Chapter 4
He didn’t know her name yet, but from first impressions, he could tell that she was a fashionable woman and, more importantly, she was half his age. Yet, Brandon couldn’t help but allowing his gaze to travel to her breasts. She was wearing a sea-green bikini with a gold ring in the center of her small, firm breasts, which was holding the flimsy material together. A silky cream colored kimono-like coverup fell over her shoulders and revealed her bikini entirely. Longish red hair, made slightly wavy by the weather, dangled around her slender shoulders.
She had pale smooth skin, a peaches and cream sort of complexion and, instantly, Brandon knew that she was from the east coast. You couldn’t live in this part of the country and maintain that complexion and, besides, her strong New York accent gave it away.
She was taking small sips of the mojito now, while she sat on the stool beside him and he could sense her piercing blue eyes following his every movement. For a young girl her age, she had a sort of strength in her personality. Everything she did or said inspired confidence, her speech was measured and there was no frivolousness about her. She had the sensibility of a strict professor about her, except that she looked nothing like one.
Brandon tried to figure out what it was about this girl that made his body tighten like this. He was surrounded by beautiful women in bikinis on a daily basis, it wasn’t an unusual sight in any of his resorts, and, yet, for some reason, he couldn’t help but stare at this girl’s endlessly long pale legs. Like he was seeing a near-naked woman for the first time.
“What’s your name?” he blurted out, like a gawking giddy teenager and a smile tugged the corners of her lips.
“All you have to do is look at your guest register, don’t you?” she said and took another sip of her drink.
“I can, but I’d rather you gave up the information willingly,” Brandon said and she flipped locks of her red hair over her shoulder. He watched her movements, sensing the movement in his pants too. He knew he had to watch himself. Gone were the days when he could just brazenly fuck a woman who caught his fleeting attention. He was a married man now, and he had made up his mind to make it work with Alice.
“Jo,” she said and he allowed the word to sink into his brain.
When his gaze dropped to her breasts again, he noticed that her nipples had pebbled under the fabric of her bikini top. Was that because of her physical reaction to him, or did it have something to do with the cool breeze that was now beginning to blow around them.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay here, Jo,” he said, and she leaned towards him slightly. She had her legs crossed on the stool and now, while he sat facing her, their knees brushed gently. Neither of them made a move to remedy the situation. He had felt the electric current shoot down his spine from the touch. He knew he was asking for trouble. The most sensible thing to do would be to just walk away and get on the first flight to Boston.
“Not as much as I’m enjoying it now,” she said and Brandon noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “Because of the mojito, I mean,” she was quick to add and he saw the way the tops of her cheeks turned red. She lowered her gaze from him and looked away.
Brandon had been drinking a shot of Single Malt, and he swirled it around in his glass. The ice cubes tinkled and he took a sip.
“You’re from the east coast? New York?” he spoke, and Jo looked up at him again. She had controlled her flushing cheeks by now, and her blue eyes had gotten a little wider.
“My secret’s out,” she smiled and he smiled too.
Every word they were exchanging right now was a game. It was all for bloody show, he could hear himself thinking. There was only one thing on his mind, and he had a feeling that she was thinking the same thing. He was desperate to touch her.
“Are you alone?” he asked her, noticing the way his voice dropped by several decibels. Jo arched her eyebrows at him and parted her luscious pale, pink lips to speak.
“Are you?” she asked and Brandon clenched his jaw.
Technically, he was, right then. But in the larger scheme of things, he wasn’t. He had a wife. A new bride, a woman who was probably under the impression that he was hard at work right about now.
“Yes,” he said and he caught Jo’s gaze fall on his gold band. He took a quick sip of his whisky.
When she looked up at him again, the smile had disappeared from her face. It was replaced by an icy coldness and she tipped her glass of mojito quickly down her throat. Brandon felt himself harden in his pants, as he watched the gentle curve of her neck, followed the path of the drink down her narrow throat. He wished he could reach over and nibble at her skin, taste the salty sweetness of her touch.
Jo plonked the empty glass down on the counter, and slipped her long legs off the stool.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Calloway and thanks for the drink. Juan, please charge it to my room,” she said, in the most casual way possible, and then turned from him and walked away.
Brandon felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He watched her walking away. The swing of her ass, the fluttering of her cover up, the book dangling from her hand. Her red hair was swinging too as she walked at an unhurried but determined pace and Brandon knew that he had to have her. He wouldn’t be able to go back to Boston, if he didn’t get this desperate need out of his system.