Page 52 of Sunburned

An alibi is only worth anything if everyone stands by it, and he’d made it very clear that if he felt threatened, he’d have no qualms about throwing me under the bus.

It was up to me to make sure that didn’t happen.

Chapter 15

After the text I’d received from Rosa, my mood was far from celebratory, but there was nothing I could do about my predicament tonight, and the last thing I wanted to do was go home early and risk facing Tyson. So, I downed my wine and painted on a smile as we tripped down the boardwalk toward La Petite Plage, hoping to be numbed by the alcohol and buoyed by the exuberance of the group.

A yacht was docked in front of the club, the group of people on board singing along with the French pop song that emanated from its speakers. Men with their shirts partially unbuttoned and women in dresses as short as mine sat at tables on the sidewalk, smoking and laughing, moving to the music that emanated through the windows. I wished I felt nearly as carefree as they seemed to.

Laurent spoke to one of the bouncers, who ushered us inside, the bass booming as a guy in a black vest over a white button-down led us into a room with a high slatted wooden ceiling lit by dangling wicker-caged lights. At one end of the room was a bar where the waitstaff danced in unison, colored lights sliding over their skin, and two full sides of the space were lined with giant windows through which the harbor was visible.

As soon as we arrived at our booth, our waiter brought over a magnum of Dom Pérignon with fizzing sparklers and a glowing green label, holding the bases of two flutes in his mouth as he poured champagne into them. I gratefully accepted one as the music grew louder and Samira and Gisèle clambered onto the table, hips swaying to the music, beckoning for me to join them.What the hell,I thought. I checked my phone one last time to see that the photos Rosa sent still hadn’t populated, then dropped my purse to the banquette as I climbed up, my worries alleviated by the effervescence of champagne bubbles in my blood.

I felt him behind me before I saw him, his body moving with mine. I didn’t need to ask where he’d come from. He was here. I glanced over my shoulder, our faces close in the rotating lights. He had that look again, his changeable eyes glinting in the dark.

The room around us disappeared as he brushed my hair away from my neck, and we were alone in the crowd, his breath hot on my skin. My body buzzed pleasantly as he placed his hand on my hip, his fingers gently pressing into my pelvis low enough to be suggestive, dancing so seamlessly with me that it was like magic.

I knew I should break the spell. Walk away. This wasn’t what I was here for, wasn’t what I needed…

But damned if it wasn’t what I wanted.

It had been such a long time since I’d had that spark of connection with anyone that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Before this trip, I’d almost convinced myself that that part of my life was over. I was thrilled to find that not only was I wrong, but he clearly felt it too.

And then the gentle pressure of him behind me was gone. I turned to see him on the banquette, holding his hand out to me. I took it, gripping his strong biceps with my other hand as he helped me down.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “I’m going for a smoke.”

“Are you asking me to come?”

He held my eye. “Do you smoke?”

I shook my head without breaking eye contact, the champagne making me bold. “Does that mean you don’t want me to come?”

His lips tugged into a wicked whisper of a smile. “I wouldn’t say that.”

His eyes snapped to the window behind me, and a shadow passed over his face.

“What?” I asked, turning in search of what he’d seen.

“Tyson’s here.”

I spotted him as he said it, striding up the walk to the door like a storm appearing suddenly on the horizon. My buzz faltered. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Come on.” The rest of our party were lost in the music, paying no attention to us as he slipped his fingers through mine and tugged me into the crowd.

We threaded our way around the far side of the bar, through a door guarded by a bouncer that Laurent traded fist bumps with. The alley behind the restaurant was empty, save for the cleanest-looking dumpster I’d ever laid eyes on. As the door closed behind us, the music quieted to a pulsing bass line, and suddenly we were alone in the shadows cast by the streetlights.

We took a few steps down the alley away from the dumpster and he released my hand, setting his whisky on the ledge that ran around the building as he reached into his pocket to extract a pack of hand-rolled smokes. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall, evaluating me as he exhaled. The smoke hung in the night air.

“What?” I asked.

When he didn’t answer, I reached for his cigarette, and he let me have it. “It has hash in it,” he warned.

I took a drag as he watched, amused. The smoke was sharp in my throat, and I coughed, handing it back to him.

“Been a while?” he asked.

I nodded, the hash tingling as I leaned my shoulder against the wall, facing him. “How do you stand working for Tyson?” I asked.

---