Get You Back : Part Two: Reunion Page 6

  I laughed at that verbatim quote of something I'd said back in Washington. "In that case, none."

  She tilted her head back to gaze up at me. The little jewel in her nostril glinted. "Really, none?"

  "I won't lie. I had plenty of opportunities. Everyone wanted to fuck the guy who'd broken up the senator's son's engagement. It was nuts."

  "I don't think it's nuts. You looked incredibly hot in that photo."

  She was the one who fit that description, if you asked me. "Anyway, I wasn't interested. I was obsessed with finding you. Then I went back to Texas and saw … well, the girl I'd been hanging out with before I went to Washington."

  "Hanging out?"

  "Fine. Screwing."

  She splashed water back at me. "You don't have to sugarcoat it. I realize you're more experienced than me. You’ve probably screwed lots of women."

  "I tried to uphold the McAllister reputation for breaking hearts wherever we go." I grinned down at her. "I just made that up, by the way. That's not our reputation."

  "I know the McAllister reputation. Driven, ambitious risk-takers who stand by their word. That's what your father always told me."

  I filled my fist with water and let it drip onto her chest, each droplet catching the light as it rolled across her sun-gold skin. "Yeah, well, he left out some details. He didn't mention that we like to fuck, did he?"

  She snorted. "I figured that part out just recently."

  "McAllisters like sex, a lot. But once we decide to marry, we mate for life. There's never been a divorce in the McAllister family. Even my father—well, it took eight years for him to consider another woman after my mother died."

  Lauren twisted around to face me. She interlocked her legs behind mine and we floated hip to hip. "What do you mean there's never been a divorce in your family? Your father got divorced. From Bliss."

  "Nope. They never got divorced. He died still married to her."

  "What?" She blanched under her rosy tan.

  "You didn't know that?"

  "No. Of course not. I told you she doesn't talk about the past. We left Chicago and never spoke about it again. You're telling me she was still married all that time?" Her eyes widened. "Was she mentioned in his will?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen his will."

  "Never seen it … that seems strange. I'm sure you were named in it. Didn't anyone try to find you? Lawyers, executors, whatever?"

  I shrugged, not wanting to get into any discussion of my own personal finances. "We were more interested in laying low. When we left, the family finances were a mess, anyway. I don't think I missed out on much. I take it Bliss never got a notification from the estate?"

  She shook her head slowly. "As far as I know, she never did. And I would have known if a big windfall came her way. Maybe he cut her out."

  "Before his stroke? Unlikely. There wasn't time. Besides, it's not the kind of thing he would do."

  We stared at each other in silent speculation. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, looking troubled. Damn it, I hated seeing how tense she got every time the topic of Bliss came up.

  "Forget all that," I told her. "We've got more important things to think about. Like this." I pulled her toward me, cradled her face between my hands, and kissed her until both of us were breathless and laughing.

  We swam back to the beach. I watched the water stream off her as she emerged from the ocean like some kind of nymph goddess. God, she was beautiful. She smiled over her shoulder at me, waiting while I shook the water out of my hair. This was a new smile from her. Carefree, mischievous, daring.

  One more side of Lauren to bewitch me. But was it working both ways? Or was I just falling harder for someone who was going to keep disappearing?

  8

  Lauren

  As much as I loved spending time with Rye, I knew perfectly well that it wouldn't last. A time bomb ticked between us, and it had the name Bliss on it.

  That didn't mean I couldn't savor every moment of the bubble of time I'd claimed for myself.

  The days blended together in a perfect cocktail of sun and ocean and sex. When we got hungry, we'd stroll up to the ramshackle row of bungalows. We'd order bowls of rice and lamb curry, or spicy green papaya salad, and bring them back to our beach mat.

  One day as we ate, I told Rye about how I'd stood at the big monitor at Dulles and sorted through possible destinations. Since I was dressed as a hippie girl, I decided either Thailand or Bali would work. The flight to Thailand left first, so I took that one.

  "I was at Dulles that day too," he told me. "I'd flown to Houston after you told me to leave. Once I found out about the Redwood Club photo, I got on the next plane and came back. If only you'd waited one more day, you could have saved me a lot of trouble."

  A Frisbee landed next to us, and he flung it back to the owner.

  "What trouble?" I teased. "You could have just gone on with your life. You didn't have to come after me."

  "The hell I didn't. We weren't anywhere close to finished. Still aren't."

  His firmness sent a thrill shivering through me. "Stubborn, aren't you?"

  "Put it this way. Once when I was helping Ben at the ranch, one of our best mustangs escaped from the paddock and took off. It took me a week to locate that rascal. You," he pointed a plastic fork at me, "were even harder to find."

  "But more worth it, right?" I made a face at him.

  "I don't know. Jury's still out. You might have to prove it in bed later."

  My throat went tight. When Rye said the word "bed," I melted. Then he stroked the skin on my inner thigh, and I melted even further.

  "Stop," I said weakly. "People will see."

  "Who are you worried about? The kid playing the pan flute? Or the dreadlocked dude with the boomerang?"

  I laughed, my skin shivering under his touch. "This isn't really your scene, is it?"

  He ran his hand higher up, teasing the edge of my bikini. "My scene is you, naked and moaning."

  Oh my God. I had no defense against this man. None whatsoever. The usual fever swept through me, that "here, now, fast and hard" fever. We practically ran back to our bungalow and gorged on each other.

  Then came the day of the full moon. The Full Moon Party pulled people off the beaches like the tide. All day, a parade of longboats arrived to pick up young people carrying drums, flutes, fire-dancing gear, and probably every drug under the sun. The pre-party atmosphere felt as if the circus was coming to town.

  Bemused, Rye and I sat next to each other on our beach mat and watched the show.

  "You were here for the last Full Moon Party, right?" he asked me.

  "Yes, but I hadn’t been here long. I stayed in my bungalow while everyone bustled around. But now that you're here …" I smiled innocently at him.

  He shot me an alarmed look. "Seriously? You know I don't like drugs or trance music or—"

  I burst out laughing. "Actually, I have a better idea. There's something I'd like to do tonight."

  "Do we have to be naked?" he asked hopefully.

  "Sorry. Clothing required, at least at first. The nicest you brought."

  " Now I'm scared. Maybe I'd be better off with a loincloth and a bongo drum."

  "No need to panic, cowboy. Show a little more trust. I promise it will be worth your while." I reached up and landed a kiss on the rough-grained stubble of his cheek.

  "Okay, milady. What do you have in mind?"

  Seriously, more men should address their girlfriends as "milady." Non-ironically, of course. I found it pretty much impossible to resist.

  "Tonight the restaurant at our beach will be empty because everyone will be at the Full Moon party. It's the perfect time for a date."

  He quirked his eyebrows at me. "A what, now?"

  "A date," I repeated firmly. "Do you realize that we've never gone on a real date, like normal people do?"

  "Normal people … I'm not even sure what that means. Especially around here."

  He stretched his arms
wide, then leaned forward to snag my beach bag. He froze as he stared into my bag. "Were you looking for something in here? It's a mess."

  I came onto my knees and peered at the bag. It held my sunglasses, sunscreen, my woven coin purse, long-sleeve sun shirt, all the usual jumble of beach gear—and he was right.

  It looked as if someone had gone through it in a careless hurry.

  "I left the bag here while we got our food, but we took our money with us." I searched the tote carefully. "Maybe someone was hoping we'd leave our cash behind?"

  "Maybe so." Rye's dark eyebrows pulled together in a frown. It didn't sound right. There were pickpockets around, but they didn't generally rummage through people's stuff. Beachgoers kept a close eye out for each other. The thieves operated by the food shacks, where tourists were guaranteed to have their money on them.

  Then again, all these Full Moon craziness brought a different vibe, something edgier and more unpredictable.

  "Anything missing?" Rye asked me.

  "I don't think so."

  Rye took the bag from me and rose to his feet, slinging it over his shoulder. "Probably nothing, then." I could tell he was trying to keep me from worrying. "So about these normal people. You're saying we're not measuring up? We need to step up our game?"

  He helped me to my feet, his hand warm and reassuring. I pushed away the fear brought on by the idea of someone poking through my bag.

  "Exactly." I shook the sand off our beach mat and rolled it up. "We don't go on dates. All we've done is have sex in hotel rooms. Or restrooms."

  We picked our way down the beach, past hippie sunbathers and dreadlocked dancers. I noticed an unusual energy building on our favorite beach—a kind of "anything can happen" sense of breathless anticipation.

  "There was also that time in your townhouse," Rye was saying.

  I flicked his arm with my fingernail. "I think you're missing the point."

  "Oh, I get the point." He waited until we were safely past a little girl playing with a yellow toy bucket, then lowered his voice to a sexy growl in my ear. "You want to put on some slinky dress that's going to give me blue balls. I'll have to make witty conversation while trying to keep my tongue from hanging out of my mouth because you look so fucking hot."

  "Exactly." I smiled at him and stroked his arm, enjoying the feel of his sun-warmed skin over corded tendons. "But I promise to make it worth your while. Behave yourself and you're guaranteed to get lucky."

  "I'm holding you to that," he grumbled. "Damn it, why'd we ever end our old deal? If that one still applied, you'd be flat on your back by now."

  My breathing kicked into a higher gear. "You're such a smooth talker. Remember how this is supposed to be a normal, romantic date?"

  He grinned. "You want a smooth talker, stick with a politician. I'm just a cowboy who knows what I want."

  We passed a man who seemed to have a bone through his nose. Had he gone through my bag? What about the one hunched under a patchwork backpack? Tension rose within me. For the first time here, I felt less than safe.

  But Rye was here. If I could trust anyone, it was Rye, right?

  I took his hand, loving how solid and rough it felt in mine. I imagined him working with rope, skillfully making knots, patient and clever. "Tell me another cowboy story, like the one with the mustang."

  "Well, they always sent the crazy horses my way. The ones no one else can work with."

  "What do you do, sweet-talk them?"

  "No, I outlast them. I'm a stubborn bastard and they figure that out pretty quick. They buck me, I get back on. So after a while they get used to me. They stop acting up and start figuring out how to work with this crazy human they can't get rid of. You might take a lesson from them."

  "You really need to stop comparing me to horses."

  He laughed, sun lines fanning from his eyes. His dark hair was shaggy and stiff with salt. My heart did its usual somersault. I touched the bridge of his nose, where there was a bump that hadn't existed back in Chicago.

  "Is that how you broke your nose? From a wild horse?"

  "No. That was from rescuing Annabelle from some asshole who got her alone in a gas station rest stop. When we first left Chicago, keeping Annabelle safe was practically a full-time job. She was very naïve. She has a knack for getting into trouble."

  My heart swelled at the thought of teenage Rye defending his sister. I'd never had anyone to defend me. "She was lucky to have you."

  "McAllisters stick together. Any one of us would go to the mat for the others."

  I nodded, knowing it to be true. The McAllister clan was tight, always had been. I'd longed to be part of that closeness. For a short time, I had been, sort of—until Bliss had ruined it.

  "Hey." Rye stopped and gently turned me so I faced him. His silvery eyes drilled into me. "Same is true for you, Lauren. You don't need to be afraid. I got your back. That's a McAllister promise."

  I stared at him, wanting that to be true from the bottom of my soul. But not quite believing it. "I'll settle for a romantic date night with nice clothes."

  He nodded and tucked me under his arm as we headed along the beach path. I could have sworn I heard him mutter something about wild horses being easier.

  9

  Rye

  Despite my grumbling, I loved the fact that Lauren wanted to go on a "date" with me. I figured it meant she was starting to trust me, to believe that I wasn't going anywhere. That this thing between us could be real.

  By the time we reached Haad Tien Beach, the sun was lighting the clouds in shades of gold and apricot. A light breeze teased at the sarong Lauren had draped around herself. I longed to untie it and feel her up.

  Get a grip.

  We stopped at the Oasis so Lauren could pick up her week's pay. The guests here were buzzing with talk about their plans for the evening. The place was a sea of neon bra tops and Dr. Seuss hats and rainbow-dyed hair. The vibe was a cross between "anything goes" and "let's fuck, baby." I got a few flirtatious looks from nearly naked girls, but I ignored them. We edged through the crowd to the juice bar, which was so busy it was being staffed by two baristas, Gunther and an Aussie girl called Sally.

  While Lauren went into the back office to speak with the owner, I waited at the juice bar, leaning against the wall. Gunther—I refused to call him Mango—asked if I wanted anything.

  "Just waiting for Lauren," I told him, pulling out my cell phone. I didn't want to get sucked into a conversation with the dude.

  I composed a text to Doug Berkowitz. Lauren's mention of my father's will had gotten me thinking. With all the companies I'd asked Doug to check into, I'd never bothered with the one belonging to my own father. It still existed, as far as I knew, with my uncle Chris in charge.

  New mission—please check out The McAllister Group.

  To my amazement, he pinged me back right away. Will do. Anything specific?

  Just an overview. Christopher McAllister was CEO last I knew. Also—can you locate Ian McAllister's will. (My father.)

  As I waited for Doug's response, I watched Gunther flirt with a girl who had blue tinsel woven into her hair and an intricate tattoo of a mermaid on her upper arm. They were talking about the Full Moon Party, of course. I felt old, listening to them. None of that appealed to me. I wouldn't mind dancing on the beach with Lauren, but not with a horde of zoned-out partiers.

  Then again, I'd gone from spoiled teenager to overwhelmed head of the family in one fell swoop. I'd never had the college experience, or the post-college experience, or the time-off-before-getting-a-job experience. Maybe I'd missed out, but it was too late now.

  Doug texted me back. I'll take a look.

  Good man. I had just hit send on my answering text when I realized Gunther was saying something to me. I looked up, surprised. He was offering me a coconut, the young kind with the hard green shell. It had been hacked open to reveal the cavity inside, where a clear liquid pooled. He popped a straw into the hole as he slid it toward me across the counter.
I put down my phone and picked it up.

  "Fresh coco, a gift from me. No charge."

  "Thanks, man." I took a tentative sip through the straw. The juice had a faint sweetness.

  He smiled broadly. Maybe I'd misjudged him. Just because he called himself after a fruit didn't make him a bad guy.

  "How long have you been working here?" I asked him.

  "Few weeks. I am … the words are strange, but I am like … a rolling stone. Yes. I never stay long in one place. I must always keep moving, always see new things."

  "So you'll probably be moving on to the next thing soon?" I liked the sound of that.

  "Ja, ja! I decide between Burma and Bali. I wait only to build up the …" He rubbed his thumb against his index finger.

  "Cash." I filled in the blank.

  "Yes, the cashola." He grinned at Lauren, who had just returned from the office and snuggled next to me. "The moolah. The scratch."

  "Very good." Lauren offered her hand for a high-five. She waved a white envelope at me. "Speaking of which, I got my money. Are you ready to go?"

  "Yup." I nodded to Gunther and wrapped my arm around Lauren to steer her toward the door. "Happy full moon, dude."

  "Hey," Gunther called after us. "You forgot your coconut."

  I waved him off. I didn't give a fuck about that coconut. I wanted Lauren, I wanted a private space, and I wanted it now.

  She made me wait for it, but when she walked out of the bathroom wearing the skimpiest creamy scrap of a dress I'd ever seen, it was all worth it.

  Now, as a guy, I don't generally pay a ton of attention to what people wear. That skill isn't required for either ranch work or stock-market speculation. But when a beautiful woman appears before me in an ivory silk dress that's apparently designed specifically to showcase her breasts, it's a little hard not to notice. Especially when I'm nearly one hundred percent sure she isn't wearing anything underneath the dress.

  Yeah. That's freaking hard not to notice.

  "Damn," I breathed, taking her in. "You know what would make this dress even sexier?"