Get You Back : Part Two: Reunion Page 10

  She'd said the same thing to me back in Washington. Except then she'd been tracing it with her tongue on my cock.

  Her body shook with laughter, then arched when I jammed the top of my hand into her channel. Her flesh contracted around my fingers with needy pulses. I stroked her at an urgent pace, trying to keep up with her headlong rush toward orgasm. When she was writhing on my hand, practically impaling herself in her search for relief, I stopped.

  "No!" she gasped.

  "Hang on, my love. I want to be inside you. Hold tight to my shoulders." She tightened her leg muscles and lifted her weight up so I could move more freely. With one hand still supporting her ass, I pulled out my rock-hard cock with the other. I gripped it at the base and steered toward the heat calling me like a magnet.

  "Pull your panties aside," I gasped. "Why are you still even wearing those?"

  She laughed and tried to push the fabric to the side. But she wasn't fast enough for me. Letting go of my shaft, I put my hands on that scrap of lace and ripped it in half.

  Hot liquid pulsed against my hand. I guided my rod of hardened flesh right where it most wanted to be—seated in the heart of her heat. I groaned as her inner walls gave way.

  Fuck, that felt good. I would never, ever get enough of this feeling. I'd never get tired of feeling Lauren's silky-smooth flesh encasing mine, of her sighs and shudders.

  "I love you," I growled as I drove deep.

  "I love you." She threw her head back on a sob.

  "Hold on, baby."

  She tightened her legs again and sank her fingers into my shoulders. With both hands on her ass now, I pounded into her. She surrendered her body to me, head back, eyes closed. I rode her hard and fast, marking her, branding her as mine, now and forever. When I couldn't take it another second, I reached between us and thumbed her clit.

  One touch, and she was gone. With a wild cry, she convulsed around my cock. With my hand clamped to her ass, I kept her tight against me. Her spasms pulled at me, sucked me in. And I fell into an orgasm that wrenched me to my core. It grabbed me, shook me around, turned me upside down and tossed me aside like storm debris.

  After a while, Lauren uncurled her legs from around me. We both slid to the floor. My thighs were shaking, my forehead drenched with sweat. Goddamn.

  "That settles that." I tangled my hand with hers. "We're fucking staying together."

  She rested her hot forehead on my shoulder. "You know I don't want to be apart. But that’s how it has to be for now. You have to go back to the States and I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “It’s just … risky. Bliss has this tape of me and … please, I can’t explain it all right now. But Rye, you have to stop talking about getting married. Promise?"

  Bliss had a tape? God, if only I’d known all this in Morocco. Maybe I could have done something. I stroked Lauren’s hair, cursing Bliss and everything else that was keeping us apart. We still had the trek through the jungle ahead of us. I’d use the time to change her mind. I’d be more persistent than the mosquitoes. By the time we reached Haad Rin, I’d know all her secrets and we’d have a plan. A plan that kept us together.

  “Only for now,” I murmured. “That’s all I can promise.”

  After a few moments, we disentangled from each other and packed our gear. I still had to check on flights, see what Doug had uncovered about the McAllister Group … that was when I realized my phone was nowhere to be seen.

  "Do you see my cell anywhere?" I asked Lauren.

  She shook her head as she counted out baat from her wallet. "Did you leave it somewhere? When's the last time you saw it?"

  I thought back. I'd sent Doug my request about looking into my father’s will. Was that the last time I'd used my phone? That was at the Oasis. I knew that for sure. Afterwards we'd walked back to the bungalow and changed for dinner. Had I used my phone at the restaurant? No, I'd been completely caught up in Lauren the entire time. Then we'd gone to the beach, we'd swum out to that rock, and I definitely hadn't had my phone on me then.

  "Ah hell," I muttered, scrubbing my hand through my hair.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I think I must have left my phone on the juice bar at the Oasis. I was texting with Doug there, and that's the last time I saw it. Do I have time to go get it?"

  "If you make it quick. We should leave as soon as we can," Lauren said. "The last thing we want is to get lost in the jungle at night."

  "Okay." I left the duffel just inside the door, then hesitated. I didn’t want to leave her alone there. "You should come with me. To the Oasis."

  "No, I don't want to see anyone. I'm going to leave the money for our bill here on the bed where the owners will find it. Just go quickly and come right back. It’s only a few minutes."

  I still couldn't make myself go. "Lock the door as soon as I go. I want to make sure you're safe alone here."

  "Fine, I'll lock the door and I won't let anyone in except you. Don’t worry. Just go, and make it quick."

  I stood at the door, my fists opening and closing. The fear of walking away from her rooted me to the ground. What if she disappeared? What if she slipped into the jungle by herself? Dove into the ocean? Evaporated into the morning mist?

  "What's wrong?" Lauren cocked her head at me, her little green nose jewel catching the light. She'd added a loose cotton over-shirt over the OM tank, and her long neck arched gracefully from its collar. Her expression shifted when I didn't answer.

  "Oh my God. You don't trust me. You think I'm going to leave."

  My jaw flexed. I didn't want to lie to her.

  "Just go, Rye. Jesus. This is exactly what I was talking about."

  She turned away as I pushed the door open. I knew from her cold shoulder that she was pissed. But I couldn't help my fear. I kept imagining the room empty of everything except my duffel. Maybe a note on the bed. "Sorry" … something lame like what I'd attached to the kitten Gonzo.

  I stole another peek before I closed the door. If the worst happened and she skipped out on me, I wanted to look my fill before walking away. But she was already slipping into the bathroom and I caught only a flash of her hair—like a burst of sunshine—before she was out of sight.

  “Lock the door!” I reminded her as I closed it. I waited until I heard the latch close, and her frustrated huff of breath.

  Idiot. I'd done everything wrong since the minute I woke up. I'd alienated Lauren, proposed to her, proven how little I trusted her …

  I started at the doorknob for a long moment. I couldn't let fear twist my mind around. Lauren could take care of herself. I needed to have a little faith in her. I needed to trust her. And I needed to get my phone back so we could hit the road and get on with our lives.

  I ran down the two steps to the path between the bungalows. Half the morning had passed already. A longboat idled at the beach, passengers piling in. Everyone looked pretty rough, as if they'd been up all night. Same held true for every single person I passed on the way to the Oasis. The entire island seemed to have a hangover.

  I spotted Gunther behind the counter. He was working the blender, bobbing his head to a beat heard only by him.

  "Gunther!" I called to him. He didn't answer. I tried again, finally giving in to his ridiculous nickname. "Mango!"

  He held up a finger while he focused on the blender. For Christ's sake, it was a smoothie. How complicated could it be? I drummed my fingers on the counter, trying not to imagine Lauren disappearing into the jungle. What if Bliss showed up at the bungalow and worked her voodoo mind-magic on her? I didn't understand the hold Bliss had on Lauren, but it was definitely powerful.

  Lauren needed me. I had to get back to her.

  Finally Gunther finished his smoothie and came my way. "Everyone wants green juice special. Good for the overhang."

  "Hangover," I corrected automatically. "Not here for a juice, Gunther. I think I left my phone here yesterday. Did you find one? It's an old-school flip phone, the thing's like a tank."r />
  "Oh ja, someone did turn in a phone. One second." He held up that damn finger again—fricking annoying gesture. He felt under the counter but came up empty. "Must be in the office."

  "I'll go look."

  "No, sorry. Customers not allowed alone." He plopped a sign that said, "We're on island time. Back whenever," on the counter and beckoned to me.

  I followed him into the same office where I'd seen Lauren pick up her pay. It looked more like a living room than an office, with the usual low tables and flat pillows for seats. A framed picture of the King of Thailand hung on the wall, and in the corner sat a small escritoire with an ancient computer. French doors opened onto an explosion of green from the lush gardens out back.

  Gunther went to the escritoire, opened a drawer and began rummaging around. "I believe lost and found items are stored in here. One second please."

  While he searched for my phone, I gazed out the French doors and wondered why tropical flowers always had a vaguely poisonous look. Those red anthuriums could have been molded from plastic, and some of the winding vines had trunks as thick as my arm. You wouldn't want one wrapped around your neck.

  "Ah. Found it."

  Gunther's voice was close, too close—an alarm rang in my brain, and I jerked away from him. A blow struck the side of my head. I fell to my knees, my vision blurring. Gunther came at me again, a lethal-looking baton gripped in his fist. That goofy smile was gone.

  I was looking at a killer.

  "Gunther," I managed as I rolled away from his next swing of the baton. "What the fuck?"

  He kept advancing toward me, all business, stone cold. He didn't say a word, which chilled me to the core. In movies, the bad guys like to talk, and that gives the good guys an opportunity to shift things. If I could get him talking …

  "Listen, let's talk about this." I ducked as the baton sliced over my head. I felt a sharp whoosh of air against my scalp. "What do you want? I can get you money. I have plenty of money."

  The German scowled at me as if I was a pesky cockroach he was trying to kill. Good, at least I was frustrating him. If I could rattle him enough, maybe I could make a move.

  The next time he swung at me, I waited until the last possible second, balanced on the balls of my feet. I slid away from the baton just before it struck, making Gunther lose his balance for one precious moment.

  I tackled him, calling on all the muscle memory left from my high school football training. I knocked him to the floor and kicked the baton out of his reach. He recovered quickly and we grappled hard. He was strong and wily and well-trained, but I was a scrapper from way back. I got a hard punch in on his nose. Blood spurted into my face.

  He growled and dug the fingers of one hand into my eye sockets. I didn't give him a chance to get purchase. I grabbed the hand and wrenched his fingers backward with a sick crunch of breaking bones.

  He screamed and recoiled. My phone bounced out of his pocket and skittered across the floor. I ignored it and kicked him viciously in the kneecap. He grabbed it with a stream of guttural German curses. For one shining moment, he was temporarily disabled.

  This was it. My only chance. Get out, get out. Get to Lauren, get her to safety.

  Front door or back door—which offered a better chance? I had a split second to make the call and I chose the back door, figuring that he would have locked the front door behind him when we came in.

  With my hand inches away from the knob, a vicious blow swept my feet from under me. Pain jolted through me when I landed face first on the floor. I rolled onto my back ready to fight, but the first—and the last—thing I saw was that black baton slamming into my face.

  16

  Lauren

  After Rye left, I couldn't settle down. I paced the little bungalow like a prisoner in a cell. Every fiber of my being wanted to get the hell out of there. I felt danger closing in around me like vines from the jungle. The instinct to run was so ingrained in me. Bliss and I had always skipped town—whatever town—at the first sign of trouble.

  "It's a big world," she used to say. "What's the point of staying in one spot if it's too hot?"

  But aside from my natural inclination to flee, something else ate at me. That last conversation with Rye. It made me … ashamed of myself.

  I'd accused him of not trusting me. I'd made him think he was to blame for my unwillingness to accept his proposal. The real reason was my horrible confusion about the news Bliss had given me. I hadn't had a chance to process it. Apparently I had a mother who was clinically psychotic and an aunt who was just plain evil. How could I possibly marry Rye, a member of the respected and ancient McAllister family, a family I revered? He deserved so much better. Sorting through my shame and confusion would take time.

  So instead, what had I done? I'd made him feel guilty about his very natural lack of trust. Of course he didn't completely trust me yet. I didn't completely trust me. I was still new to this honesty and integrity approach. The proof? I'd deceived him about my reasons for turning him down.

  Worst of all, I'd let him go off without so much as a smile.

  What was wrong with me? Why hadn't I just told him the truth? God, had Bliss warped me forever? Was I doomed to a lifetime of deception and secret-keeping?

  No. NO!

  I went onto the porch and sat tailor-style in the sunshine with my back against the wall. The hammock would relax me too much. I wanted to stay on guard.

  Rye had wanted me to stay inside but that was overkill. There were plenty of people around now that the Full Moon partiers were returning. I waved to a few familiar faces stumbling down the central path toward their late breakfast.

  When Rye came back, I'd tell him everything I was feeling. I’d be completely honest with him. I’d hold nothing back. My past, my emotions, my doubts, my fears.

  I wondered about the mysterious "they" Bliss had mentioned, the person or persons who had hired her and thought of her as a "bimbo." I had a bunch of journals and sketchbooks locked away in storage in DC. Some of them dated from the time we lived with the McAllisters. Maybe I'd written something down that would serve as a clue. Maybe someday I’d feel safe enough to go back to the States and find them.

  I was sick and tired of Bliss pulling all the strings with her bits and pieces of information.

  One of my coworkers from the Oasis, Sally the Aussie, walked past wearing Thai fisherman's pants, a sequined bra top, and a pinwheel headband. "Party isn't over yet, Julie," she called. "Let's keep the good times rolling."

  "Rock on." I gave her the "shaka" sign. I wondered what it would be like to feel so carefree, to wear pinwheels and sequins and never worry.

  She blew a kiss my way and breezed down the pathway. I noticed that the shadow cast by my porch had shrunk to a small patch of darkness. The sun was almost directly overhead. That meant it was getting close to noon. What was taking Rye so long? He knew I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

  I sprang to my feet and went back inside. I double-checked my bag, the suitcase I planned to leave behind, even Rye's duffel bag. I checked the pile of baat I'd left on the bed to cover the bill. We were all set to go. All I needed was Rye.

  And technically, I didn't need him. If he was going to take forever grabbing his silly phone, he had no right to expect me to wait. He knew where the trail started. He could catch up with me. The urge to flee took hold like some kind of primal urge.

  I went back out to the porch and followed the jungle path with my eyes. It disappeared into a dense tangle of twisted roots and soaring palms and vines with heart-shaped leaves bigger than my head. Some people lived back in the jungle. It couldn't be so very dangerous. You had to watch out for monkeys, who tried to steal your food. And I'd heard talk of snakes.

  I'd definitely be safer with Rye, but I couldn't wait forever. He knew that.

  I went inside and slid on my backpack. I took the first step down. Two minutes, and I'd be in the jungle. No one would know I'd left. Only Rye, and he'd be—

  He'd be fu
rious. And hurt. And he didn't deserve that. I turned around and trudged back into the bungalow. I let my backpack slide off my shoulders.

  "Rye McAllister," I said out loud to the empty room. "You are a pain in the ass."

  An hour later, Rye still hadn't shown up. My mind turned into a hamster wheel. Had he somehow gotten lost on the only route to the other beach? Was the path to the Oasis so clogged with hungover partiers that he couldn't make his way through? Was there a traffic jam in a place with no vehicles?

  Or … maybe he'd decided I was right, and that he was better off without me. It seemed obvious to me that restoring the family fortune would be a lot easier without the notorious "Senator Sex Toy" tagging along. I'd be a huge distraction at the least.

  But that made no sense. Why would he propose marriage and then, later that day, decide to move on? That wasn't Rye's style. Rye would be more likely to dig in his heels and ask me again every other day.

  Unless I'd wounded him by rejecting his proposal.

  No. No! Have a little faith. This was Rye. Even when he was furious, Rye was always honest. If he was breaking things off with me, he'd tell me. He wouldn't just disappear.

  Finally, fear propelled me out the door. I couldn't just sit there and wait anymore. I had to go look. What if a coconut had dropped onto his head and he was lying unconscious on the sand somewhere? I snatched up the money for my bill and left the door unlocked in case somehow Rye and I missed each other. If someone wanted to steal our things, have at it. I didn't care—all I cared about now was finding Rye.

  I ran first to the restaurant and asked if they'd seen him. The owner's daughter had seen him jog past in the morning, heading in the direction of the Oasis. But no one had seen him return. And her description of him—that he was in a huge hurry—fit with his plan to fetch his phone as quickly as possible.

  I thanked them, paid my bill and set off for the Oasis. I walked as quickly as I could while scanning every square inch of jungle adjoining the path. I walked all the way to the point and checked the rocks. Maybe he'd wanted one last look at the view and slipped. But I saw no sign of him, or of a scrap of fabric or anything that might indicate a fall or a struggle.