Jaden Page 7

  Torches and candles cast a glow over the footpath leading to the bungalow. The last one in a group of four, the cottage is by far the most private, sitting on the remote end of a strip of beach.

  Rose petals draw a path of lovely colors and enticing scent, leading up to the stairway and the front porch. The hardwood floor creaks under our footsteps as we walk in.

  Lit candles wrap the rooms into a soft glow.

  A king size canopy bed, a white couch, and a coffee table paired with espresso wicker chairs comprise the furniture.

  Lounge chairs sit outside, not far from the ocean. A table for two is set on the porch, chocolate covered strawberries, fresh whipped cream, and a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for us in the bedroom. A decadent hot tub filled with warm water and sprinkled with rose petals and bath salts infuses the air with a gentle floral scent.

  I sneak a glance at Jaden.

  He takes in the surroundings, no emotion showing on his face. He’s either that good at keeping his reaction under control, or he’s simply unimpressed.

  I have to admit I am a bit surprised. I didn’t expect the place to be so romantic, although it is an engagement party after all, and all bungalows–– I imagine, come prepped this way.

  “Right,” he murmurs, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “I didn’t think it would be like this,” I say apologetically as I run my hand over the satin sheets and brush off petals.

  “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on one of the couches. I’m used to sleeping on them,” I say, and then I realize I’m talking to myself.

  I search the rooms, looking for him, but I can’t find him. Good thing, I locate a shower in the back. At least we don’t have to rub each other backs in the bathtub.

  “Jaden?”

  I step onto the porch and drag my gaze up and down the strip of sand. I spot him not far, standing on the beach. He gazes at the ocean. I call him out again, but he doesn’t bother to answer, so I spin around and head for the shower.

  Moments later, clad in a soft cotton set–– white shorts, and a matching tank top that hugs my chest, I amble to the porch.

  Just as I pull out a chair at the table, the bathroom door shuts close in the back. Short after, the sound of running water drifts through the air.

  I lift the food covers. Fish and vegetables. Salad. I take a serving of each and start eating.

  Footsteps echo through the house a few minutes later. They edge to me.

  “I’m sorry. I was really hungry,” I say as he takes a seat across from me.

  A fresh scent travels with him.

  He wears a pair of low riding sweatpants, barely clinging to his hard butt. I sneak a few glances at his body. More tattoos than I thought, cover his torso.

  He rests his elbows on the table.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  His eyes pull up at me, cold.

  “What?”

  “What you wear... Your scent.”

  “Nothing. Aftershave,” he murmurs, shifting his gaze to the food.

  He fills half of his plate and begins eating without much enthusiasm. Strands of hair fall over his eyes, grazing his cheeks.

  I sense a shift in his mood. Not surprisingly, for worse of course. It’s hard not to notice it. He keeps his eyes rooted to his plate as I roll my gaze down on him.

  Ropes of corded muscles wrap around his arms. A second tattoo stretches on the left side of his chest. A barely visible scar brands his left arm. There’s a scar next to each tattoo, and he has more scars than I’ve ever seen on anyone I know.

  My eyes dip to his strong, long fingers.

  He raises his eyes and locks mine, drilling them annoyed.

  “Champagne?” I ask, raising the glass to my lips, trying to distract him.

  He shakes his head.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah...”

  He’s definitely not.

  “You don’t talk much.”

  “Do you pay me to talk?” he asks, an edge flashing in his voice.

  Oh... I see.

  This is going to be a problem, but I can’t have it right now.

  I can’t replace him within twenty-four hours while I’m on an island. I proceed with caution, and for starters I pull back, giving him space.

  “No... You’re right. You don’t have to talk to me. You only have to pretend when we’re in public,” I say with a softer voice, without looking at him.

  Silence slips between us.

  “I’ll go to sleep, now,” I say after a few more moments, rising to my feet.

  Smoothly, he cuffs my wrist and looks up at me.

  “Stay,” he says with a different voice too––gentler, and something crumbles in my chest.

  My body starts responding to his touch, warmth licking my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” he says as I slide back into my chair.

  We sit–– both quiet for a few moments before he speaks again.

  “Who are we supposed to meet tomorrow?”

  “Saturday,” I clarify.

  He arches an eyebrow, giving me a questioning look, and waits for me to continue.

  “My family,” I say. “It’s my younger sister’s engagement party.”

  “Why do you need a male escort to see your family?”

  My eyes pull away from his, my mind dancing around a few ideas, all evading the truth.

  I look up at him again.

  “We severed ties a few years back.”

  “When exactly?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Long time... “ he says, his fingers playing with the lighter. “What happened?”

  “Um... family shit.”

  “Why do you need a man with you?”

  “I’m not sure...” I say, lying bluntly. “But it was either that or not showing up.”

  He quirks his lips, discontent. I’m not so sure he buys my shit.

  “Why do you have to pay men, Senna? You’re a beautiful woman,” he says, his last words sounding like a standalone statement, not a mere argument.

  He pulls his shoulders straight and tilts his head back, giving me his signature down-the-nose stare as he slides a cigarette between his lips.

  “I am?”

  My voice comes strangled, my cheeks warming up from a blush.

  He nods slowly, and I feel a pull tightening in my belly. Holding my gaze, he lowers his head and lights up his cigarette.

  I barely draw a breath.

  “But you know that...” he says, a slow smile stretching across his lips as he talks around his cigarette. “So why do you have to pay them?” he asks before he blows the smoke to the side.

  “I don’t have to pay them, but it’s easier that way.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Money is not my problem.”

  “Then, what is your problem?” he asks, leaning forward again, resting his elbows on the table.

  Dips form on his muscular shoulders.

  His gaze spurs more fire on my skin.

  My fingers start to tremble while a shudder sweeps my back. I hide my hands in my lap.

  He pulls back a little.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he says and takes another drag.

  I watch the orange tip of his cigarette growing brighter for a moment, and then his arched lips releasing the smoke.

  “I’ll tell you if you share more about you,” I say.

  He leans back against his chair and rakes his fingers through his hair. His muscles smoothly shift beneath his skin.

  A mysterious smile lights up his face as he briefly glances at the ocean.

  “Okay. Ask,” he says, shifting his focus back to me.

  “Why do you have to do what you do? You could do something else for money.”

  “And you could be married, have kids, and not hire men for sex,” he retorts in one breath, his glare coming fast at me.

  His words feel like wind against my face, their coldness freezi
ng my bones.

  “Okay. You’re right,” I say conciliatory, my hand shooting up in the air. “I’m not the one to pass judgment.”

  “I’m doing something else for money, and it’s not enough,” he says, a flash of anger flitting through his eyes.

  “Next,” he says and takes a long drag this time.

  “Why men?” I ask.

  “Because they want it and pay for it. Women don’t care for paid sex. They usually look for something else. Exceptions aside, of course...” he says, a small smile tilting his lips.

  A weight lifts off my chest as I sense his mood shifting for the better this time.

  “You’ve never fucked women for money?” I ask incredulously.

  A secret grin lights up his eyes.

  “I used to, but they created a lot of problems.”

  “Such as?”

  “The husband or boyfriend usually hired me for either a straight fuck–– with him watching or a threesome. Tension and jealousy were sooner or later part of the mix. If the women were the ones who hired me, they’d often become attached. They thought they were looking for sex when in fact, all they wanted was romance. I don’t do romance.”

  I sigh quietly while stifling a smile.

  “Why are you so relieved?” he asks.

  “Um... nothing... It makes sense...”

  “What?”

  “Not doing romance...”

  Shaking his head, he breathes out a soft chuckle, and then he tips his chin and motions to the bedroom.

  “I can eat strawberries, sleep on a bed of roses and drink champagne, but I can’t romance a woman for money. I just can’t.”

  “Cool,” I chirp.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “Nothing,” I say, grinning.

  “You’re a strange woman.”

  “You’re not the first one who said that.”

  “I fucking bet.”

  He flicks the cigarette with his tongue, drawing my eyes to his mouth again, then pulls it out and runs the tip of his tongue over his lip. His lopsided smile throws me into a pool of heat.

  Nervous, I shift my focus to my hands, and then I study his fingers.

  “Do you like it?” I ask quietly.

  “What?”

  I glance up at him as he tips his head to catch my gaze.

  For a moment, we get lost in each other’s eyes.

  “Men blowing you.”

  Anger storms his eyes for a moment, but it dies out fast. He whips his head to the side and looks at the ocean again, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

  He brings his cigarette to his lips and ponders for a moment.

  “I don’t think about the other person... whether it’s a man or a woman. And I don’t think anyone who has sex for money, does. Sometimes not even those who don’t fuck for money, do.”

  He swings his gaze back, his lips creasing into a soft smile.

  “Maybe the men you pay, think about you,” he says.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re hot, and you’re most likely not looking for romance... or you wouldn’t pay for it. You can get a plight of men to romance you.”

  He tucks his cigarette at the corner of his lips, his chest rising as he inhales, and then he cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes, examining me.

  Unhurried, he ashes his cigarette, the corners of his mouth lifting with a slow, knowing smile.

  I watch him, spellbound.

  “I imagine you’re after something different than most women are. Something that men crave to give away for free. Something that naturally boils in their blood. In some men, anyway. So yeah... I’m sure they think about you when they fuck you.”

  Rivulets of sweat roll down my neck as warmth drapes over my shoulders, and pleasure pulses between my legs.

  “How do you get hard then?” I ask.

  “I know how to turn myself on regardless of the circumstances or the partner. Does this satisfy your curiosity?” he asks a bit abruptly.

  He softens his words with a small smile.

  I nod.

  He goes silent for a few moments.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “What about me?”

  “If you don’t need romance, what gets you off?”

  Evading his eyes, I gaze at the ocean and smile.

  Roses fill the room with a fresh sweet aroma.

  I must’ve slept for a few good hours, yet it’s still dark outside. I push up to my elbows and glance at his bed through the open door.

  The sound of creaking floor lifts in the air, making me perk my ears.

  I sit upright, pull the curtain to the side and look out the window. The morning barely pushes against the darkness at the horizon as he saunters to the ocean.

  He peels off his sweatpants, giving me a perfect view of his naked body–– muscular torso, long thighs, and teasingly curved butt before he dives into the water.

  I stare out the window for a few good minutes, waiting for him to come back. Half an hour later, he’s nowhere in sight.

  I crash into the pillow and soon, I fall asleep.

  The sound of crying seagulls wakes me a few hours later. Along comes the bright morning light dancing on my eyelids. Eyes heavy with sleep, I slide off the couch and shuffle to the bathroom.

  I take a shower and spend some time in front of the mirror brushing my hair, my teeth, and putting on some light makeup.

  I slip into a short, gauzy dress with embroidered bell sleeves and flared bottom. Sandals in hand, I tiptoe across the bedroom, heading for the exit.

  As I walk across the bedroom and past his bed, I can’t resist the temptation and sneak a glance at him.

  My breath catches in my throat, and my mouth falls open as I get a glimpse of him.

  I turn to stone.

  Sprawled on his stomach, butt naked, he’s still sleeping. A rumpled sheet barely covers his thighs. His left knee is bent, and the swell of his ass in full display. It’s perfectly curved and hard and muscular, and I was damn right. It has that teasing curvature that makes my imagination flare.

  I stare and also pivot slightly, quietly bending over him to see more. Soft, steady breaths roll off his lips.

  My eyes roam over his body one more time before I take another step, and the hardwood floor cries under my feet.

  Damn it. Fucking shit.

  My pulse explodes in my neck.

  He rolls from one side to the other, the sheet sliding off his legs. I take a long, silent breath as I stare at his naked rear, muscular thighs and his morning erection peeking from under him.

  Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away, slowly sliding toward the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  His hoarse, morning voice rolls in my ears, followed closely by the soft rustle of the sheet as he pulls it on his body. I flip my gaze to him.

  Propped up on his elbow, the sheet covering him from the waist down, he palms his hard cock twitching against the silky fabric.

  He looks at me, eyes foggy with sleep.

  “What time is it?” he asks.

  “It’s ten,” I say, slipping into my sandals.

  “Do I need to go somewhere?”

  “Not today, unless you want to join the girls and me.”

  He shakes his head.

  “No. Were you watching me?” he asks, a cocky smile rolling to his lips.

  His bedroom eyes rove down my legs.

  “No, I did not. Isn’t it a bit too early for this?” I ask, sneering at his smirk.

  Straightening my back, I poise myself for a dignifying exit. Still, I can’t help myself and glance over my shoulder.

  One last time.

  My gaze dips. He tears his hand away from his groin so that I can get a glimpse of his full, hard shaft tenting the sheet.

  His smirk gets on my nerves.

  “I’m leaving now,” I say.

  “Go,” he says softly while grabbing the root of his cock with one hand and brushing the cr
own through the soft fabric with the other.

  I do a double take.

  He has some tool between his legs.

  His eyes follow the direction of my gaze, brimming with amusement.

  “What’s holding you, baby?” he says softly.

  I raise my eyes.

  He’s fucking playing with me, pushing my buttons and testing me, having so much fun in the process.

  “Breakfast is outside if you want to eat,” I say dryly.

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t eat breakfast,” I say, walking around the bed.

  He pushes up against the pillow and lets the sheet slide lower. On cue, my eyes drop to his groin again, his hard-on stirring–– yet again, against the satin sheet.

  Folding his arms behind his neck, he observes me with his teasing, blue-gray eyes.

  Stretching his torso, he offers me a perfect view of his pecs, shredded abs and the impressive bulge between his legs.

  His eyes burn through mine, his lips curling into a tantalizing smile.

  “Are you fucking with me?” I snap.

  He bursts into laughter.

  “Only if you want me to fuck you... Excuse me, to fuck with you, sweetheart.”

  I grab a pillow from the floor and throw it at him. He ducks and catches it, laughing like an ass.

  “It’s not like I haven’t seen a cock before.”

  “Why do you stare, then?”

  “I don’t stare,” I say, my eyes falling on his cock again.

  “You just did.”

  “Because you drive me crazy.”

  “You ogled my ass last night when I went for a swim.”

  “How the fuck do you know?”

  “I saw you at the window.”

  “Whatever… I was worried about you,” I say. “Going in the ocean at night for like what...? An hour?”

  “I’m a good swimmer. You couldn’t have dragged me out of the water even if you wanted to,” he says, rolling his eyes down on my body.

  “I’ll keep in mind next time,” I mumble, annoyed.

  “Good luck... with your family.”

  I wave him off and pull away, his words quickly plunging me into reality.

  My smile drops from my face and my stomach ties in knots as I climb the stairs and walk out of the house.

  8

  SENNA

  “Senna?”