18. Stuart
STUART
Swooping Brooke into my arms, I carry her up the cliffside stairs, ignoring the soreness in my injured foot.
We’re still laughing and smiling when I stand her safely on the patio deck.
While we were down on the beach, a crowd gathered up here and started a party by the pool.
Strings of twinkling overhead lights give the outdoor space a warm glow. The atmosphere is alive with the sounds of clinking glasses, lively chatter, music, and laughter.
Brooke is scanning the crowd in surprise, still holding my arm for balance.
A minute later, Sean sees us and walks over. “How was the sand?”
“Great. But, mate, you said a few people were coming over for dinner. This is a lot more than a few,” I say loud enough to be heard over the upbeat music filling the air.
“Stuart’s right. There must be at least thirty people here,” Brooke adds.
“The crowd grew a little larger than planned. The more the merrier, right? Grab drinks, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“Where can we wash off the sand and maybe find some dry clothes first? I’d rather not spend all evening explaining why we’re wearing wet business clothes at the beach,” I say.
Sean points to the other side of the patio, past the vanishing-edge swimming pool. “You’ll find towels in the guesthouse. We also have a few extra clothes in there. I’m sure there’s something that will work.”
“Thanks. Brooke, let’s hurry and change so we can rejoin the party.”
With my hand around her shoulder, I guide her through the maze of people toward the guesthouse.
Opening the door, we find an elegant one-bedroom suite with floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side, providing an expansive view of the Pacific Ocean.
We’re greeted by a confident, female voice, saying, “Welcome to the guesthouse. I’m Genie, your personal AI assistant.
I’ll give you a quick overview of the features.
If you wish to open the wall of glass doors to the westside terrace, just say, ‘Genie, please open the glass wall.’ I can do other tasks for you as well, such as drawing a hot bath, turning the lights on and off, and brewing your morning coffee.
Just ask. I’ll be listening for your requests.
Is there anything I can do for you now?”
“Genie, where are the new clothes?” I ask.
“Walk into the bathroom. There is a closet at the far end where you will find clothes,” Genie replies.
Following Genie’s instructions, we walk into the bathroom. It’s a sea of white marble with black and grey veins. We pass double sinks, a spacious walk-in shower with dual rainfall heads, and a soaking tub for two. On the back wall, a pocket door opens into a generous walk-in closet.
My jaw drops. The shelves and rods are filled with a variety of beach clothes and bathing suits, along with sandals and slip-on shoes. Everything is brand new. The tags—designer tags no less—are still in place.
“They are definitely prepared for last-minute guests,” Brooke muses.
Before I can answer, Genie interrupts, “Your hosts want you to be comfortable. How can I further assist you?”
“Is Genie going to hear everything we say?” Brooke asks, a hint of concern in her voice.
“Yes, I will be listening in case you have a request for me,” Genie says.
“Genie, what if we don’t want you to listen all the time? How can we turn you off?” Brooke asks.
“You can’t completely disable me. However, you can put me in remote mode. In that mode, you must push a green, voice button on the remote control to request my help,” Genie explains.
“How do we put you in remote mode?” I ask.
“Press the red button on the bedside remote. If you wish to reactivate my continuous listening mode, then press the green button,” Genie says.
We both hurry back to the bedroom. Brooke grabs the remote and pushes the red button with conviction.
“Let’s test it out to see if she’s really gone,” I say.
“Okay, Genie, turn on the lights,” Brooke commands.
Nothing happens.
I push the voice button and say, “Genie, turn on the lights.”
The lights turn on.
Whew. I hit the red button again.
“Is it just us now?” Brooke asks.
“I think so. That was weird though. I know smart houses are popular, but the last thing I want is some AI device listening and recording everything I say.”
“Exactly. It’s creepy.”
“Let’s rinse the sand off our feet and change clothes. Then I’ll be ready for some food, won’t you?”
“Definitely. I can’t wait to get out of these wet, sandy clothes. I’m a mess,” Brooke says as we both reenter the bathroom.
She picks up two towels, one in each hand and turns, bumping into me. I was about to reach for my own towel, not realizing she was getting one for me as well.
Without a second thought, my arms wrap around her, pulling her against me. I tuck her hair behind her ear and cup her cheek in my hand. As I lean in to kiss her, I murmur, “No. You’re not a mess at all. You’re perfect.”
Our lips meet in a soft kiss that sends a tremble of heat down my body. My hand moves to the back of her neck, and our heads tilt in opposite directions. We fit so well, it’s as if we were made for each other.
As we kiss, we melt into each other. We can’t seem to get enough.
My pulse quickens, and our breathing turns to quiet moans of pleasure as her lips part, and my tongue slips in to find hers.
Without separating, I walk her backward toward the nearest wall and reach down to pull her blouse up over her shoulders.
Breaking our kiss for just a moment, I marvel at her perky round breasts that are covered in lavender lace. “Love, you are so beautiful.” Leaning down, I slide the lace aside and take her hardened nipple between my lips, letting my teeth gently graze the surface.
“Oh my god, that feels sooo good,” she murmurs as she weaves her fingers through my hair, holding my head in place.
We’re interrupted by a loud Knock. Knock. Knock, followed by Sean’s voice. “Stuart, if you don’t want to miss dinner, put your clothes back on and get out here,” he yells through the door.
Bloody cock blocker. Could his timing be any worse?
“How does he know we’re not dressed? How can he see in here? Did Genie tell him?” Brooke asks in a shaky voice.
“He doesn’t know anything. He’s just being a cheeky bastard. But if we don’t go out to the party soon, he will know what’s up.”
“I can change fast,” she says, clutching a towel to her partially bare chest while rushing to the closet. She grabs clothes from the collection of varying sizes and styles, uses the shower to rinse her feet, and scurries into the bedroom to dress.
If I follow her, it will only delay us further. Instead, I remain in the bathroom, trading my wet, sandy suit pants and dress shirt for khaki shorts and a light green polo.
When I join Brooke in the bedroom, she’s a breath of fresh air in a white linen shirt and navy shorts. Her posture is more relaxed than normal. Her cheeks are even glowing.
“You look amazing. Give me a minute to put shoes on. Then we can go,” I say.
“No problem. How’s your foot feeling?”
“Much better. As much as it hurt earlier, I’d almost forgotten about it,” I chuckle, slipping on the sandals.
This beach excursion confirmed my suspicions about Brooke.
Not only is she considerate, but she can also be fun and spontaneous behind her conservative mask.
She’s hiding that part of herself to pursue her dream job.
It’s not unlike the way my family expects me to temper my adventurous side to better suit my noble title.
Ironically, Brooke and I are both playing roles at the expense of our true selves. The question is whether it’s worth it. Clearly, she’s having second thoughts.
At least she has the option to do something else if she wants.
I don’t. Even if I wanted to take a different path, it wouldn’t be a real choice for me.
And it’s not as if I’ll truly mind being the Earl of Sandridge.
It’s that I dread the version of the role my parents have outlined for me—particularly the part where I’m tied to Lady Whitfield.
She’s nothing if not proper and utterly boring. Ugh.
It would be quite different to be married to someone like Brooke.
Life would be much more interesting. Unfortunately, I can’t go there.
She has very specific career goals, all of which involve staying in LA.
She wouldn’t give it up and move to London to take the role planned for Lady Whitfield.
It’s also doubtful my parents would be pleased if I announced a replacement for the woman they’ve selected for me.
Once my shoes are on, I stand, saying, “Let’s join the party,” as I motion for Brooke to exit the guesthouse first.
We navigate around the pool to join the other guests near the barbecue grill that’s part of an extravagant outdoor kitchen and bar area. As we walk, my hand remains glued to the small of Brooke’s back, not wanting to lose the physical contact to her.
Along the way, we encounter two servers carrying trays with appetizers. One has fresh figs wrapped in prosciutto, and the other offers Gruyère and crab palmiers. I’d love a plateful of these, but adhering to proper manners, I take one of each and savor every mouth-watering bite.
A guy in a chef’s hat is manning the oversized grill. He’s cooking veggie, seafood, and beef tenderloin skewers along with grilled pineapple, watermelon, and peaches. I watch as he slathers them with marinade while two nearby bartenders toss drink shakers, entertaining the growing crowd.
“He’s making some interesting cocktails. What would you like to try?” I ask.
“The one that looks like a sunset. What do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure. You should ask.”
“What’s the cocktail that has all the colors of the sun setting?” Brooke inquires.
“It’s called a Catalinius Sunset. It’s made with tequila, pineapple-orange juice, agave nectar, and grenadine. It’s similar to a tequila sunrise, but with a couple of extra ingredients.”
“I’ll definitely try one of those. It sounds delicious.” She grins. I love this relaxed version of Brooke who’s enjoying the evening at the beach with my friends. It’s like a huge weight lifted from her shoulders.
She turns to me. “Are you having one too?”
“Not this time. I’ll just have a whiskey, neat, but I may steal a sip of your drink, if you’re sharing.” I wink.
“That can be arranged,” she says, squeezing my arm.
We sip our drinks and take in the crowd packed with LA celebrities and attractive women, who are fawning over Evan and Sean. A prince and a Las Vegas billionaire make perfect targets. Fortunately, for me, I’m not nearly as well-known, so I’m able to stay under the radar and focus on Brooke.
Servers move among the guests, passing out short skewers of food from the grill. We enjoy our handheld dinner as we sip refills from the bar and chat about our lives.
As we’re finishing our drinks, the music changes to something slower, so I ask. “Any chance I could talk you into a dance?”
She nods, so I take our empty glasses and set them on a nearby table. Grabbing her hands, I lead us to an open spot near the pool and pull her close. She lets out a soft murmur. I’m guessing she felt the same spark that I did.
After a minute or so, I loop her hands around my neck and wrap mine around her waist as we sway to the music.
Soon, she rests her head on my chest. I don’t want this moment to end. It feels too right.
When the song finishes and the music speeds up again, she whispers, “Thank you for this afternoon and evening. It’s been incredible, and I don’t want it to end. But I need to go home before it’s any later.”
“I know. Let’s find Evan and Sean to say goodnight. Then we’ll contact my driver.”
I scan the crowd, eventually spotting my mates near the bar. Evan has his arm around an attractive blonde woman, and Sean is working his magic on a brunette. I shouldn’t be surprised.
Once we reach them, I say, “Sorry to interrupt. We’re going back downtown before it’s any later. Hopefully, I’ll catch up with you again while we’re all in LA.”
Sean responds, “You need to stay here tonight and go back in the morning.”
“Thanks, but we can’t,” I say, waving off the suggestion.
“You don’t have a choice. Your driver wasn’t feeling well. Food poisoning, I think. Our housekeeper is looking after him,” Sean says.
“We looked into another driver for you, but it’s too late for anyone to do the trip from here to downtown and back,” Evan adds.
I look at my two friends suspiciously, particularly, given their earlier text offers to serve as my wingmen. They appear to be serious though, so I ask, “Do you have enough space for both of us?”
“Absolutely. The guesthouse is yours.”
“Where can I sleep?” Brooke asks, a note of panic in her expression.
“There’s room for both of you in the guesthouse. That’s the only space we have left. I’m sure you two can figure something out. It’s just one night.”
“Brooke can have the guesthouse. I’ll take a sofa somewhere. It’ll be fine.”
“Sorry. You’ll both need to stay in the guesthouse. Everywhere else is taken.”
I turn to Brooke, guiding her away from them. “I’m sorry. I don’t see how we can make it back downtown tonight. Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the floor or a sofa. We’ll make it work.”
“It’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”
“Thanks for understanding. Do you want to stay at the party longer, or call it quits for the evening?”
“I’ve had a great time, but I’m not used to partying into the early morning hours anymore. If you don’t mind, I’m done for the night.”
“That’s good with me. I doubt the party will last much longer. I overheard someone say that they already had to turn the music down to comply with a local noise ordinance.”
“Let’s figure out our sleeping arrangements,” she says, walking toward the guesthouse.