Page 21 of Grand Escape

Adam gave me a smug smile. “Need I say more?”

Once Shell dropped off our drinks, he promptly raised his in a toast.

“To you, the best bartender around. Screw the Ivies. Look at you.” When I opened my mouth to respond, he said, “Don’t argue. Drink.”

Surprisingly, I did as I was told, but then muttered, “I’m not sure my parents would agree with your reasoning, but I’ll take it for the moment. You may change your mind by morning.”

Adam shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you that self-deprecating isn’t a good look on you?”

Cooling my inner shame, I chugged some water. I couldn’t help the feelings bubbling up inside me.

“Although anything on you is probably a good look,” Adam said, waggling his brows to lighten the mood.

The rest of the dinner flowed pretty much like that. Easy, fun, and Adam responsible for all the witty parts.

By the time we finished, the jitneys were few and far between, so we had Shell call us a taxi. I wanted to pay, but Adam told me to save my “shekels.”

“I even know what that means,” I said, referring to the Israeli money he’d mentioned.

He took my hand and squeezed it. “I figured.”

I made a mental note that there was a story there, about his aversion to discuss being Jewish, and wondered if his infamous ex had a problem with it.

My parents weren’t fans of anyone but their own kind, which wasn’t much of anything, just rich and elitist. They turned a blind eye to my friend group when I was growing up because our family had money and prestige. I wondered what they would make of Adam Stern, self-proclaimed mama’s boy, Jewish but not owning it, making money off reality-TV stars.

As I allowed Adam to walk me back to my villa, I realized I knew how I felt.

I like this guy. Too much.

When he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine, I knew he was trouble. He smelled like the ocean and tasted like rum and coconut, all of which I identified with my new home. For me, it was the type of drug I got high on. It meant independence and freedom, a far cry from how I was raised.

Even more earth-shattering was how he tasted me gently, as if he were afraid I might break. It was endearing in a way I couldn’t explain. He seemed to sense how fragile I was, despite my tough exterior.

As we kissed, my butt hit my door and our hips pressed together, our mouths and bodies moving in sync as if we’d done this thousands of times. Letting my body take control, I was lost in a whirlpool of emotions and feelings I’d pretty much never felt, or tamped down hard enough so I didn’t feel them.

Personally, I’d always thought my villa was the best, tucked behind a lot of bougainvillea. Now, I knew that to be true.

No one would see us making out, and so I pressed my mouth harder to Adam’s. I wanted to swallow the way he made me feel—it was a vibe, like they say. The way he made me breathe harder and longer was something I’d never believed in.

The idea that it existed for me was surreal. I wanted to grab all of him, even though it was self-destructive. He brought out my most basic instincts, and I wondered about the trail of broken hearts he must have in his past. As for me, I’d had a string of one-night stands and a single failed relationship with a waiter at the Ritz-Carlton.

“Rylan,” he murmured. “My island meadow. I need to go now, or else I won’t.”

I nodded because if I spoke, I’d beg him to stay. He was trying to be a gentleman, and I was a predator.

“Look for me at the end of your bar tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly as I tried to catch my breath. When I didn’t speak or move, he grinned. “Open the door and go inside.”

Again, I did as I was told.

Rylan

After a punishing six-mile run, I didn’t see Tony in the drive when I stopped for my coffee. I’d left my water in the valet stand before the sun came up, and pounded the pavement like I did every damn day.

A strange cocktail of sexual tension, anger, and anxiety mixed with a headache, courtesy of the rum runners, fueled and slowed me in equal measure. Now, guzzling my coffee, I looked at my watch, noting my crappy average pace, yet I still had time to make a stop before getting ready for my shift.

I topped off my coffee and headed out the back of the lobby toward the beach path. Winding my way along the perfectly poured cement, I reminisced about how this was the only place I ran when I first arrived. It wasn’t until Maurice, one of the now retired bartenders, took me under his wing that I learned the island.

Maurice had been born in the Bahamas and had worked on a number of Caribbean Islands until he decided it was time to settle down and marry ... at fifty. Now, he ran a travel agency with his wife, Marguerite, who he met on a deep-sea fishing trip. They came to the hotel about once a year for a weekend, and Maurice always teased me I needed to find a man and settle down.

---