Page 126 of Naughty Nelle

Ahead, to the left, was a shingled house, similar in spirit to the architecture of the main house. I assumed this was the guesthouse as Olga led me down a shrub-lined path. As we got closer, my eyes popped. It was bigger than the house I grew up in. Way bigger!

She opened the front door, and I took my overnight bag from her. “Thank you, Olga. I can handle it from here.”

Olga smiled at me, her first sign of warmth. In her heavy Russian accent, she paid me a compliment of sorts. “It eez very nice to finally meet a girlfriend of Mr. Golden.”

Well, I wasn’t exactly his girlfriend, but I took her words to mean that Ari had never brought a woman here before. Well, at least since his ex. It took away the chill of having to stay in the guesthouse alone.

The interior of the guesthouse mirrored that of the main house with a cozy array of slipcovered furniture, flea market finds, and quirky paintings. Outsider art, I was sure. I was beginning to discover there was another side to Ari Golden. One that was warm, unpretentious, and creative.

The best part of the guesthouse was its breathtaking view of the ocean. From the living room, I could see waves crashing up against the white sand. The sound was exhilarating and soothing at the same time.

I found the bedroom easily. It was simple and charming, consisting of a bleached wood sleigh bed and white wicker furnishings that included a rocking chair. I plopped myself and the overnight bag on the bed’s plump white duvet. It felt delicious, and for a split-second, I wondered what it would be like to make love to Ari here.

Before unpacking the bag, I tried calling my mother on my cell phone. No answer. I anxiously assured myself that she was just taking a stroll down a hospital corridor, something she enjoyed doing; I’d try again later. Putting my cell phone back into my messenger bag, I unzipped the pink overnight case. Inside was an assortment of brand new, high-end designer stuff, once again from Bergdorf’s. I unpacked everything. Two string bikinis, shorts, several fine cotton tees, skinny white jeans, a couple of floral sundresses, strappy platform sandals, and a pair of sparkly flip flops. Nothing too formal. And not a stitch of underwear.

After putting everything away, I shed my skirt and combat boots—and said farewell to my panties—then slipped on one of the bikinis. Having worn athletic, one-piece bathing suits my whole life, I was not used to having so much skin exposed. I might as well have been wearing nothing. Maybe that’s what Ari was aiming for. I fought back the urge to cover myself with a T-shirt or one of the sundresses, but knew that wouldn’t sit well with him. Sliding my feet into the flip-flops, I headed back to the main house.

To my surprise, Ari had another guest. His stunning, redheaded twin, Gwen. Her face was buried in the Sunday New York Times, but she looked up when I took my seat at the kitchen island where lunch was spread out. The temperature in the room suddenly dropped ten degrees, and I could feel goosebumps popping along my arms. I suddenly wished I’d put on a T-shirt. Make that a ski jacket.

“Well, hello, Sarah.” Her voice was icy, and the way she said my name was hurried and harsh, so unlike the sultry, breathy way Ari said it.

“Hi,” I squeaked, already intimidated by her.

She ran her eyes up and down my body. “You have very fair skin. You know, you can get burnt. I know lots of women who have.”

Her words got under my skin. I knew what she was implying. That her brother Ari went through women like matches. Lighting them up and throwing them away. Her new scare tactic. Well, two could play at this game.

“I’ll use protection.”

She smirked. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Sarah, do you wanna play Frisbee with us after lunch?”

The sound of Ben’s sweet voice saved me from having to say anything further to Ari’s snide sister. Clad in colorful swim trunks and holding a red Frisbee, the little boy hoisted himself onto a stool and grabbed a sandwich.

“Sure.” I shot him a smile under Gwen’s watchful eyes. She then went back to reading her New York Times.

“I’m looking forward to playing with you, Saarah,” came a deep, sultry voice.

I twisted my almost naked torso around, my breasts almost falling out of the skimpy top. Ari. Dressed in khaki shorts, his golden skin tight around his bare sculpted chest and washboard abs. There was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes as they surveyed my bikini-clad body. A shiver rippled through me, leaving me hungry for something other than lunch.

After helping himself to a sandwich, he strode over to a pantry and returned holding a tube of SPF 50 suntan lotion. He squirted some on my back and began slathering it in circles across my shoulder blades, then all the way down to the edge of my bikini bottom. I could feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck, and my skin prickled beneath his touch. Gwen kept one eye on her newspaper, the other on me.

“Saarah,” he murmured in my ear but loud enough for his sister to hear, “I don’t want to see you get burnt.”

“Thank you for the protection.”

The smirk that flashed on my face did not go unnoticed by Gwen.

The sand beneath the soles of my feet felt like a warm foot massage, and the chorus of squawking seagulls that mixed with the crashing waves made for perfect background music. We were playing Frisbee—Ben tossing the saucer to Ari and me, each competing to be the one to catch it.

For a six-year-old, Ben had a damn good arm. I could tell from Ari’s lit up face that he was incredibly proud of his son. Standing at least fifty feet away from us, the little boy flung the Frisbee with the strength and precision of someone much older. It spun in the air, and I had no idea where it might land, given the ocean breeze.

“It’s mine,” shouted Ari, running toward it.

“No, it’s mine,” I countered, running toward it.

And then we collided, the Frisbee flying by both of us.

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