Macy
I need another fucking drink.
Clutching my glass, I force my wobbly, useless legs up to get the bottle of champagne on the other side of the couch.
As I walk away from Aaron, I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.
How does he do this?
I’m hot, I’m extremely fucking bothered, and on top of that, I’m coursing with neediness.
I’ve never felt like this before.
Especially in response to an arrogant ass who’s describing exactly what he won’t do to me.
Who does that?
Pouring most of the remaining liquid into my glass, I replay the whole exchange in my head.
Fuck, now I’m aching with desire. I force my legs together tightly, trying to get any type of relief.
Focus.
I need to analyze this situation, but none of it makes sense.
There’s no analytical reason my libido’s suddenly so uncontrollable and why he’s able to induce such a reaction with ease.
In a matter of minutes, I became fucking weak.
A puddle.
Without him even touching me.
What the fuck?
Usually, I can control myself. I restrain my feelings and contain my reactions. I’m logical, rational, and I always think before I do.
That’s all served me well as a grad student.
That type of approach lends itself to film analysis, dissecting an old Godard film frame by frame, spending hours in a stuffy classroom, breaking down the use of mise-en-scène and its cultural significance in the French New Wave.
A lot of it is detaching from whatever feelings are prevalent that day, that moment—whether it’s boredom or stress or thinking about the latest guy who’s finally worked up the courage to approach me, stammering some naive, misguided confession ingrained and prompted by some Hollywood bullshit.
I can usually detach from all of it, even on those increasingly frequent days and moments when I just feel sad for no reason.
I’ve always been able to detach.
But not now.
Not with him.
It’s impossible, because I find myself enamored.
Charmed.
I’m utterly, frustratingly fucking charmed by Aaron Michaelson. And fucking logic’s taken its own vacation.
It’s aggravating.
But it doesn’t fucking have to be. Because I won’t be giving him that satisfaction of succumbing to his enchanting powers.
Fuck. That.
My body’s starting to recover from that spell, and coolness overtakes me like I’m stepping out of a sauna, my breathing becoming lighter and easier.
No, I won’t be another woman who falls under the Michaelson charm.
Even with the alcohol and chocolate starting to catch up with me, replacing that desirous bonfire with a childlike giddiness.
Admittedly, I might want him to do what he said he won’t, but I can’t give in to him. I won’t let him get what he really wants from this pretend marriage situation.
He won’t win.
I carry the champagne over to Aaron and clumsily dump more of it into his glass, making it fizz and foam like crazy.
I might not want to have sex with him. Technically. But I won’t be rude.
I also can’t—well, shouldn’t—finish this bottle by myself.
My head feels even woozier now. I drank more than I thought—there’s only enough champagne left to fill Aaron’s glass partway. Oops.
Fucking Aaron. It’s his fault, really.
“Thanks. Oh, by the way, we can have dinner on beach tonight,” he says as I place the empty bottle on the table.
“We can?” The champagne has carbonated my voice with confusion, and I barely stop myself from laughing at the sound of it.
“Yeah, at the private cabana on the beach. Newlywed special.” He smiles and takes a swill of his champagne. “To the happy couple.”
I chuckle involuntarily at his one-man, post-drink toast, I and walk toward the picture window, looking out at the view.
I can’t sit next to that man again. I’m afraid that with my newly lowered inhibitions and his damn charm working overtime, I’d lose my wits.
I need to keep my distance, as much as this pretend marriage will allow.
I feel him staring at me, his gaze burning into me.
I try not to squirm, doing everything in my power to show him his vulgar fine print on the contract didn’t affect me.
But it’s so damn uncomfortable.
But it’s the kind of uncomfortable I could see settling into, and I can’t deny it.
Chills run down my spine, and my body starts to tremble.
I lean forward, placing a hand on the glass, hoping it’ll give me some balance and a moment to clear my head.
“Let’s go to the beach until then,” he suggests.
He drinks the last of his champagne and stands up from the couch, looking like he’s going to make his way toward me. “I’ll change, grab some towels, and we can be on our way.”
I sigh, disappointed that he didn’t take a single step toward me.
What the hell!
“What time’s dinner? We shouldn’t be late for our romantic date,” I say with dripping sarcasm.
“We have more than enough time. It’s not for a few hours.” he responds, not even giving me a laugh.
Ugh, what an ass!
“I’d rather go to the beach myself, if you don’t mind. That’s what I originally planned anyway.”
Swallowing the last drop of champagne, I walk toward the tray and set down my glass.
I look at the crystal, remembering his fingers, and blush. I’ll never be able to look at a crystal glass the same way.
Thinking about it, I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing him only in his swimsuit…or naked. Again.
Flashes of his hard body come back to me. Him, standing naked in front of me, surrounded by steam.
It’s a heavenly vision—as heavenly as I’ve seen on earth.
His broad shoulders and toned arms. They’d be great to hold on to as he rocks into me, pinning me up against the glass wall.
“Are you lamenting the lost champagne? They’ll bring us more, Mace.”
I should thank Aaron for putting a stop to that mental picture show.
“My name’s only two syllables. Why do you keep having trouble with it?” I catch myself smiling.
He does inspire some salty comebacks from me—maybe the chance to exercise my wit will help keep me sane.
That, and a few quick peeks at Mr. Eye Candy here and there. As long as I don’t get carried away.
It’s a vacation, after all—my vacation. I should take in some of the attractions St. Maarten has to offer.
I guess I could start with the one I’m pretend married to. That’s easy enough.
“As much as I’d love to leave you alone, Mace-ee, I would also like to go to the beach—we could even fit in the swimming with sharks excursion before dinner. We don’t have to talk to each other. Besides, it’d probably make this look more believable.”
“Yes, please don’t talk to me. I need some peace and quiet.”
That’s a salty comeback of a different kind, but I still enjoyed saying it.
He runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, leaving them clasped behind his head.
That position does wonders for displaying his muscles—his strong biceps, toned shoulders, and ripped triceps. I’ve never been more attuned to a muscle group before.
I see a prominent vein in one of his arms, and I imagine myself tasting it, running my tongue down it as I ride him.
What the hell? This champagne really fucked with my head.
Is that why the fancy stuff’s so expensive?
I clear my throat and tighten my arms, hugging myself lightly.
“Fine. Go change. I’ll be waiting,” I say, trying to control the audible shake in my voice.
My body’s trembling from his onslaught of wants and my champagne-induced visions.
I need to get my shit together—quickly—before I find myself drooling over his body at the beach, unable to focus on anything else. Or worse, fall prey to his charms.
I walk quickly to the bathroom to grab a towel and splash some cold water on my face. Hopefully, that’ll get me out of this haze.
Looking at the mirror, I notice my pink cheeks and sated gaze. Fuck. I’m sure he enjoyed seeing the reaction still scrawled across my face.
Seeing the obviously amazing woman staring back at me, with a spark of rare intelligence—nay, genius—in her eyes, I’m suddenly inspired to give a little pep talk and wipe away the trace of tentativeness on her face.
“You got this, Macy. He’s a fucking prick with some sort of supernatural ability he probably doesn’t deserve, but who cares? He isn’t worth your time and energy. You have important things to focus on than that walking dick. If anything, just objectify him.”
I relax a little, knowing that I can just stare at him. I don’t need to talk to him.
Fixing my cover-up, I ready myself for what I know will be a gorgeous sight.
But I’ve seen it before. It’s nothing new. Now I can at least prepare myself for his magnetic pull.
I open the door and run straight into his fucking chest. Damn it.
My hands land below, touching the sharp curves of his abs.
I linger, feeling his soft skin and hard muscles. My body tingles, reeling from the sudden surge of electricity sparking between us.
Our bodies touch, skin on skin.
It doesn’t help that he also smells delicious. It’s a spicy, vanilla musk that I find oddly intoxicating.
It could give the champagne a run for its money.
“Ow, what the hell? Watch where you’re walking!” I yell, though it’s a bit of a delayed reaction.
I move out of his way and stare into his eyes. Not at his body.
Don’t look at his body!
Lord, it’s good, though. Just as amazing as I remember. Every inch of it looks like it was sculpted by a Greek god.
It’s almost too much.
He knowingly smirks. Fuck, I got caught gawking.
Whatever, it’s what I told myself to do. And who cares what he thinks of it?
“I think you’re the one who needs to watch where they’re walking. Or better yet, be more aware of your surroundings.” He winks at me. “Stalkers are a real threat, you know?”
He just can’t help it, can he? What an ass.
But that’s okay, too. I needed a reminder as to why I’m not sleeping with him.
I shoot daggers and lasers at him with my eyes. His expression doesn’t change at all; it’s like I’m not even there. “I do need to get a towel, though.”
He walks past me into the bathroom.
I watch as he walks away. His ass is just as good as the rest.
His blue swimsuit does nothing to hide his well-rounded and tight ass. That’s one thing I haven’t seen naked…yet.
No. Calm down.
Enjoying the view is one thing but getting overheated like this could lead to trouble.
Like what, though?
Fuck, nope, I can’t let myself talk myself into anything.
I need some water. I need to sober up quickly.
Now I feel like I’ve stepped back into the sauna.
“I got you a towel, and I’m going to grab a bottle of water. Let’s go!” I say, trying to get us out of the suite-turned-sauna as fast as possible.
The suite might be luxurious, the most breathtakingly gorgeous two-story suite I’ve ever seen or ever been in. But when a man as attractive as Aaron is in it—who also has the largest fucking ego—things can get hot, dangerously hot.
“Well, thanks for letting me know now…” He rolls his eyes at me and emerges from the bathroom with two more towels.
Ignoring his attitude, I throw him a bottle of water that I got from the fridge and head toward the door.
He catches it surprisingly, though he fumbles to keep everything in his hands.
I smile, feeling a little satisfied and slightly vindicated as he struggles.
There’s my wit that I also enjoy using, even in that throw.
Turning to leave the room, I think about how long I’m going to be out tonight and what’s going to happen between now and the time I get back—and when I do walk back into the suite next, what things will be like then.
Mainly, I wonder, with some trepidation, if I’ll still be a virgin.