Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Why? Because I follow the rules?”
His warm lips plant a kiss on my nape. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
I turn around and swat him away. “Put your dick away, Barrett. There’s a seatbelt out there with my name on it.”
Once he’s decent, I open the door to find the flight attendant lurking there, and I’m sure my cheeks are crimson as fuck. As we nonchalantly stroll past the expressionless woman, I try very, very hard to act as if having sex in a private jet lavatory is the most natural thing in the world.
20
Ben
“I can’t believe we’re in the Bahamas,” Maggie breathes as we exit the airport terminal a couple of hours later.
I’m struggling to keep up with her energized strides. I practically chase her across Lynden Pindling International Airport, a difficult task considering my balls are still throbbing from being cock-blocked earlier. By fucking turbulence, of all things.
We step outside, and a humid breeze instantly rolls over me and pastes my T-shirt to my chest. I hope the hotel manager remembered my request for a change of clothes, otherwise I’m going to be a hot, sweaty mess for the next couple of days.
“Tony’s told me so much about the Bahamas, but I never thought I’d get to see it for myself,” Maggie remarks.
A muscle twitches in my jaw. “New rule—you’re not allowed to mention Two-Time Tony while you’re with me.”
She cocks her head, causing strands of hair to fall onto her forehead. “Two-Time?”
I brush the red strands away and tuck them behind her ear. “You know, because he only comes two times a year. Literally.”
To my surprise, Maggie lets out a loud laugh. Well. Maybe I should’ve whisked her away from the city sooner. The island air is already lightening her up.
“So what now?” She stares at the crowd of travelers bustling around and the drivers loading suitcases into the trunks of their cars.
“Now we get into that car right over there”—I point to a black Lincoln—“ and we start our trip.”
Maggie grins. “Sounds like a plan.”
A minute later, we’re in the back of the Lincoln and speeding into Nassau toward the marina, where a boat will be waiting for us. The sun begins to set just as we reach the marina, dipping toward the horizon and filling the sky with shades of pink and orange. I hide a smile as an awestruck Maggie stares at the gorgeous sunset. When was the last time she watched the sunset? Knowing her schedule, probably never.
“That’s our boat,” I say as we get out of the car. I nod to the sleek speedboat docked at the end of the pier.
Maggie visibly gulps. “How familiar are you with current shipwreck statistics?”
I snort. “For fuck’s sake, you’ve never been on a boat either?”
“No,” she sighs.
Grinning, I take her hand and lead her down the sturdy wooden planks beneath our feet toward the boat. She seems uneasy as she climbs in, but her expression brightens the moment the driver gives it some gas. The speedboat slices through the calm water, which goes from transparent turquoise to navy-blue under the darkening sky.
I sling an arm over Maggie’s shoulders and enjoy the salty breeze hitting my face. The last time I was in the Bahamas was a year ago. I came here with Sonja Reyes, a Brazilian model I’d dated briefly, and I’d been itching to come back ever since.
While the islands boast plenty of celebrity-friendly resorts, I prefer Paradise Bay, which isn’t as blatantly lavish as some of the other hotels, but that’s why I like it. Private bungalows, deserted beaches, and best of all, the hotel is located near a wildlife reserve, making it hard for trespassers, aka the paparazzi, to loiter around.
“Here we are,” the driver calls over his shoulder as he slows the boat and steers toward a long dock nearly hidden by thick foliage.
“Pass me your bag,” I tell Maggie.
She does, and I hop onto the wooden pier and extend a hand to help her out. A tall man in a burgundy blazer materializes out of nowhere and strides toward us, greeting me with a firm handshake. “Mr. Barrett, it’s good to see you again.” He drops a polite kiss on Maggie’s knuckles. “Ms. Reilly. I’m Marcus Holtridge, manager of Paradise Bay. Please, follow me.”
He leads us to a golf cart, sandwiches himself between us, and signals the driver to go.
The little car maneuvers the lush grounds of the resort, and I feel a rush of satisfaction at the wonder dancing in Maggie’s green eyes. I understand her reaction. This place really is gorgeous, with its perfectly manicured lawns, the little cobblestone paths weaving through the luxurious setting, bright exotic flowers everywhere you look. When Sonja first brought me here, I thought I’d died and gone to Eden.
We motor past a man-made waterfall that flows into a small pond. Maggie nudges my arm and gestures to the school of fat koi swimming in the water. “Isn’t that pretty?” she says happily.