chapter six
Lily
MY WATCHER GAVE UP watching over me.
I think.
Last night I ate dinner alone, in too much pain and too woozy from the medication I took to go out. Tonight, the thought of another lonely meal by myself in my room—yes, fine, it’s a gorgeous bungalow with an amazing view of the ocean, but still—depressed the hell out of me. So I dressed up and decided to take myself out.
And couldn’t find Max anywhere. I wandered the resort grounds, numerous couples walking hand-in-hand passing me by and making me envious.
Me. Envious of couples, of other people having someone to love. The girl who doesn’t believe in relationships, who has a daddy complex because he’s so selfish, is wishing she had someone, at least for tonight.
If my sisters were here, they’d be beside themselves in shock.
After searching around the resort for almost thirty minutes and about ready to give up, I accidentally stumbled upon a discreet nightclub tucked away behind one of the hotel towers. My earlier boredom evaporated the moment I saw the club and all the people milling about in front of it. I’d been so restless since the moment I walked away from Max, regret hitting me full blast when I went back to my bungalow. I knew I would go out looking for him tonight.
And most likely get myself into trouble.
Adults only, the sign reads by the club’s door, the loud thumping bass of the music pounding from within the dark, cavernous room, the sound seeming to throb deep inside my body. Pausing at the door, I peek my head in and see that the place is full of people.
A man materializes in front of me, large and imposing, and I take a step back, craning my neck to look up at his face. He’s huge, his face like an impenetrable mask, his mouth drawn into a thin line as he crosses his arms in front of his massive chest. His head is shaved, his skin dark, a sleeve of tattoos covers each arm, and he’s wearing a tight black T-shirt that conforms perfectly to his muscular chest. I stare at him, at a loss for words. His eyes narrow as he glares at me.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” he grunts.
Okay, I can’t remember the last time I was carded, but every club I hang out at in Manhattan knows who I am, so I’m surprised. “Old enough,” I answer, lifting my chin and resting my hands on my hips. I probably look younger than I am, what with the lack of makeup on my lightly sunburned face and the simple bright pink cotton dress I’m wearing. It’s not my usual style.
But I’m trying to deviate from my usual style while here on Maui. It’s refreshing, not having to keep up the pretense.
The man looks me over, not in a creepy, sexual way, but in an assessing, I-don’t-believe-you-at-all manner. He probably deals with fake IDs every night.
He flicks his head at me, the glare softening in his gaze. “Let me see your ID.”
Slightly irritated, I reach into my tiny purse and pull out my identification card, handing it over to him. He takes it, staring at the card, his gaze lifting to take me in for a long, tension-filled moment before he resumes his study of my ID.
I shift on my feet, worry coursing through me. I hope he doesn’t recognize my name. I’m here to avoid the Lily Fowler persona, not embrace it. Not that I think I’m that recognizable or whatever, but I’m trying to avoid the bullshit that comes with people knowing who I am.
“You can go in,” he finally says as he offers my ID back to me. I take it from him and stuff it in my purse before I flash him a quick smile.
“Thank you,” I toss over my shoulder as I enter the club. I blink against the darkness, my eyes adjusting slowly as I take everything in. I’m surrounded by people, the women scantily dressed and overly made up, the men clad in Hawaiian shirts or tank tops, many of them sporting fresh sunburns, their skin gleaming red against the flash of multicolored lights coming from the nearby dance floor.
I can feel the men’s eyes on me as I walk past them, checking me out. I’m sure they see me as fresh meat. I knew the resort caters to the singles crowd versus families but I’ve seen nothing but couples since I arrived, save for my watcher.
Damn it, I still want to kick myself for leaving him like I did earlier. Why didn’t I take him up on his offer? I could have sat on that empty lounge chair and talked to him. Flirted with him some more. He certainly is handsome, in that rugged, manly way that I don’t normally find attractive. But I caught myself before taking it too far.
I stop at the edge of the thick crowd that surrounds the giant bar, standing on tiptoe to see just how deep the throng is. The club is hot. I’m dying of thirst and wouldn’t mind getting my buzz on if I’m really going to stay here for a while, which I so am. It’s not like I have any major plans. And unfortunately, I haven’t spotted Max. Though I’d love to. Despite the warning bells clanging in my head, I’m half ready to go with my impulses.
How would one night of hot sex with a stranger hurt? I need to do something to take the edge off.
“Care for something to drink?”
Startled from my thoughts, I turn at the sound of the deep voice coming from behind me, ignoring the disappointment that settles in my stomach when I see that it’s not Max. Of course it’s not Max. He probably wouldn’t frequent a club like this.
Would he?
This man, he’s very attractive, in a slick, well-kept way. He looks a little older than me, mid to late thirties, with a confident smile and interest lighting his pale blue eyes.
“Are you offering?” I flash him a flirtatious smile, grateful for the attention, almost starved for it despite my reluctance to capitalize on my last name while I’m here. I was starting to feel invisible, and that flat-out never happens to me.
“You look like you could use a helping hand.” He inclines his head to the right, toward the crowd clamoring for the two bartenders’ attention. “I have the inside track.”
I raise a brow. “Really? Friends with one of the bartenders?”
“Friends with the owner,” he says, his smile growing with a shade of arrogance.
“Nice.” I don’t mind a little arrogance in a man. It usually means they’re confident, and I find that attractive. “I’d appreciate the help, considering it looks like it would take about an hour for the bartenders to move through that crowd.”
“They’re faster than they look.” He chuckles. “What would you like?”
“Hmm.” I tap my finger against my lips, notice that his attention goes right to my mouth. He is definitely on the prowl. I’m not sure if he’s my type, but a little flirting never hurt anyone. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you have a preference? Something you like in particular?” He steps closer, his voice lowering as he reaches out and settles his hand on my bent elbow. I feel nothing at his nearness or his touch and I’m disappointed. I’d love to feel a spark, a zing, anything.
But there’s only one man who seems to have my interest on this island and he’s nowhere to be found.
“You choose.” Though I don’t usually like to give up control, when I first meet men, I know they love showing off in any way possible, including picking out something to drink for me. “Surprise me.”
“All right. I will.” He releases his hold on my elbow and offers his hand. “Russ.”
“Lily.” I take his hand and shake it, careful of my still-wrapped palm. Again, there’s no spark, not even a pleasant buzz, and I struggle to keep my smile in place. I shouldn’t get so hung up on a man who I clearly rejected only a few hours ago. It’s my own damn fault I’m alone tonight, chatting up another guy I have zero interest in.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” Russ releases his hold on my hand, his gaze intense as it locks with mine. “Lily.”
He leaves me standing there on the fringe of the crowd surrounding the bar and I glance around, searching for a face that I just can’t find.
So stupid.
Within minutes Russ is bringing me a glass of white wine—not a lot of thought behind the choice, but I’m impressed enough by how quick he was so I can’t complain. I take the glass from him with a coy smile and a murmured thanks, noticing how close he stands next to me, a beer bottle clasped in his hand.
“Have you been to this club before?” he asks, dipping his head so his mouth is close to my ear. Almost too close.
I take a step back. “This is my first time,” I say just before I take a sip from my glass. The wine is almost bitter and I make a face. Did he buy me the cheapest shit they have or what?
“Ah, so you’re a virgin.” The sly smile he offers makes me laugh.
“Not quite,” I say, making his eyebrows rise. “I haven’t been called a virgin in a long time.”
“Well, you’re a virgin to Vice.” He invades my space once more; his voice is low but I can still hear it above the din of the crowd. “And I’m looking forward to popping your Vice cherry.”
Ew, gross. What the hell is he talking about? I shift to the side, giving us some breathing room. And I need it, what with how strong his cologne is. “What sort of club is this place?”
“Have you never heard of Vice?” When I shake my head, he continues. “It adheres to the meaning of its name quite closely, if you know what I mean. Your every immoral, wicked fantasy come true.”
Oh. I try my best to keep my expression neutral because I don’t want him to know I’m shocked. I’ve been to a few, hmm … alternative clubs in my past. I’ve never partaken in anything, though. More like I’m always an observer.
“Kinky,” I say with a hint of laughter, making him chuckle as well.
“You’re not shocked?” he asks just before he takes a sip from his beer.
“No. I had my suspicions, what with the name of the club and all,” I say breezily. I’m really good at faking it when I need to. And right now? I’m totally faking it.
“So what’s a beautiful woman like you doing in Maui all alone?” he asks, his voice casual, his gaze … predatory.
A shiver moves through me, and not the good kind.
And what is it with men being so surprised at a woman traveling alone? “I needed to get away.” I don’t say anything else. I’ve discovered over the years the less said, the better.
“From life?” He smirks. It’s vaguely smarmy and I tell myself to knock it off. He’s just being friendly. I’m making too big a deal over this.
“From stress.” I smile and sip from my wine. It really is terrible, with that bitter aftertaste that still lingers in my mouth. I don’t really want to finish it, but I also don’t want to be rude.
“Ah.” He nods, like he completely understands the need to get away from it all. “Stress. It’s a killer.”
“It is,” I agree. “So can I ask you why you’re in Maui all alone?” A pause. “You are here alone, aren’t you?” If he’s married and the wife is down at the beach or pool or whatever, I’m going to smack this asshole upside his arrogant head.
“I’m here on business.” He chuckles when I send him a skeptical look. “A retreat of sorts. Training and meetings all morning, then fun in the sun during the afternoons.”
“Nice. You must work for a great company.”
“They’re pretty good.” He shrugs, looking ready to burst. I know he wants to tell me what he does for a living or who he works for. He’s dying to show off.
“What do you do?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“I’m a real estate broker.” His smile turns the slightest bit smarmy again. I can tell he’s impressed with himself. Ugh. “In Beverly Hills.”
“Ah.” I look him over as discreetly as possible, not wanting him to think I’m interested. I note the perfectly cut light brown hair, the Tommy Bahama shirt, the fact that there’s not even a single line or wrinkle in his face and I’d bet big money he’s at least ten years older than me, maybe more. Probably uses Botox. And the Rolex on his wrist is ostentatious. Big and bold, with the face trimmed in diamonds.
Hmm. He may look designer, but I bet he doesn’t have much cash in his bank account. Probably in debt to his eyeballs, trying to impress any and every silly woman he meets.
Like me.
“What do you do?” he asks as he rests his hand once more on my elbow, his fingers cupping my skin. When I send him a questioning look he clarifies, “For work.”
“Oh. I’m, um, in computers.” Not far from the truth. I am into computers. I just don’t get paid for it, not usually.
Well, there were those few times back in my late teens when Daddy would cut me off financially. I’d end up doing some IT jobs for people, work one of my good friends from high school would find me. I’d also secretly do some sneaky hacking work, but those jobs were few and far between because I didn’t want the trouble.
It’s one thing to be a teenager and change up your friends’ bad grades by hacking into the school’s computer system. It’s another thing entirely to fuck someone’s life up by, say, depleting the person’s bank account. Or forward that extra-sexy email from a mistress to the man’s wife. I’ve had those sorts of requests more than once but I never took them. Not from strangers, and not for money.
Once I turned twenty-one and received my trust fund, I didn’t have to worry about picking up odd jobs anymore. Now any hacking work I do is for fun.
Or revenge.
And that’s what typically gets me into trouble.
“Beauty and brains, huh? Sounds like you’re the full package.” He runs his fingers down the length of my arm. My immediate instinct is to jerk away from his touch, but I don’t. I shouldn’t be so hung up on Max, especially since I’m the one who walked away from him. I need to focus on Russ. Pretend that he interests me.
Despite every instinct screaming inside of me to run away, I stay. I’ll give him another chance. But if he does one more thing that creeps me out, I’m gone.
“Why do men always assume if a woman is attractive, she must be dumb?” I keep my voice light as I ask the question, but I can see the quick flash of anger in his eyes.
He looks offended. “I never said you were dumb.”
“Ah, but you did say beauty and brains, as if you were surprised,” I point out.
“Well, I have to admit, I am surprised. You really are the full package. Hot. Smart.” He lets his gaze dip to my chest as he checks me out. Blatantly. The full-body disgusted shiver is hard to contain and I wonder if he notices.
Worse, I wonder if he thinks I’m shivering in anticipation. Ick.
I say nothing. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll probably insult him and piss him off. Luckily enough, he continues on with the conversation.
“So where are you from?”
“The East Coast.” I don’t want to say anything else personal. The less information I give him, the better. Glancing at my glass, I decide I’m not going to drink anymore. I need to get out of here. This guy gives me the creeps.
“My, uh, ex-wife is from Connecticut,” he offers, and I want to roll my eyes but don’t. Of course he was married. Now that I’m studying him a bit closer, I can see he has that I just got divorced and I’m on the hunt look to him.
Probably has kids, too. Most likely he cheated on his wife or he was a total workaholic or a combination of both, and they ended up involved in a nasty divorce that resulted in a horrific custody battle. And now he’s paying her alimony and child support through the nose, bitter every month as he writes out the check.
I’ve met his type before. They’re all the same. Yet here I am getting mad at his generalizations and I’m doing the same exact thing to him. I need to get over myself.
“Hmm, how nice.” I set my glass down on a nearby cocktail table and turn to smile at him. “It’s been great talking to you, but I’m afraid I have to go.”
“What’s your hurry?” Russ grabs hold of my upper arm, his fingers pressing into my skin. It’s a possessive hold that makes me uncomfortable, though I try my best to play it off.
“I’ve had a long day of too much sun. And I hurt myself yesterday, so I’m still dealing with that.” I offer him a view of my bandaged hand but he doesn’t even glance at it. His gaze is entirely focused on mine, his body looming over me, his expression serious. Too serious.
“I got you a drink,” he reminds me.
I try to withdraw from his hold but he tightens his fingers. “And I thanked you for it.”
“It’s not like you have any other plans. You’re here alone, right?” He glances around as if wanting to make sure no one’s paying us any mind, and I’m sure no one is. The place is packed, the music loud. Everyone’s in their own little world and I’m stuck with a creep who looks like he wants to maul me. And not in a good way, either.
“You should come back to my room with me,” he suggests. “We could get to know each other better.”
“I don’t think so.” This time, I get out of his hold and I step away, ready to bolt. But he’s quick and he reaches out, locking his fingers around my arm again and jerking me toward him.
“Women like you are all the same,” he says, his beer-laced breath hitting my face, and I wrinkle my nose. How much has he had to drink? Why did I talk to him anyway? Why do I always get myself into these awful situations? “You flirt, you give me the look, you force me to buy you a drink and then you won’t put out.”
“You think with a few words and a free drink I’ll put out?” I try to jerk my arm out of his grip but it’s no use. The guy is strong. “You’re disgusting.”
He leans in even closer, his mouth practically touching mine, and I lean my head back as far as I can. “What the hell did you think, coming to a club called Vice? Give me a break with the innocent act. It’s a bunch of shit.”
My mouth pops open, I’m about to hurl an insult, when I feel an ominous presence behind me.
“If you’re smart—though I’m wagering you’re not—I’d suggest you let her go before I rip your fucking fingers off.”
I glance over my shoulder, my knees going weak when I see him standing there, tall and broad, wearing a white linen shirt in a sea of Hawaiian print, a stark contrast against his tanned skin.
It’s my watcher.