16. Chapter 16
Beck waited for our group at a long table. He smiled as we entered the restaurant, but his jaw slackened as his eyes dipped to the slice of skin beneath my shirt. He hadn’t been at the resort when we’d returned to freshen up before dinner.
I’d chosen a high-low maxi skirt and a crop top. After being in a bikini all day, showing that sliver of skin on my stomach shouldn’t have been a big deal, but as I”d put on my earrings, my shirt lifted a little higher. The idea of Beck seeing that stretch of skin had made my chest flush.
I thought maybe his eyes would linger, but I hadn’t anticipated capturing his attention so fully, nor the hunger in his dilating pupils.
My body had its own physical reactions, starting with the warmth pooling under my navel.
“Beck!” Koontz yelled, slapping his hands onto Beck’s shoulders, knocking both of us from the trance. “You missed out on all the fun.”
Beck gave a little lopsided smile. “And it looks like you missed out on all the sun lotion.” He leaned over to look at Nick. “You’re a dermatologist. You let this happen?”
Nick didn’t look up from the menu. “This doctor is off duty.”
“He did try,” Sebastian said, wincing as he eyed a painfully red Koontz. “Someone didn’t listen.”
Victoria interrupted the group, demanding a picture. She waved at a server, but I stood up, offering before he could set his tray down. “I’ll do it!”
“You will not,” Victoria said. “You haven’t been in a single picture all day.”
She was right. I’d been offering to take the pictures because A) I was still an outsider and, more importantly, B) I could not have pictures of me on this trip with Beck. We would never hear the end of it from HR.
“I can’t be in the pictures anyway,” I said, hand outstretched for her phone. “My brother thinks I’m sick. I’m missing his daughter’s piano recital for this trip,” the lie rolled off my tongue. I hated that I was getting better at being dishonest.
Koontz banged on the table, delighted. “Damn, Hailey! Way to take one for the trip.”
“Okay, you heard her,” Doug called. “No picture evidence of Hailey.”
Sebastian lifted his water glass in a mock toast. “What happens in Costa stays in Costa, baby!” This earned laughter and whooping from the group.
After getting dozens of shots from dozens of viewpoints of the group, I reclaimed my place next to Beck. Weirdly enough, as the volume at the table rose, it felt as though Beck and I could have a private conversation. The deafening chatter at the table acted like walls.
Which is why what Beck said next felt especially intimate. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Hearing a compliment like that from someone as gorgeous as Beck made my tongue feel swollen and clumsy in my mouth. I tried to thank him, but the server came by to take our order.
“That is a sweet arm sleeve you have, brother,” Koontz said to the server.
He”d been writing furiously on his notepad but stopped to roll his arm so we could get a better look. Twin snakes wrapped upward, the ink making precise scales along the way.
“Thanks. My cousin does them at his shop down the street.”
“No shit?” Koontz slapped Doug’s chest. “We could get those geometric wolves we’ve been wanting.” He looked back at the server. “What’s the place called?”
The server gave him the name and location, then went back to taking our orders.
When he was gone, Victoria leaned in and said loudly, “You guys have fun. Hopefully, you don’t get an infection.”
“Because we are in a different country, they can’t have sanitary tattoo shops?” Beck mused. “Come on, Vic. You’re a little too educated for that mindset.”
She shot him the middle finger. “Okay, well, remember, if you get a tattoo now,” she continued, looking at Doug, “you can forget about swimming, laying out in the sun, and hot tubs.”
This earned a groan from Koontz and Doug. Then the table fell into voting on whether or not the wolves would look douchey on them anyway, and I took the opportunity to have another private chat with my fake boyfriend.
“So, you ever going to add to the collection?” I asked, nodding towards the ink on Beck’s arm.
“Only adding something to the negative space,” he said, indicating the naked band under the flower stems. “Can’t give you more of a reason to call me a tattoo guy, now can I?”
“Well, give it time. They say tattoos are like chips. You can’t have only one.”
The server came back in record time with the table’s drink orders, setting a beer down in front of Beck and a sunset-colored cocktail in front of me.
“What did you order again?” Beck asked, smiling at my ridiculous drink.
“The Pura Vida.” I’d heard the term, pure life, in the full day I’d been here. Trying the cocktail seemed part of the Costa Rican experience. “The menu described it as basically a rum punch.”
One sip of the fruity, refreshing drink told me to take it slow, I could barely taste the alcohol.
I nodded toward Beck’s arm, steering our conversation back to his tattoo. “It still looks fresh. You haven’t had it for long, have you?”
“I got it a couple of days before I started at The Arlow Group.”
Right before I met him. Wow, that seemed like a lifetime ago, him pulling me out of the water. How he’d looked so disgusted at where I’d gotten his sleeve wet . . .
My eyes snapped back to his arm, his tattoo, the same spot I’d clung to that day. “Oh my God! When you pulled me out of the water, the tattoo was still healing, wasn’t it?”
He took a lazy sip of his beer and leaned back in his seat. “I told you it wasn’t about the shirt.”
“Why did you hold out that arm for me to grab?” I asked, appalled that I could have messed up something so permanent.
“I was too worried about you drowning to think about my tattoo. At that point, I didn’t know about your aggressive floating skills.”
“Did I hurt you?” I asked, ignoring his attempt at humor.
“Not badly. It kind of felt like you’d grabbed onto a sunburn. But you have to understand, my tattoo artist made me swear to keep out of the pool for three weeks. I thought my arm was going to fall off after getting Woodlands swamp water on it. At the very least, I expected my tattoo to be an inky mess.”
“So that’s why you were a dick,” my voice matched that of someone having an epiphany because that’s what this moment freaking was.
“It’s no excuse,” Beck said, eyes serious. “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”
My mouth fell ajar. I was working to conjure a response when I felt eyes on me. Across the table, Reagan focused on us. She couldn’t hear our conversation, not with the roar of the table. But she was watching.
How cruel to keep her gaze fixed on Beck. What, he’d moved on after she cheated, and she couldn’t let him go? Let him be happy? I might not have been in love with Chad, the one who cheated on me, but that betrayal still cut deep. He’d found someone prettier, more lovable, better. And Reagan had done the same to Beck.
Time for her to get a taste of karma.
I leaned closer to Beck and, ever so lightly, pressed the nail of my fingertip to one of the bands on Beck’s arm. From there, I followed a stem all the way to a brilliant red flower. “How long did it take to get it done?” Beck froze as I traced a petal. I could relate. Just running a finger across his skin sent a hum of electricity down my spine. “Follow my lead,” I purred. “Reagan is watching.”
For a long moment, I didn’t think Beck had heard anything I said. Goosebumps rose on his arm as I stroked the flowers with the slightest whisper of a touch. But then he swallowed and found his voice.
“Uh, six—” he cleared his throat. “—six hours or so.” I didn’t know what I enjoyed more, touching him or my touch’s impact on him.
I gave a sympathetic wince. “That’s a long time. Did it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse,” he rasped.
“And,” I said, smiling now that I had him in a trance, sure I could get more information out of him. “What does it mean, again?”
His pupils narrowed into focus. “Nice try.” He grabbed my hand to stop the movement but didn’t let go. My hand felt radioactive, encased in his.
“Come on,” I said, “just tell me.”
“I will. After you beat me at swimming.”
I snatched my hand away with an eye-roll. “We both know that’s never going to happen.”
“Kind of the point,” he said.
“Alright. Fine. But you’ve left me no choice but to assume I was right all along about your flower obsession—that you grow carnations in your backyard as a hobby.”
Beck’s mouth quirked. “And what would be wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” I sniffed. “Keeping it a secret is the weird part. You get a tattoo on a part of your body that’s generally on display, then refuse to share the meaning. Why not put it someplace less . . . obvious . . . if you don’t want people to know what it means?”
“Maybe I like to keep you guessing,” Beck mused.
I started to retort, but our server and a team of helpers set down mouthwatering dishes before us.
Thrumming music sparked the group’s curiosity as soon as we stepped into the humid night air. We followed the sound to an outside bar under colorful banners and stringed lights. The DJ had the crowd mesmerized, including our group.
Beck and I shared a worried look. We were supposed to be a couple. It would be weird if we didn’t dance. And this kind of music didn’t call for sweet movements—hands at the shoulders and lower back. This was ass-to-pelvis bumping and grinding.
Beck leaned close to whisper, “We can come up with an excuse to go back to the resort. I don”t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Right away, Reagan found a stranger in the crowd to dance with. The guy looked at her like he’d won the jackpot. And I didn’t blame him. Her perky breasts peeked out of her dress just enough to still be tasteful. Not to mention the way the fabric at her backside stretched to reveal a tight ass she clearly worked hard to maintain.
It didn’t bother me that she’d picked a stranger to dance with. We were in Costa Rica to have fun. It was the way she’d looked right at Beck when her dance partner ran his hand across her thigh that ignited my anger.
I took Beck’s hand, leading him to the dance floor. “Nope. Not uncomfortable at all,” I said, partly because that Pura Vida had been strong, partly because I wanted to make Reagan turn a shade of green, but—if I was honest with myself—mostly because I wanted to dance with Beck.
The first song, as it turned out, was uncomfortable.
We tried to find our rhythm and placement of hands that showed we were definitely a couple who did things like this all the time while still maintaining a respectable workplace distance.
It didn’t work.
“This isn’t working,” I voiced.
We looked like we were eighth graders at our first dance.
Beck dipped his head so we could talk without yelling. “You said cotillion hand positions when we set ground rules. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Okay, but I think that’s part of the problem. No one else here is worried about their date being uncomfortable. All they are thinking about is having a good time and how to keep having a good time tonight.”
“What do you want me to do?” Beck moved backward, only an inch, so he could look into my eyes. I saw the conflicted line between his brows before I even made my proposal.
“I want you to forget I’m your coworker.” I licked my lips, and his eyes dipped to the movement. “And dance with me like having a good time is your only concern.”
“Are you sure?” he rasped.
We were intentionally edging toward breaking a rule. This was dangerous territory.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Beck spun me, pulling me in until my ass was flush against him. I gasped, lightheaded at the sudden shift. Then his hot palms met my stomach, fingers exploring that stretch of bare skin. A heaviness grew between my thighs. So much for being able to look Beck in the eye after this trip. As I ground against him to the beat of the music, I tried to find it in myself to care, to want to hold onto a scrap of dignity. But pressed against Beck, both of us sweating under low lights, dancing to Costa Rican music, my mind and my judgment were clouded by need.
It didn’t even take an entire song for Reagan to notice the position change. She looked over the shoulder of her date, eyes zeroing in on Beck’s fingers and where they splayed at my navel, slipping just under my shirt.
“I think our mission is complete,” I said, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair and tugging lightly on his curls.
“Which one?”
By this point, his length was pressing into my ass cheek. Rock hard. The idea of him wanting me made my breath ragged.
He’s been drinking. He’s not thinking straight. I reminded myself. He’s notinto you.
I swallowed. “The one to make Reagan jealous. She’s staring daggers at me.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said before dragging his hands oh-so-slowly down my stomach to my hips.
I swallowed. “I told you. I’m detail-oriented.” His laugh rumbled against my back. “I think you should owe me one,” I said, trying not to get too lost in his touch. “For doing an extra good job convincing her of our infatuation.”
His lips were at the shell of my ear when he asked, “What did you have in mind?” His deep voice made my stomach swirly.
“I’ll think of something,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.
“How about if we ever come across your ex, I’ll do the grinding?”
I laughed, a breathless thing. “Tempting.” I shoved my hips back, rocking my ass against him. The move elicited a groan, and he spun me to face him. “But I was thinking you should do the process documentation for the next project.” That kind of documentation called for anywhere from eighty to one hundred twenty pages of walking through each and every business process. It was an absolute nightmare. “And maybe some light groveling.”
“Process documentation I can do. Groveling, on the other hand . . .”
Beck’s gaze dipped to my mouth for a second time that night. I leaned closer, dizzy with want. Every cell in my body hummed with anticipation. He tilted his head, his lips a breath from mine. My eyes fluttered shut right before someone roughly bumped into us. Beck had to catch me to keep us from banging mouths.
I turned to see the culprit. “Sorry!” Madison called over her shoulder, snatching Reagan from her date before heading for the bathroom.
I took a step back, and Beck slowly released his grip on my shoulders. We’d almost broken another rule. I couldn’t kiss him—the man I shared a sleeping space with tonight and an office with next week.
With a mumble, I excused myself to the restroom, following the girls’ lead. I needed time to think. To cool off.
I’d barely closed the door when I heard Reagan and Madison in the stalls next to mine. “Can you believe the way she was grinding on him?” Madison asked. “I thought they would start fucking right on the dance floor.”
The tips of my ears heated. I’d never been slut shamed before. And even though I hadn’t done anything different from anyone else out there, I suddenly felt dirty.
“I don’t want to talk about Beckett and his date,” Reagan growled.
“Why?” Madison asked.
Toilets flushed, and faucets turned on.
“Because I miss him. Because he’s over me. Because it hurts.”
“Then get him back, Reagan. Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t tried already. Look at you and look at her. Where did he even find this girl? Wandering the sales rack at Target?”
I frowned. So much for fitting in.
“You and Beck should have never broken up,” Madison continued. “You two were made for each other. You were in love. Everyone could see it.”
“I . . . messed up, Madison.”
“Haven’t we all? But I’m telling you, he’ll drop his date like that—” She snapped her fingers. “—If you tell him how you feel.”
“You really think so?”
Madison smacked her lips. “I’d bet my trust fund on it.”
Embarrassed and oddly hurt at the idea of Beck dumping me—even though I wasn’t his real girlfriend—I waited in the stall until the girls left. Then I hightailed it out of there and nearly ran into Beck near the bathroom entrance.
“Hey!” He caught my gaze, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about Reagan. He deserved to know she wanted him back. But my mouth—still tingly with the prospect of his lips on mine—said, “Nothing. I just—I’m tired. I think I’m going to head back to the resort.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “You should be with your friends, having fun.”
“I want to make sure you get there safely.”
Such a basic sentiment, yet it fizzled and popped in my belly, making me feel light, bubbly. “Okay, thank you.”
On the way to the resort, we got distracted by colorful souvenir shops. We ducked into one that boasted a variety of kitsch items. An entire aisle was dedicated to Pura Vida shirts.
“I think that’s going to be my new catchphrase,” I teased.
“Pure life?” Beck seemed to mull it over. “I’ll buy you a shirt if you promise to wear it to the office.”
“I’ll wear the shirt to work if you get Pura Vida tattooed between the bands.”
Beck rubbed the skin void of ink. “I would, but I’m saving the space for something else.”
I started to ask him what he planned to put there, but he picked up an oversized shirt that looked like a cartoon print of George of the Jungle’s chest and leopard undies. At the top it read, I survived the jungle.
“This,” he said, smiling wildly. “This is the one.”
I couldn’t help it. I threw my head back and cackled, making the shop owner’s head pop up from his doze. I offered an apologetic wave.
Beck was still looking at the damn shirt. “Can’t wait for the hike tomorrow so I can come back and buy this treasure.”
“Oh!” He hadn’t been with us at the beach when we’d changed plans. “About that. The group had so much fun with Jerry that they paid for him to take us to a different alcove tomorrow.”
Beck’s eyebrows scrunched. “Who the hell is Jerry?”
“He’s the captain of the boat we rode on today. He’s a little bristly, but that’s part of his charm.”
“Oh.” Beck’s head dipped as he put the shirt back on the shelf. “And everyone wants to go?”
“I thought you would be happy. You were too tired for the beach today. Now you get another chance tomorrow.”
Beck scratched the back of his head as he headed down an aisle of shot glasses. “I’m just not really a beach kind of guy.”
“But . . . you love to swim.”
“Not in the ocean.”
“Are you afraid of sharks?”
“No—”
“Because you are more likely to die from a vending machine falling on top of you than you are to get killed by a shark.”
“It’s not a fear thing, Lane.”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, and the silence wore heavy. I could see him mentally building a wall. And I didn’t want that. So even though I was, in fact, a beach girl, I found the following words tumbling out of my mouth, “Then we let them go to the alcove. You and I can go to the jungle.”
“No, Emily. It’s okay. I know you had fun today.”
“I did. And now I’m looking forward to doing something different tomorrow. We have beaches back home. Let’s go on that hike.”
Beck let the shot glass he’d been examining clink onto the counter so he could read me for what felt like the millionth time tonight. “Are you sure?”
I saw the two paths the next day as a fork in the road. I could join my new friends at the alcove. Hell, I could even tell Beck what Reagan had said, and she could spend the day with Beck. Leaving me a guilt-free day in the sun. However, I realized I didn’t want Reagan to be alone with Beck in the jungle because I wanted to be alone with Beck in the jungle. I only had six more days, less than a week, of freedom, and I wanted to spend each of those days with Beck. The realization was startling.
I nodded. “I really, really want to see a sloth.” It wasn’t a lie.
Beck’s eyes crinkled at the corner, matching the wide smile unfurling. “Okay, Lane. Tomorrow, we’ll find you that sloth.”