Chapter 1
Darius
April
I’m not sure how I got myself into this mess. I avoid shit like this at all costs. My plate’s full with more than enough problems to keep me up at night. I lack the time or patience it takes to deal with a sad, teary female.
Unfortunately, I’m powerless to resist this one.
Five days ago, I agreed to go on spring break with my best mate Prince Esteban and his lady. Winnie enlisted her best friend’s help and brought her along to maintain the cover story they had going. Her family was under the impression that the two of us were dating. Esteban wanted to keep it that way, and I understood why. No need to let the Batistas interfere with this budding relationship they are building; better to keep them in the dark until the time is right.
It’s been fun, mostly. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the infamous Winnie; understand why she has Este in knots and chasing his own tail. It’s been entertaining to witness. My man isfalling all over himself, doing his best to sort out the chaos he’s caused, tripping as he goes.
Honeycakes, she’s good for him; making him work for it. No longer the same naïve girl, she’s truly coming into her own now. My man is learning how to live with her new, spunkier self. This is what he wanted—for her to grow into her own person. And that’s exactly what he’s gotten.
The problem I’m having isn’t them. No, the issue is this friend of hers.
Ingrid Lennox.
Before this trip, my knowledge of Ingrid was limited to a few sparse details, recounted by my best mate. She was part of his kid brother, Lorenzo’s, close-knit group. A girl who Este claimed was on the meek side.
Though Este never said it, I got the impression she was plain and not much to write home about. My life would be a lot simpler right now, had that been true.
Ingrid is anything but meek or ordinary. The woman—and yes, this young lady of just nineteen (a month shy of twenty) is a woman—has it all and a box of chocolates. She has curves in all the right places. Legs that go on for days. Even her eyelashes are a thing of beauty, kissing her cheeks each time she blinks.
I’ve stared at her ruby lips—full and heart-shaped—thinking things I shouldn’t since she boarded my private jet. She’s not even my type. Too young, way too mouthy, and an extra pain in my arse I don’t need.
My eyes shouldn’t be drawn to the strawberry blonde, whose hair tumbles down her back in thick, bouncy waves. I don’t like blondes, no matter the shade. Brunettes have always been more my type.
The final straw being her brashness, energetic presence, which I found challenging to accept at first. The speed at which she can verbally spar with a man is truly remarkable—me included. All week I’ve had a front-row seat to her artful deflection of the unwanted attention. Her usual response is a quick brush-off after a flash of her unimpressed blue eyes. Whenever she opens her damn sexy mouth, letting her words fly, my cock stirs as a nagging irritation blooms in my chest.
She’s a distraction I can’t afford, one I do not need or want. We clash. The woman is almost spiteful. She makes her feelings about me blatant, rolling her big blue eyes as she makes her words very clear. Calls me an arrogant, privileged man who’s oblivious to real-world struggles. She tolerates me because I’m Este’s mate. Each time Winnie laughs at something I say, a brittle, practiced smile appears on her face. To her, I am anything but amusing. She has no interest in being around me but won’t dare ruin this trip for her friend.
Which is fine by me. I can ignore it all and let it go. I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. People see what they want to see. They don’t look beyond the barriers I’ve built up to protect myself. Only my closest friends know the real me—the man hidden under the image I present to the world. To the masses, I’m the arrogant duke living my best life while traveling the world, breaking hearts along the way. A bachelor who’s playing the field.
And today, during our group outing, I didn’t exactly show her my best side. I pushed her buttons and riled her up. Why? Because it seems I get off on torturing both of us.
After a long day, Este seems to have had all he can take. On the walk to our condo, he proves it with his request.
“I’m thinking it would be nice to take Winnie out, just the two of us.” Este’s smile is like that of a man in love. “If you don’t mind, that is. Dinger said it was cool. She’s willing to entertain herself for the evening.”
Ingrid’s friends call her Dinger. I’m sure there’s a story about how that nickname came to be, but I’ve not heard it yet. It’san odd one, but I’ve never once heard her complain when our friends use it.
“So, you’re saying I’m cramping your style? You can’t woo your lady properly with me around?” I can’t resist teasing him. “Fine. I get it. Take Winnie out. Show her your suave moves. It’s cool, Stan-the-man. If I had a woman like honeycakes, I’d want alone time with her as well.”
As soon as we cleaned up, Este ran off to take his lady out for a night on the town. And since I’m on my own tonight, I head to the boardwalk. First, I’ll grab a bite to eat. After I’ve filled my belly, I’ll make my way to one of the bars off the beach.
I find a sweet open-patio restaurant. Savor my meal and enjoy the peaceful ambiance. It gives me a chance to relax and not worry about playing the game. Let down my guard and breathe for the first time since we arrived. With a satisfied stomach and the darkness of night upon me, I settle my bill and meander down the strip, searching for a bar that catches my eye. My plan is to sit down, have a pleasant drink, and scope out the place for some female companionship. If I find someone who catches my eye, I’ll see where the night ends. It’s been a few months since I’ve allowed myself to get lost in a woman. After this week’s bantering, I’m stirred up and need to relieve some sexual tension.
My attention is immediately captured. Not exactly the female I was looking for, but that’s the story of my life. One look at her seated at the end of the bar, all teary-eyed, sends a jolt through me that jump-starts my heart. For the first time, I notice she looks lost, and it’s unsettling. Like she’s ready to give up. It’s so unlike the spitfire woman I’ve hung out with all week.
Taking care of my friends is a top-priority of mine. Making it impossible to overlook any problem that upsets them. And while this woman isn’tmyfriend, she’s theirs. And that puts her in a special class all her own.
There’s no way I can ignore her after seeing her so upset. I can’t just walk away. That’s a character flaw I don’t possess, which is why I take a deep breath and do what I know is the right thing to do.
The worn wooden stool creaks slightly as I sit beside her. Reaching across her, I pick up her drink and take a slow sip. “Wow. That’s sure to kill some brain cells while erasing a few memories.”
“Kind of the point.” Ingrid doesn’t bother looking up, just sits there staring at the much less interesting napkin she’s torn to shreds.
