Page 9 of Grand Escape

“It’s not what you think,” I said.

Adam didn’t know it wasn’t the commitment between a man and a woman I was afraid of ... it was everything that came afterward. The family, the connections, and the labyrinth of relations.

“No worries, my little island meadow. I’m only here for the drinks, and maybe the riding a Jet Ski. Life’s not been gentle to me, and I’m nursing my own soul on the good-weather vibes and lack of intimacy.”

Snatching his glass, he downed his drink and slid a fifty on the bar. “Put the drinks on my room, and buy yourself something when your shift is over.”

He was gone before I could tell him that the tip was too much, or that he didn’t need to buy me a drink. I got those on the house. Another perk of being a bartender at the same place for eleven years.

Later, after I wiped down the bar and then poured myself a finger or two of Scotch, I wondered about this mystery woman he’d mentioned, the one who would have liked me. What did she do to poor Adam? He seemed like a good guy, and for a moment, he was genuinely asking about me before he clammed up.

Oh well, I didn’t do commitments, and it was better he know it now rather than later in his vacation. He deserved a few days’ respite from whatever job he did back home—and from his broken heart.

Adam

I didn’t come here to escape inside a woman, but I couldn’t get Rylan out of my mind.

Last night, while I lay in bed, images of her hair kept flashing through my mind. I wanted to pull her blond waves out of her ponytail and let them fall all around her shoulders. I’d sweep them back and bring my lips to the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, then leave tiny nips all along her soft skin. I’d caress every inch of her perfectly bronzed body and all those curves.

Thinking about it, I bit my lip, mentally scolding myself. I was forty years old, and she was—well, I didn’t know exactly how old she was. A good bit younger, for sure, but that didn’t make me want her any less. Her beauty coupled with her wit and obvious brains had me wanting a woman more than I had in a while.

Maybe it was her youth I was attracted to. Years of optimism and possibilities lay in front of her, whether she knew it or not. Her can-do attitude was a definite turn-on.

I’d given in a while back on the possibilities when it came to my love life. It could have been the job or the devastation in my personal life, but it didn’t matter.

If I were being honest, I also hadn’t planned on taking care of myself as much as I’d been doing while away. Case in point, I’d taken myself in hand last night and closed my eyes, envisioning this young woman in a way I hadn’t imagined any other women in a long while.

This took me by surprise. Since Becca had been gone, I hadn’t had much interest in sex. My drive hadn’t died completely, but it definitely had tapered off over the last two years.

I was always the responsible triplet, the one who picked up where Dad left off. Mom said that’s why I took the loss of Becca the hardest. She wasn’t minimizing what happened with my sister, just recognizing how much blame I shouldered for it.

Now, at just past daybreak, my mind wasn’t on Becca. It was focused on someone entirely different. Although I felt like a fool for doing it, I was jogging circles around the resort and the road leading up to the gate—looking for her.

I knew Rylan ran somewhere guests wouldn’t find easily, but she had to get close enough to the property for her coffee. I was jogging at a snail’s pace when someone burst past me, a flurry of blond hair and shorter-than-legal running shorts with an ass made for ... I didn’t even know what. Me, maybe? A man could only hope.

“Cooling down?” Rylan called out as she passed me.

I picked up my pace, breathing harder, and not because of the cardiovascular exercise. “Just getting started. Looks like you may be finished for the day. Worn out?” I asked in jest, knowing it would get to her.

“Never,” she said, lengthening her stride.

“Where we heading?” I asked, opting for cautious optimism.

“Just keep up, A,” she said, throwing out my initial, and I felt it in places I shouldn’t.

As we ran side by side, I saw her check out our pace on her watch. “What kind of pace are we dealing with, Coach?”

“Seven and slight change. Let’s make it an even seven,” she said, picking up her knees.

“For how many miles?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

I was good for an eight-minute mile. Probably closer to eight and a half, but I wasn’t admitting that. Instead, I’d obviously oversold myself, all in the name of impressing a woman.

“Until you pass out and don’t bother me anymore,” she said.

At that snippy response, I decided to be quiet and concentrate on my breathing, fearing she might leave me for dead in the middle of the road.

Rylan—not Ry—led me down the road and out of the resort to the right. We ran past greenery and a neighboring resort along the impressive Seven Mile Beach. We crossed the main road and up a smaller street before we came to a roundabout. Although a cramp was raging in my left side, I pushed on, but was worrying about where she might take me next when she halted.

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