CHAPTER 17 Archer Bradley
Unfiltered
She must hate me for stopping when I did.
My words said one thing, but the truth was that I could see other people walking back toward our bus, and I didn’t particularly want to get caught with my finger in her cunt when they got on board.
I can’t deny that it’s kind of fun watching her squirm right now, though.
Maybe that makes me an asshole, but I like that I brought her straight to the edge only to leave her dangling there.
She’s giving me new experiences, and if I let her in even just a little, I could leave here with a robust arsenal of new skills.
At the very least, we could check off the rest of the items on her bucket list.
But that would involve letting her in, and that’s something I don’t do.
Still, her words play in my mind the entire bus ride back to the resort.
Use me for your vacation fling. You came here for an escape, and I can give you that.
It’s not just the idea of a fling. I felt somehow…calmer after I confessed a bit about my recent history. I’m not sure what it is about her, but I felt compelled to open up in a way I usually don’t.
She’s sitting right beside me again, of course, since it was the only open seat.
Her sweet scent wafts to my nose, pulsing a tender ache inside.
And then there’s the rolled ankle, the lady in distress that I swooped in to save like the hero we all know I’m not.
Still, I can help her back to her room. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
And if we happen to hook up while I’m in there, that doesn’t mean feelings have to get involved.
I should avoid her at all costs, but this fucking island keeps thrusting us together, and it’s only been a couple days.
How the hell I’m going to get through an entire month of this remains to be seen.
The bus doors open to the front of the hotel, and she’s struggling to stand on her sore ankle.
“Do you need some help?” I ask.
She shoots me a glare, but she winces when she puts weight on her ankle.
I sigh softly, and then I sweep her up into my arms and carry her into the lobby.
We’re getting some looks, but she’s wearing that straw hat again, and I’m wearing a ball cap turned forward now, so hopefully we’re both going unrecognized for the moment.
One of the hotel hosts who clearly recognizes us both rushes over toward us. “Can I give you a ride to the Beachfront Towers?” he asks.
“That would be great,” she says.
“Is there a hotel medical team who can take a look at her ankle?” I ask.
She glances at me. “I thought you said it’s just a roll.”
I nod. “I’m fairly certain that’s all it is, but I’m not a medical professional. Either way, they can get you an ice pack and tape it up so it’s not so painful for the next couple days.”
“Yes, sir,” the host says. “We have a medic on staff that I can send up to Ms. Monroe’s room.”
“That would be great,” I say, and we follow him back out front toward a golf cart to head toward our tower.
The host stops in front of our tower, and I get out first and help her out. When she starts hobbling and it’s clear it’s going to take an hour just to walk from the entrance to the elevator, I grab her into my arms.
“I’ll send our medic right over,” the host says, and he takes off for the lobby while we head inside.
“What’s your room number?” I ask.
“Nine twenty-three.”
I tap the button to head up, and we wait. People are looking at us in here, too, but honestly, it’s not all that uncommon to see a guy carrying a woman in his arms here. Lots of honeymooners in the adults-only tower, exclusive of us, obviously.
We’re not the only ones on the elevator, but as is customary for elevators, nobody talks. We get out on the ninth floor, and I carry her down the hall to her room.
Her room’s a one-bedroom suite, nice, but much smaller than mine, and I deposit her on the couch. I’m heading toward the door when I hear her voice.
“Will you stay with me?”
I can’t help but glance over at her. She looks nervous.
“You know, just so someone’s here to get the door when medical gets here,” she adds. She snags her bottom lip between her teeth, and I fight the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
“Yeah,” I grunt. I sit on a chair fully across the room from her. “How’s it feeling?”
“Like I’ll live, but ice and a wrap are probably a good idea.”
“How are you going to do your posts if you’re not out getting new material?” I ask.
“I guess I’ll have to take a break. I can spend the day going through my B-roll.
” When my brows draw down with the question I don’t have to ask, she adds, “You know, the background film I take to put behind quotes about the hotel, stuff like that. I can edit my photos from today’s excursion.
Hopefully this’ll only keep me down a day or two, and you know what?
This is content, too. People roll ankles on vacation.
They should know what to do in case of an emergency, right? ”
I shrug. “Sure, I guess so.” I figured it was sort of common sense. If it’s a big enough resort, there may be first aid or a medic on staff, and if not, you go to an urgent care or hospital.
“Maybe I should do a quick check-in on my stories with this.” She pulls open her purse and grabs a compact, and she checks her makeup. I watch as she applies some stuff to her face, other stuff to her eyes, and some gloss on her lips.
“Good as new,” she says, smacking her lips together.
“You didn’t need it,” I say softly.
Her brows crinkle together. “Uh, yeah, I did. I think I either cried or sweated off most of my makeup from this morning between climbing up those steps, rolling my ankle, and then, you know…on the bus.”
I raise a brow, surprised she’s bringing it up. I sidestep it by saying, “I like you unfiltered.”
She snort-laughs, and it’s actually quite cute. It’s also probably another thing she’d edit out of a polished video, but I like her like this.
Raw. Messy. Real.
“Yeah, well, the rest of the world doesn’t want to see it,” she mutters.
“Why not?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I guess I just feel more like myself when everything’s in place.”
I tilt my head a little as I study her. “Is that really it? Because for someone who’s so adamant that what she does matters, you sure put on a facade when you hit record.”
“Wanting to look my best isn’t a facade. It’s called being professional,” she says.
“Whatever you say.”
“God, you’re impossible.” She sighs. “Maybe we just sit here quietly while we wait for the medical people to show up.”
I chuckle.
“Or…” she begins, drawing out the word.
“Or what?”
“You could finish what you started on the bus.”
“So you don’t want to talk to me, but you want me to give you an orgasm?” I ask, a bit confused by that.
“Have you ever had hate sex?” she asks.
My mouth goes dry. “Can’t say that I have.”
She raises her brows as if to say, “Well?”
“One problem, Monroe,” I say.
“Just one, Bradley?”
“I don’t hate you.” I press my lips together after I say the words.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.
“Why would you think that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Hm, let’s see,” she says. She ticks off my offenses. “You disrespect my work every chance you get, you edged me, and you seem to get off on making me angry. Should I go on?”
“First of all, I haven’t disrespected your work. And second, what the fuck does you edged me mean?” I ask.
“You brought me to the edge and then didn’t let me tip over it,” she hisses.
Oh. Right. That. And yeah, I totally got off on it. The ride back from the excursion was torture for me, too. I wanted to pull my cock out and impale her with it.
“People were coming back to the bus. I didn’t do it because I hate you.
I don’t hate you at all. I hate that you use very public platforms for the brand you’re building, and I hate that my first instinct is to run the other way.
I like you, Millie. But I don’t easily open up to anybody, and it’s certainly not going to be someone who wants to make a living by going viral when I’m trying to protect my privacy. ”
“Archer, come on. My career and you are two separate entities. You have to know that.”
“I don’t know that because I don’t know you.” I press my lips together, and before she can respond, there’s a knock at the door.
“That’ll be medical,” I mutter. I give her one last look before I head to the door and open it.
“Hello, I’m Jenny, the nurse on call today. I heard there was a little accident?” she says, and I let her in.
I sit in that same chair across the room as I watch Jenny examine Millie, and I find that I care about the outcome here. There are stakes involved.
I hardly know Millie, and I should run.
But maybe she’s right.
She’s offering herself up for me to use as my escape while I’m here.
I’m only a man. How the hell am I supposed to say no to that when all I’ve wanted since our night together is to have another one?
And as long as she keeps the cameras off when she’s around me, maybe we can come up with some sort of agreement.
And maybe I can finish the job I started back on the bus.