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Once I’m back in my seat, Walt is immersed in his paper, not minding us anymore. Jack leans in, his breath leaving a hot trail on my neck and causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps.
“Are you being a brat, Little Bird?” he growls, voice gravel. His heavy gaze slowly sweeps across my face, then lingers on my mouth. Like a man starving.
Nodding, I gulp. His green eyes are dark and molten with hunger, and my mouth parts involuntarily.
“And do you know what happens to brats?” he whispers, trailing his thumb lightly across my lower lip.
My heart is flapping uselessly in my chest, but I manage to straighten in my seat, leaning in so close that I feel the tickle of his breath on my face.
“Oh, I do know very well, soldier,” I reply with a triumphant smirk. He looks at me hotly, his gaze searing me. “They get spanked. Real hard,” I drawl, hearing his sharp intake of breath.
19
BEACH BLOWOUT
A slice of sunlight across my face stirs me awake. I peel my eyes open to find Maddie peering over the king-sized bed, shaking her head at my makeshift pallet sprawled on the floor.
“Seriously, Jack? We're adults. This bed could fit five people,” she grumbles.
I offer her a sleepy half shrug from the plush rug as she flounces up, rifling through her suitcase, then disappearing into the bathroom.
Sleeping on the floor beats lying awake in a bed with a raging hard-on any day of the week.
I lace my hands behind my head, preparing to doze off again. Compared to rugged SEAL missions sleeping in foxholes, this accommodation feels downright decadent.
Suddenly, Maddie is hovering over me wearing some kind of backless summer dress that has all remnants of my grogginess evaporating real fast.
Sweet baby seals.
That scrap of silky fabric should be illegal. I clamp my jaw tight as every muscle instinctively tenses.
Focus, man. Surely, you can handle a little exposed skin without losing your cool.
But from my vantage point, I catch a glimpse of cleavage that has me questioning that confidence.
Maddie saunters breezily toward the door, casting me a coy look over her shoulder.
“Well? You coming to breakfast or what, soldier?”
“Just give me one minute,” I call, rolling swiftly to my feet. I grab the first clean shirt and shorts I extract from my suitcase, darting into the opulent ensuite bathroom.
As I vigorously brush my teeth, I recall boyhood spring breaks here. I would lounge on these same sun-washed beaches, wasting the endless days of my vacation while my father played golf and closed business deals from his makeshift office.
Bounding down the curved staircase behind Maddie, I glimpse Noelle through the arched dining room doorway busily filling crystal glasses from an ornate pitcher. I smile, remembering her sneaking me cookies and patiently teaching me rudimentary Creole vocabulary. Her salt-and-pepper hair is pulled back tidily, her frame perhaps a tad thicker, her smile creases a touch deeper. But her chocolate eyes still radiate the same warmth that comforted me as a boy.
At the sound of our approaching footsteps, Noelle glances up, dropping the pitcher with a joyous cry. “Jackie boy!” She bustles over faster than her petite frame suggests would be possible, throwing her arms around me in a fierce hug. I return her embrace wholeheartedly, the familiar earthy scent of her triggering a nostalgic wave.
As we pull back, both grinning ear-to-ear, I turn to Maddie. “Noelle, I want you to meet my fiancé.” Her astonished delight doubles as I introduce her.
Walt's voice booms behind us as he enters with an elderly couple in tennis whites. He gestures toward the silver-haired gentleman chuckling beside him in an immaculate polo and madras shorts. With dawning surprise, I recognize Roger Walsh.
“Jack, you and Roger know each other, right?” Oblivious to my tension, Walt beams. “His firm is competing for the VR infrastructure contract.”
“Nice seeing you again in this informal setting,” Roger intones politely. “We at Walsh Dynamics are excited at the prospect of a mutually beneficial alliance.”
I keep my tone neutral, though unease prickles in my throat at his aggressive business pursuit. “Nice seeing you here, Roger. Meet Maddie Emerson, my fiancé.”
“And this is my wife, Alicia.” He turns toward a stunning blond to his left, a proprietary arm around her waist. “We're delighted for a weekend of fun with dear friends.” His entitled presumption makes me bristle. I inhale slowly, pushing aside my irritation.
