Page 62 of Wicked Lies

She wanted to enjoy the light blue sky and sparkling turquoise water from the beachfront cabana at Nikki Beach, but her insides twisted with fear. The beverage manager, a friend of Nick’s, already sent over a complimentary bottle of champagne, and she gulped one and then two glasses. Cheryl played it off as thirst from the heat, hoping it would calm her jangled nerves.

Nick smoothed the coconut-scented oil over her lower back, letting his hand slip into the bottom of her bikini.

She motioned to the water. “This place is outrageous.”

“Even better with you.” He leaned in for a kiss, and she sensed they weren’t alone.

“Hello, Nick. I thought that was you.”

They propped themselves up on the daybed, and Cheryl scrutinized their sudden guest. A shapely blonde with dark brown eyes. Her exaggerated Sofia Vergara Spanish accent made her pronounce his name “Neek.”

“Cheryl, this is Graciela.” Nick swung his legs around to a sitting position.

Graciela extended her tanned, manicured hand toward Cheryl but kept her eyes glued to Nick.

“I had to hear from other people you were in South Beach.”

In seconds, her string-bikinied bottom settled dangerously close to Nick.

“I just finished a shoot with a major photographer here on the beach.” Her sexy voice was in overdrive. “It’s already gone viral on TikTok and IG.”

“Great.” Nick repositioned himself, but she slithered closer until he teetered on the edge of the lounger.

“We should get together later.” She leaned even closer and said in a stage whisper, “I’ve heard some interesting things about you.”

“It’s been great but . . .” Nick quickly stood, his body language speaking volumes.

She stood with him and thrust out her ridiculous 36DDs. “Make sure you take care of yourself.”

Was she paranoid, or did Graciela’s last sentence have a double meaning?

“Who the hell wasthatrude bitch?” Cheryl asked the minute Graciela left.

“An old friend.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you know anyone who doesn’t have fake boobs?” She recalled Angela’s watermelon-sized breasts.

“It’s kind of a ritual down here. Get your hair done, get your nails done, get your boobs done.” He searched for their cabana hostess. “Why don’t I get us some drinks?”

“We still have champagne.”

“I need something stronger.”

“You like to use alcohol and food to change the subject. And sex.”

“I go with what works.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’ll get us some Caipirinhas. You’ll love them.”

As Nick walked toward the bar, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the beach bag and flinched.

“Enjoying the sun?” Frank asked.

She jackknifed off the lounger and scanned the beach.

“Before you get to the club tonight, plant it on him.”

A shiver jetted up her spine. Somehow, someway, he had eyes on them. Cheryl expelled a long-held sigh. Conning someone you didn’t care about was one thing, deceiving the man you were falling in love with wrecked her.

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