Stealing Phin (10 page)

I think I must’ve held my breath during the twenty seconds it took for him to come to the door felt because as soon as he opened it, I exhaled a huge volume of air.

Unfortunately, a stream of verbal diarrhea came out with it.

“I need to talk to you about last night because I can’t stop thinking about it, and it was a terrible thing to do, well for me but probably not for you, and if I don’t say what I have to say then I just might self-explode because who the hell has sex in a pool with a stranger? I sure as hell don’t. Not until last night, anyway, and I don’t know what the fuck that was all about,” I blurted out in one breath.

An elderly couple on their way to the breakfast buffet looked curiously in my direction. God, did I seem as crazy as I sounded?

Byron stood in the doorway, stunned. He looked as if he’d just woken up. His hair was in a messy but cute state of bedhead, and he wore nothing but a pair of boxers.

The fact that every other time I spoke to the guy he was nearly naked was making me feel as if I were being tested. Please, God, don’t let me fail the test this time.

He blinked his hazel eyes, as if he were trying to figure out why I was standing at his door. Or worse, maybe he was trying to remember my name, which was going to make this even more awkward than I’d anticipated. He looked effortlessly sexy, even when he was dazed and confused.

“Phinegan—” he began.

Well, at least I didn’t have to re-introduce myself to him. “It’s just Phin,” I automatically corrected. Immediately, I cringed. Did I really have to remind him of the whole “Just Swift” incident?

I resisted the urge to smack my palm against my forehead. “Can I come in? Kind of awkward having this conversation on your doorstep.”

“I, uh, actually, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” His head turned quickly as he looked at
the
something
—or som
eone
—behind him.

My spine stiffened as I realized his night might not have ended when mine did.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt if you had company.” My cheeks flamed as I turned to leave.

“No, don’t go.” His tone made me stop and turn around. “It’s not that. I was just doing some…work.” He opened his door further and stepped to the side. “Come in. Please.”

My feet wouldn’t move.

It’s
now
or
never,
Phin.
Get
this
over
with,
and
you’ll
never
have
to
talk
to
or
think
about
Byron
Michaels
again.
And
then
you
can
just
focus
on
moving
forward
with
Douglas.

I put my chin down and marched inside.

After he shut the door, Byron strode quickly over to the desk, where an open laptop sat. He closed it and swept a few other techy-looking gadgets that I couldn’t identify into a black duffle bag under the desk table. One of the things I did identify was an expensive-looking camera with one of those long telephoto lenses.

He stepped into my line of vision, blocking my view of his desk. “Cup of coffee?” he asked. He seemed tense.

“No thanks,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

“Do you mind if I have a cup? I’m kind of a bear in the morning until I have my caffeine fix.”

Join
the
club.
“Go for it,” I said, even though I sort of did mind. The longer this took, the more it was going to suck.

“Thanks,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Although I knew that making myself comfortable was the last thing I could possible achieve at this moment, I took a seat on one of the couches in the sitting area anyway.

Byron’s villa wasn’t the same kind of single-room villa Dez and I shared—it was luxury suite. I sat in the living room area, which was separate from a dining area and the full-sized kitchen just beyond that. There was a hallway next to the kitchen that presumably led to his bedroom. Trying to distract myself from thinking about the bed where Byron slept, I watched him make his coffee. He put several spoons of sugar into it.

“You have a sweet tooth,” I said when he sat next to me on the couch.

He paused as he held his mug to his lips. “What?”

“Never mind.” I quickly searched for something else to say. “I noticed you have a nice camera.”

“Um, yeah.” He fidgeted. “I’m sort of a photographer.”

“By profession or hobby?” I hadn’t figured Byron as the creative type. Hmph. The guy was full of surprises.

“Right now, I guess you can say a little of both. I take pictures for my current job, but not the kind I’m proud of.”

“What do you mean,
not
proud
of
?”

“Well, they’re commissioned work and serve a purely practical purpose.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully and gave me a side look I couldn’t quite interpret. “A far cry from being art.”

“What kind of photos do you
want
to take?”

He hesitated. I could tell that this wasn’t something he talked about freely, and I half expected him to tell me to mind my own business. But then he surprised me again. His eyes lit up and his wall came down a tad as he spoke. “Nature photos. I want to work for
National
Geographic
someday.”

“Really?” I couldn’t help but be impressed. “My dad subscribes to that magazine. I used to go through them and cut out the photographs I liked. Kept scrapbooks of them. Those pictures are what made me want to travel.”

Byron gave me a funny look. “Same here.”

We looked at each other in silence for a second or two. “I imagine it’s pretty competitive to get a job there,” I said, wanting to break the silence.

“Yeah. Been sending them stuff from my portfolio for years. I have a feeling, though, that I’ll find the shot that’ll land me the job on this trip. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” His face seemed different now. In place of the smirk he wore last night at the Lounge was the lustful, longing look of someone who was chasing a dream. I knew this look oh-so-well.

“So, if that’s your dream job, what’s your current job?” The conversation had piqued my curiosity about the man sitting next to me. I became genuinely interested in knowing more about him, despite the fact that I’d come to his villa to tell him we should never see or speak to each other again.

Byron shifted in his seat. His face changed as his guard went back up. “Nothing very interesting,” he said brusquely. Then, he cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to me about something?” He put his mug onto the table and angled himself toward me, all business-like.

“Yeah, uh,” but I lost my train of thought as my eyes accidentally landed on his lap. My breath caught in my throat. Was that morning wood I saw?

He followed the trail of my eyes and cussed under his breath. “Excuse me for a minute. I’ll be right back.” He seemed flustered, which gave me a great sense of gratification. Finally, the tables were turned. It was enough to give me the little bit of bravery I needed to see my agenda through.

Byron came back wearing a pair of jeans. He remained shirtless, though, which put me right back on edge again. I had a weakness for a shirtless man in jeans.

“So, to what do I owe this visit?” He said when he sat back down on the couch. Somewhere between his bedroom and the couch, he’d turned on that charm act I’d seen him put on. His face had that controlled, composed expression that had annoyed the crap out of me last night at the Lounge.

I bristled at his tone. Obviously, our rendezvous at the pool meant little to nothing to him. A small part of me actually had the audacity to hope that the looks we had exchanged at the Lava Lounge, the concern in his voice when he tried to persuade me out of the pool, the intensity of his passion when we kissed were real. That they had meant something.

But that’s the thing about hope, I guess. Occasionally, when you dared to harbor it, especially during those times when your pride or ego or heart was at stake, it would backhand you and leave you stinging. Hope could be a real bitch that way.

“Right,” I said, leaning away from him and folding my hands in my lap. “I’ll just cut to the chase. About last night—”

“Last night shouldn’t have happened.” He muttered more to himself than to me. “What a cluster fuck.” His fingers raked through his hair, making it stand on end. All signs of his carefully composed control disappeared for a moment, and he appeared upset. No, not just upset—undone.

So many emotions rushed through me, I couldn’t even identify half of them. His words stung. Made me simultaneously furious and hurt. I couldn’t tell if my emotions were aimed at him or at myself. Did I actually think last night mattered to him enough to warrant a sit-down discussion? Obviously, it meant nothing to him. And neither did I. Not before last night. And certainly not now. I realized how silly it was for me to think any feelings would be involved on his end. I wondered whether he meant that what happened between us was a cluster fuck or if by cluster fuck he meant me. The sad part was I honestly couldn’t argue with him in either case, but that didn’t give him the right to be so callous.

Nonetheless, my pride took a big blow. In an effort to save what little dignity I had left, I swallowed and tried to keep my voice as steady as possible.

“Yeah well that’s exactly what I came here to tell you. Last night was a mistake. But I’m not one of those girls who blames it on the booze and pretends like she doesn’t remember what she did. I remember…every last detail. Although, I honestly don’t know why I did what I did. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I—”

Byron scoffed. “Sure you haven’t,” he muttered under his breath.

My temper flared at what he was implying. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I know how girls like you work.” His face tinged with the same contempt I’d seen in it last night. “You play innocent and sweet to get attention and reel a guy in. And guys are pretty dumb. They wouldn’t notice the signs that give away what you really are. Hell, I saw the signs, and even then, I almost fell for your act. You’re good. Definitely got the whole naïve act down. But you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“What act? What signs?” Fury made my voice loud. Was this guy delusional? Was he seriously implying that
I
was a player?

He looked pointedly at my promise ring. “That for one. I’ve seen it so many times. Women who wear their engagement rings on their right hands when they’re out trying to get laid.”

I was officially pissed off. Where did this guy come off getting all self-righteous with me? “But that doesn’t stop
you
from fucking them, right?” I wanted to slap him.

“What’s your point?”

“That suggesting I’m a slut is pretty rich coming from the biggest man-slut I’ve ever met.”

“Man-slut?”

“I see how
you
work. Flirt with one girl, while keeping your eyes on the next conquest. It’s so obvious.”

“What’s obvious?”

“That you’re one of those womanizers who hates women.”

“
Now
who’s being a hypocrite?” It was his turn to raise his voice. “At least I’m not engaged. I’m a free agent. And if these women want to fuck me while pretending they don’t have a ring on their hand, then that’s on
them
, not me.” Then, he seemed to go off on a tangent. “It’s not my fault they have no morals, no sense of guilt about their fiancés waiting at home for them, hoping they’re having fun and being safe. When all the while, they’re hooking up behind their guys’ backs, making them look like total schmucks, to use your term.”

At this point, I was totally lost. “What are you talking about, you asshole? I’m not fucking engaged!” The only thing his little rant made clear was the fact that Byron had obviously gotten burned in the past. So, the mighty Lord Byron had once been played a fool. I could see now where his bitterness stemmed from. But still, I didn’t see what the hell any of it had to do with me. He should keep his baggage to himself.

He laughed derisively. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I was so livid at this point, I stood up and shoved a shaking finger at his face as I let him have it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but this,” I held my hand up to his face so he could get a close look at my ring, “is
not
an engagement ring. I wear it on my right hand because it’s a
promise
ring, you idiot. And it just so happens that the man who gave me this ring was the one who broke his promise.
Not
me
. That’s right.
He
cheated on
me
.” My fist pounded against my chest. I fought to keep my tears at bay. “Slept with a nineteen-year-old bimbo with an ass he couldn’t resist. And I broke up with him because of it.”

I didn’t know why I was telling Byron all of this, since all I’d wanted to do was to point out his erroneous assumptions about me, but the words kept spilling out before I could stop them. “But you know what? No one is perfect. Not him, and not me either. I love him, and I believe that he still loves me. That’s all that really matters in the end. Going out on that date and then what happened between us—” I looked at him with disgust. “It only solidified my feelings for Douglas. I’m going to forgive him and then confess everything I did on this trip. Despite what you think, I’m no liar.” I narrowed my eyes at him, though my voice grew thick with the tears I refused to shed in front of him. “Nor am I a hypocrite. I can’t hold something against him when I’ve committed the same sin. It’ll be a clean slate for us both.”