Page 33 of Paradise in Progress
Taking a sip, I savor the rich flavor as I watch teams of people scurry through the resort. Construction crews are busy with the final stages of the new grand entryway. Walls are being constructed as drywall seams are being mudded. The new entrance being framed, the staff huddled together training, smells from the restaurants wafting inside, and noises from machinery fill the air. A lot is happening, but in no time, we’ll have a remarkable resort up and running.
“Ready to schmooze the head of planning?” Tristan startles me as he sidles up to my side. Both of our backs are leaning against the counter as we take in the scenes before us.
I refuse to turn toward him and allow my periphery to take in the man next to me. He’s dressed in a tan linen suit jacket with a baby blue dress shirt tucked into navy linen dress pants, which are tapered at his ankles. I notice he’s wearing brown woven penny loafers. He looks damn good, and I hate myself for noticing.
“Of course I’m ready. That’s why they’re sending me and not you. They know I won’t be the one to screw it up since I can keep my frustration in check.”
Another deep scoff sounds from him. “Whatever you say,Firecracker.” I hate the way he emphasizes my nickname, as if I’m a device ready to explode when my fuse is lit.
Before I have a chance to come back with something witty, Jayden, our driver, walks through the construction. “Are you ready, Miss Reed?”
“Sure am.” Reaching beside me, I gather my handbag, which has all the paperwork I need for the meeting, along with my takeaway coffee.
Surprised Tristan didn’t have anything to say, I’m almost to the door when that surprise vanishes. “See you back in our room, Firecracker.”
And this time, I let him have the final word.
Stripping out of the lightweight cardigan I put on over my tank top, I’m fuming as I storm across the grounds. Not only did I waste an entire day at the administrative building, but the guy I needed to speak with refused to see me. I mean, he flat-outrefusedto have his assistant send me back to his office.
I’m not sure what game he’s playing, but consider me checked in. He’s not going to get rid of me that easily.
Not only did I sit in a chair the entire afternoon, but the office space was excruciatingly hot. The air from the tiny air-conditioning unit did little to cool the space. Humidity clung to my skin like a blanket, and now the loose tendrils I curled are a frizzed-out mess and so are all the small hairs around the crown of my head. I look like Simba when he returns to Pride Rock. Only, instead of being a total badass and demanding he take his seat on the proverbial throne, I’m riding the elevator to hell, where my nemesis awaits. It won’t be long until I have to face Tristian as he goads that he could have done it better. Yeahfreakingright.
I’m hot. I’m hangry. And I’m exhausted.
I push the button on the elevator wall, tapping my foot as I wait for the car to take me four floors up. My phone died half an hour ago, so I can only imagine the emails I’ve missed. For the first time in forever, I don’t care. Not right now. My first priority is stripping out of these sweat-soaked clothes, cooling off, and finding food.
Hell, I might even eat in the pool.Not your worst idea today, Ken.
The metal doors slide open, and I’m met with cool air.
At least Tristan has the air blasting through the large space. My sneakers squeak against the shiny marble floors as I make my way to my bedroom, noting that Tristan isn’t in the common areas, and I don’t see him outside through the windows.
As soon as I step foot inside my room, I’m digging for my charger cord, which fell behind the dresser. Note to self: have the rooms install charger clips to keep cords from falling behind dressers. Once I see my phone is plugged in, I’m stripping out of my dress clothes and not bothering to slip on a swimsuit. I’m alone in our room, after all, and nothing sounds better than sliding into that plunge pool to cool off. Besides, my strapless bra and thong are practically the same coverage as that red swimsuit.
Climbing the step, I step over the lip, but instead of sliding into the water, I lean against the ledge, allowing myself a moment to admire the view. The hot rays pour down on my exposed backside, but the cool water helps ward off some of the heat. I still can’t get over the fact that the ocean is right there.
From my vantage point of the top floor, the Caribbean showcases her true allure: a blue mosaic of deep indigo toward the horizon to an almost clear turquoise once the water meets the glimmering, white sand. The gentle breeze causes palms to rustle while melodic singingfrom local birds fills the air in a beautiful rhythm. Nature’s white noise is a beautiful gift.
“Fuuuck.” The word is drawn out and deeply spoken, causing me to yelp in surprise.
I snap my head in the direction of the voice and find a half-naked Tristan standing in the doorway. His bronzed skin is on full display, showing off his physique and that damn thigh tattoo as he holds two bottles of local Piton beers with limes sticking out of the top.
His blatant perusal of my body has me wanting to squirm, but I refuse to cower. Instead, I let the heat of his gaze warm me from the inside out, wishing it was more than his eyes roaming. His hands touching, feeling, caressing my sun-kissed skin as mine do the same over his cut valley of muscles sounds much better.
What the hell is wrong with me right now?
My nipples pebble at the thought as I watch his hazel eyes turn a rich chocolate shade, much like my coffee from this morning. The large bulge in his pants starts to grow in his short swim trunks. As he reaches down with his free hand to adjust his growing erection, my eyes snap to his thigh tattoo.
“I didn’t know you were home,” I tell him breathily, then quickly clear my throat.
“Sorry, I was in the bedroom changing when I heard you come in. I thought you could use a beer?” He gestures to the two bottles he’s holding.
Letting out a soft moan, my head falls back against the ledge, and my hand reaches forward in a ‘gimme’ motion. “I could definitely use a drink…or ten.”
Tristan comes closer and hands me the condensation-covered bottle. With my pointer finger, I press the lime against the inside of the bottle and watch as the pulp squishes as juice runs into the golden liquid. With a long pull, the cool, fruity hoppiness slides down my throat.
“So good,” I moan.
