CHAPTER TWO
Elena slips down the hallway from the suite we share with our parents. Her short green dress shifts with each step and I worry for a moment about letting her out like this. How often do cute, blonde, American girls get kidnapped on vacation? I can’t let anything happen to my baby sister.
“Elena! Hold up. I’ll come with you,” I call to her as loudly as I’m comfortable with, which isn’t much since I don’t want to risk one of our parents hearing.
Elena turns back to me and cocks her head to the side as she sizes me up. “You aren’t dressed for the club and Dad will figure it out if you go back in now,” she loudly whispers back.
I steal a quick peek at my outfit as if I’ve forgotten what I have on. Am I in pajamas? My dark colored skinny jeans with sandals and a pink tank top isn’t horrible, but maybe not dance club material either. Not that I have any desire to go to a dance club. God, am I that old? I sound like a twenty-six-year-old grandmother.
“I’ll sit at the regular bar, it’ll be fine.” I try to reassure us both and walk in her direction.
The elevator takes us down four floors before depositing us in the massive lobby. The grandiose circular room with white stone pillars sculpted into a combination of fish and seashells looks the same at this later hour as it did this afternoon, but less people mill about the area. Our sandaled feet create a steady click against the marble floor. It’s almost peaceful rather than rushed like other times I’ve been here. I follow my sister to the left passing between two of the large columns set in a circle in the middle of the room.
Once we’re out in the open night air, the steady thump of the nearby club pulses through my body and my heart jumps with the beat. I won’t set one foot in there. Yup, it’s official, I’m old. Elena continues toward the club doors. Her hips swing more than they did in the hallway upstairs.
“I’ll be over here.” I point in the direction of the quieter area to my left, but she doesn’t look back, signaling her understanding with a wave above her head before passing through the two tall light brown club doors.
“Children these days. No respect,” a deep voice speaks behind me and the sound crawls up my skin, heating it in a familiar way.
I turn but can’t make out the person. The speaker’s face is hidden in the shadows. He’s stretched out on one of several white leather couches spaced around an outside fire pit. His feet, one crossed over the other, lazily perch on the edge of the stone circular pit as if it was there solely for his amusement.
Pure curiosity causes me to step closer. The small fire in front of him aligns with my new angle and grants a better view. I gasp when I recognize him, which causes a small laugh to escape his lips. Lips I’d planned to fantasize about back in the safety of my New York apartment.
The stranger I almost de-balled this afternoon grins at me from his place on the couch. The fire casts moving shadows on his face that could paint him with sinister traits if this were a horror movie, but I cross my fingers and bank on something more along the lines of the Hallmark channel as I go and sit on the couch. I’m beside him, but as far to the other end as physically possible.
I don’t realize he didn’t ask me to sit with him until I already am, and I panic for a moment, my eyes searching out an approaching girlfriend. Being this close to his chiseled jaw gives me mini eye orgasms. There’s no way this man isn’t already taken.
Almost as if he senses my discomfort, he sinks deeper into his corner of the couch and throws an arm across the back. The top half of his body is covered by a thin button down blue striped shirt, the sleeves up to his elbows. The wind creates a slight dip in the temperature at night here and while he’d be too hot during the day, it’s perfect for these cooler evenings.
Nervous with all the visual attention and not wanting to be caught staring at him, I clear my throat. I stick one leg under me on the couch, in a half Indian-style pose, and turn toward him.
“I hope you’re feeling better… you know… from…… um.” I stumble over my thoughts but wave my hand in the general direction of his junk.
His smile grows in size. “You mean are my balls feeling better after you tried to take them home with you?”
My eyes go wide at his comment. I open my mouth to respond but only produce a squeak. He throws his head back and releases a boisterous laugh at my expression. Realizing he isn’t angry, I join him in the moment. I’m not sure which is funnier, my inability to say the words or his blatant honesty with our earlier situation.
His beer sits on the end table behind him, and I try a better approach to break the ice. “Can I get you another beer?” It feels like the least I can do for the guy.
He reaches behind him to recapture the abandoned beverage. “Sorry. Your elbow may have roughly fondled me earlier, but I can’t accept a drink from a girl I don’t know.”
His joke breaks away more of my tension and I lean toward him with my hand extended. “Simone Stevens.”
Our hands connect and the warmth from his fingers reminds me how cold I’ve become in the short time I’ve spent on the couch. I’ll have to go back upstairs to get a jacket eventually, but I don’t want to leave here without his name first.
“Trey Good. It’s nice to meet you, Simone.” My name rolls off his tongue when he puts extra emphasis on the “one” making it sound almost dirty. If my mouth had been open, I might have been caught in a moan.
I’m reluctant to pull away, but I shiver from a sweep of breeze roaming through the patio we’ve taken up residence in. From the way Trey inspects his clothing for a moment, he must have noticed my chill but doesn’t have anything to offer me. The thought seems to make him remorseful if his pursed lips when his head raises are anything to go by.
My libido tempts me to ask for his button down shirt. I could easily make some comment about how the light blue shirt would pair well with my pink tank top, but I can’t openly flirt with someone I’m not sure is single. Plus, I didn’t feel anything with my elbow jab earlier today, but my ninja skills may strike fear in his manly bits now. At least that’s what I tell myself. It will make any impending rejection easier to handle.
“So where are you from, Simone?” He says my name again with his question, but it doesn’t sound as risqué this time.
Before I answer, a waiter in the standard hotel polo and black pants walks past our couch. Trey reaches a hand out and waves him in our direction.
“What are you having?” he asks.
“I thought I was buying?”
