Page 6 of Passion

“It’s about two grand a night.”

The comment made me nearly choke. I looked at him in shock and asked, “What? Does money grow on trees where you live?”

“Something like that.” He patted the bed. “Come back.”

The alcohol was hitting harder, making my mind not be able to follow a single train of thought. I reached for another mini-bottle of alcohol. It was amber-colored but I couldn’t read the label. I cracked it open and wandered over to the bed and crawled past the puddle of cum up to the pillows. Lucas readjusted the way he was lying so we could look at each other, and he reached out and took the bottle out of my hand.

“Maybe you can slow down so we can enjoy this?”

His sweetness and the way he looked at me had me tearing up again immediately. “Why are men such fucking animals?” I sobbed and curled up into the fetal position. I hated how drinking made me overly emotional, but so did men breaking my heart. I lay there crying, embarrassed that I'd let my heart out on my sleeve like this. This was supposed to be a quick one-night stand. Not a venting session with sex.

“Shh, it’s okay. Listen, you just tell me everything. Okay? You’ll feel better.” Lucas rolled over, reaching for a tissue from the box on the nightstand, and then he rolled back and handed it to me.

“Daven is a piece of shit,” I sobbed. “I walked in on him fucking my best friend. My best friend! He’s such an asshole.”

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound like a very nice thing for your best friend to do, either.”

I didn’t open my eyes to look at him. I kept them clamped shut, sobbing as I blew my nose and threw the tissue away. I knew this meltdown had been coming. I just hadn’t expected to be with a gorgeous, wealthy man when it did. I thought I’d be sitting in my private hot tub drinking an entire bottle of vodka while screaming at the ocean waves.

“It wasn’t. She wasn’t my friend. She just pretended to be!”

“Shh…” He smoothed my hair out of my face and pushed the mini-bottle into my hand.

“You need this more than I do.”

I didn’t hesitate. The liquor went down faster than the first bottle, and I knew it would be my last drink. My eyes were getting heavy, and I knew I’d pass out soon.

I felt the bed jostle, and Lucas climbed out. He folded the covers on his side down and shut the light off. Then I felt the bed shake again. His hand searched my body, sliding across my thigh and curling around my back.

I was in no position to defend myself if he tried something with me, and for a moment, I thought maybe he would. He hauled me over to his side of the bed, rolling me until I was on top of him. I felt more jostling, and then he rolled me back, laying me on the mattress.

“I don’t want to fuck again…” My words came out slurred, and I pushed him away.

“Hey, shh. I know. Just let me hold you.”

His words registered very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that he had me repositioned facing away from him and had curled himself around me before I even had a chance to respond. What sort of man has a naked, drunken woman in his bed after having sex and doesn’t take advantage of that?

I fell asleep in his arms, but part of me still felt like this was just a dream and I’d wake up with a hangover in my own place alone and still broken-hearted.

6

LUCAS

Iturned my collar up against the chilly winds sweeping over the island and headed for the clubhouse. It was only a few yards from my door, but the sprinkling rain felt like tiny needles piercing my skin. Once inside, I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Vera hadn’t come out with me. She lay sleeping soundly in my bed, probably to awaken with a hangover. I dropped her clothing off at the laundry to be cleaned and then headed toward the office.

I made my way to the front desk, pushing past a few worried-looking travelers who held similar papers in their hands to the one I'd read and tossed into the wastebasket before leaving the room. Resort management had slid a notice beneath each door in the wee hours, letting us know the island had been closed for air traffic and that we would all be grounded until the storm passed. I didn’t turn on the television in the room for fear of waking Vera, so the front desk seemed the best source of answers.

Before I was able to get to the concierge, I heard her talking, answering someone’s question. Her tired eyes told me she’d been at this since the first notice had been sent, and she looked ready to collapse. It was only nine a.m.

“Please take a step back from the counter. The decision was not mine to make, nor was it that of hotel management. The FAA grounded all commercial transportation to the mainland until Bryan passes. We are not in the direct path and will only receive strong winds and light showers, but the winds are too strong to take flight and likely will be for at least forty-eight hours.” She held a stack of papers in her hands, plucking them off one at a time and handing them to anyone she could reach. I held my hand out as she continued, and she placed a paper in it.

“Commercial flights are all canceled indefinitely as of this notice. We will extend each reservation as long as need be, compliments of Firefly. Now please back away and allow more guests to approach so they can collect the updated notice.”

I followed her instructions, sinking down into a wicker chair lined with pillows the shape of seashells. The notice was a printout of the official FAA closure warning and a letter of apology from the resort’s CEO.

I was frustrated, but I understood this was not the resort’s fault. If they were closing airports 200 miles away from the mainland, it meant the mainland was getting smacked. Likely, even if a plane could take off here, it wouldn’t be able to land anywhere south of Myrtle Beach, and even then, the longer a traveler waited to get aboard a flight, the farther north they’d have to fly in order to land safely.

I rubbed my temple and sighed. Henry would be livid, but I knew I would have to throw some money at this situation. The only way to get back for the board meeting was the private jet, which meant a private airstrip and a huge payout to our friend Thom at the FAA—if the pilot would fly me.

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