Lo sets down his drink and then picks up the suntan lotion. I think he’s going to apply more to his Irish skin, but he stands and then pushes my legs up to my chest. He straddles my lounge chair, not noticing how his movements cause my chest to cave, my breathing to shallow and my heart to race.
With only a thin bathing suit on, I feel ready for something more. The sun soaks my skin, the heat intoxicating, dizzying my thoughts, a headiness I drift in. My toes curl inward as I try to suppress my feelings that will surely volcano sooner or later. I need him. I need to release all of this, but I don’t know how to ask without it being awkward. This is so different than supplying him with scotch and rum. I’m asking for his body. That’s not okay.
“I can do it,” I say, my breath ragged as he pops the lid.
Rose adds, “This doesn’t make me like you any better, Loren.”
“I know,” Lo says, his back to her. “And frankly, I don’t really care, Rose.” Yeah, emphasizing her name does not have the same effect. Lo squirts lotion in his hand, and I recoil.
“Really, I can do it myself.”
His eyes widen like we’re supposed to be together, ding bat. Oh right. “Let me get your shoulders.” He scoots forward and takes my arm in his large hand. His fingers knead into my tender skin.
My eyes shut while he rubs the lotion lower on my ribs, lifting a side of my bandeau black bikini top to apply beneath the hem. He can feel the way my chest rises in and out, my breathing heavy and strained.
He turns my body around and leans my stomach on the lounge chair. Then he hovers forward and starts spreading lotion along my shoulder blades and lower back. He unclips my bandeau, and I fade away with his touch. Holy…
The sliding door whooshes again. “Can I help any of you?” a server asks. He wears a white collared shirt and black pants, the yacht service uniform. In his late twenties, he has golden hair and an angular face, making him too angelic, too handsome, and too desirous for my throbbing body.
“I’ll take a drink,” Poppy says. No. Make him leave! “What do you have?”
While he starts listing off the expansive menu, Lo presses his thumbs down in a massage pattern. Oh…that feels good.
I grip the towel underneath my head, my body starting to build towards something bad. I want to tell Lo to stop, but I’m not sure I can say the words without being breathless.
I clench my teeth as his fingers dig deep and then lightly flutter over my skin, playing with my needs. I hate him right now. I hate how I want this so, so badly.
My gaze finds the attractive server, and I lose it. I keep my back from arching, my body from bucking, and I snap my eyes closed before they roll back. A muffled noise escapes, and I think my sisters have missed it as I begin to come down. But when I open my eyes again, more than embarrassed, the server briefly meets them, scanning the length of me. Knowing.
I bury my face in my towel. Disappear, I order.
“You,” I hear Lo’s voice.
The server’s shoes clank on the floor, coming towards us. Oh my God?! What is Lo doing? “What would you like?”
“Stop staring at my fucking girlfriend,” Lo says, topping it off with a bitter smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”
“Lo!” Poppy shrieks.
Rose is actually laughing. The world has gone mad. And I refuse to look at it, hiding underneath the covers, topless, my chest still pressed on the lounge chair.
“I wasn’t staring,” the server refutes with a tense voice, unmasking his emotions. “If you want something, I’ll gladly get it for you. If not, I’m going.”
“Great,” Lo says. “I’ll take a Fizz.”
“You mean a bourbon and Fizz?” he retorts in challenge. Oh shit.
“No, I mean a regular Fizz.”
The server says, “But you’ve been drinking bourbon all day, Mr. Hale. Are you sure you don’t want another one?”
“You’ve been drinking hard liquor all day?” Rose says, her voice suddenly flat.
“No,” I refute before Lo can. I peek from underneath my towel and glare at the server, finding some internal confidence for Lo’s benefit. “You must be mistaken. I’ve tasted his drink.”
The server eyes me for a long time, trying to read my expression, and I try to soften my gaze, as though telling him it will be worth his while. Or something. Anything. I mean, I moaned while watching him spout off menu items. And he saw it. That’s all I have to go on.
“Right,” the server says. He glances back at Lo with a knowing, satisfied look, thinking he’ll bed me later and really show up this rich prick. I don’t want him to, and I fear that he actually will. And I’ll let him. “I’ll get your drink—”