sure why I’m even bothering. And I’m tired of churning about all this. Last night was even worse than the night before. The dreams were even more intense. The lust that’s been exploding out of my body is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve morphed into a fucking cum fountain and it’s pissing me off to no end because I don’t usually have to resort to doing this a cappella. Ever, in fact. Until now.
But I’ve dealt with that. A lot.
And my cynicism has clicked firmly back into place.
Maybe I won’t even go ahead with the ridiculous offer for fifty-one percent of a mediocre business.
What the fuck was I even thinking?
Damn it. The blasé little hellraiser is really messing with my head. And other parts of me. I’ve jerked off so much my fucking cock is sore.
It’s in this state of mind that I arrive at the Sea Breeze. What kind of name is that, anyway? It’s cheesy-sounding. I’ll think about changing it and too bad if she doesn’t like my decision. I’m pissed off at myself for bothering with all this bullshit in the first place. I could be happily ensconced in a hot tub with two or three naked, willing women by now. I could be licking champagne off their fake tits and not giving a fuck about anything, like I usually do.
It’s at that moment that I see her.
She’s standing next to the railing of the deck, wearing a fitted sleeveless white dress that hugs her curves and hangs in a flouncy short skirt. Her legs are long and tan. Even from this distance I can see the color of her eyes, a staggered gradient of green, blue and gold. Her cute bob haircut is straighter than it was yesterday, sitting more smoothly and framing her face sort of … amazingly. Heart-breakingly. Ball-breakingly.
Fucking hell.
It’s even worse than the first time. And the second.
I scan the vision of her for flaws. Little details to criticize so I can at least try to tone down my reaction.
There are none.
She’s fucking perfection, that’s all there is to it.
She’s talking on the phone, laughing.
A strange urge lodges itself deeply inside my heartbeat.
I really, really want to make her laugh like that.
I have to remind myself to keep breathing. To not halt in my tracks just to stare at her.
Goddamn it.
Why is this happening to me?
I walk closer. Josie’s sitting in a chair, watching a jet skier out on the water as Luna talks on the phone.
“I miss you too, Owen,” Luna says. “I miss all of you. But I’m not ready to leave Key West. I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place. I love it here too much. You should come visit sometime.”
I know by now that Owen is Josie’s brother. I find myself wondering if she loves him like a brother … or something more. Then again, if she loved him like that, wouldn’t she want to go back to Iowa with Josie?
Why do I care so much?
“We felt the babies kicking this morning,” Luna tells him. “You better take such good care of her.” Her easy-going laughter hits me right in the middle of my chest. Like the hole is still there. “And tell Marlon he needs to come down here and try out one of these fishing charters. He’d go crazy for the fishing down here.”
She notices me then, and her expression takes on an annoyed, provoked edge, like my presence is a dark cloud raining all over her sunny day.
It’s true that this isn’t the first time I’ve had people look at me that way, not at all. People I’ve ruined or fucked and left in the dust.
Usually, I don’t care.
Today, I do. A whole fucking lot.
It’s a strange feeling. Like I’m losing my grip on something. The total control over everything that I usually bask in feels like it’s fraying at the edges, where she’s touched it with her golden aura.
WTF?
Maybe I deserve that look. I’m about to take over the controlling share of her beloved business and become the catalyst that sends her best friend back to Iowa. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s pissed off.
“Listen,” she says into the phone. “I have to go. I’ll call you once she’s on the plane. Yeah, maybe for Christmas. We’ll see. All right. Say hi to everyone for me. Bye, Owen. You too.” Luna ends the call and hands the phone back to Josie. “Look who’s here.” She doesn’t sound pleased, but I already have my plans in place to thaw out that little iceberg and break down every barrier she’s built. Until she’s coming in my mouth as I eat her sweet pussy. Until she’s melting around my cock as I fuck her hard and slow.
Goddamn it.
Jon Lester pitching a no-hitter against Kansas City.
Do. Not. Rise.
Josie watches me approach. I notice then the small stack of papers on the table in front of her. The contract.
“Good evening, ladies,” I say. My voice sounds strange. I sound … happy. “How are you tonight?”
“Hi, Gage.” Josie, at least, doesn’t have laser beams of hatred shooting out of her eyeballs. Probably because I’m about to give her a million dollars.
For half of this run-down old-school Florida bar.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I do that?
Because of the way Luna is watching me now, it’s as simple as that. I’m paying a million dollars for the opportunity to spend some time with this stunning little tomboy-nymphet, with her crazy eyes and her outrageously stunning face that—for reasons I can’t explain at all—makes me feel like I just won some kind of cosmic lottery. It’s a face I want to stare at. And kiss. Her body is only highlighting my problem. Especially in that tight little fucking white dress. I can faintly see the beaded tips of her nipples.
I think I’m about to lose my mind. I want to suck champagne off those nipples more than a man crawling across the Sahara in mid-summer wants a glass of water.
And I suddenly understand a lot of things I never understood before.
I’m having some kind of goddamn epiphany.