Page 34 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Party pooper,” I say, hanging back when he takes my hand.
He looks at me then, shakes his head and chuckles.
Chapter Twelve
“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.”
?Ann Landers
Anders
WE END UP on the beach once we get back to the hotel.
The non-partying, non-dancing woman I took to dinner doesn’t want the night to end.
If I’m honest, neither do I.
From the center of the hotel, we go left, away from the lights. Catherine runs to the edge of the water, splashing in to her knees, a wave smacking the front of her dress. She screams, laughing, and jumps back, promptly falling in the sand onto her delectable butt. Gentle waves lap around her hips and thighs, and I find myself envying them.
“I’m not sure silk and sea water are a good combination,” I say, reaching out a hand to help her up. She takes it, and just as I’m about to pop her out of the sand, she gives me a tug and I nearly fall on her, rolling to avoid her.
She’s laughing now, and even though I’m wearing a jacket and pants, I don’t bother trying to save them. I lie back and stare at the moon hanging bold and full in the night sky. “I’ll send you my dry-cleaning bill.”
She rolls over, hooks an arm across my chest. “I’m sorry. Very. Very, very sorry.”
The apology is hi-jacked at the ends by the combination of Red Door Mules and rum punch. Her face is poised above mine, and I’m pretty sure I’m not coming into focus. “That’s a lot of verys,” I say.
“Oh, sorry. Not very. Just sorry.”
I laugh. “See. You’re a funny drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” she protests, raising up to glare down at me. Her elbow slips, and she’s suddenly flat on my chest. I take advantage of the moment to seekher mouth again since I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since we left the Red Door. All the way back in the taxi. And all the way through the hotel lobby and out to the beach. Now when I’m wondering if I could actually ever get enough of her.
She kisses me back, and we’re alone out here with the gentle lap of waves as our soundtrack. Catherine slides on top of me, and there’s no mistaking when she takes over the kissing initiative. I lie back and enjoy it, not bothering to hide the fact that my body wants her. At this point, my brain’s not talking the rest of me out of it, anyway.
If I’ve ever wanted to freeze-frame a page of my life, this would be the night to do it. I have a beautiful woman on top of me, a woman I admired before I left Wall Street. A woman who built a business from the ground up and made it into something other people were willing to pay a lot of money for. But she’s not anything like I would have imagined her to be.
She makes a soft sound of protest and lifts her head. I want to protest the removal of her mouth from mine, but instead I run my hands down the back of her dress and under it to her sand-covered thighs.
“Um,” she says, looking down at me again. “Better stop that.”
“Now you’re the party pooper.”
“You. Are such. Trouble.”
I smile and take my hands away. “See how easy I am.”
“I think I’m going to be the easy one if I’m not careful. I need to go for a run.”
She stumbles to her feet, trots a few yards away and takes off in a sprint.
“Wait!” I call out, getting up to run after her. “Catherine!”
I have no idea where she got the energy but it takes me a good thirty seconds to catch her. I scoop her up with one arm and swing her toward me. “Hey now, it’s a little dark to see where you’re going.”
“I can see.”
“Really?” I ask, looking up at her because I’m holding her against me with my arms locked beneath the butt I very much want to sink my hands into.
