Promise Not To Fall Page 11

  I admire his honesty. Most men would never admit to not having enough money for anything. “So it’s always been a family business, then?”

  “Yep.” The food arrives, and the waiter places a small dish in the center of the table.

  Jake reaches forward and hands me what looks to be a fried fritter. “Try this.”

  I’m not sure I want to. “What is that?”

  “Conch.” He smiles, the word rolling off his tongue, his accent evident. “Have you tried it yet?”

  “No.” I take the fried fish in between my fingers and dip it in the small tray in the center of the plate. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Don’t,” he says, laughing, after I put it in my mouth. “It probably tastes like a hobo’s nut sack.”

  “Have you tried it?” I chew slowly, covering my mouth with my napkin. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

  He watches me chew, his focus on my lips. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I’ve had more than I care to.” I want to spit it out. “Does it taste like a hobo’s nut sack?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I let a hobo teabag me.” I start choking on my food as he continues to talk, undeterred. “But suppose if I had, I would remember.”

  I laugh so hard I begin to hope some of these locals know the Heimlich maneuver because I’m sure as shit going to need it. My bout of hysteria gets Jake laughing, and then people begin to stare at us like we’re crazy.

  “Do you ever get tired of this place?” I can’t imagine it, but I guess anywhere you live can soon be like back home—a place where you often wonder what it’s like to be someplace else.

  “Sometimes.” His answer seems off, like he not willing to go into detail. “How do you like it so far?” After taking a slow drink of his beer, he then sets it down, leaning to the side in a relaxed manner. “Could you see yourself coming back?”

  For you? Oh yeah.

  “I definitely could. I’m not much into the whole resort lifestyle, but I do love the private beaches and the bars. I enjoy the silence. The laid-back atmosphere. The vacation. Everywhere I look, I see people relaxed and having the time of their lives. I don’t see stress. I see good.” I pause, meeting his eyes and hoping I’m not talking too much. “What about you? Do you like living here?”

  “When you live in paradise, there’s always going to be that desire to be somewhere else. That’s part of being human.” Resting his elbows on the table, he leans in, his proximity to me slightly distracting, especially when I can smell how good he smells. “Say you live here all year long. You see the sun, the white sands, the gentle salty breeze, and you think to yourself, goddamn, this is fucking paradise, man. But then you’re here every day, through the off-season and the winter, and it becomes normal. Something you see every day, and you lose a little appreciation for it. The newness is gone. You don’t really see it as paradise anymore. You get sick of that white fucking sand and the sun makes your eyes hurt. You start glaring at it, wishing for some fucking rain. You see it as home, a place you’re comfortable with. But then, let’s say you go to Miami to see friends, or to New York. And it rains. A lot. It’s fucking miserable. You come back, get through the storm, and you appreciate the sun and sand again.”

  Did they make him in a dream machine? Holy shit. “I can see that.”

  After a moment of silence, he asks, “What’s the deal with your mom?” and immediately I want the conversation changed.

  Swirling the straw in my water, I don’t look at him. I can’t when my thoughts are on the car accident and the traffic I’d been stuck in. “She died,” I clip. “I told you that.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I mean your apprehension about talking about her. Did something bad happen between you two?”

  “We hadn’t talked in a while. I don’t… like to talk about her.”

  “What’s the point of living if you shut everything and everyone out?” he asks, his voice softer, but it still doesn’t make me want to talk about her. I do realize how true his statement is and how much I don’t want it to be true. I hate living this way. So I tell Jake everything. I tell him about my mom and her accident. I tell him about my dad leaving and Justin. I tell him about all my past boyfriends and the few one-night stands. And finally, I explain why I wanted to get away and what led me to the bar.

  Time passes in a blur, and before I know it, Island Boy knows my entire life story.

  “You need to learn to let go and see the good in everything, City Girl. You keep thinking like that, and you’ll be six feet under and never have really lived your life. We’re all going to die someday. That doesn’t matter. What matters is making your time here worth it.”

  Jake makes a lot of sense, even when he isn’t trying to. He’s almost poetic in the words he says and how he understands even the smallest of details. He knows how life works and how you should always strive to love unconditionally. I don’t know much about his past relationships, and he’s reluctant to talk about it, but I’m guessing he too has been burned in the past. I can see it in his eyes whenever the word girlfriend is brought up.

  Wiping the condensation from my glass again, I glance up at Jake and motion toward the drink he ordered for me. “What is this stuff? It’s delicious.”

  “Planter’s punch.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Everybody has their own recipe for planter’s punch. I first had it when I was eleven.” He laughs, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s got lime juice, sugar, Vat 19, dasher cherry, and orange.”

  I giggle, covering my mouth. “You’ve been drinking since you were eleven?”

  Unfazed, he shrugs. “Parents own a bar. Comes with the territory.”

  “How often do you go back to the States?” It’s a bit of a subject change, but I remembered I was curious that he goes to the States on occasion. I wonder if he’s ever been to Phoenix. Or plans to….

  “Zain and I go quite a bit actually,” he tells me, taking a drink from his own jar of planter’s punch. “His parents live in Miami, and it’s only, like, a four-hour trip on jet skis.”

  My mouth drops open. “You seriously take jet ski’s? That’s crazy to me. I mean, what if something were to happen or you ran out of gas?”

  “Easy there.” He laughs, sensing my panic. I take a breath, trying to calm my nerves. “It’s not hard to do. Pretty boring, but if you need an afternoon to clear your head, it’s perfect.”

  “Okay, so like a long drive. Gotcha. But do you go a lot?”

  “Enough.”

  Getting Jake to talk isn’t easy. I have a feeling he has some deeper secrets he doesn’t want to admit to anyone, maybe even himself. Or he’s still hiding his secret wife Candy and their baby Chocolate Truffle.

  But to be honest, I think I’m wrong about Jake in many ways. From what I can see, something or someone has hurt him pretty bad. It’s in the vulnerability rolling off him in waves when he refuses to talk about his past. To know he isn’t perfect makes me fall a little deeper and appreciate him even more.

  After lunch, Jake takes me up the island to a private beach cove that only locals go to. It’s more than I can possibly imagine. Even though it’s similar to everything else on the island, with its white sands, crystal-clear water, and lush vegetation, it’s different in that it is completely private. You don’t see any boats or tourists, nothing. Just white sand, rocks, and shimmering turquoise water flowing from the amazing waterfall you only see in movies.

  Beside me, Jake crosses his arms over his chest and pulls his shirt off. Next thing I know, he’s diving into the turquoise waters. After staying underwater for a few seconds, he pops back up near the waterfall. Standing there on my rock, laughing, I’m not sure I have the guts to jump in. But then he nods and motions me forward with a beckoning finger.

  Take a risk, Kendall. You can do it.

  With a deep breath, I strip out of my dress. Hesitantly, I dip my toes in the warm water.

  “Stop stalling. Get in!” Jake yells, slapping at
the water.

  So I do. I dive in, and the warmth envelopes me. I pop up around the same spot as Jake had and then swim over to him.

  His hair is dripping on his nose, his eyes bright as the water. “Not so bad, huh?” He reaches for me under the water, and I wrap my legs around him as he brings me flush against his chest. The water’s chin high on him, so he’s able to keep his balance and still have his hands wrapped around me.

  Adjusting his footing in the sand, he watches me, blinking slowly. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, surveying my lips, nose, and eyes.

  Smiling, I lean in and inappropriately tap the end of his nose. “So are you.”

  Slowly, between our kisses, Jake moves us closer to the waterfall. Honestly, I want to see what the fuss is about having sex under a waterfall.

  “It’s like the movie Cocktail,” I say between kisses filled with saltwater.

  Jake’s brow scrunches together. He doesn’t look the least bit entertained. “No.” He spits out water, shaking his head against the spray. “It’s nothing like that.”

  Jake steps to his left, moving away from the spray, and by his hungry kisses, I have an idea of why he led me here.

  Pressing my hips more firmly against him, he spins me around so I’m facing away from the rocks behind me. “I don’t have any condoms with me,” he admits, his voice low.

  “I’m on the pill. And clean,” I tell him, wondering what he’ll say next. “Are you?”

  “I just got off the pill last week,” he teases, shaking his head as he pushes me up against a rock. “I absolutely can’t get pregnant.”

  “Ass.” Letting my hand slip from his neck, I splash his face with water. “I mean clean. I don’t mind, as long as you don’t have something.”

  In a way, that’s my way of seeing what his answer will be. I’m religious about taking my pill. There isn’t a chance of getting pregnant, as far as I’m concerned. But diseases? You can never be too careful these days.

  His brow lifts. “Are you asking if I’m clean or if I’ve been around?”

  “Maybe both?”

  Winking, he captures my lips in a passionate kiss. For a moment, I think maybe he’s not going to answer. Peeling my bikini bottoms off, he tosses them up on the rock behind my head, and his shorts soon follow. Dipping his right hand below the water, he takes his cock in one hand and slides it back and forth over my clit. His eyes catch mine. “I’m clean.”

  That answers one of my questions, doesn’t it?

  Jake moves quickly, and within a minute, my legs are draped over his shoulders, his hands on my upper thighs, forcing me into his movements. Each one is harder, stronger, more feverish than before. With his head bent forward, he watches himself, sliding in and out of me, his brow scrunched as his bottom lip draws in his mouth and then he bites down on it. “Fuck….” He grunts.

  Rolling my hips, I cry out, unsure if it’s pain or pleasure, or maybe both when he switches positions and has me lying with my back up against a rock, the blazing sun beating down on my overheated skin. It’s like I’m on fire, all over, inside and out.

  “If you want me to stop, just tell me.” Amusement touches his lips when I start to squirm, my hands on his wrists as he drives into me relentlessly.

  “Don’t fucking stop,” is my only reply, my fingers digging into his hands on my hips, my tits bouncing in the warm Bahamian sun.

  Tossing his head back, Jake lets out the hottest groan, his chest straining. Everything’s heightened when I see his face contorted in pleasure. I come crashing down around him, which sparks his release. Only he doesn’t come inside me. Instead, he pulls out and finishes in the water, his head resting against my stomach.

  Taking in a deep breath, I attempt to calm my rapid breathing and peel myself off the rock. Giving up, I take a moment and stare up at the sky, closing my eyes to block out all the blue. How am I going to survive leaving my Island Boy?

  All afternoon Jake shows me what it’s like to experience the gorgeous blue waters of the Caribbean on a jet ski. His jet ski. He says it’s his only other toy besides the house he lives in with Nash and Zain. Though he claims the house isn’t a toy—he owns it. Or at least, he’s making payments on it. Since he’s only twenty-four, having a house is a huge accomplishment in my eyes. I’m twenty-seven and still live in an apartment.

  I’ve never been on a jet ski until today, and after ten minutes of skimming over the gentle waves, I’m sure I never will again. Much like the experience on his street bike, Jake thinks it’s hilarious to dump me off the back when I think I see a shark.

  It’s not a shark, but a dolphin, but still, I don’t exactly want to be in the water with it.

  “Even the sharks won’t hurt you,” he says, still laughing as I cling to his back, fearing for my life.

  “The fuck you say,” I wail, refusing to even look at the playful dolphin nudging the side of the jet ski. “Where I come from, sharks bite.”

  Jake ignores me and reaches down, running his hand over the dolphin’s nose. “He’s just curious about you.”

  I’m not so sure about it, but when we get to the swimming pigs, I have another momentary freak out. “Holy Jesus, are those pigs?” I’m practically standing on the jet ski trying to distance myself from them.

  Jake smiles, treading water with them. “What do they look like?”

  “Pigs.”

  “Well, I suppose they’re pigs then.” He rubs the top of a gray and black one’s head. “Jump in.” He nods to me, the pigs all around him now, like they are old friends. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

  I’m horrified. “No. Pigs shouldn’t swim.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. I say that.”

  He rolls his eyes so dramatically he tosses his head back. “Don’t be a pussy. It’s a fucking pig. They ain’t gonna bite.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jake wouldn’t lie to me, would he? Ha.

  “No. They won’t.” His eyes wander over my body, lingering on my legs. “I might.”

  “I’m counting on it,” I tell him, gingerly slipping off the jet ski and into the water.

  Pigs apparently don’t bite. Well, at least they don’t bite me. They sniff me and invade my space, but no biting.

  Being out in the water this way offers some sights you wouldn’t usually see on the beach. I saw pigs swimming, tasted a fresh pineapple, went through a secret canyon, kissed under another waterfall, and ran my hands over a stingray. Best experiences of my life.

  “I can’t believe how blue the water is,” I voice, my chin resting on Jake’s shoulder when we stop about a half mile from the beach.

  “It’s the way the light reflects off the water that gives it that clear blue appearance.”

  My favorite part, maybe the most memorable? Straddling Jake on his sun-drenched jet ski, when his palm meets my breasts over my bikini and I know where it’s heading again. His thumb grazes my nipple, his other hand brushing over my sun-sizzling skin until it’s wrapped around my neck and pulling my mouth to his. My lashes flutter closed. His lips are so soft and tender, pouring emotions and sweet desperation into his touch… something you wouldn’t think someone having just a short-lived island romance would do.

  The kiss deepens as he gathers me up, drawing me into his chest. My legs fall to the sides and squeeze him tighter, rubbing against his hardness. Shivers shoot through my entire body at the contact, and I shake like I’m cold. He gives me a free-falling feeling.

  “You’re addicted, aren’t you?” he asks, his lips at my ear, biting and sucking.

  I moan, and he grunts at the contact, his hand sweeping around my waist, grinding me into him once again. “I am.” I kiss him again, slow and deep. “Are you?”

  As the jet ski rocks in gentle movements of the water, his hands untie my bikini strings. Fisting my bottoms in his hand at my hip, he lifts me, and his other hand fumbles between us. His eyes find mine, shades of blue revealing a sweet sadness. “I’m obsessed,” he
murmurs, the warm glow from the waters dancing against his skin as sunlight reflects off each ripple. “I’m fucking obsessed.”

  We have sex on the jet ski, for the second time today, out in this exotic paradise. Jake doesn’t take the time to pull his shorts down. Instead, he gets them off enough that he can merely slide in, and that he does.

  My body curves around his, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. He moves me up and down on his cock, the way he wants, panting against my shoulder. “Fuck, City Girl….” He moans when I begin to work my hips faster, chasing my own need. My hips press to his salty skin, my eyes on the shades of blue over his shoulder, mirroring the ones in his eyes.

  I could get used to this. I am getting used to this.

  When we get back to the marina where Jake keeps his jet ski, he turns to me. “Have you ever been helmet diving?”

  “Helmet diving?” My cheeks heat, embarrassed I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Is that like something sexual?” I ask, applying more sunblock to my arms and face. It’s like I’m trying to bathe myself in it.

  As I look at my pink skin, and then Jake’s, I’m totally jealous. I look pasty compared to him. He isn’t, like, Hispanic dark, or even African American. He’s just really tanned, and combined with his black hair and blue eyes… damn. He’s just so freaking pretty.

  Jake shakes his head, like he can’t believe he has to explain this to me, but there’s a smirk on his lips. He gestures to a large boat docked next to his jet ski. “Helmet diving is where they strap these helmets to your head, oxygen pumps in so you can breathe, and then they take you diving under the ocean.”

  Slipping my bottle of sunscreen back in my bag I’d tied to the dock when we left, I smile down at him as he climbs up the ladder. “Sounds amazing.”

  Jake takes me helmet diving, and it really is amazing. They take you out on this boat and then strap a helmet on your head that resembles one from a spacesuit, and it’s super freaking heavy. It’s like one of those bobblehead dolls, but with a fifty-pound weight on your head.

  Jake takes a picture of me and says he wants it as his wallpaper on his phone. It’s one of me flipping him off wearing my Jetson-like headgear.