Chapter 12 Bali #2
I watch as a group of excited girls run down the steps.
They're screaming and laughing, but all my attention is on Max.
He and his brothers, one of which I don't know, are caught in the midst of the girls' chaos for only a moment.
And then they're free and every inch of Max's beautiful form is bared to me.
I stare directly at him, but he doesn't notice me.
Until he does.
Flipping over onto my belly, I rest my head on my forearm. I'm feigning confidence right now as my heart vibrates against the plastic cushions of the sunbed. Taking a big breath, I try to ignore the commotion and will myself to stay in my own lethargic, lazy, romantic Bali.
"Cassidy," Flick whispers. "Max is fucking you with his eyes right now."
I bite my lips to stifle the silly little girl smile—isn’t that what it is? A silly little girl smile. "I'm sure he's not."
My skin is humming from just having heard her say those words though. I'm aching everywhere for his lips. And that is precisely why I'm trying to mentally escape right now. If I look up and see his eyes mentally stripping me, I'll turn into a smouldering puddle of need.
"Felicity, don’t," I hear Stacey say, and I twist my head to face them.
Flick rolls her eyes. "Don’t what? It's not subtle. He hasn't taken his eyes off her arse since he got here."
"Please," Stacey mutters. "Leave it. It's not a good idea."
It's not a good idea?
Stacey really is a Butcher; she even talks like one.
"What does that mean?" Flick asks. "Why isn't it a good idea—"
Stacey smiles tightly. "Look, this holiday is about the boys. You two need to behave or you won't get an invite next time. I've seen these situations go wrong because girls get on their nerves. Especially Clay and Max, okay? Just be good."
My loud sigh is inadvertent. Sitting up, I grab my purse and walk towards the bar.
I'm used to eyes on me, but today I can feel them caressing me, following each lift of my legs, each sway of my hips.
It's as though Max's eyes have the power to physically touch me, though, so now I'm struggling to stay relaxed.
My stomach flips around with nerves. It takes all my strength to not glance over at him.
Once I'm finally at the bar, I lean against it. It provides a semblance of protection from the eyes that were following me so intimately only moments before.
I smile at the beautiful white toothy grin of the Balinese man polishing glasses.
"Can I please get a mimosa... Sorry... Jus jeruk and sampagne. Terima kasih."
His whole face brightens. "Yes, wanita cantik."
I'm not sure what that means, but he begins to pour me a drink.
A stranger on the bar stool beside me presses his shoulder to mine for a split second. "He said, beautiful lady."
"Oh." I smile at the stranger, whose accent is clearly Australian. "That's nice of him."
His grin slants. "Nah, he's just being honest."
I try to ignore the fact that this man is quite attractive, but my blush gives it away. Laughing awkwardly, I say, "Terima kasih."
He cracks up. "You're fucking adorable. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No," I state respectfully. "I can buy my own. Thank you, though."
"Come on, I've got a mining wage burning a hole in my pocket and no one to share it with. It's like 0.20c. Let me buy you a drink."
I roll my eyes. "Okay, sure."
"Sweet. I'll pay for her drink and any others she orders." He swivels to face me. "Where you from?"
The bartender places a mimosa in front of me.
"The District."
He nods, one of his eyebrows raised. "Yeah, in WA?"
I grab the glass and take a sip. It’s considerably stronger than what we'd get back home. "Yeah." Standing on my tippy toes, I slide up onto a stool and cross my legs. A bead of sweat drips down my hairline as I study his tanned, rugged face. He's as flushed and as sweaty as I am.
"I went there once," he says. "Some bloody good restaurants in that area."
My chair swivels slightly as I relax into the conversation. "There are. And museums and theatres. We're... arty." I giggle nervously; he seems to like it because his grin gets wider. "I mean, we're cultured. I'm an idiot. Sometimes I say silly things."
Stranger chuckles. "I haven't heard you say anything silly."
"Give her time," I hear Max say, his big form appearing in my peripheral vision.
My head turns towards him like a magnetic attraction and I stare at his naked, tattooed torso. His muscles shift hypnotically as he moves, and—oh frick—he's so close now I can see the beads of sweat on his chest.
I swallow hard. "Yes, Max?"
He stops right in front of me, unapologetically raking my body. "Tell me, Little One, did they run out of fabric while making those bathers?"
Stranger leans on the bar. "Hey, man, don't ruin it for the rest of us."
Max's biceps twitch.
I try to remain calm. "Just ignore me if you don't like my bathers."
His eyes are fixed on mine. "I didn’t say I didn’t like them." He signals the bartender. "A mimosa and a Jameson neat."
I glance at Stranger as he says, "Hey, man, I've already bought her a drink."
Max completely ignores him. Gripping the bar between us, his other hand reaches for my current mimosa. His eyes are firm and brazen as he drains the glass.
Stranger stands up abruptly. "Are you fucking serious?"
My pulse quickens when Max slowly turns to acknowledge him—all six foot four inches of scowling Max Butcher. He makes Stranger look like a little boy. He should probably have to declare his body as a weapon like people who do karate have to do... Or something.
"This is ridiculous!" I stumble to my feet. So he doesn't want me. But he also doesn't want anyone else to have me. Fricking caveman! "I'm going for a walk."
"Put something else on," Max growls.
"Of course, I was going to." I glare at him. Never breaking his gaze, I slowly slide on my flip-flops. His eyes narrow further as I walk out onto the footpath and wander down the cobblestone street.
I half expect him to chase after me. Throw me into a stall.
Force me to cover up my body. I wish the thought didn't excite me so much.
Literally, as soon as I'm far enough away from the resort, I duck into a little street market and search for 'something else to put on.
' But there was no way in hell I was going to let Max Butcher dictate my attire.
Especially since I haven't heard from him in two fricking weeks.
Browsing the dresses, I take my time. I find a few I like, and the woman is all smiles as I practise my Indonesian in an attempt at bartering.
Of course, I pay the original asking price anyway.
Each dress only costs me five Australian dollars.
The white summer dress that cuts directly across at the knee is perfect for today, so I pull it over my bathers before heading out again to explore a few spots around Ubud.