Trevor was told of and agreed to the unlikelihood of Sophia traveling to the simple island destination. He didn’t give it a second thought. Until he saw her sitting on a barstool at the tiki bar. Now he can’t stop thinking about her. Fantasizing about her. She still has flowing, auburn hair and a fiery attitude to match.
Both recognize the fire still burning between them. But neither is inclined to relight the match.
They wanted different things. They took separate paths and found success. Did either find the happiness they had together? Will either act on the passion between them? If they do, it will force them into the exact dilemma they suffered a decade ago.
Can and will Trevor let her return to the lucrative lifestyle she always wanted and obtained? A decade without her hasn’t silenced his doubts over losing her the first time.
Will Sophia leave her ‘West End Wonder’ living the satisfying life he chose for himself? She’s dated the high-powered business moguls she dreamed of. But she’s never appreciated and enjoyed them as much as she does Trevor and experiencing his laid-back island lifestyle.
“Oh no,” she groaned. “No. No. No. Not again. I didn’t want this. I don’t.” She lurched into a sitting position. She scrubbed her forehead with her palms. “I wouldn’t. I don’t want to have sex with you. I was drunk. How could you,” Sophia accused.
He had yet to open his eyes and access his surroundings and situation. Hearing Sophia’s unfounded regrets and blames brought him up to speed. He wished it were a nightmare and not reality. She might have failed to notice he still wore his swim trunks. Throwing the sheet back, he jumped off the bed. “Hey. You were the one who drank too much and didn’t even know where you were staying. And you stripped what little amount of remaining clothes you had on as soon as I got the door unlocked for you.”
She moaned. And not in a good way. More the sound of a wounded animal. “Leave. Just leave.”
“No skin off my back. I’m outta here,” he countered. But the conviction transmitted didn’t resonate internally. He knew she had to feel like shit. And he hated leaving her in a bad place physically and emotionally. “Sophia…I tried sleeping on that wicker loveseat, but damn I couldn’t. There can’t possibly be anything more uncomfortable than that thing.”
Her head snapped in his direction and her eyes pinned him. “I bet you couldn’t. You never could deny yourself just one more romp with me. Even when you knew it would destroy me.”
Low. She always did know how to hit below the belt. This time, she couldn’t stick it on him. She couldn’t blame a thing on him. Nothing happened. He could’ve left. Yes. Only to turn around and come back in a few hours.
The entire situation reminded him of how her rants in college reduced him to the type of guy no other guys had respect for—the guy backed into a corner by a bitching female. And he reverted by retaliating as he used to. “Whatever, Sophia. You keep on convincing yourself you’re a victim. I lied to you. I cheated on you. I’m just a piece of shit.”
Planting her hands behind her on the bed, she scooted across the bed, thrust her chin up, and glared at him. If she had clothes on her apparent challenge might have been more effective.
His eyes went straight to her perfect tits before traveling lower. He caught sight of her naked backside when she marched bare-assed to the bed and collapsed on it not so many hours ago. But until that moment he hadn’t glimpsed her nude front form. It coincided with the rear. Smooth and perfect. She had always kept it groomed, but she obviously now went to a professional and had it waxed.
Her palms connected with his ribs shoving him back. “Really? From the sounds of it you got a good look at me last night…and no telling what else.” She stood, bumping into him before stomping to the foot of the bed. “And why is there a fucking alarm going off? You had your little fun and are ready to run off to your next conquest?”
Taking a deep, slow breath, he replied, “I have a dive boat to take out–.” He stopped himself from jousting any further with her. He had enough of that while they were a couple. Grabbing his t-shirt and pulling it on, he planned to ignore her and leave. She threw the bed sheets around huffing before parading out of the room ahead of him.
Of course, his eyes didn’t comply with his mind. They affixed on her fine ass. She always had an awesome body, but it changed over the years…shifted. Her waist narrowed. Her hips were fuller. He imagined gripping them as she rode him.
“So, help me understand this. You get invited to a wedding and can’t pass up an opportunity to offer your worldly, king of all sportsman activity skills to make a little cash?” she scoffed as she picked her discarded clothing up from the floor.
He struggled to remain silent. Her perception angered and disappointed him. Which heightened emotion would burst out of him in a caustic remark? He didn’t know. He wouldn’t give either the opportunity. She hadn’t changed. If anything, she became more pompous and incorrigible.
Swinging around to face him, her hand shot up covering her gaping mouth. She teetered and gripped the back of a chair with her other hand. Her skin transformed from a creamy pale to a puke green. She rushed past him opening a closet door. Sounds of gagging followed by wheezing indicated the restraint she applied to stall her inevitable session of vomiting.
His eyes rolled involuntarily. He shouldn’t help her. Staying unaffected and leaving were exactly what she deserved.
Placing his hand on her lower back he guided her a few steps down the hallway and led her into the bathroom. Almost quick enough. The first splash hit the toilet seat before he lifted it. Going to her knees she leaned forward and heaved. He took her hair in his hand and scanned the area for anything to tie it back. She had yet to unpack so he didn’t locate anything. Shit. He needed to go. He wanted to go.
Seeing the small basket on the back of the toilet containing customary shampoos and lotion, he noticed the ribbon tied around the top of it. With his free hand he managed to untie it and use it in her hair. “I’m going to get you some water and leave you some towels and cloths within your reach,” he uttered.
He did as he said and glanced at his watch. Even if he wanted to stay—which he didn’t—he couldn’t. He had obligations. He flushed the toilet. She rested her cheek on the rim of the seat with her eyes closed. He wondered how such a beautiful, seemingly gentle woman could be such a force to be reckoned with for him.
Wetting a washcloth under the sink, he wiped it over her forehead and exposed cheek. “I have to go. Drink your water and rest today,” he urged.
She whined, “Uh-huh.”
Sheri believes in writing romance ‘real.’ From the initial boundless promise of a new relationship, to the doubts and uncertain realities, and onto achieving the sought after happy-endings, including all the struggles in between, that’s ‘real’ romance to her.