18. Miguel
MIGUEL
THEN
September, Year One
After one day in Costa Rica with Graham and our friends, I never wanted to leave. We were isolated in a villa with a private stretch of beach surrounded by lush vegetation and open blue waters. If this was how the rich vacationed, count me in.
Side by side on an oversized blanket, Tatum and I resembled a candy cane. Every part of her skin not covered by a white bikini was bright red from sunburn, while my legs sticking out of red swim trunks were solid white with three coats of sunblock on them.
“I like coming here because I can walk the beach alone at night. There’s no one around, and Marcus keeps his distance,” she said.
I glanced over my shoulder at her personal security team.
Marcus and Judge Ames sat in chairs under a cabana, scanning the area for threats.
The inseparable cousins were active military before going into security.
They went everywhere with Tatum, even lived with her, and had the uncanny ability to blend in despite their hulking sizes.
Both men were close to six-and-half feet tall with shaved heads, but the likeness ended there. Colorful, artistic tattoos covered Judge’s tawny skin, while Marcus’s chestnut complexion remained unmarked, aside from a scar in one eyebrow.
Judge took his job seriously but would let loose on occasion. Marcus, on the other hand, probably began military training while he was still in diapers. His constant vigilance prevented him from kicking back and having a good time.
“It’s beautiful here…quiet,” I said to Tatum, facing the waves again.
She was on break from her Latin America tour, and Graham had begged me to join them at their favorite hideaway. The second our private plane landed safely, I understood their obsession with this place. We were in paradise. Gorgeous, secluded, beachy paradise.
“I think I’ll stay in tonight and catch up on some sleep. The beach is all yours.” Tatum smiled as a shadow fell over us.
“Your tasty refreshments have arrived,” Graham said.
He may have been talking about the drink cooler he set down, but my eyes were drinking in his glistening, sun-kissed skin and the bulge in his black speedo.
Tatum wormed sideways to make space between us. When Graham squeezed in, his position mirrored mine, legs bent and arms wrapped around his knees. Our toes found each other in the golden sand while he twisted the cap off an orange soda and handed me the bottle.
Since the night at the canals, his efforts to spoil me rotten had gotten out of hand. He even joked that I was his “pampered prince.” I tried reminding him I can do things for myself, but he insisted on waiting on me.
Maisy dropped to her stomach on my other side. She adjusted her green bikini to make sure everything was covered before resting a cheek on her folded arms. “Are you coming to the breast cancer fundraiser with us next month?”
“How?” I asked.
“As my plus-one. Duh.”
Graham’s hand glided up my leg toward the hem of my swim trunks. “Think of how sexy you’ll look in a tuxedo.” He bit his lip and moaned. “God, the thought of you in a bow tie turns me on.”
“Everything turns you on.” I peeked at his crotch to confirm he wasn’t sporting a boner on the beach. “You think I could pull off a bow tie?”
“Yes. And the rest of the tux is optional.”
With a grunt, I ignored his fantasy and returned to the more important topic. “Showing up together at a gala isn’t a good idea. Too many journalists.”
He stuck out his bottom lip. “Please? The ballroom lessons I took in high school are a complete waste if I never get to dance with you.”
Dressing in fine clothes and dancing with Graham sounded like a dream, but a spin around a crowded room wasn’t in the cards for us. He failed to consider the gossip we would spark.
Giving him a smile, I said, “I’ll think about going, but I don’t dance. Tate has that part covered.”
Still lying on her back, Tatum twisted her neck to look behind her. “Marcus. Judge. Come sit with us.”
“We’re not being paid to frolic on the beach.” The firm edge in Marcus’s deep voice complemented the starched shorts and tank top he was wearing.
Judge, who was nonspeaking, nodded his agreement.
Graham bumped my shoulder with his and whispered, “I love to frolic.”
As he scrambled to his feet, I knew what was coming. “Don’t you dare get naked. It’s against the law here.”
Grinning like a daredevil, he peeled the speedo down his legs and dropped it in my lap. “I’ll race you!”
He ran toward the waves, whooping and hollering while cupping his junk to keep his dick from flopping. Tatum and Maisy sat up on either side of me with their sunglasses perched on the tips of their noses. They had seen my man’s bare ass many times, but even I could admit the view never got old.
Once Graham dove into the waves, Tatum lay back and groaned. “I really need to start doing yoga.”
Maisy kicked me in the leg and said, “Go with him. Live a little.”
It took half a second to make my decision. In the next second, I was shirtless and racing into the ocean, chasing after the wild, reckless man who’d blown through the center of my carefully structured world.
By midnight, everyone was sunburned, showered, and asleep. I was wide awake. Graham looked peaceful, sprawled on his stomach with one leg sticking out of the sheets, his lips parted, and a hand on my thigh.
Since that afternoon, I’d mulled over the gift Tatum offered us, weighing the risks. I scoped the area and counted the other vacationers farther down the shore. There weren’t many, and with any luck, they were sleeping too.
Closing my book, I placed it on the nightstand and brushed the hair from Graham’s eyes. “Baby, wake up.” When I got no response, I shook his shoulder and tried again. “Graham.”
He whined.
“Wake up. There’s something I want us to do.”
Rolling to his back, he rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter. I need you to get dressed.”
Without question, my little sleepyhead dragged himself out of bed.
I swapped my pajamas for denim shorts and a T-shirt, adding one of his thin sweaters to my outfit.
As he shoved his feet in a pair of flip-flops, his mouth stretched wide on a yawn.
He was adorable with mussed hair, grey sweatpants, and my tank top plastered to his torso.
We crept through the house. The front door beeped when I opened it, but we kept moving. If the sound alerted Marcus, he would leave us alone once he realized Tatum was still in her room.
Heliconia plants lined the path from the villa to the beach, and I brushed my fingers over the unique leaves shaped like lobster claws. With vibrant shades of red and orange, the leaves boldly and unapologetically made their presence known. I envied them.
Moonlight danced on the water, and a receding tide expanded the shore like the ocean had also blessed us with new opportunities. As Graham and I stood on the packed sand, the waves sounded distant even while the warm water kissed our toes.
“What did you want to do?” he asked.
“This.” I threaded our fingers together, and his sleepy eyes went big with surprise. I smiled at him. “Walk with me.”
Hand in hand, we strolled along the moonlit beach like we had all the time in the world—a world of our own. For a while, we existed outside of his house, just a normal couple who needed little entertainment and few words because we enjoyed being in each other’s company.
Out of dozens of seashells we came across, a particular one caught Graham’s notice. He dropped to a knee to examine its spiral shape while his other hand coasted up and down my calf. A pleasant, fluttering sensation attacked my chest cavity, and I swayed a little.
“That’s pretty,” I said.
“It’s a turret shell, also known as a tower shell. Sounds like something from a fairy tale, don’t you think?” He looked up at me and smiled—the kind of smile encased in the fondest memories. “I thought of this shell the first time I saw you.”
Mama Mary, catch me.
I knew nothing about ballet, but my head felt dizzy like my heart was doing pirouettes. Graham was kneeling before me on a beach, and I was damn close to floating away.
Sliding my fingers into his hair, I asked, “Can we keep it?”
I’d done my research on our vacation destination, and the law said we couldn’t take seashells home with us. Regardless, I wanted my fucking princess shell. I wanted to display it in my apartment as a reminder of this moment.
“No. I’ll find one for you back home,” he said.
Returning the shell to its nest in the sand, he treated it with the care and tenderness he’d always given me, like it was precious.
Graham was the precious one. He viewed the world with kindness in his heart and optimism in his eyes.
And he looked at me that way while I constantly prepared for the worst. I wasn’t prepared to lose him though, was I?
Something bad could happen to one of us before I confessed my feelings. He’d never know for certain that he owned my heart. It permanently fused to his that night on the boat when he embraced my past instead of running from it.
“I love you!” I blurted.
Time stopped somewhere inside the echo of my shout. Only the sound of a loud, shaky exhale told me he was still breathing with his hands pressed to the sand. When seconds passed without him moving, my stomach sank, and every inch of my skin burned with embarrassment.
Finally, he looked up. His eyes glistened, and his throat bobbed on a hard swallow. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes, I mean it.”
“Please…” He grabbed my hand and held it between both of his. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”
“I love you.”
My head spun before my back hit the sand with a hard thud.
The fall wasn’t graceful. I’d have bruises later, but the possessive way he covered my body and sealed our lips together was worth the pain.
I got lost in a whirlwind of tongues and his whimpers of relief.
My legs locked around his thighs, pinning him in place as he pulled back and let out a trembling breath.
“I thought I’d never hear you say it.”
“You doubted me?” I asked.
He shook his head, and for the first time since we met, I saw something ugly in his beautiful amber gaze. Fear. And I hated that I was the reason for it.
“I doubted myself, worried I haven’t earned your love yet. That I might never earn it.”
“What?” My question was little more than an incredulous puff of air.
“You think you’re a hard man to love, but loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
Keeping you is the hard part.”Sighing, he lay beside me, propped on an elbow with a leg draped over both of mine.
His fingertips traced the line of my jaw and neck.
“I’m madly in love with you, Miguel. It’s probably unhealthy and mostly one-sided, but I’ll spend every day proving the secrecy will all be worth it in the end. That I’m worth it.”
Splaying a hand on his stomach, I said, “You have nothing left to prove, Graham. And the feelings in here”—I slid my hand to his chest—“the empty ache when we’re apart and the stronger beat when we’re together? That’s definitely not one-sided.”
The wet eyes looking down at me with bottomless devotion sparkled, and his smile rivaled the moonlight. “You’re obsessed with me.”
I laughed. “How could I not be? I never stood a chance against those lips and all their convincing ways.”
Graham leaned in and kissed me with his sweet, perfect lips, a series of lingering pecks because the smiles were stuck on our faces. And when he stood and pulled me from the ground, saying, “Let’s keep walking,” I latched on to his arm and vowed never to let him go.