The Bluffing Game (4 page)

“Trust me,” I said. “You won’t have to.”

“Then I guess the meeting’s over.”

I touched his shoulder. “And thank god for that.”

He laughed. “How do you go from so severe to so warm?”

“Practice,” I said. I almost came out and reassured him that the severe part of me was an act, and the warm part was genuine, but I had a second where I wondered if maybe my own mask had at some point become real, and I was both a severe and warm person. I kind of liked the idea.

We wandered down the hall, leaving the opposing lawyers in the sphere. Victor pulled out his phone and called Andrea. “Offer them refreshments and thank them for coming,” he told her. “Let them know they can leave whenever they’re ready.” He hung up the phone.

We wandered past the piano.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I think I wouldn’t have been much fun, anyway. I was too stressed.”

“You don’t need another reason. The one you had was fine.”

“You’re right, you know. They’re wearing me down.”

I threaded my hand through the crook of his elbow. “Well, I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me now.” Flirting. Again. In direct opposition to the conversation we were having. I needed to make up my mind about this man one of these days.

He smiled, but it was strained. “We’ll see.”

“Still feeling stressed?”

“You really need to ask? I thought this whole thing was going to be finished today. Now it’s just going to keep on dragging.”

We stopped in front of a wall of window. The green, fronded tops of palm trees rocked in the breeze at floor level, and beyond them, pale sands shone in the sun and the blue waters slipped up and down the lip of the beach.

I felt the tension in his forearm and said, “When was the last time you visited one of the numerous spas on this island?”

“Two days ago. A masseuse comes to the private spa in the basement twice a week.”

“And what about the last time you actually walked down to the beach and played in the ocean?”

He shrugged. “All the days blend together.”

“Well I, for one, plan on enjoying the island before I go. So once those stuffed shirts and the creepy contract lawyer have cleared out, I’m going to put on a swimsuit and put all this legalese out of my head. Would you like to join me?”

He stared out at the ocean. “We need to forget about last night,” he said. “But I’d like that.”

“Today’s a new day,” I agreed, even though I wanted to give his backside a soft slap. I controlled myself. “Glad you’re coming, though. There’s no point in living on a tropical island if you don’t enjoy it.” And with that, I sauntered back to my room, somehow back to square one on the surface, but underneath I was ready to give him another chance.

Four

Whenever
I’m feeling self-conscious about my body, I do my best to slip back into severe mode. When I try on swimsuits and look at myself in a full-length mirror, noticing only the slight unevenness of my tan, the small scar on my torso from when I had to have a mole removed, the ever-so-slight difference in the size of my average breasts, and the odd places on my thighs where the first tiny wrinkles of age hint at their arrival in droves over the next decade, I remind myself that even though I am not a six-foot-four bone-thin model, I do maintain my body, and on the whole, it looks damn good. I run three times a week, and it keeps me mostly thin. I take good care of my health. I like my face. There are so many things about my body that I am happy with, and on that day I was not going to let my feelings about a man, even as gorgeous and handsome a specimen as Victor, force me to laser-focus in on my imperfections. If I could walk into a room as a lawyer and be in control, feeling total confidence in myself, then I could walk onto a beach as a woman and feel at home in my body, see it as me, see it as every bit as good as I want it to be.

I chose a two-piece string bikini in a deep green that brought out my eyes, and put back my hair. The full wardrobe really did complete the effect of being able to leave my regular life behind and be whoever I wanted to be while on the island. Maybe that was what the billionaires really came here for. Not so much the views and the food and the decadence as much as the freedom those things afforded, the ability to be really themselves. I thought of my years with Nick, of his genuineness, how he had found a way to be himself without needing to be a billionaire, and how free it made him feel, how passionate. I wondered if Victor had some deep dream beyond this space port, if once it was built, he would move on to the next thing, or if maybe all he wanted in life was to fulfill a boyhood dream of being an astronaut, of playing in space, without the stress and encumbrances of some scientific mission.

I slung a tote of towels and accoutrements over my shoulder, put on a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses from the wardrobe, and walked down the curving stone steps to the sand. I walked between palm trunks and out into the sun, the wind off the ocean soft and cool, the temperature impeccable. The envy of kings, I kept hearing in my head. I laid my tote and sunglasses down on the sand and walked to the bright blue water, clear as glass at the edge of the sand, and I waded in.

A delightful warmness crept up my legs, between them, up my stomach and ribs and back, and I reveled in the incredible freedom of feeling like this was mine. The sea was nearly silent, the sky clear, and I could have been alone on the island, alone on the Earth, with a room behind me offering all I could ever need. It felt sublimely relaxing. I tipped onto my back and floated in the ocean, the small waves passing under me, lifting and lowering me. The only thing that could make the moment more perfect would be a strong, soft hand in mine, a hard-armed man floating beside me.

Victor, too, was no underwear model; he didn’t have perfectly chiseled outlines of every muscle group, but when you spend enough time running and at the gym, you start to recognize men’s body types in more detail, and I liked his. He walked down the beach tall and thin but tightly toned, and the sight of him shirtless in his swimming briefs made the delightful wetness and warmth of the water almost painfully arousing, my nipples perking up and my pelvis full of heartbeat.

He hadn’t bothered to bring a tote, just his fit body and a relaxed smile. I dropped my feet down to the sand and stood waist deep in the water, waiting for him to come out to me. His legs were so long that when he reached me, his swimsuit was still above water, and I got a good idea of what he was packing. Goddamn, had it been this long since I was nearly naked with a man?

“You look good,” he said, eyeing my body and flashing those perfect teeth. He passed me and went into the deeper water. “I’m gonna swim for a minute,” he said. And then he dove under, his long back shining and shoulders flexing as he pulled himself out to sea. I followed slowly, treading water when it got deep, loosening my arms and legs, sinking in the wonderful wet heat up to my shoulders.

After he had swum out far enough that I could only see his head between blue waves, he turned around and came back, big hands splashing, until he passed me once again, and stood where the water came to his navel. He was so adept in it he could have been a sea lion. His tan skin glistened and he rubbed the water from his lightly-bearded chin and lips, and I wanted him, badly I wanted him.

I came over to him, trying not to rush things, and said, “Felt good?”

“It’s great,” he said. “When I’m swimming, it clears my head. All I can think of is the next stroke.”

“Running is like that for me,” I said.

“You have good abs,” he said, flicking those pale blue eyes at me once. “You do sit-ups?”

“Only when I’m feeling especially motivated,” I said. “But I do like feeling strong.”

“You are strong,” he said. “I can tell just by looking. You look like a boxer. In a good way.”

“And you look like a swimmer,” I said. “In a really good way.”

He couldn’t help grinning, but his eyes kept roaming the horizon, like he was waiting for something.

“You look like you’re still distracted,” I said. “Need to swim another lap?”

“Maybe two or three,” he said. “Been a big day.”

“I’ll race you,” I said.

“What does the winner get?”

“Winner gets to kiss the loser. Any place they want.”

He looked a little nervous. “You mean that?”

“Just a kiss.”

“We said that was a bad idea.”

I gave the side of his wet hip a small, firm squeeze. “Maybe this idea turned over a new leaf.”

He smiled skeptically. “Are you really sure about this?”

“I plan to win.”

“Oh really?” The competition ignited in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

“On three?”

He smiled like a schoolboy. “One. Wait for it—three.”

We dove headfirst, and he was strong, powerful, but I was smaller and narrower, and the water resisted me less. I turned at the place it seemed he had turned at before, and passed him immediately. He was close behind me, his hands slapping the water near my shoulders, and when we beached like two seals, we were neck and neck. We lay panting on the soaked sand, the water covering our legs and splashing between us.

“What do you think?” he said between heaves. “Tie?”

“I’d let that be a tie,” I said.

“Who kisses first?”

“Me.” I reached over and ran my hand up his side. His hot skin slick from the water slid smooth under my hand, and his ribs rose and fell with each of his breaths. I looked at his pectorals, the brown nipples bordering a swath of small hairs that swam down his chest, converging like a school of minnows. He put his hand on my hip as I slid mine around to his back, and I leaned forward and kissed a soft hairless spot below his nipple, taking my time, sucking his skin softly, and then leaning back, enjoying his relaxed face, and feeling my skin tingle as I wondered where he would choose.

He looked into my eyes, and hesitated. I tried to quell the cascade of negative anticipation that he would back down, all the “not agains” and “not this times” that avalanched through my head, and I maintained my smile.

“I’m game,” I said. “Go for it.”

Gingerly, his hand on my hip sliding up to my waist, he leaned forward and planted his lips on my collarbone. His mouth gave it a soft massage, and I leaned my head back and by putting my hand on his nape held his head where it was.

“Don’t stop,” I said.

He didn’t. He moved his lips up to my neck, exactly as I hoped he would, and hit what Nick used to call my magic spot, a place right behind my earlobe that makes me moan every time. We ran our hands over each other’s skin as the waves licked our feet and calves, and I savored every second, my body already warm and loosened from the sea, and I kissed him back: his strong neck and shoulders, his four-day beard, his firm chest. My hands couldn’t get enough of his back muscles, his shoulder blades, his narrow waist. I tugged on his ear just a bit with my teeth, letting him know a little roughness was okay. He responded in kind, at first gently nibbling my neck and shoulders, then biting a little harder, which was precisely what I wanted.

“Do that,” I said. He did, and I let the tingling fill my whole side and back and leg, until I was so excited I had to jump on him, holding his shoulders down on the sand, his abs between my legs. “Now,” I said, “tell me what you want.”

He looked up at me, pleasantly surprised at my feistiness, and suddenly he was all in, grinning big and bringing his big hands up my back, down to my backside, squeezing, then stroking me with his wide palms full flat up to my bikini top. I thought he was about to pull the string and undo the bow, but instead he pulled my body down to his, so that my breasts pressed against his nipples. He slid his hands outward to my ribs and moved me up and down, and I smiled and had fun with it, feeling his nipples rub mine through the swimsuit, stimulating us both until we moaned together.

I laughed at the fun of seeing him so giddy, and undid the bows of my bikini and let it fall to the sand, revealing my breasts to him then rubbing our nipples together bare. He reached his head up and kissed my lips, and I kissed back, and we took turns sucking each other’s lower lip, playing for a moment before letting our tongues meet and taste each other.

I pulled his head down and thrust my nipple into his mouth, and he licked and sucked happily, the sensation building, and I switched him to the other one, back and forth until I was so far gone there wasn’t even an island, just my own furnace of a body, and I reached behind me and grabbed his firm crotch, squeezed him through his swimsuit, and he moaned louder and I loved it. He moved his mouth around my chest and kissed the softer flesh of my breasts, and then he spanked me once, just enough to show me he liked it as rough as I did, and then it was his turn to flip me on my back and say to me, in a husky whisper that tickled my ear, “What would you like now?”

I opened my legs and wrapped them around him, and said, “Just go where I lead you.”

He kissed my neck and shoulders more, and I ran my hands through his hair and grabbed fistfuls of it and pushed his head down. He kissed my nipples more, and I let the sensation flood my whole chest before I pushed him down further. He ran his tongue over my ribs and kissed each of my abs. I pushed him lower. He pulled one string from the bikini bow at my hip, then yanked my last piece of clothing off. It was thrilling. He kissed the nooks between my abs and legs, sucked my hipbones, kissed my thighs, teasing me, and when I was about to happily complain that he should stop dawdling, he dove in and pressed his soft tongue to my very wet ladybits and sent an electric jolt up every inch of my spine.

I still held his hair in one hand, and with the other I massaged my breasts. I let out little noises of happiness and encouragement, moving my hips in time to his mouth, and felt my body glowing with pleasure wherever he licked me, glowing until the glow grew and spread to my stomach and chest and lungs, until my legs shook and my hands dug into the sand, until I grabbed his bulging arms and pulled him back up to me, sucked his lips, tasted myself, and slipped my fingers inside his swimsuit. I pulled it down, released his hot, stiff cock, and looking him in his gorgeous ice eyes guided him inside me. He was long, and I felt him move deep inside, and I took his hard buttocks in my hands and squeezed them, slapped them, held him tight with my legs still around his back, and moved with him while we kissed and lost any need for words, until we were talking fully with our bodies, thinking with them, being them, sharing them, locking them together. I held his hips and stroked his back as he moved, faster, still faster, his strong pelvis tight as a drum, and I let the glow fill my body from fingertips to toes, let it be me, let myself be the ocean and sand all around, let what little was broken of me escape in my shouts at the intensity, until I was nothing but perfect pleasure inside, nothing but peace.

We lay on the sand entangled and naked, warm and wet, panting and sighing, running our fingers over each other’s skin with what little energy we had left.

“Thank you,” I said, my breathy voice acting on its own. “Thank you.” And I meant it.

“You’re amazing,” he said, still out of breath himself. “You’re wonderful.”

The quiet waves rolled over our legs. The high sun hung warming our skin. The palm trees hissed in the wind.

Our minds lay empty. Our bodies lay perfectly relaxed. Our delicate souls lay entwined, even if only for a moment.