As we weave in and out of the ambling crowd and bicycles lazing by, I ask, “Who do you work for?” I’m curious what boss checks on their employee in the late evening, where he clearly told her he was going to pick up a woman.
He shrugs. “Technically I work for the government, but I guess you could say I provide protection for people they tell me to.”
“So, you’re in the Secret Service?”
He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
“You’re not going to tell me who you work with?”
“I would if I could, but I can’t talk about them. It’s kind of like a non-disclosure agreement. I swear, I’d tell you if I could.”
Although it’s strange, I believe him again. “Are they why you’re visiting the island?”
“Yes and no. I’m here with them, but I’m not working this weekend. On Saturday night I came to the Tiki Hut for a drink to get away from the group. I’m with them all the time. I was looking for a breather and instead I found you.”
“So you’re stalking me? Maybe I should run away now before I get lost in the underbrush,” I tease, knocking into his shoulder with mine as we walk side by side, although because of our height difference I hit his mid-arm.
“I assure you, if anyone is in danger of losing something here it’s me.” His voice is rough again, and I love the grate of it on my nerves. It’s so jagged it smoothes out all of my edges.
The hum of town eases into dimmed street lights and closed shops. Left with only an occasional tourist, we walk in a relaxed silence, until I ask, “Kyle?”
“Faith?”
“How do you know my name?” I peek in his direction to gauge his reaction to the question. I’m curious. When coming to the island I began using Harper, my middle name, as a fresh start—a way to bypass the media that could have followed me here.
Stopping abruptly, he turns and leans in until our chests almost touch. A shiver runs down my spine, not from chill, but the heat radiating from him to me. A small smile tips the side of his mouth, which I’m beginning to learn is his signature smirk. It transforms his naturally intense features into those of a cocky, fun-loving, beautiful man. We entwine our fingers, and mine graze over the hard ridge of his thighs. I have a glimpse of what it’d be like to have free rein to touch him everywhere. Hot and hard.
“Would you believe it just came to me? I sat in the sand watching you for days. Your hair would float behind you in the breeze, whip when you turned, and I imagined my hands in it, pulling and tugging until your mouth was turned up, waiting for mine. While I watched you, the wind whispered your name in my ear, and it felt right. Like it’s lived in my heart for thirty years and I just found it.” He grows serious, moving closer until my suddenly hardened nipples graze against his cotton-covered chest. Shit. This man is trouble, and I want to buy into it. I’m easily falling for his lines, the mint-flavored scent of his breath and the taut ridges of his body pressing closer with each passing second.
“When I kiss you, really kiss you, it’s going to be slow. So slow you’ll feel everything you’ve been missing and didn’t know you were. I’ll take gently, until you beg for it rough. Then I’ll give until you plead for me to stop, but I won’t. Not until you’re there, panting out my name, and I’m sure it’s living in your heart too.” His nose scrapes against mine, just enough for the shiver to grow into a small quake.
His grin broadens, taking me with it. “Is that too creepy?”
With a smile like that, nothing is creepy. It’s provocative, distracting to the point where I can’t remember the question I asked or why I asked it. This man—I’m held in his trance. I have an unnatural willingness to free-fall, follow his lead wherever it takes me.
“How can you do this to me?” I ask, mesmerized, a flush creeping up my chest. It’s not driven from embarrassment, but desire and need.
“What am I doing to you?” he murmurs, running his nose along mine again. I long for his mouth, not this tempting, taunting bullshit that’s driving me crazy, building a slow, pulsing burn in my groin. I don’t doubt for one second he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Pulling back just enough for our eyes to connect, we gaze at each other. Under the soft glare of a street light, for the first time I really look at him. Almost non-existent freckles scatter in a haphazard connect-the-dots across the top of his cheeks and the straight line of his nose. No one would notice them unless they were as close as I am now. His eyes, once thought to be colorless, have shards of ice radiating from a light pool of blue. Dropping down to his mouth, a Cupid’s bow lies atop a thicker version of the same. Without a doubt, I want it on me.
“I can’t think when you’re this close.” I find the strength to push away, the breeze cooling the intensity between us. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
Not wanting to separate completely, one of my hands remains tangled with his. The island is small enough that we’re at O’Toole’s in minutes. It’s set inland, behind a thick overgrown thatch of mangrove trees in an old part of town where mostly locals hang out. I rarely drink where I work, so this bar became a favorite of mine, not just for the anonymity but the company too.
Music washes over us as we near the door, old country twang playing in the air. Immediately the beat hits me and I start singing with Johnny Cash, “Ring of Fire”—one of my favorites. O’Toole’s is the kind of place you come to relax and let worries fade away, good people and good times.
Glancing at Kyle, his smile says it all. This is his kind of place too. I know it’d be easy to fall into him and get lost. A part of me wants that to happen. The thought of losing myself, even if it’s only one night, is more tempting than any proposition I’ve received this year. I want this.
My forced solitude has been an interesting companion. It allows for hours upon hours to contemplate what went wrong. What should have happened or could have if different choices were made but it’s a lonely existence.
When I came to the island, I made three simple rules: don’t get involved, don’t allow any man in my bed and never fall in love. Ever. These rules served as protection. Rules to ensure I’d never experience the complete devastation that forced my departure from New York. I don’t intend to break them with Kyle.
Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the thick air of the bar greets us, as does a gregarious “there she is” from Mickey, but I pause to think. Can I bend a rule? Can I trust myself to get involved for one night: only tonight?
Chapter Three
Kyle
I was convinced I’d hate any man touching Faith, but I’ll make an exception for Mickey. Not because I’m interested in a threesome. He reminds me of my granddad: thick gray hair, knowing hazel eyes and a calculating grin. As he approaches, he takes his time to check me out, I assume to make sure I’m good enough for his girl. Faith laughs as the two of us drag out our stares. Both willing to protect her from anything, gates of hell included, and he wants to make sure I’m not trying to take her there.
Breaking the stand-off, I offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mickey.”
His gaze lands on the extended offer for a second before he must decide I’m not the devil. Looking at Faith while shaking my hand, he says, “Kyle you say?”
Nodding¸ her cheeks flush when she says, “He’s visiting until tomorrow.”
“Hmmph, a traveling soldier.” His eyes are back on mine; he’s clearly displeased I’m short lived. “You can call me Mick, and we’ll go from there.”
“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Faith says, tugging on my hand. I’ll be damned if I won’t follow her and that round ass anywhere. I smile and thank Christ Mick’s behind us.