G-Men: The Series (88 page)

Me and Captain Morgan…

“Please know this isn’t the end of the world. It’s better you found out now rather than later what type of man Darin is.”

I doubted if the pain could be any worse, but Mom needed to know that I’d get through it.

“I know Mom, and you’re right.”

“Good girl.”

I changed into a summer dress complete with flip-flops, to take a walk on the beach, letting the warm tide wash over my feet in the wet sand. I let my long hair down so I could feel the wind whip through it. It was therapeutic and calming. The ocean had a way of making everything seem so very small and inconsequential, putting things in perspective.

I was enjoying the relaxing solitude when I noticed a couple coming down to the beach about twenty yards from me. The man was tall, probably around 6’ 3” and extremely handsome. I could tell that from a distance. He had very dark, thick hair and a lean, but muscular build. I noticed he had a five o’clock shadow gracing his tanned face, his features were finely chiseled. I smiled to myself as I noticed his very rugged looks conflicted with the air of aristocracy he had about him. How in the hell I could presume that was beyond me. He wore sunglasses, but I imagined his eyes to be either blue or green. He wore a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top few buttons unfastened, showing his muscular broad chest with a pair of khaki trousers. That was one fine ass he had going on.

I noticed the young woman with him was now staring at me. She obviously noticed that I had noticed, and didn’t appreciate it by the body language she was giving off. She was shorter than I was, probably about 5’ 2” or 5’ 3” to my 5’ 7” height. She was built nicely, had medium-length blonde hair and a gorgeous tan. She was wearing a bikini that left very little to the imagination. As soon as I knew I was busted, I looked away. I could hear the man’s deep, rich laughter as I did. Blushing furiously, I turned and headed further down the beach.

A couple in love no doubt. Here I was, just a loner with heartbreak in a tropical, romantic place like Belize. What had I been thinking coming here? I’d have been better off holed up in some hotel in London watching the rainy drizzle outside my window. At least the rain and I would have something in common.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a raised voice down the beach where the couple had been.

“I’m sick of the way you’re always scoping out other chicks! It might be nice if you paid some attention to the girl you’re actually with once in a while!”

What in the hell?

I glanced back and then around. There were no “other chicks” on the beach except for me.

Really?

The girl was totally gorgeous, looking like Vacay Barbie, so her insecurity really didn’t make much sense to me. I watched as he pulled his sunglasses off and faced her, his index finger jabbing the space in front of her as if reprimanding her. He obviously was saying something to her in a calmer voice, making it impossible for me to hear. I saw her shrink back from him, then whirl around and run back down the beach in the opposite direction, presumably back to their own villa.

The guy put his sunglasses back on, turning to gaze down at me. He saw that, once again, he had my attention. Busted #2! I hurriedly turned away from him and started walking further down the beach, feeling his eyes still upon me. A tingling sensation enveloped my whole body as he did. It was my turn to laugh softly as I put distance between us.

Once I’d finished my walk on the beach, I showered and changed for dinner. I decided I wasn’t going to hole up in my villa and order room service. I was damn well secure enough to dine alone (which would definitely be a first experience for me. But what the hell, right?).

I chose a clingy cobalt-blue cocktail dress that covered the necessities, just
barely
. It clung to my curves, and damn near lifted my breasts up over the top. I worked hard on keeping my body in shape, so why not flaunt it? It wasn’t as if I’d ever see any of these people again.

I accessorized with silver earrings and a slave bracelet. I slid my freshly-pedicured feet into a pair of black, 4-inch, spiked, Louis Vuitton summer sandals. They were hot. Poor Daddy! They’d set him back somewhere in the neighborhood of eight hundred dead presidents. I tried not to over-do it with his and Mom’s generosity, but like I said, I was their only child and if it made them feel good to indulge me, then why spoil it for them? My mother had been 42 years old when she had me. She referred to me as her and Daddy’s miracle surprise.

At 64 years of age, they both still possessed a youthful air about them. I knew the truth, though. My parents had been “hippies” in the late sixties, early seventies. That’s right, bona fide, sign-carrying, Vietnam-protesting hippies. I had a hard time with making that connection too. It was only because of Mom’s slightly younger sister Bridget that I’d found out about it.

Apparently, my mother attended Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio, which to this day, she claims, is a town still lost in the “sixties.” My father had attended nearby Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio but they didn’t actually meet until August of 1969. Guess where?

WOODSTOCK! (A three-day concert held in upstate New York—I had to look it up.)

It’s so hard for me now to picture my parents as war-protesters or hippies. They blend in very nicely with the country club set and international travelers. I suppose youth has a way of putting different perspectives on things before it’s time to bring home the bacon. I’m only grateful that I’d been a late-in-life baby. I can only imagine what my life would have been like if I’d been born as a result of their “hooking up” at Woodstock. God! I’d be like in my early forties and would probably have some Bohemian name like “Moon Shadow” or “Rain Flower.”

I took a deep breath, putting all of that out of my mind as I realized it was time for me to leave for dinner. I left my villa, clutch purse in hand and walked the lonely distance to the resort’s high-end restaurant. I’d made a reservation for one. Don’t think that wasn’t extremely difficult. Fuck it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that jazz.

Luckily, I passed a Tiki bar on the way up to the restaurant. I stopped and ordered a Mambiscus, one of the tropical favorites in Belize. It was delicious with coconut rum, coconut liquor, apple liquor and peach liquor, along with watermelon juice and some other various non-alcoholic mixtures. I slurped it up in no time flat, getting the tingling buzz of relaxation from the alcohol content. I adjusted my dress downward to shield my said necessities from a mix of perusing male eyes sitting at the outside bar.

As soon as I arrived at the restaurant, I knew this had been a mistake.

It was packed as hell, so naturally I had a wait time for my “table for one”—which, with my current luck, would probably end up being right outside the Men’s room. I was invited to sit at the bar with an electronic device that would light up and vibrate when my table was ready.

Luckily, I found an empty stool at the bar, and proceeded to plop my ass down on it without giving everyone in the house a show. There was an older guy to the right of me, and a younger guy in business dress to the left of me on his cell phone. I gave the bartender my drink order and then took a look around the bar and restaurant, swiveling the bar stool to do a full panoramic view.

Shit!

It was him! The hot guy from the beach earlier. Guess who was with him? Yep! The petite blonde that had been with him there and had stomped away after accusing him of gawking at other chicks.

Double Shit!

They were already seated; nibbling on their appetizers, while Blondie had her small notebook computer opened, occasionally entering data while he spoke to her.

What’s up with that?

I was still gaping their way when “gorgeous” happened to look over at me. I could see instantly he drew the connection with me being the one on the beach earlier. I felt myself tingle as his gorgeous eyes, now without sunglasses to mask them, perused my body up and down as I sat cross-legged on the bar stool. I hurriedly spun my bar stool back around, presenting my back to them. There was a mirror over the bar and I couldn’t resist searching him out in the reflection and noticing he was still very much checking me out.

God, he looked so hot in his dinner suit. He was impeccable from every angle and trust me; I was checking each and every angle out in that mirror! He was watching me watching him. I wanted to turn my head, but I seriously couldn’t! I was freaking mesmerized with his looks and his charisma that seemed to seep from every pore in that oh-so-lovely body of his. I was lost in the moment, gazing at him gazing at me through the mirror behind the bar.

All of a sudden, Blondie turned her head, obviously aware that he’d stopped paying any attention to what they were doing. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and shot a whole new set of icy daggers at me, which didn’t diminish a bit in the reflection. I wasn’t going to give her the benefit of breaking my gaze first. Finally, she turned back to look at him. My eyes dropped as the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I focused my attention on that, sipping the delicious nectar of this tropical drink.

Already, I was feeling light and giddy, probably because I hadn’t eaten a thing since I arrived in Belize. The older guy next to me turned his attention to me, his eyes flickering over me from top to bottom.

“On vacation?” he asked, trying to give me an appropriate opening line.

“Yep,” I answered, sipping my cocktail.

“Me too,” he replied, scooting his bar stool just a tad closer. “I’m here all alone taking a much needed vacation from my wife and grandchildren,” he explained, as if I were minimally interested.

“That’s nice,” I replied, trying not all that hard to sound condescending.

He bantered on a few minutes longer. Most of the conversation didn’t even sink in to my brain until his hand reached over and rested on my bare thigh.

“Yep,” he continued, “I have a stressful job as a CEO in the States. My wife’s taken to raising my low-life son’s children, so it’s like starting that crap all over again. Thought I was done with all of that once I hit fifty. But no, wifey says it’s for the children; can’t be selfish when it comes to the children. I wish she cared about my well-being as much as she cares about ‘the children’s’ well-being, you know?”

“Well, actually, I don’t,” I replied, politely moving his hand from my thigh and placing it back on his own. “I’m 22, and I honestly can’t fathom what your life is like. I’m sorry.”

“Aren’t you a call girl?” he asked, looking totally perplexed. “Aren’t you paid to listen to my sad tales? Oh, I get it, cash first, right?”

I think my mouth would have dropped open if that initial reaction wasn’t swiftly followed by rage-studded humiliation. “Fuck you, old man,” I said. “I think you’ve stepped into a generation you don’t know
a damn thing
about.”

I was about to say more, tell him to fucking turn away and leave me the hell alone, when the bartender approached with a fresh drink in his hands for me.

“It’s from the gentleman over there,” he said with a nod towards the table where “gorgeous” and his pouty wife and/or girlfriend were sitting.

“He said for me to tell you to enjoy, and that he finds you most beautiful, Miss.”

I couldn’t help myself, I had to turn and see if he really had enough gall to send a drink to me in front of his wife, girlfriend—whatever the hell she was to him. And I saw it, his eyes on me, gazing with an intensity that made me shiver in the balmy air. I also saw her arctic gaze, sizing me up in her mind, trying to figure out just why he’d made sending me a drink an issue that she wasn’t comfortable with.

I gave him a saucy wink (which I never would have done if I wasn’t already feeling really, really buzzed) and swiveled back around to face the bar. Of course, my very astute vision allowed me to watch what was happening from behind in the bar mirror without them noticing.

Blondie stood up, pushing her chair back abruptly from their table, banging it into the man sitting at the table next to them. She threw her linen napkin on her plate, grabbed her notebook and handbag, and then stomped off quickly.

I watched closely in the mirror, trying to ascertain his reaction. There was none. None whatsoever. He sat there cool, calm and collected, and finished his drink as if her storming out of there meant nothing to him.

Probably a player…

Just then, the beeper I’d been given beeped and lit up like a Christmas tree. I collected my drink from the bar and walked over to the Maitre’ D, handing him the beeper.

“Right this way,” he said, nodding for me to follow him. You can imagine my utter surprise when he pulled the chair out that Blondie had recently vacated, indicating for me to take my place across from “Gorgeous.” A fresh place setting had been delivered. All signs of the blonde had vanished.

“Wait,” I sputtered. “This is a mistake. I need a table for one.”

I looked across the table as this smokin’ hot man stood up, flashing his exquisite gray eyes at me, smiling slightly, reflecting a dimple.

Oh. Wow.

“If you’ll excuse my boldness, Miss. I made the request on your behalf, hoping that you might agree to have dinner with me this evening.”

“I thought you had a dinner companion for the evening,” I replied, hearing an audible sigh from the now-growing-impatient Maître’ D behind me.

“Plans change,” he replied with a smirk, tilting his lips. “Join me?”

He was gorgeous, sexy and had to be in his early thirties, likely very worldly, too. What the hell. I lowered myself into the chair, nudging it closer to the table in an effort to shield my bare thighs from his bold gaze. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was looking. The Maitre’ D left, telling us our server would be with us shortly.

“Gorgeous” took his seat across from me once I was situated. “My name’s E.J.,” he said in a rich, sensual voice. I released a sigh, thinking how his voice could make even initials sound sensual and slightly dangerous.