Promise Not To Fall Page 10

  He smiles. “I’m Liam Sharp. What’s your name?”

  “Kendall.” I twist just enough to make eye contact, and then back to staring at the drink Jake hands me.

  “You from the States?”

  “Yeah, Phoenix.” I’m being polite. I don’t exactly want to talk to this guy, but I don’t want to be rude.

  Jake watches us closely. Even when he’s helping another customer, he keeps his rapt attention on us, as if we’re those shifty patrons getting ready to reach over the bar for a bottle or something.

  Liam seems like a nice guy—talkative and can at least hold a conversation. That’s more than I can say for Wesley at times. I learn that Liam’s from Los Angles and here on business. He manages a few hotels, and they’re thinking of expanding locations here. He buys me a drink too. Jake tosses his money back at him and then walks away after handing me the drink.

  “Well, I’ve gotta meet some friends. You wanna come with me?” Liam asks, as he’s leaving, hope shining in his eyes.

  I glance at Jake, he’s not even paying attention, but I decide against it. I don’t know what Jake’s deal is, but something about Liam makes me uncomfortable—not that I don’t trust him, he seems nice enough, but I want to stay here with Jake.

  The same woman who’d spat out her drink leaves around the same time, and strangely enough, Jake’s mood improves.

  I’m holding my phone in my hand when he approaches.

  “Did you just check your phone for a Facebook request from that dude?” Jake asks, motioning to Liam as he walks away. He watches him disappear, his irritation evident.

  “I didn’t tell him my last name.” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Shut up and make me a drink.” I’m actually looking to see if any of my potential clients have sent any e-mails. None have. But I only have Revel left, and I doubt he even knows how to use a computer, let alone send an e-mail. “I was checking my e-mail, but my fucking phone doesn’t work that well here. I don’t even know why I’m checking it. Technically, I don’t have a job.”

  Jake smiles, grabbing bottles, and then sets a rock glass in front of me. “All the more reason to drink.”

  When he hands me another drink—my second of the night—I chuckle, taking a sip. So yummy. He makes the perfect blend of sweet and strong. “It’s a good thing I was born with a good liver, because a lesser woman would probably be dead by now. At least I know I won’t be kidnapped and gutted for my liver to be sold on the black-market either.”

  Jake laughs, his hands resting on the bar. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen some heavy drinkers come through here.”

  “Well, fuck. How much did they drink? Because I’m positive I drank more than my own body weight last night.”

  “Sounds about right.” He smiles, giving my body a once-over. “I had a good hold on your body last night.”

  A familiar heat spreads over my cheeks. “That you did, Island Boy. That you did.”

  There’s a familiar spark between the two of us, and hours pass before I know it. The night plays out similar to last night. Tonight though, I’m a little more relaxed and attempt to not drink as heavily. I’m pacing myself, because if by chance last night happens again, I want to remember every little detail.

  Unfortunately for me, for the second night in a row, and because of Jake and his need to just keep serving me, I drink my body weight in alcohol, and afterward we find ourselves walking along the beach.

  “This seems familiar,” I tease, laughing and trying to keep myself from falling this time.

  “That it does,” he agrees, bumping his shoulder to mine.

  “You don’t have any regulars you need to get back to?” It’s a sneaky way of throwing it out there and seeing what he might say.

  He lifts a brow, and his eyes respond for him, though I can’t tell you what the answer is. A smile plays at his lips, but he doesn’t answer, and I don’t press.

  The night’s familiar, and yet it’s anything but familiar. This time it’s slower. There’s the same intensity, sure, but I think the two of us are trying to make it last a little longer in fear this might end too soon.

  Jake takes his time removing my dress and his shorts, his eyes never leaving mine. “Did you come back to the bar just for this?” he asks, his lids heavy with desire.

  My heart leaps in my chest, my breathing spiking. He read me pretty well, didn’t he?

  “Yes and no,” I admit, wrapping my arms around his neck, skin to skin. The heat of his body warms mine, followed by his lips on my shoulder, then my neck.

  Sliding his kiss over my skin, he draws back and stares at me, searching my eyes. “I’m okay with that.” He chuckles against my lips.

  Bringing me to the bed, we fall forward against the mattress. Within a minute, he’s filling me, his kisses and touches eagerly coasting over my body.

  I pull back to look at him, my fingers tracing his lips. He bites my finger. “Did you want me to come back?” I have to know. Normally I’m not much for small talk during sex. I think if you’re talking during sex about anything other than “fuck me harder” or “grab me here” and “no, you can’t stick it up my ass,” then you’re clearly not enjoying the sex and you need to find someone who talks less.

  Jake captures my lips, sucking in my bottom lip and then biting down with just the right amount of pressure to make me wince, but not enough I want to knock him upside the head. His eyes darken intensely. “Yeah, I wanted you to.”

  Thank God for his answer. Anything else would have made the increased intimacy we’re sharing tonight seem forced.

  Jake thrusts in and out of me with such force my head snaps back against the headboard, his hips bucking forward. His lips mixed with his hot breath fan over me, killing me slowly, sweetly, as he fills me again and again. Our sounds fill the room and I’m so wet, and he’s so thick, our bodies straining to get closer. It’s not enough. I want closer.

  Hovering above me, he has his left hand supporting him on the headboard, the same one my head keeps hitting, his knuckles white as he grips it. The view I have of his muscles is amazing. It’s evident he does more than mix up fancy drinks. Boy works out for sure.

  Moving my hands, I grip his ass cheeks the best I can, trying to make him drive deeper inside me. “I can’t get enough of you, Island Boy.” And I want to add, “not in a creepy, I’m going to start stalking you” way, but in a “fuck me harder and we’ll call it good” way.

  With a grunt, his head falls forward, resting against my forehead. His sweaty chest slides across my own, and the moan that leaves my lips shakes the both of us. Staring down at me, I reach up and caress his pretty face. Closing his eyes, he’s breathless, mouth open, a groan releasing low in his throat. Grasping my knee, he hitches my leg up, curling it over his hips. I gasp at the angle, so full.

  “You’re fucking beautiful when you fuck,” he whispers, opening his eyes. His face is serious, wanting, and seeming full of secrets, but also, exposed.

  I gasp and grab, holding onto him anywhere I can, desperate to make this last.

  Both of us make frantic movements, moaning and grunting, fisting sheets between fingers and gripping that damn headboard.

  The sensations are too much, my fingers finding their way to his unruly mess of dark hair. “Come on, honey,” he gasps. “Give it to me. Let me see you come.”

  His words, the accent dripping from his every word, it’s my undoing, and I explode, mind-numbingly. I ride out my orgasm, adrenaline rushing through my veins, rolling my hips into his movements. He plunges his wet tongue into my mouth, deepening an already erotic as fuck moment, feeling his power, his hold on me and my heart already.

  Don’t fall for him, Kendall. Don’t!

  With my moans against his lips, he follows, his legs tensing, his stomach muscles flexing as he pulses into me, steady, panting breaths capturing my own broken ones.

  With one last thrust, a grunt forces its way from his lips, and then a groan.

  When his body finally c
ollapses on mine, his head buried in my neck, I hear wood crack from the headboard and laugh. “You broke the headboard, Jake.”

  After kissing my forehead, hesitantly, his eyes meet mine, and then he shakes his head, running his palms over his face. “Screw the headboard. You broke me,” he mumbles. “You fucking broke me.”

  His voice shakes my resolve, if I ever had any to begin with. I smile when he rolls over and begins kissing my neck again and grabs me, rolling onto his back so I’m on top of him. His eyes are still hooded, and I know then we’re going for more.

  It’s crazy to think I’ve only known him two days when, in reality, this feels like a lifetime. Where do we go from here? My time in the Bahamas is short-lived, and I’m starting to think I’ll be leaving pieces of my heart on a tiny tropical island in the Atlantic.

  I want to stop time, stop thinking, and be here forever.

  2 parts Ron Matusalem® Clasico rum

  ½ part St. Germain elderflower liqueur

  1 part passion fruit juice

  ½ part fresh lemon juice

  ½ part simple syrup

  1-2 jalapeño slices

  Muddle jalapeños with lemon juice. Add remaining ingredients. Shake 2-3 times to blend. Strain over ice into a double rocks glass. Garnish with a jalapeño slice.

  Tuesday morning, I spend it by the pool—one of many pools they have at the resort.

  Jake leaves, again, without saying anything, only a forehead kiss, and Rylee and Wesley are off together doing who knows what, so I decide it’s time for me. At the pool. Not to mention, I can barely walk, so lounging by the pool is perfect. I can lay here, and the cabana boys keep me supplied with drinks and, thankfully, water. I think the two nights I’ve spent at that bar have finally caught up with me and I’m extremely dehydrated.

  After a while, I realize I don’t like sitting by the pool, for the simple reason that these Amazonian women have taken over my quiet corner of the resort, and I feel ridiculous trying to look even remotely sexy around them. I’m not even joking when I say there’s not an ounce of fat on them, and their skin is so golden it’s like it’s been airbrushed at birth.

  The sun disappears behind a figure and someone says, “Nice bruise,” near my ear.

  I know that voice. My body knows that voice. I smile, feeling all warm and gooey all over. “Thanks. A dirty bartender got rough with me. Best night of my life.”

  “Who is he?” Jake takes a seat next to me on the empty lounge chair. “I’ll kick his ass.”

  Lifting my hand, I attempt to block out the sun and look at him. He’s smirking over at me. The humidity creates a light dusting in the air, like smoke around him. The sight makes me giggle.

  “How the hell did you get in here? I nearly got strip searched when I forgot my key card earlier.”

  “I’m a local.” He shrugs. “I got friends everywhere.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Since you have friends, talk to the front desk and apologize. I received a nasty message on my phone in my room about that headboard you broke.”

  Jake throws his head back and laughs, like it’s funny to him they want to charge my credit card for a headboard I didn’t break.

  “I’m being serious. That sucks for me,” I tell him, applying more sunblock to my arms and legs, Jake watching closely as I do so. “How much are headboards?”

  “Hell if I know. That’s the first one I’ve ever broken.”

  Sitting up, I push my sunglasses up on my nose so I can get a better look at him. He looks different in the morning and without the lights of the bar on him. Or maybe it’s because he has clothes on and isn’t telling me to scream his name or put my legs on his shoulders like he did last night.

  “What’ya say we get outta this fucking resort and I show you what the locals do?”

  He’s asking me out someplace? With him? Alone? No bar? Am I dreaming? Did I spend too much time in the heat and I’m hallucinating?

  But I’m not hallucinating. He really did ask me out. And he doesn’t have to ask twice. I nearly jump at the chance. Not really. I limp at the chance. Slipping my sundress over my bikini, I take Jake’s hand as he leads me from the hotel.

  I’m assuming you know this by now, given my lack of carefreeness, I calculate risk. Always have. So when Jake makes his way to the parking lot of the hotel and points to a street bike saying, “Hop on, City Girl,” that’s a risk. In Phoenix, as well as the Bahamas, they don’t require helmets on motorcycles. Seems ridiculous to me that someone would willingly get on a bike when they know the dangers and not wear the safety equipment designed for keeping you alive on said risk. That’s like jumping out of an airplane and choosing not to wear the parachute. Death sentence, if you ask me.

  And then there’s Jake. This crazy bartender living on the edge in paradise. Naturally he rides a motorcycle.

  “What are you waiting for?” He motions to the all-black bike with the silver Yamaha logo on the side.

  “Umm, yeah. Not happening.”

  My denial means nothing to him. I’m not getting out of this one. “Live a little. Some risks are worth it.”

  “Damn it.” I sigh, closing my eyes at the thought of becoming roadkill today. “Of course you have a street bike.”

  He stares at me, raising his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Bartender, ladies’ man—naturally, you have a street bike.”

  Jake considers my words for a moment, watching me look over his bike. It really is a pretty bike, all shiny and sparkling in the sun. “You have a serious misconception about who I am.”

  Tucking a wild strand of hair behind my ear, I shrug. “Fair enough. Prove me wrong, then.”

  Smirking, he pats the space behind him. “Get on the bike and I will.”

  Here’s another fun fact about me. I always take a challenge. You probably already knew that given the alcohol poisoning story.

  As the sweet sun kisses my skin and the wind moves through my hair, I risk a little and hold on to Jake’s stomach. I can feel him breathing, slow and steady, in control, taking me anywhere I want to go. The short drive is beautiful, with remarkable architecture, palm trees, and sea grapes bordering the beaches. Everything is so scenic and tropical. It’s fucking breathtaking.

  Given my fear of falling off the bike, I keep a firm grip on Jake. I nearly do fall off when he takes off from a stop sign and does a wheelie. I yelp, his laughter shaking me.

  We end up going back over to Nassau. He parks on the side of the street and then swings his leg over to get off the bike. I do the same and stand on the side of the street, trying to straighten out my dress and hair from the ride over. My hair didn’t exert its unruliness until we were on the bridge. Now I bet it’s strangely similar to a rat’s nest.

  Jake holds out his hand, his eyes on my hair, biting back laughter.

  I attempt to fix my hair before taking his hand. “I bet it looks amazing, huh?”

  A grin slides onto his face. “Looks like I showed you a good time.” Wrapping his arm around me, he squeezes my shoulder tight. “Where to first, City Girl?”

  “Food,” I tell him, the smells of the city so inviting. “I’m starving.”

  Dropping his arm, he grabs my hand and leads me up the street. “That I can do.”

  And like Jake said, I get my first experience of the locals. As we walk around the city, I’m mesmerized by the architecture and colors around us. Jake smiles at me, knowing this is what I really wanted to see today. I’m not a resort girl. If I wanted that, I could get that at home.

  Jake leads me up the street past abandoned colorful buildings to a small restaurant that looks like a recipe for food poisoning.

  I don’t order. Jake does for me, and I have no idea what half this local flavor is, so I trust him. We make small talk as we wait for our food. He tells me he normally works on Tuesdays but convinced Zain to work for him. Then he also has Thursday off. It gives me a little thrill that today is one of his only days off, and he’s spending it w
ith me.

  “Why do you typically only have one day off a week?” Taking my napkin, I wipe away the condensation forming on my glass of water.

  Jake chuckles, gesturing toward my water glass. “You just couldn’t help it, could you?”

  “Nope.” I refuse to look at him and continue to stare at my napkin. “Answer my question. Why only one day off?”

  “It’s just my dad, me, and Nash working there. Mom does the books and works in the afternoons when she can. Sometimes Zain fills in for me when he can.”

  “Are you going to work there forever?”

  He leans back in his chair, seeming relaxed. “I want my own bar someday. A place like my parents have, but with my own brand on it. My dad is great, but I want something of my own.”

  “What would you name it?”

  “Come Sundown.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes on the table as if a distant thought is keeping them from meeting mine.

  I love a man with ambition.

  “Why Come Sundown? It’s not like a sexual come, is it?”

  “No, weirdo.” And then his vulnerability breaks through and he shrugs one shoulder, his head tilting to the side. “No reason. I just like when the sun goes down. A chance to break free from the heat and be yourself.”

  “Sounds like an amazing plan.” I smile, knowing exactly what he’s describing. “Why don’t you do it then? Open your own bar.”

  He snorts, like I’m crazy for asking. “Money. I can’t afford to do it, and I have too much pride to ask my parents. So I don’t.” He shrugs again, but this time he watches me with an intensity I’m not expecting. “I work at the bar, do construction sometimes, and twice a year I go to Florida with Zain and we work construction for a few months. Money is shit here.” Lifting his glass of water, he takes a drink and then laughs lightly. “Maybe when I’m fifty I’ll have enough saved.”