Jaded (WTF? Series Book 1) (2 page)

I stretch out languidly on the padded chaise that I claimed just outside my cabana at the Bay Breeze Resort in San Pedro. The location is perfect; the white-sand beach is pristine and located near a gorgeous barrier reef. The warm, sunny, salt-kissed breeze ripples soothingly through my hair.

I prop a leg up, lowering my sunglasses as I gaze down the long stretch of deserted beach. This is Day Three. This is
the
day.

Now what?

Why am I so uptight, so nervous?

I know the reason. Taking risks isn't in my nature. I've convinced myself that personal and financial security are at the top of my hierarchy of needs. After all, my mother literally died so that I would have financial security and now that I do, why in the hell am I walking a tightrope, in stilettos, over it?

Because it's not enough, and it's never been enough and I'm tired of rationalizing that it is, and that it should be.

It's why I carefully crafted a plan of my own for this holiday vacation. It has taken months, but every piece has fallen into place just the way it was supposed to.

Let's rewind, shall we?

I met Janett back in the summer at the country club. Yes, Hayden makes sure that I have a membership at his club, which I know sounds extremely generous, but you have to understand, he spends a great deal of time there in the summer. He plays golf and tennis, watches his youngest child's swim meets, and then there
are
the poker games in the clubhouse with his cigar club.

He likes for me to spend time at the club during the days that he's there so that I'm available for the random hook-ups we have in secret places.

You see, the main clubhouse is an auspicious mammoth stone fortress that dates back to the pre-Prohibition days. It served its purpose back then mainly because of its numerous secret rooms and underground caverns where the contraband was hidden from government agents that were on a witch-hunt for those violating the law of Prohibition.

Hayden knows every nook and cranny of the gothic mansion including the underground tunnels that lead to the long-deserted distilleries that were used to produce illegal spirits back in the day.

He told me one time as a young boy, he and his brother had discovered them. They used to explore them thinking they were some ancient catacombs that no one else knew about.

It's difficult for me to imagine Hayden as a curious and mischievous child, because the one that I know is serious and brooding most of the time. He's direct and no-nonsense in a quiet yet intimidating way.

And very controlling.

But you've already guessed that, haven't you?

You need to know that his controlling ways have never reached the point of being abusive; I need to make that perfectly clear. His generosity with me is boundless, yet emotionally he gives me nothing of himself. My attempts at showing him affection are becoming rare these days, mostly because they've been ignored or have gone unappreciated in the past.

Now back to my plan.

Janett is a friend, but more than that, she is someone that I
trust
implicitly. She works the cocktail lounge at the club in the summer, and during the off-season months, as a bookkeeper for her father's restaurant.

What's interesting about Janett is that she's roughly the same age as me, and the same height and build. So, with sunglasses, and a chestnut brown wig that is styled like my hair, she can easily pass as me to even the most discerning eye.

Yes, Hayden hires locals to check up on me during my holiday vacations. I didn't realize it at first, but by the end of the second holiday trip, I had pretty much figured it out for myself. Don't get me wrong, they keep their distance of course, and try to blend in with other tourists, but you might be surprised how boredom can serve to sharpen one's senses and increase awareness.

When I asked Hayden about it he didn't deny it. He didn't even feel sheepish or embarrassed about it. Why should he? It is his inborn sense of entitlement that makes doing something like this perfectly reasonable in his mind.

So, therein a plan was hatched--and the very reason for the additional luggage was to provide Janett with recognizable clothing to wear for digital pictures that most likely would be text messaged back to Hayden periodically.

Once my flight landed, I caught up with her outside of the airport. She had been booked on an earlier flight. I left the additional suitcase that I'd packed with my clothing in it for her to wear beside a bench near the cab stand where she sat reading a magazine, and pretending to be oblivious to me.

Without a word I head down the sidewalk and hire a cab to drive me to San Pedro, while she heads to the resort in Belize City for the duration of her free holiday vacation.

I simply love it when a plan comes together without a hitch. But don't think that a lot of preparation and hard work didn't go into this in advance.

Janett is well versed in the food that I typically order, the cocktails I drink, and even the choice of books I download to my tablet, which she has with her.

You see, she is staying at the resort that I booked and charged to my credit card; the one that Hayden pays off each month, under my name in Belize City. She even has my written signature down to perfection. I know because I was relentless making her practice it over and over again until she got it right. Then I teased her that she could make a killing in the forgery business. But she is simply happy to get a well-deserved, tropical vacation at no cost to herself.

I, on the other hand, carefully and methodically stashed away money all summer. I was able to return charged items for cash after Hayden paid off the credit card balance each month.

Pretty savvy, huh?

With the cash I received from the returns, I purchased pre-paid Visa cards to use during this trip, but I won't be staying in Belize City. You see, I'm going to San Pedro, where I've booked my own accommodations under another name. Once in San Pedro, my name will no longer be Jade Thomas--for a while anyway.

In San Pedro, I am Presley Patterson from Baltimore, Maryland, and I am finally going to meet the man that I've been chatting with for almost a year now. We actually met in one of those online chat rooms. I have a secret laptop that Hayden doesn't know about.

Okay, so chill for a minute.

It's not as if he wouldn't
allow
me to have a laptop, because he most definitely would buy one for me if I asked. He's not
that
much of a control-freak. But the thing is, it would simply be one more thing that he could monitor if he so chose and well, I need some privacy, all right?

So, I generally
act
as if the internet holds no interest for me, when the truth is that the ole' information highway is what has kept me
sane
over the past couple of years. It's the bridge that takes me from lonely to alive, from quiet and reserved, to funny and social--all the things that I'm afraid to be around Hayden.

'Afraid' might not be the appropriate word here. I'm not
really
afraid of Hayden; it's just that I feel it's my responsibility to please him. So, being funny, social and totally uninhibited are probably not what he
expects
from me, but I'm finding out slowly and surely that it is who I am--or at least, who I
want
to be. It feels natural and real.

Not fake.

Not the way that I am around Hayden. Around him I am quiet and reserved, and I do what is expected of me.

Always.

I'm back inside my cabana, freshly showered and dressed provocatively for bed. I thought this day would never end, because the anticipation of finally meeting
him
is running through my veins like hot, molten lava at the moment.

My nerves are wreaking havoc right now and suddenly, I'm filled with apprehension and those same old self-doubts come creeping in. They're every bit a part of me as my chestnut brown hair, or my size 34C breasts, or my allergy to penicillin. I am full of uncertainties about why the hell I am here. My self-confidence is nil.

My mind is tossing around questions that I can't answer.

What if he doesn't show?

What if this is some monumental, practical joke on his part?

I calm myself, my inner voice convincing me that Adam
will
show, just as we've been planning for all of these months. He is sweet and kind, and he cares about me. He understands my situation and doesn't pass judgment on it although he's made it clear to me that he feels I deserve more--so much more.

Adam is twenty-nine years-old, single, works as an investment counselor for a firm in Chicago. We've described ourselves to one another--just the basics, but have never actually exchanged pictures.

The reason being that we've both agreed that
whatever
we've become to one another is
not
founded on physical appearance, but based totally on what we've come to know about one another, and how we each feel about the other.

There's nothing superficial about our relationship. At this point, I don't give a rat's ass if he has a friggin' hump on his back as long as he shows up as planned.

I've shared with Adam everything about my past--things I've shared with no one else. He knows the story about my mother and the circumstances leading up to my becoming a model. He knows everything about Hayden as well and what I am to him. He doesn't care.

I relax, telling myself that if the truth has scared him off--or turned him off, he wouldn't have come up with the plan to meet up with me over the holidays. It was totally his idea, and
that
fact alone finally convinces me that he'll be here as planned.

I make sure the door to my cabana is unlocked, and that the exterior light is on. That is in the plan.

I think about the things that he's shared with me, too. No deep dark secrets, mostly the typical frustrations of working in corporate America, with the added pressure of managing financial portfolios for demanding clients. He works ten-hour days, skips lunch and works out every evening at the gym. I know this much from his chats with me.

I have no clue about his social life, because well---it's none of my business and because I've become so enamored with him, that I prefer not knowing. There's nothing I can do about it anyway. I never ask personal questions of him, but I don't mind answering the ones that he asks me. I love that he's interested in my life, my thoughts and my feelings. He has this uncanny ability to literally read between the lines of my messages to him, picking up on my moods--good, bad or in-between.

Finally, near eleven o'clock, I'm worn out from thinking about it, plus the worry and apprehension are finally ebbing so I crawl up onto the huge bed with the nylon netting surrounding it and wonder what he will feel like.

What will his voice sound like?

I've pictured him in my mind a thousand times, but no matter what his physical appearance, I know that I won't be disappointed because I love his mind.

And his heart.

I love the story he messaged me a few months back about the stray dog he found one rainy morning on his way to work. He turned around and went back to get it, coaxing it into his car, and taking it back to his 'No Pets Allowed' apartment where he dried it off, and fed it anything he could find suitable for a dog. He was late for work, but he didn't care. He still has the dog. And he calls him 'Dingo.'

Sometimes I'm amazed at the way that he cares about me, without really knowing me. His words can pick me up in a heartbeat when I'm feeling down or particularly lonely. He has the ability to pull information out of me the same way a magician can wave his magic wand and pull a rabbit from his hat.

I think these thoughts as I let out a sigh, and roll over so that I can turn out the bedside lamp. I sink back and settle into the downy softness of my bed. A breeze trickles through the slatted shutters, and caresses my skin gently. My body is barely covered in the thin, black satin nightie that I selected for tonight. It is pitch black out tonight. Even the stars and moon are hidden by the thick cloud cover over the water. It's a perfect night for us.

Sleep finally overtakes me.

Minutes, or maybe it's hours later I'm awakened when I feel the bed dip down beneath someone else's weight, but I'm not frightened, and the fact that I'm not surprises me.

But I know who it is, and I feel the smile spread across my lips. "You're here," I whisper, feeling his warmness next to me.

"Did you ever have any doubts?" he responds, his voice is deep and husky, just like I imagined it would be.

"A few," I replied, because honesty is what we did, he and I.

"Silly girl," he says, and I can smell his musky scent. His skin touches mine and his fingers trace a slow, gentle trail up my leg to my thigh and I deliciously shiver.

"God I want to see you," he whispers, "Your skin is so soft and you feel so fucking beautiful and I need to see for myself."

"Remember our pact," I remind him softly. "This is the only chance we'll have to envision one another by touch alone. Do you really want to spoil that?"

He lets out a low growl, but I can feel his smile as he scoots closer, hovering over me.

My hands frame his face, and in total darkness I can feel a bit of stubble on his cheeks. He's got some five o'clock shadow going on which immediately puts some points into his column.

My fingers trace his lips, which are full and sensual, and as they travel along his jaw line, they reach his chin which I'm pleased to say has a dimple right there in the center.

Oh God! I love chin dimples . . .

"My turn, Presley," he whispers gently.

Okay, yeah . . . we share honesty except for names; but that's
okay
because Adam
isn't
his real name either. We both know this much.

I close my eyes, losing myself to his touch. I can feel the slightly calloused pads of his fingertips gently touching my face, in different places, tracing along my jaw line, before they lightly caress my cheeks. He slowly moves over my nose, and then ever so lightly brushes the arch of my brows, taking his time, letting out a sigh as he finishes.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, huskily, and I can feel his warm breath against my skin as he says it. "You're fucking beautiful," he repeats.

He leaves my lips for last, slowing his exploration so that he touches every centimeter of them.

"I want to kiss them," he breathes and I feel my skin tingle in response.

"Go ahead," I murmur, keeping my eyes closed.

And I feel his soft, full lips claim my own very gently, with a calm and deliberate sensuality. I'm expecting rougher, more possessive kissing from him because that's what I'm used to with Hayden, but he doesn't. He has a totally different manner about him and I like it.

But it is foreign to me, so I'm not sure I can trust it.

"Relax," he instructs me, and I realize that I have grown tense and I'm not sure why. Am I cheating on Hayden? Is that even possible?

"Don't think about him," he says; his tone now brusque. "This is about you and me, nobody else, okay? We're both where we want to be, and for this moment in time, no one else exists but the two of us."

"I'm sorry," I stammer, feeling my face flush with a little bit of shame and a touch of embarrassment. He totally gets me, and not only that, but he's able to sense my unspoken emotions. He even recognizes that I have them. I want to clutch him closer to me, but I'm clueless as to how he might respond, or what he might think.

Will he feel my desperation?

Probably.

The truth is that I
am
desperate. Desperate to be held closely within his strong and safe arms, and to be cherished and loved--not just fucked at someone else's leisure.

That's what Hayden does. He fucks me; he doesn't make love to me. And I'm not saying that he doesn't fuck me well, because he does most of the time, but my orgasms (when I have them) are simply a coincidence; they're never a result of his expertise, or concerted effort on his part. It's all about him when we fuck.

And now it's no longer enough. It hasn't been since Adam and I first chatted in that room - that internet room called "Owners of a Lonely Heart."

Always on my guard, I hadn't opened up to him much at the start, but somewhere along the way he'd earned my trust, and I his. Soon after, I found myself looking forward to getting online and going to our chat room to meet him. We even kept weekly schedules of when we'd be in the room.

Occasionally, I would have to miss a 'chat date' with him because of Hayden's demands. Afterwards I would sense a cold aloofness in his messages, and I know that sounds weird, but it's the truth.

So, I finally broke down and explained the entire situation to Adam, deciding that if I lost his respect because of it, then better to know now rather than later, when I might be more emotionally invested.

What a crock of shit. It was apparent that I'd become invested almost immediately with him. There had just been something--something unique and special in the way that he approached me. I sensed a sort of vulnerability in him, much like my own when it came to matters of the heart.

And now his soft, full lips are working mine with a gentle determination and we fit perfectly. I loop my arms around his strong neck and pull him closer; savoring the feel of his body, and his natural scent permeates my senses.

His tongue traces my bottom lip, and his teeth nip gently at it, teasing the way for his tongue to find mine. Our rhythm is perfect and I melt against him, giving a half-sigh, and half-moan at finally being able to touch and taste this man who's been my total distraction for a better part of a year now.

"I've dreamed of this," he growls softly, brushing my hair back with his hand, and moving his lips to the column of my neck, lazily kissing and tracing the sensitive skin with his tongue.

God, I so want to see his face, because I've imagined it a hundred times, but we agreed we would wait until afterwards. We wanted to meet in the dark of night, and then see one another in the morning light.  

Sounds like a poem, doesn't it? A strange one at that.

Maybe so, but this is how we decided it would be.

His hand explores further down, gently moving the spaghetti strap of my nightie over my shoulder, then moving to the other side to do the same. I wriggle free of it, wearing nothing but a silk thong.

I can feel his hardness against me as he lowers his weight back down onto me, and I'm glad he came to me shirtless because the feeling of his chest against mine has me totally wet.

My fingernails trace his broad, muscular shoulders, moving downward on his back, loving the feel of his skin underneath them. He moves his lips from mine, and lowers his head to my breasts, where his tongue expertly teases the nipples into hard nubs.

I'm tingling now, every nerve in my body from scalp to toes is responding to this man and to everything he's doing to me. He suckles hard on a breast, and I let out a soft moan, writhing underneath him in exquisite pleasure.

"Easy," he says, his hand now moving lower as his lips brush across my sternum to the other breast. "I want to take this slow, baby. I want to love every part of your body with mine. I want to touch every inch of you with my lips and my tongue, and when you come, I want to taste it."

"Mmm," is the only response I'm capable of giving at the moment, because I'm consumed by him. I want his mouth back on mine and I whimper until he understands and moves his lips back up to mine, capturing them roughly this time. Our tongues meet in a mating ritual that is ours alone.

I feel like a savage as my mouth claims his with total abandonment, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip, tugging at it, but it feels real and honest for a change.

His fingers are moving lower, tracing an intricate pattern on my skin that leaves me breathless. With one swift movement on his part, my thong becomes history, but I don't care. His fingers travel to my apex, and my pussy is wringing wet for him.

Only him.

"I love your scent," he whispers huskily to me, dipping a finger inside and moving it sensually within me. My hips roll in pleasure and he withdraws it. "Mmm," he moans softly, and I hear a suckling sound. "You taste so fucking good, too. I might just want to suck on your pussy all night."

I tingle beneath his touch; my sensitive skin warms as his fingers return to tenderly ply the soft folds of my sex apart once more to begin his sensual, slow exploration. I feel my sharp intake of breath as he gently squeezes my swollen clit between two fingers.