The thin spirals of hair reaching down my back will eventually dry into thick curls that are impossible to manage without a ton of products. It’s almost the perfect metaphor for the uncontrollable child my father always said I was, constantly defying the sisters at the school, escaping my bedroom when I was put on time-out, getting into places I shouldn’t have been.
It’s no wonder I found that lagoon so quickly.
And now, here I am.
I sigh and wrap the towel firmly around me. I cautiously open the door, peeking my head out to make sure Ricardo isn’t around.
My eyes land on the lone shirt on the bed.
Am I supposed to wear that? Only that?
I frown and open the door fully to walk out and pick it up. It’s just barely long enough to reach past my ass. Practically indecent.
I consider the clothes I arrived in. It’s only the thought of that sun beating down on me through all that thick cloth that convinces me this shirt is slightly preferable.
I’ve rinsed my bra and underwear in the shower with me, and head back to squeeze them as dry as possible. When they are only slightly damp, I put them back on, then try on the shirt for size.
My curvy body fills it out enough so that it looks dress-like, even without a belt to cinch in the waist. I roll up the long sleeves, which reach all the way to my fingertips.
The result is…not bad.
The only issue is the shoes. The black, thick-soled, heavy lace-up shoes look patently absurd paired with the shirt.
That thought is pretty much confirmed when I walk out and Ricardo gets a look at me. The way his expression shifts from appreciation to horror is comical.
When he erupts in laughter, it’s contagious enough for me to join him.
“The shoes are the first thing we’ll take care of.”
I raise my brow as though to ask where exactly we’re going.
“Let’s go before the siesta starts. I’m hungry,” is all he says as he pulls a set of keys from the pocket of his jeans.
The thought of food has me following him without protest. If it also means a change of shoes, I’m game.
I follow him back down the stairs. This time we make a detour to the back of the apartment. He leads me to a scooter parked there. I’ve never been on one, and I know exactly where I’m sitting once he starts that thing up.
Still, it’s better than walking to wherever civilization is on this island, especially after that shower.
He gets on and kicks the stand to right it. Once he starts it up, he turns to give me an expectant look, nodding his head toward what’s left of the seat behind him.
I sigh and walk over. Just lifting my leg over the back makes me very conscious of how short this shirt-acting-as-a-dress is. I might as well be bottomless.
And the humiliation of being exposed most of the waking day continues.
Ironic, considering what I was dressed in after waking up this morning.
It feels even more scandalous considering my legs are spread wide to accommodate his narrow hips. The purr of the engine only adds to the erotic sensation buzzing through me.
He starts with a lurch that has me yelping out in surprise and snapping my hands out to grab his waist. I grip hard, feeling the taut muscles along the sides of his rippling abs. If he was turned the other way between my thighs, this is probably where my hands would start out as he—
I squeal in surprise as he rapidly turns onto the street, leaning the scooter sideways as he does. I feel the vibration of his laughter underneath my hands and I lift one to slap him on the back.
Ricardo just laughs harder.
I scowl at the back of his head, but my irritation is dulled by the scenery that passes by.
With the warm sun cooled by the rapid wind blowing past us, it feels like the perfect day. The idyllic surroundings eventually turn into something resembling a town, white stucco buildings and more traffic buzzing by.
It doesn’t take long for the tourists and residents to come into the picture, though there are fewer than I expected. Maybe it’s the siesta Ricardo was referring to.
The city is much more quaint than I expected. I thought there would be large mansions and huge resort hotels with Ferraris and Maseratis speeding by. Instead, it seems more like an old, slightly congested, seaside town.
I love it.
The home I grew up in, rising high above Los Angeles in the Hollywood Hills might as well have been a fortress for how massive and well-guarded it was. I could wander the interior or the grounds and not even realize I was in one of the largest cities in the country.
Here, there are no walls blocking the outside world. It’s free and open and wonderful.
The road eventually takes us past the water and I squint my eyes against the afternoon sun reflected off the sparkling waves and bright, blue water.
Ricardo parks near a rustic looking place with plenty of outdoor seating next to a large beach. When he shuts off the engine, I’m the first to get off, standing on slightly trembling legs. I must have been clinging to him harder than I thought.
“Come,” he says as soon as he gets off. He holds out his hand to me. “I think it’s time we got some sangria into you.”
I stare down at the hand held out to me. Is it because he thinks I’m going to run? I have to laugh.
Where exactly would
