WHISKEY SPLASH

ELLE BERLIN Whiskey Splash Flambé Series, Book 2 By Elle Berlin Copyright © Elle Berlin, 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law . This book is a work of ction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used ctitiously . The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of ction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners .

This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels .

Cover Design by Elle Berlin Editing by B. T. Linblade Layout and Formatting by Piper Riskel

Rev. 2021.02 ABOUT THE BOOK

Mistaken identity was never so hot …

When Arie's twin sister, Esme, is mistaken for the up-and- coming restaurateur, her love life goes from non-existent to volcanic .

The crew of the hottest new show on television, Billionaire Heat, just checked into the Atlantis Resort in Waikiki. On his rst night in town, the show's smoldering leading man, Desmond Pike, visits the infamous restaurant Flambé expecting to meet the owner Arie (and her sinful reputation for late night delicacies ).

Only, Desmond accidentally mistakes the chef for her twin sister Esme instead. Esme is everything Arie is not—sweet, shy, romantic—and for a girl who is allergic to one-night-stands, things are about to turn molten !

iii ABOUT THE BOOK

Refusing to let her sister blow it with TV's hottest celebrity, Arie decides to coach Esme on how to bring the actor to his knees .

And when Arie sets her mind on a project, get out of the way. Dessert is back on the menu and Arie is turning up the heat .

WHISKEY SPLASH is the second book in the Flambé series .

iv LIKE FREE BOOKS?

Join Elle Berlin’s VIP Reader Group and get freebies and deals sent directly to you !

Sign up here :

links. elleberlin.com/ RG1

v GET THE PREQUEL TO THE FLAMBÉ SERIES

Download your free copy of Dirty Martini and read about the hot night that started it all …

Something—or someone —had to inspire hot-headed chef Arie Noel to open the sexiest restaurant in Waikiki. That someone is Xander Carlisle .

Romantic, gorgeous, and the trendiest new chef in London, Xander is American girl catnip. But to Arie, he’s just an old friend from culinary school; he’s de
nitely not “the one who got away.” Even though she’s spent hours fantasizing about how he might crème her brûlée . When Xander invites Arie to cook for him, she doesn’t want to admit that she just got red. She can’t seem to work in anyone’s kitchen—especially a man’s kitchen—without turning it into a aming temple of mayhem. Arie desperately wants to impress her friend, but his irty glances hint that more is on the line than her cooking reputation .

Tonight might inspire something they’ve both been avoiding since college … and it starts with the perfect dessert .

You won’t find Dirty Martini on any platform or from any online retailer. Sign up for Elle Berlin’s VIP Reader Group to get your exclusive copy !

Get your free book :

https:// links. elleberlin.com/ martini2

CHAPTER ONE

thousand candles icker from the goblet chandelier at A the center of the dining room and black velvet booths line the picture window as the gold ames set the tone. A little darkness for mystery and excitement… A whole lot of re to tease and turn up the heat ! Flambé—my twin sister Arie’s restaurant—is packed! Patrons have been lining up to get a taste of the late-night desti ‐ nation ever since it opened six months ago and the craze hasn’t let up. It’s become one of the hottest restaurants in all of Oahu and it’s not hard to see why. Everyone in the restaurant is dressed to the nines in sexy late-night dresses and cocktail attire, button-up shirts left open at the collar to show o the perfect amount of skin. Sensual elegance, that’s the whole vibe of Flambé. Come in for a drink but leave thinking about sin, maybe even be ready to commit a little with dessert . Fire dances in all the corners of the restaurant which over ‐ looks the Waikiki bay, and part of the appeal of the restaurant is the fact that all the waiters and waitresses are your guide to all things delicious and ignitable. It’s not a circus, but the culinary

1 ELLE BERLIN

re dancers are armed with tiny crème brûlée torches tucked in their belts, which they whooosh out like Charlie’s Angels, lighting up the rims of martini glasses and the garnishes of desserts. Order steak and it will sizzle in the kitchen but be seared at your table. Ask for a Spanish co ee and get ready for a juggling act that includes rivers of brandy and tequila lit on re and poured from glass to glass in a stream of silver-blue ames. Banana’s Fosters, Baked Alaska, Cherries Jubilee—if it can be set on re tableside, trust me, it will be. This restaurant is the living embodiment of my sister Arie—sexy, sinful, unex ‐ pected—all set on re and turned up to a heat level that will give you heart palpitations . Speaking of Arie, the dazzling enchantress waves at me through the kitchen window and motions for me to come talk to her. I step in from the back hallway and the smell of the kitchen bowls me over—sa ron butter, red-pepper spice—reminding me that the food is just as sinful as the elaborate pyrotechnics. Flambé isn’t glitter and no substance, the food is down-right phenomenal. Arie takes o her gloves and heads straight for me, her ruby-red hair a wild mane of ringlets. My sister is re embodied, coupled with a devilish smile that warns me I’m in for a fun night . “Esme!” Arie wraps me in a hug, the black beads that cover her cocktail dress gleaming like the scales of a dragon. Yup, my sister cooks in her nest—satin, silk, sequins—unpractical by any normal human’s standards, but I’m not the one wowing crowds and lighting sparklers in their gin shots. “Thank you so much for coming in to cover Lana’s shift!” Arie starts walking us toward the back hall and her o ce, nodding to her sous-chef that she’s stepping out. “I really appreciate you covering for Lana. She never calls in sick, so she must be practically dying for her to bail on me .” “You bet, I’m happy to help!” I say, as my twin walks us

2 WHISKEY SPLASH into her tiny o ce and opens a small armoire in the corner. How that gaudy piece of vintage furniture ts in Arie’s six-by- six clutter she calls an o ce is a miracle of Victorian hoardery. I often imagine Arie’s interior design style to be a bit like living inside Mary Poppins’ purse: anything you’re looking for just magically appears and you’re also bound to nd a Ti any lamp and an umbrella with a bird for a handle on it for good measure. As expected, the armoire is full of dresses, but not just dresses— fancy, glittering, ridiculously sexy dresses—which are all Arie thinks is appropriate for waitsta attire. Remember, my sister cooks in these things. Yes, it’s all part of the woman, the myth, the legend that is my twin . “Please don’t forget that I haven’t mastered any of your fancy drinks yet,” I remind her as she wades through scarves and rhinestones. Serving tables and occasionally lighting some ‐ thing on re is one thing, elaborate juggling acts like the rest of her re-breathing waitsta … not really my specialty. Plus, I need my hands for my actual job at the Mandara Spa on level two of this resort. Burnt hands covered in boils will put me out of commission. “And please don’t ask me to make any of the table-side drinks, Spanish co ee or that other one with the green liqueur and the fancy spoon-fairy contraption .” “The Flaming Fairy,” my sister corrects. “And it’s absinthe .” “Yes, that one. Please, have Connor, or someone else, take over if one of your customers orders that .” “It’s not a problem,” Arie says, not missing a beat. “Not that you aren’t entirely capable.” That’s a dig, of course, and her tone catches a bit of mocker as she says, “Anything you’re not sure about, tell Olivia at the hostess desk. She’ll make sure someone is by your side helping .” She sifts through the sequins and lace, pulling out dresses and looking at me to assess if I can pull them o . She’s my twin

3 ELLE BERLIN so we both know they’ll t, but tting into a dress is not the same as wearing it. Half of Arie’s closet would wear me instead of the other way around . In fact, looking at Arie is like looking into a surreal mirror where I get to see myself as someone in an alternate universe. We have the same face, the same bone structure, and the same t, twenty-six-year-old body. But Arie, Arie is the wild seduc ‐ tress who won’t take no for an answer. I’m the lavender-haired nerd who’d rather curl up with a good book and an oversized sweater, delighted to drink tea all night, while Arie is out mastering the art of multiple orgasms. That was before Connor, of course—the wild nights with di erent guys part. However, I’m pretty sure that Connor and orgasms are two sides of the same coin, especially now that they’re together. My point being, I’m the yoga-loving wall ower, and she’s the spotlight grabbing late-night debutant . Same face, very di erent people . Though sometimes, when I ll in at Flambé, it feels like I get to pretend to be Arie for a moment. I get to taste half-an- ounce of her grab-life-by-the-balls dragoness superpower: turning heads, demanding respect, irting with guys and getting them hot with only the slightest of smiles. Being Arie means the word self-conscious doesn’t exist and her super ‐ power is seduction . “Oh, yessssss! This one!” Arie pulls out a gold dress, beaded and fringed with apper-style chevrons. It looks like it will barely cover my ass, but welcome to Flambé , where imag ‐ ining naughty things is the aperitif you get regardless of if you ordered it. I take the dress and slip out of my yoga gear, drop ‐ ping my purse and belongings on a side chair before wriggling myself into the skin-tight fabric. “And also—” Arie’s face lights up, remembering something as I smooth the beads out over my hips. “We have a few celebrities coming in tonight. If

4 WHISKEY SPLASH any of them are seated in your section and you don’t want to serve —” “What? You don’t think I can handle famous people?” I sass playfully, trying to pull the gold fringe that tickles the back of my thighs down a little further . “Oh girl,” Arie says, looking me over and moving her head back in forth in full sass-action. “In that dress, I think you could invite every celebrity that walks in the door to a threesome, or a foursome, or a full-blown orgy and they’d be groveling at your feet just to daydream about the possibility .” Ha! That’s life in Arie-world, not mine. I look at myself in the mirror next to the armoire, noting that the dress is far more revealing than anything I’d wear normally. The front shows o a devilish amount of cleavage, which is going to make bending over one heck of a tit-show. My legs have the illusion of being covered with the long strings of fringe that tickle all the way down to my knees, but when that fringe splits open— hello skin! —you can see all the way up to the edge of my bottom. So, no bending over in either direction—right. Good luck to me ! “You actually cook food in this thing?” I say, shaking my head at my sister, while still attempting to adjust the length, realizing I’m about to serve food in the equivalent of a gold bikini with fringe . “Oh, I’ve done everything in that dress,” Arie admits, turning me to face her as she slings a brûlée-torch harness around my hips and loads me with my own mini- amethrower. “Remind me of the last time you got laid, sis ?” I roll my eyes. She does this every time I cover a shift for her. “The answer is the same as last time,” I say dryly, adjusting the torch harness. “Please remember that some of us don’t get to go home to Connor the Sex God .” Arie pulls my lavender hair out of its ponytail and us it up, letting it fall softly around my shoulders. The easiest way to

5 ELLE BERLIN tell the two of us apart is our hair. Arie’s is the redhead who’s mane is a wild crown of magic, whereas mine is purple and layered in a soft romantic style. Think sexy inferno-demon-of- hell meets Briar Rose sipping tea in the rose garden . “You realize,” Arie says, giving me a serious look, “we have the same body and face. Sure, your hair is a di erent color, but if Connor had met you rst he probably would’ve happily given you a multiple-orgasmic evening .” “Nope,” I shake my head, batting her hand away from the locks she’s been preening. “Because I never would’ve gone home with him .” “Well, that’s the problem, now isn’t it sweetie. You have to actually go home with them to give this—” She he reaches forward and grabs me in the crotch. “A little action .” I yelp and back away as she laughs. I pull my brûlée torch out of its holster and hold it out like I might shoot it. “Hands o the goods !” “Oh, I like this!” Arie’s eyes sparkle wickedly. “If you want to take the torch home with someone special and do a little role playing … I give you permission !” “You’re ridiculous!” I roll my eyes as she tosses me two golden high-heel pumps . “The state of your vagina is up to you,” Arie says, walking me out of her o ce and back toward the dining room. “If you want it to dry up like an Egyptian tomb, then go for it. You are woman, hear you roar!” I pull on the gold pumps and turn toward the double doors that lead to the hostess table. “But seri ‐ ously,” Arie calls after me, “when in doubt, ask yourself what would Arie do—pre-Connor, of course .” “So, you mean what would slutty Arie do?” I toss back at her and she smiles . “Exactly!” She blows me a kiss. “We have the same blood, girl. That dirty vixen is inside you somewhere. Oh, and that

6 WHISKEY SPLASH dress—” She points to where it tightly hugs my hips. “It’s short enough for easy access!” She pretends to hike the dress up to her hips and I frown, which causes her to howl in laughter. “Have fun,” she tosses back at me, strutting toward the kitchen . I roll my eyes and head out to the hostess desk where Olivia smiles broadly, her slick black hair framing her delicate face. She wears a stylish dress that looks like a thousand owers blooming, matching the large oral photographs that line the entrance: beds of dark rose petals and orchids blooming in a bath of moody light and sensuality . “I’ve got three tables waiting for you,” Olivia says pointing to the table chart. Two by the windows and one o to the side. I tap the dining room chart, pointing to the table that’s slightly hidden . “Is this by the side entrance?” I ask, unfamiliar with the table . “Yup,” Olivia nods, handing me a tall glass of bubbly. “And that table still needs its complimentary glass of champagne .” I take it from her ngers, eyeing the oily residue on the rim —that’s the bit I light on re. “Only one patron? Not a couple ?” “Indeed,” Olivia con rms. “The guy at that table asked for a booth that was secluded. Honestly, you never know if those are the kinky ones or the famous people. Gorgeous guy, by the way. So, my bet is on famous .” “Did you recognize him?” I ask, loading up my torch holster with the rest of the necessary Flambé accessories—lighter uid, wet rag, metal tongs—it’s the action heroine’s utility belt of re . Olivia shakes her head. “He’s probably a model or some ‐ thing. Trust me, they’re the worst,” she warns, before pointing to my ass that’s barely covered by Arie’s dress. “Fame makes people think everything is on the menu .” “Yikes.” I nod, thanking her for the warning and heading for the secluded table to the left of the big picture window. I

7 ELLE BERLIN hope Olivia’s wrong and he’s a nice guy. Of course, that’s me being naive, like normal. With my luck, he’ll probably make me walk out on Arie tonight and never want to set foot in Flambé again . I pass through the dining room, where the other waiters and waitresses are lighting entrees and martini glasses on re, making the room shimmer with orange and blue ames. But when I turn the corner to where the booth should be—I don’t see it. It’s just a small nook leading to the side entrance through a dark hallway. If there’s a booth back here, it’s the worst seat in the house. Half the fun of Flambé is seeing what pyrotechnic frenzy your neighbor has ordered so you can ooh and ahh at the rework parade . I look left and right, holding the champagne glass up, confused, when a polite cough comes from behind me. I spin around to realize the booth is right behind me, and—thanks to the height of these gold pumps—my crotch happens to be face- level with the patron! Yup, my short-short skirt is exactly at the right level for Mr. Kinky Model to do all the things Arie was implying the dress was good for . His eyes shoot up and down my legs, and I take a step back realizing my barely covered ass was just in his face. God, what a rst impression ! “I’m sorry,” I say, stepping even further away, when two amber eyes ick up to my face and my stomach goes queasy . I recognize him . And he is famous . Like reeeeeaaaaaaally freaking famous . Sitting in the secluded booth is none other than Desmond Pike, the star of the hottest show on television . “Oh wow! I mean, hi! Hello,” I blabber. “I mean, good- evening sir, er—Mr. Pike, or—” I slam my mouth shut so I stop saying words, as well as half-syllable squawks masquerading as

8 WHISKEY SPLASH

English. I pretty much hold my breath, genuinely hoping I don’t fall backwards in these pointy heels and give him a real show of the o -limits Esme surprise . Desmond Pike is the star of the new hit Billionaire Heat . It’s one of Arie’s favorites and she’s touted it as Sex in the City meets Fifty Shades of Grey with red rooms, and humor, and all the hedonistic trappings I can’t even begin to imagine. I’ve actu ‐ ally never seen it, but if it can get Arie’s dragoness blood pump ‐ ing, it’s bound to be completely scandalous . I’ve seen Desmond Pike’s beautiful face on the cover of magazines and in my online feed, but seriously, photos don’t do him justice. Sitting in front of me is a Greek god’s sexy younger brother. Basically, grab a statue from Rome and dress it in some jeans and tight v-neck that’s designed to show o all his powerful arm and chest muscles, and that still wouldn’t be a satisfactory comparison. Let’s just say my core is suddenly pounding like a hyperventilating child—which is completely inappropriate and alarming—especially since all he’s done is push his windswept dark hair away from those amber eyes and toss me a professional level panty-melting smile . No man should have this kind of immediate impact on anyone . Ever! After tonight, I’m de nitely going to become his number one fan, as well as a rabid watcher of his show—if only to glimpse a little more of that phenomenal torso and back side, which according to Arie is shown often and prominently . I try to swallow, realizing my mouth is as dry as the Sahara, internally cursing myself for thinking about him naked, which is ridiculous and inappropriate, and probably what every girl he meets does, and now I’m a complete cliché! Awesome. Actu ‐ ally, I’m really glad I’ve never seen his show because it would give me more fodder than that gorgeous face to turn my legs

9 ELLE BERLIN into Jell-O, and I’m already clumsy enough as it is, without adding bone-less-ness into the mix . Casually, his eyes slip down my front like I’m the rst course that he’s lucky enough to get a taste of, and I’m simulta ‐ neously horri ed and excited that I’m wearing such a little amount of clothing. This is exactly how men look at Arie every day of her life, and honestly, I’ve no clue how she handles it. My thighs throb at the indecent way his gaze plays over my fringe-covered legs, my hips, my tits. Arie knows how to stand in such raw sexual attention. But me? Gosh no, I’m overheat ‐ ing! My body is awake as if he’s grazed his knuckles against my knees and is teasing my skin . I try to calm my breathing, like in yoga when I force myself to focus. Focus! Push the unsightly (delicious) images of him away: naked, ngers parting my fringe, parting my legs. Focus woman! Geez! How was it possible that Olivia didn’t know who Desmond Pike was? Seriously? The girl should’ve given me more of a warning! Though from the glimmer in his amber eyes, I’m starting to think he’s going to live up to the warning she did give me about famous people and their inclination for o-menu delights . After what seems like far too long, Desmond’s gaze recon ‐ nects with mine and he gives me an amused smile. Yup, I’m absolutely just standing here like a horny lunatic monkey ogling him. It’s creepy. Not like looking at a beautiful piece of art, oh no, I’m lining up to be genuine stalker material . “Hi! Sorry. You’re—” I back pedal. “You know who you are! Uh, your drink.” I lift up the glass of champagne like it just appeared in my hand as a cheesy magic trick. “R- right !” I unholster my brûlée gun and I click the trigger, the tiny torch igniting. I lift the ame to the rim of the glass and the whole thing bursts into a torching goblet above my ngertips. Desmond’s eyes are, his sideways smile turning more genuine

10 WHISKEY SPLASH as the champagne bubbles sparkle under the blue and gold ames. I place the glass on the table in front of him, inadver ‐ tently breaking the do-not-bend-over-in-this-dress rule and I nearly knock the damn thing into his lap when his gaze icks from the ames to the prominent tit-show this dress is now displaying . “Welcome to Flambé,” I choke out, reciting my opening lines and not daring to look down at the ush of skin that’s probably the color of ripe papaya. “May we delight your every desire .” His eyes ick to mine. That line is intentionally supposed to make the patrons look at the wait sta with incendiary desire, but when Desmond Pike does it—Good lord!—the surge of heat that licks through my pussy almost knocks me over . He stares at me from behind his glass of aming cham ‐ pagne and goosebumps ripple across my shoulders. I squeeze my thighs together and look away, sure this is some miss-match of pheromones and chemicals. It’s basic math. You take the unfortunate fact that I haven’t been laid in months and waive a hot centerfold-worthy man in front of me and of course my body is going to turn into a pool of horn-dog jelly. I mean it’s biologically impossible to not react to the beautiful fantasy of a man in front of me . And worse, a little piece of me is actually wondering what would slutty Arie do . If Connor was not in Arie’s life and she were single, pent up, and needing to give her Egyptian’s tomb of a vagina a spin on the hottest tilt-a-whirl this side of the Paci c—would she take Desmond Pike for a scuba dive ? Oh hell yes, she would ! Desmond coughs softly, breaking my train of thought. A knowing smile creeps up the side of his face, dousing my horn- dog of a body in ice-water, because I’m literally daydreaming

11 ELLE BERLIN about what it would be like to straddle him and he damn-well knows I am ! “Sorry!” I squeak out, running a nervous hand through my lavender hair. “Let me explain how things work at Flambé .” What would Arie do ? She’d stop gaping at him like a freaking lunatic and be a damn professional, that’s what ! I go into my spiel about how everything at Flambé is fresh, cooked to order, and can be set on re. He watches me closely as I point out the mini re extinguisher that’s at every table and give him my best pass at the daily specials. Only, his eyes have me heating again, my temperature whiplashing from embar ‐ rassed chill to skin set to broil. He hasn’t even said a word and I’m already so feverish I’m freaking overheating, and the truth is I couldn’t possibly be wearing any less ! He watches me for a long moment after I’m done with my explanation of the re show, before his deeply sexy voice says in a low tone, “You’re not what I expected .” Not what he—? I shake my head, completely exacerbated. What the hell could he possibly expect ? “You don’t know me,” I blurt out in my in nite awkward ‐ ness. “How could you have any expectations ?” “You’re very easily ustered,” he says, his eyes narrowing as his ngers play with the ames dancing on the end of the cham ‐ pagne glass. “And the hair’s di erent .” I pull my hair forward and twirl it in my ngertips, frowning at him. “No, it isn’t. My hair is exactly the same as —” But then it hits me, what’s going on. The sultry stares, the secluded table, the feeling that he’s assessing my every curve and sentence . “Oh!” I say, putting a hand to my breastbone and laughing nervously. “You think I’m Arie !” His eyebrows lift slightly. “Don’t you own the restaurant ?”

12 WHISKEY SPLASH

“No!” I laugh—way too loud, mind you—the relief in my skin freaking palpable . Of course, this makes sense now. He was expecting the seductress! It was Arie’s delicious body he was imagining licking champagne sauce (or whatever the heck it is she makes) o of. That makes all the sense in the world ! “No-no-no!” I continue. “I most de nitely do not own the restaurant.” He frowns at me, confused. “I’m not the owner. You’re looking for Arie. I’m so sorry to disappoint you !” “I didn’t say I was disappointed,” Desmond says in a low tone that squeezes all the air of my lungs . “Oh, well, uh…” I lick my way-too-dry lips and waver in my sister’s golden heels, completely lightheaded. “I’m still not Arie,” I mumble. “I’m her, her um, uh …” “Her twin,” Desmond completes for me and my neck ushes . “Yes! Exactly,” I say, tripping over my own tongue, that tsunami of heat crashing over my skin again. “She, uh —she owns the restaurant. She’s the one you probably recognize from the cover of Bon Appetite Magazine. She’s the creative genius, seductress, entrepreneur with all the sinful recipes. You know, di erent hair color, but same face,” I point awkwardly to myself. “Same smile, same—” I motion to my body only to realize I’ve invited him to ogle my tits, and if I wasn’t pomegranate-red already, my skin is now one-hundred-percent the color of a maraschino cherry. “You uh …” I drop my hands. “You get the idea .” He smiles politely and I realize I’m a bumbling fool. What he really wants is to see my sister, and that uber tight smile is my cue to get the hell out of here … and fast ! “Sorry!” I apologize for the hundredth time. “This was an absolutely disastrous introduction to my sister’s truly phenom ‐

13 ELLE BERLIN enal restaurant. I swear. Let’s just do this over. Let me go get Arie for you !” “No, you don’t have to do that,” he says kindly, but I zip away as fast as my wobbly legs can move in ve-inch heels and beeline it for the kitchen. The last thing I want to see is his pity- lled eyes as I walk away . Sure, he was being nice, which was gracious of him, but obviously, he was hoping to meet my sister and instead he got little-miss-awkward-America over here. This is the perfect example of how I am not my sister! I’m the bumbling fool who acts like she’s never seen an attractive man before in her life, whereas Arie would shrug o his heated stares like he’s chopped liver. Liver that she’d inevitably make some moan-able delicatessen with later and feed back to him . I swing into the kitchen with the fringe on my dress whip ‐ ping back and forth, stomping straight up to my sister. “I screwed up!” I say, as she swirls a cherry glaze in a large pot. “You can put the girl in a cute dress, but you can’t take the awkward out of the girl !” “It’s all about con dence, Esme” Arie says, not even looking at me. “You’ve got the tits and the ass to make any man hard in that getup. Trust me, I know.” She looks at me nally, smiling devilishly, before she ladles the purple glaze over a plate of rare meat next to her . “Yeah, that’s the problem. Desmond Pike is here,” I explain, pointing toward the dining room. “Only he thought I was you, and I’m most de nitely not you. So …” “Desmond Pike?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “The most fuck ‐ able bachelor in the universe from Billionaire Heat ? That Desmond Pike ?” “The one and only .” “Holy shit! That’s going to be amazing publicity!” She wipes her hands on a cloth and takes the prepared plates to a

14 WHISKEY SPLASH heating station and rings a bell. Then she looks out through the window toward the restaurant. “Where is he ?” “The hidden booth by the back entrance .” “Oh, heck no!” Arie shakes her head. “Did Olivia seat him there ?” “She didn’t know who he was,” I explain . “Of course, she didn’t,” Arie rolls her eyes before grabbing my hand and pulling me out into the dining room. “Mr. Pike needs to be on display where everyone can see him. I need him next to the window so that his eight-billion fans can take pictures and sel es with him and post them all over social media— with that incredible view behind them .” “I’m sure if he wanted that kind of attention, he wouldn’t have asked for the hidden booth. Olivia was just doing what the customer asked .” Arie shakes her head, holding me by the hand and dragging me toward where he is hiding. “Men have no clue what they want,” Arie instructs. “Especially famous men.” But then she stops in her tracks and turns to me, her eyes narrowing and calculating. “Hold on a second. You said you screwed up. What happened? Did he proposition you ?” “No! Of course not!” I shake my head fervently, before looking away from her calculating eyes. Heat creeps up my neck. “I mean, he thought I was you. And you exude a certain …” “Fuck-me vibe .” I glare at Arie incredulously, but she shrugs like that’s exactly what it is. “Okay, sure, if that’s what you’d call it,” I concede. “Soooo, yes, there was de nitely some sultry looks and wandering eyes and —” “Aaaand he gave you the ‘please crawl under this table and suck my cock’ look?” Arie says crassly and I almost trip in the heels .

15 ELLE BERLIN

“Oh, my God!” I slap my sister in the shoulder, but she throws her head back and laughs. “Seriously, do men give you that look all the time ?” “Yes!” She nods like it’s as normal as waving to someone in a grocery store. “Except, Desmond Pike didn’t give that look to me.” She smiles wickedly, her suspicions con rmed. “He gave it to—” She points to my tiny gold dress get-up, eyeing me to thank her for choosing it . “He thought I was you!” I de ect . “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Arie says, beaming. “He’s seen you and trust me—” She straightens out some of the gold fringe on my hips. “He’s not going to want anything else .” “I acted like a star-struck idiot !” “That’s part of your charm !” “Right,” I shrug dramatically. “Good tits and complete awkwardness. I’m sure he’s already ed out the side entrance and is slandering your restaurant all over social media .” Arie laughs again. “Esme,” she stops me and puts her hands on my shoulders, squaring o like she’s about to give me a pep talk. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this. Every hot fuck-me look that men give me, they would also give you, because you’ve got the body of a goddess. It’s pure biology. They see a hot female and their hormones scream: spread seed, spread seed !” “That’s not romantic .” “Exactly! It’s not. It’s primal heat. So, it doesn’t really matter if you acted like a star-struck idiot, because he’s think ‐ ing, ‘I wonder if she’s into wall banging or doggie style ?’” “You’re a heathen, Arie !” “Nope,” she shakes her head. “He’s the heathen. The heathen that wants to give you a long bliss- lled night of multiple O’s .”

16 WHISKEY SPLASH

I look away from her, heat tickling up my neck. “He’s not —” “Oh, yes he is,” she insists . “You haven’t even met him yet .” “I don’t have to! You said he was looking for me, right?” I nod, knowing where she’s going with this. “Good, so I don’t need to meet him to know what’s on his mind .” “That’s my point! You know how to handle all of this. I’m just —” “Waiting for the fairytale romance,” Arie interrupts. “I know. I get it. But here’s the thing; sometimes it’s nice to just get laid—no strings attached, no expectations. And he’s Desmond Pike, so he’s probably shooting some lm and will be gone in a week. So, live a little for once in your life !” Her words hit something buried deep inside my ribs, the scared little kid, the one who’s always walked in Arie’s shadow. I’ve always watched my sister be larger than life, successful, gorgeous, wild. The fear that’s creeping up my spine is a gut reaction, a comfort I like to crawl back into, a cocoon of ease and safety that’s always whispering: You’re not your sister. You’d never get away with this. You’ll make a fool of yourself. But what if … what if I could get over myself for one night? What if romance and courtship didn’t have to be the end-all-be-all? What if I could have one fun tumble with a hot television star ? I’m young. I’m single . What the hell is my hang up ? “Yes, that! Right there!” Arie is pointing at my face. “Right there, that glimmer. That’s the con dent Esme I’m talking about. She’s in there. Now step out of that shell and promise me you’re going to rock him!” She makes a lewd gesture with her hips that almost makes me bail. “Nope! No, no,” Arie scolds, grabbing my elbow and moving us closer to Desmond’s

17 ELLE BERLIN booth. “You need to be reciting, ‘I’m a sex goddess. I’m going to rock his cock like he’s never known before. I’m going to try every position in the Kama Sutra. I’m a—’” “Are you trying to talk me out of this?” I shoot back and she laughs . “No, but I will make you a deal.” Arie turns to me again, right before the corner to the secluded section Desmond’s sitting in. “If you’re correct and he’s completely appalled by how you acted and ran out the back door, then I promise to watch all of Downton Abbey with you, no questions asked. Even though I know the show is going to be boring as hell .” “It’s a great show,” I counter. “You’re going to fall in love with Lady Mary and —” “If he’s bailed,” Arie interrupts, “then you can speech me all you want about Lady Whoever. But—” She raises a nger. “If he is still here—which trust me, he is—then you’re going to do exactly as I say. Capiche ?” I frown at her. An ultimatum from Arie never ends well, especially after a lecture on how easy it should be for me to snag any guy and magically produce a blissed-out multiple orgasmic night . It’s not like I haven’t tried, it’s just hard for me let down my guard and relax. In fact, I’ve never really had a good orgasm—to which I’m sure Arie would disown me and have our DNA checked, because clearly we couldn’t possibly be of the same bloodline. Not to say I haven’t come before, it’s just … it’s always been best when I’m alone, lame as that sounds . “Capiche?” Arie asks again, and I nod against my better judgement . “Fine, but when this turns out —” “To be the best decision of your life.” Arie smiles devilishly. “Then yes, yes you can absolutely thank me over and over again. Now play it cool!” She moves us toward the hidden

18 WHISKEY SPLASH booth. “If you play this right, you won’t be watching Billionaire Heat , you’ll be living it .” The heat between my legs throbs greedily like that was the best news it’s heard in a long time, and despite all my reserva ‐ tions, I kind of hope Arie’s the type of crazy that might actually deliver. Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that one- hundred-percent without-a-doubt, all of Arie’s hair-brained ideas (especially those including me and men) have always turned into a complete disaster . This is about to turn into a shit show .

19 CHAPTER TWO

rie spins us around the corner and walks us right up to A Desmond’s booth . His eyes widen with surprise, those amber jewels jumping back and forth between the two of us. With a hand on her hip and a ruby smile, Arie announces, “Desmond Pike!” almost loud enough to make those in the nearest booths turn and look. Desmond cringes slightly and I mouth the words “I’m sorry” to him, for little does he know the pageantry of Arie Noel is just getting started. “Thank you so much for coming to Flambé! We are absolutely delighted to have such a famous person here !” “Thank you,” Desmond says quietly. “But if you wouldn’t mind…” He motions for her to keep her voice down, and boy, is that her cue . “Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all!” Arie says, sliding into the booth next to him and sneaking a hand over his muscled shoul ‐ ders. Desmond ashes a concerned look at me, and I shrug. This is the Arie he was expecting, wasn’t it? “Right here, please.” Arie snaps her ngers in Desmond’s face to get his

20 WHISKEY SPLASH attention again. “Thank you. Now, I see you’ve met my twin Esme .” “Esme?” Desmond says my name slowly, looking past Arie again to see if the name ts, and something sparkles in his gaze . “I know, beautiful name to match a beautiful lady,” Arie says, lowering her tone to something more seductive. “So, here’s how I see things.” Arie reaches over to pull the brûlée gun out of my belt, which she then uses to light the top of the cham ‐ pagne goblet again, tilting the glass so the re dances across the full rim. “If this was a year ago, there’d be no doubt I’d be hooking you up for a threesome with me and my sister .” Desmond practically chokes, his eyes widening at her directness . “I know,” Arie agrees. “I agree. It would’ve been a completely amazing evening. But this isn’t a year ago and I’m no longer in the market for such escapades.” She blows on the top of the champagne glass seductively, turning the ames into a swirling pool of smoke that wafts between us. “My sister Esme, however, now she’s one-hundred-percent single .” Desmond’s eyes ick to me a third time and I feel like my sister is trying to sell me o at some cheap charity “buy a date” night. But then his eyes turn back to Arie, craftily. “What are you saying exactly,” he asks, raising an eyebrow . Arie smiles like she just won the lottery. “As I see it, you have two options. One, I re-seat you—out there!” She points to the main dining room. “In full view with all the fans and sel e- snapping mayhem. Or—” Arie turns around and stands up, taking the brûlée harness from my hips . “What are you doing?” I protest . “Or,” she continues, brushing my hands away, “you can stay here in this booth and keep my sister entertained for the next couple hours.” Arie pushes me into the booth, across from Desmond .

21 ELLE BERLIN

“Arie!” I complain. “What are —?” “Your meal will be on the house, of course,” Arie says to Desmond, ignoring me . “I thought you needed extra servers tonight?” I push, but Arie raises her hand to silence me . “Esme is not an employee,” Arie explains to Desmond. “She doesn’t work here. She was doing me a favor. But instead, I’m going to do one for her. I’m going to give you two the full four-course experience. You enjoy your evening with my sister and I’ll spare you the ravenous fans. Sound good? Excellent.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond. “Now, what’s your poison? Whiskey? Vodka? Gin ?” Desmond looks at me, surprised by Arie’s directness, and probably more than a little embarrassed by what Arie is doing. But then he smiles and shrugs, as if to say, “Why not? You only live once .” “I’ll take vodka,” he says, that deep tone in his voice laced with amusement. Arie nods, triumphant, and points to me . “Are you still in your gin phase ?” I glare at her. “I’m still in my ‘why didn’t I murder you in the womb’ phase,” I say as pleasantly as I can, to which Desmond laughs . “Good, she’s pissed,” Arie says, dropping a hand on Desmond’s shoulder like they’re already best friends. “Trust me, bedding my sister is going to be one of your great life chal ‐ lenges. May the odds ever be in your favor .” Desmond laughs again as I cover my face with my hands, every inch of me morti ed-magenta. That’s a new crayon color I’m inventing, right after they approve murder-your-sister red. Arie thinks she’s been so amusing, but the truth is I’m ready to walk out the door and never speak to her again . “Brilliant,” Arie says, stepping back to look at the two of us

22 WHISKEY SPLASH on either side of the booth, facing one another. “I’ll send over my best waiter in a minute with your drinks .” “You’re a good chef,” I hiss at my sister. “But you suck at playing matchmaker! I’m going to kill you later .” “Oh, Esme, Desmond,” she puts a hand on each of our shoulders, addressing us both. “Please don’t think this is some sweet romantic gesture. Flambé is all about turning up the heat !” She reaches into the torch harness she con scated and pulls out the small squeeze bottle of lighter uid. She grabs two wine glasses from the serving nook behind her and coats the glasses with the liquid and puts them in the center of the table. She lights both on re with a dramatic roar of ames that makes both of us shoot back from the residual heat . “Damn!” Desmond exclaims, surprised, holding up a hand to block his face from the warmth . “That’s right,” Arie agrees. “All I’m trying to do is get you both laid .” “Arie!” I glare at her, sneaking a glance at Desmond who charmingly seems to also be blushing . “Good!” Arie announces triumphantly. “Now that we’re all on the same page. Welcome to Flambé!” She lights the goblets on re one more time to make them blast with ames, before whooshing o like a sorceress making a dramatic exit . I drop my face into my hands, completely morti ed, not daring to look up. “I am so so so sorry!” I say through my ngers, shaking my head furiously. “I can’t believe she just did that .” “Wow, just—” I peek through my ngers and Desmond looks just as dumbfounded by my sister’s actions as I am. “You either have the best sister in the world or the worst .” “De nitely the worst,” I groan, daring to put my hands down. On the other side of the aming goblets Desmond shakes

23 ELLE BERLIN his head, stunned but amused, and surprisingly not pissed o . “If you want to go,” I nod to the side exit, which he can freely use now that my sister’s gone and he has the chance, “I totally understand. My sister can be … abrasive .” “I was going to go with totally bat-shit crazy, but we could use abrasive if that helps you sleep at night.” He smiles warmly and my heart settles a bit, of course it’s still over-palpitating, but maybe not quite enough to throw me into cardiac arrest. “Does she do this to you a lot ?” “De ne a lot ?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “I mean, it’s not usually with people who are famous.” I gesture to him. “Nor does she so overtly suggest…” I motion with my hands, trying to keep this from being too crass . “That I bang her sister and then give her a good Yelp review?” Desmond o ers. “That kind of thing? Not so overtly that ?” I shade my face from him, my cheeks burning. “Yeah, usually she’s a bit more tactful .” “That is hard to imagine .” I nod, agreeing. “Yes, there are a lot of things that are hard to imagine Arie doing until, well, she’s doing them. The ironic part is that this is her being nice. She has a warped sense of what nice really is, but …” “Riiiight,” he says, his tone turning hard. “Objectify the TV star and get my sister laid in the process— that kind of nice .” I look up at Desmond, horri ed by how shitty that sounded . “Oh God, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” I shake my head furiously. “I’m sorry, that sounded awful. You’re an actor and people probably objectify you all the time, and we just—shit!” I ball up my sts in embarrassment, not sure how to bail myself out of this. So, of course, I just keep talking! “I mean, Arie might’ve meant it that way. But, of course, you’re a real person. I know you’re a real person, with feelings, and —”

24 WHISKEY SPLASH

Desmond bursts into laughter and I stop cold. His shoul ‐ ders heave against the booth and a giant smile spreads across his face . “Oh, you were—” I say awkwardly, realizing he was just playing. “That was a joke, you were making a— yup .” “It’s ne!” he says, his shoulders rocking . “No, really,” I say, shaking my head. Even if it was a joke, I still feel shitty for objectifying him. “It’s kinda not. It was an awful thing to say .” “Hey…” Desmond leans forward, putting his tanned fore ‐ arms on the table. “Nine out of ten people who meet me expect to meet the billionaire playboy with the ten-inch cock from TV .” “Ten inch—” I balk, my mouth drying up like I just ate a sand popsicle. I reach for one of the aming cups, but—news ash—it’s full of re instead of water. “Frankly, ten inches sounds rather painful,” I say because, yup, I’m the queen of foot-in-mouth disease . I grab the champagne glass to shut myself up, blowing out the ames so I can take a large gulp of the sparkling bubbly and hopefully drown myself in carbonation . Desmond laughs. “If it makes you feel better, I have a completely average, normal sized cock .” “Do you now?” I say without thinking, because again, word vomit is a medical condition that I’m not able to control. My cheeks burn as I shake my head. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry! I wasn’t asking. I wasn’t trying to nd out —” “I have a cock double for the show. It’s industry standard .” I slap my hands over my face. I am not really having this conversation with Desmond Pike, am I? Are we really discussing the size of his cock ? “Okay, I deserve that,” I shake my head. “Of course you don’t have a cock double, that’s ridiculous. It’s not like the show

25 ELLE BERLIN is porn and—” I look up to him, suddenly realizing I have no clue what kind of show it is. “Wait, it’s not porn is it? You don’t actually show your—” My eyes ick down to where the table covers his bottom half. Then, I realize what I’ve said and I bury my face in my hands again. “Oh my God, what is wrong with me !” “You haven’t seen the show?” Desmond asks, and even though the tone of his voice is amused, I don’t dare look at him. I’m such an idiot ! “No, I haven’t,” I admit. “I knew who you were because you’re on magazines and the internet. Arie’s the true fan of the show, but I …” I sneak a glance at him and he smiles wider at me as I peer through my ngers like an infant. I drop my hands and force myself to look at him, gritting through the heat that broils my face that has surely turned me into a boil-covered grotesque . “I’m more of a Downton Abby kind of girl .” “Right,” he nods, like that makes sense. “Dinner parties, fancy hats, nothing sexual whatsoever .” “Not true!” I defend. “Episode three has anal sex in it !” “Really?” His eyes are wide, surprised by my quick retort. “I had no idea .” “Well, you don’t see anything,” I say quickly. “It’s all implied. Sexual inuendo, that sort of thing. No cock doubles required .” “That’s not a real thing .” “I know that!” I practically yelp and he laughs . “You’re fabulous,” he says, smiling wide . “No, I should probably put a bag on my head with a warning sign that says beware of a word avalanche !” “That’s what’s so wonderful about it,” he says, shaking his head with his amusement. “You say whatever pops into your mind. It’s refreshing !”

26 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Yes, whatever’s on my mind,” I toss back. “Like your ten- inch cock. I’m sure you’re thrilled to know I’m thinking about it .” “It’s a normal sized cock,” he repeats . “Yes, I understand that, except you planted the ten-inch behemoth in my mind and now that’s all I can see! Which is all your fault by the way. You brought it up !” “I’ve never had this much fun talking about my cock-size with anyone,” he spars, and I shake my head . “Well, I’m glad my humiliation is amusing!” What the hell is wrong with me? Why won’t I just shut up ? “I’m not embarrassed,” he says . “Of course not,” I toss back. “You’re the one with the giant cock !” At that exact moment our waiter turns the corner in his stealthy black-on-black suit and I look up to see Connor—Arie’s boyfriend—standing above us with two gorgeous beverages in his hands . “Wow, okay!” Connor says, looking shocked as he stops at our table. “Clearly, this was not the best timing on my behalf .” “Oh no, you’re timing is impeccable,” Desmond says, making a show of it. “Thus far we’ve covered my giant cock…” He lifts a hand to start ticking o subjects. “The use of anal sex in Downton Abbey , whether or not my show is porn, and the fact that the owner is trying to make her sister my late-night booty call .” “Before you start bashing my sister,” I interject, pointing at our waiter. “Mr. Hunk-of-Yum Connor over here is Arie’s boyfriend .” “Hunk-of-Yum?” Desmond repeats, looking at me like that foot-in-mouth problem is still dribbling out despite my best eorts. I shrug, nodding to Connor like that happy little nick ‐ name should be self-evident. Connor is, after all, Desmond-

27 ELLE BERLIN level gorgeous. Just give Connor a little more of an athletic build, short-cropped hair, and a air for big words and you get the picture. Big words is not a euphemism. Ask Arie. I guess it’s a he-used-to-be-a-lawyer thing . “Right,” Desmond says, leaning toward Connor like he’s about to get inside information. “Maybe you’d be a good person to ask, then. Is Arie always trying to hook up her sister with whatever hot men walk into this establishment? Or am I guinea pig number one ?” “You’re not the rst,” Connor says honestly, putting the two drinks in front of us. One is silver green with lime curls in it and a ghost of smoke hovering above the liquor. The second is purple with a sprig of rosemary that’s got tiny ames ickering on its needle-like leaves. “I don’t mean to burst your TV-star ego, but Arie does this all the time .” “Does she?” Desmond cuts a look to me and I grab my purple drink to avoid his eyes, dousing the rosemary into the liquid and cutting out the ame. “Does it work ?” Connor laughs, tucking his serving tray under his arm. “Nope. Not in the slightest .” I can feel Desmond watching me, maybe wondering why I’m not susceptible to my sister’s match-maker tactics. Or maybe he’s just wondering why I’m such a damn prude . “Yup,” I say to cut the tension. “It turns out I’m guinea pig number one in Arie’s little pet experiments, and tonight she’s trying to nd out if fame and ten-inch cocks can thaw my ice- block of a vagina! Woo hoo!” I raise my hands in the air and wiggle my ngers like I’m jazz-hands-ing my way to an early grave . “Oh man,” Connor concedes. “I see it’s going to be a multi ‐ ple-shot evening .” I nod incessantly, agreeing. “Oh yeah, we’re de nitely at that point! I’d say it’s safe to keep a steady stream of alcohol

28 WHISKEY SPLASH coming to this table until I’m passed out cold. Then, I might nally stop saying whatever asylum-worthy embarrassments that are bound to come out of my mouth for the rest of the evening .” “Not a problem,” Connor says, a glint of pity in his eyes. I waive him o , knowing he’s probably going to talk to Arie about this later, even though I wish he wouldn’t. Connor leaves and I attempt to drown myself in the cocktail he’s made. The sweet splash of lavender and St. Germain washes over my tongue, making me moan as the hint of burnt rosemary coats my teeth with its herbal exquisiteness . “I’m pretty sure that drink is going to melt your ice-block of a vagina,” Desmond says, pointing at the martini glass at my lips. “I’ve never seen a woman look that happy drinking anything .” “You’ve never had one of Connor’s cocktails,” I say, pointing to his silvery concoction, and nodding for him to try it. “It’s sort of a Connor Voss specialty .” Desmond raises an eyebrow as he stirs the liquid, kicking up a hint of lime e ervescence. When he takes a sip, to my satisfaction he actually moans as well. Only, it’s a sound that makes my lower-regions pound, despite the fact that I was starting to feel like I had a little control over myself . “See, I told you so,” I say, my voice far too light and breathy . “Indeed,” Desmond agrees. “Absolutely, vagina thawing !” “Seriously?” I toss back at him as he takes a second sip, my eyes far too interested in how his tongue plays against his lip. “You couldn’t let that one just y on by without picking it up again ?” “Well, we’ve already discussed—at length—my personal appendage,” he smiles at his own pun. “I just thought we ought to give you the same amount of attention .” “Okay, why not!” I say, embracing the inevitable. “It’s not

29 ELLE BERLIN like this evening is going to end with me coming on your face, so—” Desmond practically spits out his drink, completely taken aback by the crassness of my mouth. “Sure, let’s go there. What do you want to know ?” “Was there an option, before I made that comment, where you were actually going to come on my face later ?” I lift my chin. “Probably not, unless you took one of Connor’s whiskey drinks and splashed it on my pussy before you —” Desmond’s eyes are so wide I force myself to stop talking . In fact, I close my eyes and try to evaporate—turn into dust, water particles, self-obliteration—basically vanish to some unknown realm where I’ll never have to see Desmond Pike again . The following silence makes every inch of my body prickle. Yup, I just made the biggest ass out of myself. And frankly, the last thing I want to do is open my eyes and see the look on his face . “Okay,” I hear Desmond say. “I think we’ve had enough of these.” He takes Connor’s drink from my hand and a zip of electricity shoots through my ngers . “I’m sorry,” I apologize, not opening my eyes. “I’m a complete —” “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem, people say crazy shit to me all the time .” “No, they don’t .” “You’d be surprised .” “They don’t say that kind of shit to you .” “Okay, maybe not,” he admits, but then suddenly his hand is on mine, warm and comforting. “But let’s just pretend that they do, okay. Forget it .” I slowly open my eyes and he is actually smiling at me. “Seriously? You’re not ready to le for a restraining order ?”

30 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Oh, I’ll get it later,” he says playfully. “I still have to make it out of the restaurant alive .” I shake my head, knowing he’s throwing me a bone and being far too kind than I deserve. “I can’t make any guarantees,” I say softly. “I’ve no clue what I’ll say next .” “Makes living on the edge that much more exciting .” “I’m glad you like living dangerously .” “Only since about thirty minutes ago, but there’s a rst for everything .” “You can say that again .” I notice his hand is still on mine, his manicured ngers well-groomed and trim. His gentleness and warmth are actually so unexpected it starts to make me feel like this might not be such an epic disaster . “Let’s talk about something safe,” he says, and I nod, exac ‐ erbated . “Yes, please !” “Your sister says you don’t work at the restaurant. So, what do you do ?” I look at him for along beat, and for a quiet moment it feels like we’re actually on a date and we’re in that awkward phase of asking about each other’s lives, because pure sexual attraction needs some sort of narrative behind it. I avoid making the quip that my life isn’t interesting, especially in comparison to a movie star’s. Instead, I thank him for his grace and decide to walk through this open door and share a small piece of myself . “I work at the spa here at the resort,” I say. “The Mandara down on the second oor. We do massages, clay baths, hot stones, steam rooms, you know, all the normal spa things. When Arie decided to move to Oahu to open Flambé, I came with her .” “From where ?”

31 ELLE BERLIN

“Southern California, born and raised. But, who can say no to paradise ?” “And you two work in the same resort ?” “Yeah, it’s amazing it worked out that way. When Arie and Simon—that’s her business partner—when they scored this location it turned out the Mandara was also hiring. It seemed like kismet, you know. Meant to be.” I slip my hand out from under his and he pulls his arm back like he’s just realizing he’d left it there. I smile softly and run my ngers through my hair. “I know my sister sounds like a crazy person, and heck—” I gesture to myself. “It might just run in the family .” “It might,” Desmond agrees kindly . I smile, allowing him the jab. “But she’s also an amazing person, my best friend, and my twin, you know. All that cliché twin stu —it’s real .” “So, you can feel what she’s feeling?” Desmond quips. “If I pinch you right now, she’ll feel it in the kitchen ?” I roll my eyes at him. He’s lobbing softballs, but I appreciate it. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Wherever she is, that’s where I want to be. Cheesy, sure. Crazy, probably .” “It’s actually pretty cool,” he says. “It’s nice to see that you two mean so much to each other, even if she is trying to pawn me o as your late-night Casanova .” “It’s her way of trying to make my life a little bit better .” “Noble of her .” “Sorry if she’s just made you a pawn in it all .” “Occupational hazard .” “Right,” I shake my head at him. “I’m sure .” “So, what do you actually do at the spa ?” “Oh, I’m a masseuse,” I say, sitting back. “I give massages .” “Really?” He seems impressed, but then his eyes glimmer softly. “So you work with naked people all day ?”

32 WHISKEY SPLASH

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you ?” He shakes his head. “Not really.” The smile he’s trying to bite back goes all the way to his cheeks . “Yes,” I say, leaning in and not letting him uster me. “I do work with naked people all day long. Of course, there are no cock-doubles,” I toss back, going all in. “But plenty of abby asses and old wrinkled men covered in coconut oils. It makes a show like Downton Abbey so much more exciting—because, you know, everyone is wearing clothing .” “That’s what does it for you, huh?” Desmond smiles, leaning back. “People in clothing ?” “Surprising, I know .” “So, did you always want to work with old, wrinkled men? Was that your teenage-self’s idea of the perfect career ?” “Oh yes,” I agree, going right along with the whole charade. “I took one of those aptitude tests in high school and it was clear—become a nurse and wipe old men’s asses or become a masseuse. Arie keeps trying to hook me up with these young good-looking fellows.” I motion to Desmond. “But really, wrinkly asses and liver spots, now that’s what really gets this girl’s libido going .” “That explains the whole ice-vagina dilemma .” “Exactly,” I say. I take one of the still- ickering wine glasses and ip it over so the ame goes out, lling the bell with a smokey-grey cloud. “I’m so glad you get me .” “So, you’re saying when I’m eighty- ve and I can’t bend over, you’ll be interested in what I have got to o er?” he says playfully . “Exactly!” I toss back. “You’re just fty- ve years too early .” “Shame,” Desmond says, his eyes dropping to my neck and tracing the skin where the gold fabric and fringe holds in my cleavage .

33 ELLE BERLIN

I bite my lip as a silence falls between us. The awkward ‐ ness of all my old-man jokes fall away and the palpable heat of what it means to be young and virile pumps through my veins. My eyes linger on the broadness of his chest, and the muscles that too eagerly ll out his shirt . Maybe Arie is right and all I need is a hot tumble in the sack with a movie star. I mean, he’s beautiful and charming, and surprisingly not running away considering all of my awkwardness . “Shame, indeed,” I agree, picking up the wine glass to let the spread of silver smoke billow between us . His eyes catch mine and my body thrums with the amber glimmer of his seductive gaze, my skin misting with all his eyes are promising. Only, every single one of my warning bells are also alarming, because despite all the silly and, granted, extremely charged banter, I know this is a game that people like him and my sister like to play. The kind I know it’s better to walk away from. I’m not my sister, who’s a dragon and can skip through re unscathed. I am the one who will turn to dust and ash and blow away before the night is done. I don’t do one- night stands—much less have them with gorgeous, famous, tele ‐ vision stars ! “Desmond,” I say, my neck and chest ushing. “You’re love ‐ ly.” I look at the table and away from his intensity. “But maybe we should both get out of this while we’re ahead, while it’s still civil and —” “Nobody’s making cracks about coming on the other person’s face ?” I laugh nervously and look up. “Yeah, exactly,” I agree. All of me still wants to evaporate at the reminder of saying such an insane thing. I seriously need to get my brain checked for tumors .

34 WHISKEY SPLASH

Desmond sits opposite me, regarding me softly, still surpris ‐ ingly chill about all of my awkwardness . “Look,” I continue. “You can stay and enjoy your dinner. Arie will still give you a complementary meal. In fact, she’ll pull out all the freaking stops when she realizes I’ve bailed on you .” “Is this what you’re doing? Bailing ?” I open my mouth to apologize, only I’m surprisingly silent . “Especially when things were just starting to get…” Desmond’s golden eyes peer into me and my palms go sweaty as he searches for the word. “Easy,” he tries out. “Maybe even kind of wonderful ?” I squirm in my seat. He doesn’t mean that . “You know,” he continues, “that might be a clue concerning the ice-box vagina mystery .” I suck my lip into my mouth, dragging a sweaty hand through my hair. “Yeah, you might be onto something there,” I say weakly, letting out a small exhale that feels like a confession . “Might be,” he echoes, tapping a nger on the side of his drink before lifting it up to take a sip. I can’t help but wonder what that lime deliciousness would taste like if I actually stuck around long enough to taste Desmond’s lips . “I’m sorry you got sucked into this whole ridiculous charade my sister pulled,” I say, sliding to the edge of the booth and standing up . I try to pull the gold dress down over my bottom without ipping over in these heels and ashing him my honey girl, which at this point would pretty much be the icing on the cake . “Honestly,” I hesitate, “I just wanted to be your waitress and make sure you had a nice evening. All the other Esme debacles, well, I suppose you can add those to your ‘crazy-shit

35 ELLE BERLIN people do in the presence of famous people’ le—a little some ‐ thing to laugh about when you’re older .” “Preferably, when I’m eighty- ve and I might actually have a shot with that beautiful lavender-haired girl, who’s distinctly —” Desmond pauses, his eyes skating over my body again like he’s trying to capture an image to put in that memory le. “Like no other .” “Right,” I laugh. “I hope you enjoyed the disaster of a show.” I faux-curtsy as if taking my nal embarrassing bow and head for the side door, hoping to exit as gracefully as possible . Only, his hand shoots out to catch me . And, he’s sitting and I’m standing—so the place in which he actually grabs me is my thigh ! His hand slips right between my legs, his ngers tangling in the fringe of my dress as they wrap around the skin right above my knee . I almost fall over at the zip of heat that spasms just inches above where his ngers clutch me. Jesus! The warmth of his palm and the sensitivity of my skin has my heart racing as I look down at him, my whole body taught. It’s completely disarming, knowing he’d only have to move his ngers slightly upwards before he would be touching my— What was it Arie said about this dress and easy access ? “Please know,” he says in that low voice that matches the intensity of his eyes, “it doesn’t matter what they feed me. The best part of the meal left early .” My mouth is dry . However, if he lifted his ngers several inches, he’d know that there are other parts of me that are de nitely not ! In fact, they’re completely thawed . The edge of his thumb swirls softly, drawing a circle on the outside of my thigh. I release a soft whimper as the pulse between

36 WHISKEY SPLASH my legs almost bowls me over. I’m not sure if that sound is audible or completely in my mind, but Desmond’s eyes dilate and I’m pretty sure that if I was wicked and knew how to take a risk like this, he’d steal out the side exit with me if I was brave enough to ask . But I’m not . “It was lovely to meet you, Desmond,” I say, hardly speaking as I back away and feel the whisper of his hand brush against my knee before it’s gone . He doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t have to. We both know what I’m walking away from. I head for the side exit, not looking back, telling myself this is the sane, healthy, right decision . Once outside, the gold heels I’m wearing clack loudly, punctuating my cowardice as I head for the elevator. Salty air and humidity wrap a thin blanket on my exposed skin as I punch the down button on the elevator and attempt to breathe. I rub my collar bone, hoping no one in the restaurant—Olivia, or Connor, or my sister—can see me through one of the windows . The elevator doors open and I wait politely for the guests on board to exit, suddenly feeling like it’s hard to swallow and there’s a weight caving in my chest. The patrons exit the elevator in fancy, over-dressed out ts, one of the men eyeing me in Arie’s tiny apper atrocity. I ignore him and slip into the elevator car when it’s nally empty, hitting the button for the lobby . The pound in my core aches, greedy and hollow, pissed I walked away from what Arie would call a sure thing. And for a second, I wonder if this is the big mistake. If I should actually march back into the restaurant and ask Desmond Pike to let me come on his face . Ha! Joke’s on me !

37 ELLE BERLIN

Only in my fantasy world would he smile at such a sugges ‐ tion and give me his room number . The elevator dings and the two silver doors slide shut and I’m thankful I don’t have to make a decision. I’m thankful that the decision has already been made and I’m whooshing down, far below, far away from that rooftop terrace and Flambé . Desmond Pike is nothing more to me than a pretty man on a magazine cover, a television star whom a thousand women covet. He isn’t the gorgeous, and witty, ridiculously kind gentleman that just thawed my vagina and makes my thighs tremble . He’s a stranger . He’s no one . And I’ve learned not to take risks, because you usually regret them. And Desmond Pike is the kind I think would be fun, but would most de nitely regret in the morning .

38 CHAPTER THREE

esmond Pike has ruined Downton Abby for me . D I’ve been home for almost three hours and my normal comfort food of binge-watching Downton Abby and drinking chamomile tea isn’t working. Of course, this is primarily due to the fact that I can’t look at Maggie Smith all primmed and tufted in her lavender scarves and feathered hats as Lady Violet Grantham without her accusing, dowager duchess-scowl telling me that even she—at the ripe old age of eighty-four—wouldn’t have been such a prude as to walk away from Desmond Pike and his ten-inch cock ! Perhaps worse is the fact that the throb between my legs hasn’t subsided and my imagination has gone into hyperdrive. Every surface of my apartment has become a twisted game of ‘what position would we need to be in if we were’… on my kitchen table, bent over the couch, checking the hallway mailbox … and I was coming on Desmond Pike’s face ? I growl at the latest obscene image pawing through my head and click o the television . Gulping down the last dregs of my tea, I head for my

39 ELLE BERLIN bedroom, realizing I just have to do something about this other ‐ wise I won’t be able to sleep. I’ve been horny before, of course, but something about walking into my empty bedroom and pulling out my favorite battery-operated boyfriend feels like the universe’s poetic revenge. I can already hear Arie in the back of my mind taunting: You could have had Desmond Pike’s toe- curling cock, Esme, but instead you opted for that cheap vibrating rubbery thing . I pull o my yoga clothes and toss them on the oor, only they land next to Arie’s dress which lies in a pile of fringe and gold next to my dresser. It makes me wonder if he would have stripped it o of me and left it in a heap like that, or, as Arie suggested, would he have yanked up the skirt for easy access and taken me with the fringe sticking to his sweating abdomen . I op back on my bed, naked, and click on the buzz of the vibrator. My core pounds, knowing it will get at least a little release tonight and I tease my soft esh with the lowest setting. Arie will bitch me out tomorrow for bailing, but I know myself, and I know this is better—safer. It comes with no strings attached and is free of all the emotional baggage. There’s no way I can get hurt if he’s a gment in my imagination. Plus, this way I can imagine all the hot and dirty things he’d do to me, things I’d never let him do in real life, and then I can go back to normal. Because he’d go back to his life afterward anyway and forget me . I slide the vibrator against my sensitive skin, my body waking to its trembling promise . “I have a very normal sized cock,” Desmond said to me, and I smile at the thought. How modest of him. Though it’s not his size that excites me, it’s the fact that even the tip of him inside me would have had me raring to go . I angle the toy, but it doesn’t feel as good as I want. The rubbery vibration is mechanical and insu cient. Again, I hear

40 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arie on my shoulder mocking: Have you forgotten that half the fun of sex is the fact that you don’t know what’s about to happen? That you don’t know which way he’s going to ip you over and fuck you? You get the weight of him, his hands, his body sliding against you. I toss the vibrator on the side of my bed, already knowing the toy won’t get the job done. Even after two hours of trying, I’d still be lying here aching and unsatis ed . “God dammit!” I curse, throwing a pillow over my head and starting to seriously regret my decision. Fantasies usually work for me, whereas the real thing … well, it comes with drama and the unfortunate fact that I get attached . The sex doesn’t even have to be good for me to crave the intimacy and connection. And usually the sex is—well, it’s ne—but nothing Arie would rave about. And it’s not that I haven’t had lovers, it’s just that everyone I end up trusting does something to stomp on my heart. And since my heart comes with the sex, I’ve decided to put both major organs (heart and vagina) out of commission . I turn on my meditation machine to try and quiet this tsunami of overthinking, but after an hour my brain is still doing summersaults . I consider doing some late-night yoga, but then the image of downward dog with Desmond’s talented tongue buried between my thighs adds to the ever-growing list of ways I could come against his face . My last-ditch resort is to take an ice cold shower before downing a couple sleeping pills. The irony of this option isn’t lost on me. My ice-block of a vagina has nally thawed and come out of hibernation, and here I am trying to chill it back into hiding again . In the daze of sheer exhaustion, I may have told my vagina that she can be the boss from now on—all my fears and emotional baggage be dammed! I may have said something

41 ELLE BERLIN ridiculous like she can take the reins next time we’re around Desmond Pike, and if she wants to screw him against a wall, then we’ll do it Spiderman style . For there is no wrath like a vagina scorned .

Walking into Flambé the next morning to get my purse, clothes, and phone, feels like a walk of shame. Not because I had a wild one-night stand, but because I didn’t . I skulk past the empty dining room that’s bathed in morning sunshine and the whole restaurant feels like a di erent place. There are no hidden shadows to dine in as you gaze into one another’s eyes over a aming cocktail. No dark corners in which to whisper dirty talk. The dining room is exactly the wake-up call that happens when you sober up the next morning and realize it was all smoke and illusion . I pad down the hall trying to stay undetected, Arie’s gold dress and heels in my hand. Hopefully, my sister isn’t here yet and I can grab my things and get to work without having to face the impending tsunami of expletives she will shower me with . To my surprise, Arie’s o ce is empty, and I head straight for the armoire, my clothes folded on the chair next to it. I put the dress on a hanger and tuck all my belongings under my arm, checking my phone. The screen blinks thirty-six new messages and I know all of them are from my sister . “Give me one reason not to murder you right now!” I startle and turn around to nd Arie blocking the doorway. No more sleeping dragon. Arie is suited up in sleek leggings and a tank, her hair in a reball on top of her head. She makes the “I just got up and haven’t had my co ee—or cocktail—yet” look like the next fad to hit the runway . “Hey!” I say cheerily, holding up my phone and trying to

42 WHISKEY SPLASH play this cool. “I left this here last night. It looks like you called me a hundred times .” She shakes her head, not playing this game. “Oh, that’s not the only thing you left here last night!” Her arms cross over her chest. “You also stood up the sexy six-foot-three inches of gorgeous man muscle that I served to you on a silver platter .” “You knew that wasn’t going to work out,” I counter, moving toward the door, hoping to sneak out before this becomes a lecture . “No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t know it wouldn’t work out .” “Have you met me?” I say deprecatingly. “The twin sister with the incurable case of foot-in-mouth disease? Arie, you can delude yourself into thinking I’m capable of seducing Desmond Pike the way you can, but frankly the whole thing was doomed the second I started talking about cock sizes and anal sex .” Arie’s eyes go wide. “Well, now—!” A seductive quirk nds its way into her smile. “ That sounds incredibly promising .” “Trust me, it wasn’t. Maybe it sounds sexy coming out of your mouth, but not so for Ms. Awkward-America over here.” I shake my head and try to push past her, but she blocks the door . “I don’t buy it,” Arie’s eyes narrow. “Explain to me why this keeps happening?” I try to shoulder my way past, but she locks her elbows and becomes the Great Wall of Tell-Me-All-The- Things . “Um, maybe it’s because I’m a nervous freak who has no lter and says everything that its through her mind, no matter how inappropriate,” I oer . “Not the awkward part.” She digs her heels in. “I’m talking about the self-sabotage part.” She stares at me hard and all the hair on my neck prickles . “I don’t know,” I shrug sheepishly, not wanting to get into it. “I’m a glutton for misery .”

43 ELLE BERLIN

“Nope,” Arie pinches me in the side like we’re twelve. “I can get you a red room and a pair of handcu s for that .” “Oh, thank you very much, Christian Grey.” I smack her hand away and she pinches me on the other side . “You couldn’t handle Christian Grey .” “Um, yeah! Exactly!” I nod, retreating back into the room, knowing she’s not going to let me go till she’s done. “That’s my whole point! Christian Grey is a fantasy—And guess what?— Desmond Pike is also a fantasy. Oh, except for the part where he’s actually sitting in front of me and I’m acting like a nervous chump. Even if he thought I was cute, I bulldozed all possibili ‐ ties when my blabber- sh of a mouth started talking .” “You were supposed to have fun,” Arie counters, following me into the o ce and closing the door behind her. “Drink, irt, get invited back to his room. You know, let loose and live a little .” “Humiliating myself in front of a famous TV star is not my idea of fun !” “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad .” “Oh, but it was!” I lean against her desk and put my things down. “I understand what you were trying to do, and I know this was your version of a favor, but throwing me into the deep end with some hot TV hunk is probably the worst scenario imaginable .” “Because you weren’t ready for it?” Arie pushes. “Or because you actually wanted to jump his bones ?” “Both!” I throw my hands up in frustration, and Arie smiles, nally getting me to admit the real problem . “You realize, Desmond Pike is not Jeremy Vaughn.” Arie puts a hand on her hip and I almost throw the stapler from her desk at her. Anger crawls up my spine and I have to take three long breaths before I can look at her again . “Of course I know that Desmond is not Jeremy!” I growl.

44 WHISKEY SPLASH

“He’s worse! And please, stop reminding me about the worst mistake of my life as if airing out all my dirty laundry is going to do something other than make me feel stupid and small !” “Jeremy was an asshole!” Arie’s eyes are with anger, coming to my defense. “A manipulative jerk who —” “Made me trust him and then managed to embarrass and humiliate me. I know, Arie. I was there! It was my naked photos that he spread around campus .” Arie frowns, growing quiet, which is distinctly out of char ‐ acter for her, but at least it means she understands the weight of this. “I think sometimes you hide behind that .” I shake my head, feeling small, and doing my best to push the image of Jeremy Vaughn out of my mind. It’s the only way I’ve learned how to cope with what he did—to push it away and forget him. That is, until my sister pulls one of these stunts and reminds me of just how gullible I am . I met Jeremy in college and fell hard for him. All the cheesy romantic shit that I love, he was the king of it: owers, dates, romantic candles. He was my rst love and, foolishly, I thought he was in love with me too. But it turns out, he took pictures of all the intimate things we did together and he shared them with his friends. And then, his friends shared them with their friends, and chain-letters-gone-wild it wasn’t long before strange guys were propositioning me for blow jobs in the back of classrooms. I became known as slutty Esme who’ll rock your cock o for a box of chocolates and a pat on the head . “What Jeremy Vaughn did to you was unconscionable,” Arie says softly. “But you can’t let him control your life anymore. That was years ago, and you deserve so much more !” “I don’t let him control my life!” I snap back. “I never think about him unless you bring him up. I’ve learned my lesson and I’m careful now .” “To the point of being an old prude !”

45 ELLE BERLIN

“Well, maybe that’s safer .” Arie sits down next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder. “I’m not telling you to fall in love and get your heart torn out. I’m talking about having a little fun and realizing that most men aren’t douchebags. They also need a little connection .” By “A little connection,” Arie means fuck your brains out . “Baby steps, Esme. Baby steps .” “You think a hot one-night stand with Desmond Pike is a baby step ?” “Actually, yes .” “Do you realize how delusional you sound ?” “Um, about as delusional as believing that one guy that burned you is going to predict how every guy will treat you.” She stands up and squares o with me, her hands resting on my upper arms . “Yeah, okay,” I admit, not meeting her eyes. “I hear how bad that sounds.” I stare past her at the vintage culinary posters on the wall behind her. Who knew there were so many di erent types of pasta ? “Yes, Desmond Pike is a movie star,” my sister says softly, rubbing my arms. “Which is great, because that means he doesn’t need the attention. He doesn’t need to act like the small-dicked worm that Jeremy was. In fact, Desmond’s the type of guy that would probably be extra discreet because he is so famous .” “I didn’t think about that .” “Baby steps, girl.” Arie squeezes my arms kindly. “Not to mention, Desmond Pike is so damn yummy, I can’t believe you didn’t jump him in that booth back there. Heck, if he walks back in here, I might have to ask Connor for a cheat card .” “You wouldn’t !” “No, I wouldn’t,” she says seriously. “I love Connor. But

46 WHISKEY SPLASH you—” That mischievous glint returns to her eyes. “You could!” Her tone is insinuating, and I feel my cheeks heat as images from last night dance in my head. “Oh, I know that look,” Arie teases. “You’ve thought about it !” “Too many ways and too many times,” I blurt, and Arie howls in approval . “Oh, I knew there was a dirty girl in you !” I shake my head, embarrassed. “No there isn’t! And even if there was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Arie pouts, disappointed, and I stand up and grab my belongings. “Don’t give me that face! It doesn’t matter anyway. Desmond Pike is gone. I blew it, which was destined to happen, because I’m a total spaz. So, let’s just forget it.” I head for the door. “I’m late for work .” “Weeeeeell,” my sister draws out the word, almost singing it to keep me from walking out the door. “That’s not entirely true.” Arie skips up to me and takes my phone from the top of my stack, pressing several buttons as she opens an app . “What’s not entirely true?” I narrow my eyes at her, but she raises a nger to get me to wait . “Here it is.” She ips the phone around and the screen glitters with some celebrity gossip rag. Desmond’s gorgeous face is smiling under a headline that says, Desmond Pike: Shooting on Location in Oahu for New Movie . “He’s not exactly gone,” Arie clari es. “The article says they just started shooting yesterday, which means he might be in town for a while .” I shake my head, even though my lower regions have started to ache at the sight of his picture and the ridiculous possibility that he hasn’t gotten on a plane and own across the Paci c Ocean. Yup, welcome to the full wrath of a vagina scorned . “Don’t be silly.” I frown. “It’s a big island. It’s not like I’m going to see him again .”

47 ELLE BERLIN

Arie taps on the photo and zooms in. “Fair point, but does this look familiar? Have you ever seen that logo before ?” My insides squirm. It isn’t—is it? Behind Desmond’s shoulder is a hotel, a hint of palm trees and ocean, and a blurry logo that I pass every morning. “Is that the Atlantis? He’s staying here ?!” Arie’s head is bouncing up and down like a bobble-head. “Yup. I’m pretty sure he’s staying on the premises—which means, it’s only a matter of time before the rumors start and we gure out what room he’s in .” My stomach tumbles. My one saving grace this morning was the fact that I’d never have to see him again, that I could log him away with all my other embarrassing dates and move on. “I don’t want to know what room he’s in! I’m a spaz, remember? I don’t actually want to see him again .” “Baby steps !” “Yes, I understand you have a twelve-step program for getting me laid,” I shoot back at her. “But you forget that there’s no way he wants to see me! Word-vomit, remember ?” Arie bursts out laughing like that was the punchline of the funniest joke she’s ever heard . “Oh, sweetie!” Arie starts scrolling through the phone again. “You have no idea the e ect you have on men .” She pulls up an Instagram page, pointing to Desmond’s tiny face in the avatar window. His screen name is @ TheReal ‐ DesmondPike and below it Arie points to the last picture he’s posted. It’s from last night. She clicks on the image of Flambé’s moody re-lit dining room. It’s not the secluded seat we sat in, instead, it’s a panorama of all the booths near the window, the glittering ocean moon-lit behind them . “So, he likes the restaurant,” I say, unimpressed. “Great. That’s good publicity for you, Arie. Congratulations .”

48 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Read the caption, you numbskull!” she hisses, tapping on the words below the photo . It reads :

The view is incredible. The food delicious. And if you’re lucky, the fantasies you’ll have about your waitress will keep you up all night. Flambé is completely sinful. XOXO .

Strike that, it’s all O’s .

A light mist breaks out over my shoulders at the overtness of it, my body immediately reacting as if he’d said it to my face. Of course, he didn’t really write that. I’m sure Desmond Pike has a publicist who writes all his social media posts for him. And even if he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly have spent last night hung up and unable to sleep because he was thinking of me . “This is totally a publicity thing,” I say, clicking back to look at his other photos and captions. “You said he plays some sort of big-shot player on his television show. I’m sure this is nothing more than him playing out that persona for his fans .” “Maybe,” Arie says with a raised eyebrow, as I look for the evidence that he’s done the same thing at the last restaurants he’s attended. “On the other hand, it would also be the perfect cover for telling you he still wants to bone.” I glare at my sister, who’s beaming. “Hell,” she continues. “Maybe playing hard to get was a huge turn on for him .” “I wasn’t playing hard to get!” I click my phone o and toss it in my purse. “Seriously, I left because I couldn’t handle it—which I would’ve done with any famous person, model, billionaire, alpha- male, or romance-novel-fodder you tossed at me. Understand ?” “Well, maybe you should start trying to handle it,” Arie

49 ELLE BERLIN smiles wickedly. “And by handle it, I mean handle Desmond and his great big —” “If you say ten-inch cock, I’m going to slap you .” Arie gasps in excitement. “Did you start watching his show last night? Oh, tell me you did! Are you at episode three where —” “No! Oh my gosh, listen to yourself.” I grab my things and stalk out of her o ce, heading down the hall. “And for the record, he brought up his … size, all on his own .” “He was trying to impress you,” Arie says, skipping down the corridor after me . “That wasn’t the context of our conversation at all .” “Maybe not,” Arie snags my elbow. “But let me ask you one last question before you storm downstairs and take out all your anger on the massage table .” I frown at her, even though she’s probably right. I hope my schedule is lled with deep tissue massages that I dig into and pound out of sight. “Make it quick, I’m already late .” “Does he turn you on ?” I clench my sts. “What kind of question is that ?” “A serious one!” Arie pushes. “Look, if he doesn’t get the lady bits all in a tingle, then I get it, there’s no chemistry. Move on. But tell me, honestly, was it truly tingle-free Antarctica down there, or did you actually walk out on Desmond because it was Mardi Gras in your panties and you were afraid to invite him to the party ?” I glare at her, that deviousness twinkling in her eyes again. I don’t have to say anything for her to know the answer to that question, because whatever I’m thinking can easily be read on my face, because I’m an open book . “Damn!” Arie says, letting go of my elbow. “Please tell me you gave him that look, because I’d be up all night dreaming about fucking you too .”

50 WHISKEY SPLASH

I roll my eyes. “I’m never covering another shift for you again.” I push open the side door and walk out into the sunshine . “You didn’t really cover last night’s shift,” she tosses after me . “Exactly my point .” “What if Desmond comes back to the restaurant looking for you?” Arie asks, a meddling tone in her voice again. “Should I have you on speed dial ?” “No!” I shoot back, and then I sarcastically throw her words back at her. “I’m playing hard to get, remember? If he really wants to nd me, he can try harder .” Arie whistles with excitement as I stalk away, her laughter rollicking through my ears . He’s not going to nd me, of course. I know that. Arie can make up all the silly reasons for why Desmond Pike would be interested in me, pretending there’s a connection in all the randomness of the last evening, but the truth is, my life doesn’t work like that. And if I do see him in the resort, I already know what will happen—I’ll be diving behind the nearest plant or bee-lining it in the opposite direction—because I am a walking disaster waiting to happen .

51 CHAPTER FOUR

“ ou’re late!” my coworker and close friend, Naomi, Y whispers as I walk up to the front desk after changing into my masseuse out t. Shoots of bamboo grow out of a planter behind Naomi and above her head is a giant lotus logo painted on a sheet of suspended glass, along with the name The Mandara Spa . Naomi is a Scandinavian beauty with perfect bone structure, long legs, and gleaming blond hair that makes you wonder what Elven lord her mother must have slept with. It’s pure luck that Naomi is covering reception this morning, otherwise I’d be totally busted . “Sorry,” I grab the clipboard next to her. “It’s been kind of a crazy twenty-four hours .” “Mrs. Rose has been on a rampage since the Hollywood people showed up at the resort,” Naomi warns, looking over her shoulder to the closed door of Mrs. Rose’s o ce, both of us well aware that her strict no-nonsense policies tend to stress us out more than enhance the relaxing spa atmosphere. “But I covered

52 WHISKEY SPLASH for you.” Naomi pulls up the appointment book. “Your rst client is in room ten and ready to go .” “Hollywood people?” I ask, playing dumb as I scan my schedule. Was Arie right? Is Desmond staying at the Atlantis ? “Yeah, I guess it’s some action lm remake or something,” Naomi con rms. “Word is that they’re shooting all over the island and several of the crew members are staying in the resort. Thus, Mrs. Rose is being extra vigilant should any of them come to the spa .” “Oh, okay,” I say noncommittally, trying not to show too much interest in the fact that she just con rmed that Desmond —or at least some of his coworkers—is on the premises. “Well, be sure to give me a heads up if you think anyone from the crew is coming in .” “You bet.” Naomi nods, handing me the client card for my rst massage. It’s a deep tissue massage for a Mr. Clarke, which is perfect, exactly what I need to work out this pent-up frustra ‐ tion! “Sooooo, was it a good crazy-twenty-four hours?” Naomi pries. “Or a …” she trails o hoping for me to ll in the blank for her . “It was … crazy interesting,” I admit, putting the clipboard back down and keeping the small index card with Mr. Clarke’s preferences on it. “You should come over to my house after work and we can split a pizza. I’ll tell you all about it. Arie was up to her normal tactics, but this time it was … yeah, extra interesting .” “Ooooh la la!” Naomi sing-songs. “If Arie’s involved, there’s bound to be stories to tell. Deal. I’ll meet you at your place after work.” She hands me the key to room ten. “All your oils and towels are in the room already. Diana set up your client. He should already be on the table and good to go. He’s probably been in there for about ten minutes .”

53 ELLE BERLIN

“Thank you!” I kiss her on the cheek and head toward my room . I take several deep breaths as I walk down the dark corridor that leads to my client, tiny buddha statues lining each side of the hallway and a stream of oating candles bubbling along beside my ankles. I let the sweet lemongrass scent ll my lungs and the calming ute music ease the knot of tension in the back of my neck . I love my sister, but she breeds drama. Becoming a masseuse was probably an unconscious life choice to make sure I always have a tiny Zen paradise to retreat into, somewhere that I can reset and be alone with the silence. It turns out working at the Mandara is just as calming and reenergizing for me as it is for the client . I turn the corner to the massage rooms, happy to be back in the familiarity of this routine, easing me back to normalcy. I walk up to room number ten and knock softly, pausing before putting the key in the lock and letting myself in . All of the massage rooms are dark by design. The only lights are candles that sit in alcoves along the walls, which are meant to create a womb-like safe space where you can focus on the massage and forget the busy noise of the outside world. The normal ute music is replaced by the sounds of water trickling over a cascade of stones, along with the occasional ring of a meditative singing bowl that already has my heart center humming with positivity . My station is to the right, lined with oils and towels, and Mr. Clarke lies on the table at the center of the room. He looks young, in his late twenties maybe, lying face down and nude with his backside covered with the complimentary sheet . “Good morning, Mr. Clarke,” I say softly, as to not disturb his relaxation. “I’m Esme, and I’m going to be your masseuse

54 WHISKEY SPLASH today.” I walk over to my station and start pulling out the oils that he’s requested. “We’ll be doing a deep muscle massage and —” I check the card. “It looks like you don’t have any allergies or special accommodations that I should know about. Is that right?” He mu es a yes behind me and I hear him shift . “Did I get the time wrong?” he asks to my back, turning his voice in my direction as I pour the coconut oil onto my hands. “I’ve been waiting a while .” “No, you were on time, sir. I apologize. I’m the one who was running late.” I grab a warm towel and the bottle of oil. “It’s been a bit of a morning for me and I appreciate your patience. It won’t a ect your time, of course. You’ll still get the full hour .” “Bit of a morning? Huh?” he asks, shu ing again. “Were you out late last night on a hot date and couldn’t get yourself out of bed this morning ?” I laugh. “No-no, sir! Nothing like that. I assure you my night was very ta —” I turn around and stop dead, the bottle of oil dropping out of my hand and crashing onto the oor. Lounging on the table in front of me—is Desmond ! He’s no longer face-down, but instead, he’s turned onto his side with an arm propped under his head. My jaw must drop open, because he smiles in amusement, lounging in front of me like a glorious Greek God, draped in the sheet like he’s wearing a toga and everything ! ‘Wearing’ is an exaggeration. His whole torso is gleaming gold in the candlelight and that thin privacy sheet is barely slung over his hips—under which he’s naked ! Yup, I’m inside a dark, poorly-ventilated room gawking at Desmond Pike and the thickness of his arms, and the V-of his hips, and his wide, strong chest that I would like to lick frosting o of !

55 ELLE BERLIN

Holy hotness, Batman; get your shit together, girl ! My tiny massage room just became a pressure cooker and my body is on high alert just looking at the sheer beauty of him . “You dropped something,” he says casually, that crooked smile hooking his cheek and I realize I’ve been gawking at him like he’s a piece of meat . “I—I—Sorry, I—!” I ip around so I’m no longer facing him and all that incredible skin. “I must have the wrong room! I’m so sorry. There’s been a mix up !” I peek over my shoulder to look at the number on the back of the door, deliberately not looking at Desmond stretched out below it . “I’m supposed to be in room ten, but —” Only, the number on the door is room ten “Or, uh—” I stutter, turning back to get the card with Mr. Clarke’s information on it. Only, I slip on the bottle of oil between my feet and nearly hit the oor. “Shit!” I shake my head, reorienting myself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to swear, sir. That was very unprofessional of me. I’ve never walked into the wrong room before .” I bend down and grab the bottle, my greasy hands slathering oil all over the container. I hear a slight chuckle behind me and the room feels like it’s su ocating. I try to wipe the bottle o with the towel, but I just end up making a mess of everything. So, I bundle it all up—bottle, hand, towel—and decide to take them with me. I’ll get Naomi to replace them . I grab my client card and shoot toward the door . “Again,” I apologize. “I am so, so sorry for —” “Esme!” Desmond sits up and jets out an arm, catching me by the waist and pulling me toward him. “You’re not in the wrong room .” Suddenly, I’m right in front of him, bottle and towel sted in one hand, and my other hand up in the air like a criminal.

56 WHISKEY SPLASH

His entire naked torso is inches from me, the sheet twisted precariously around his gorgeous hips. I attempt to calm my breathing, but his hand is on my waist, heating my whole body with his proximity . “Desmond—” I shake myself at the familiarity of using his rst name. “I mean, Mr. Pike. I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be helping —” “I’m Mr. Clarke,” Desmond says directly, and my eyes snap to his . “What?” He nods, his amber eyes glittering in the candlelight. “It’s a pseudonym. I’m checked in under that name so nobody knows who I am. It helps with the press and the fans. This way there isn’t paparazzi waiting for me outside the spa .” I don’t think oxygen is getting to my brain. Did Desmond just say he is Mr. Clarke? He’s my deep muscle massage client? My pussy trills with excitement, ready for me to put my hands all over him. Only, this is my job—my profession—and there’s no way my pussy gets to weigh in on anything in this situation . “You’re Mr. Clarke?” I ask tentatively, my hands still hanging in the air awkwardly . “Yes.” “Right, uh … You can see my confusion .” He smiles softly, his hand still on my waist, and that pulse of electricity bleats between us. He shouldn’t be touching me, which only makes me more aware of how naked he is and the fact that I’ll be touching him in a minute. Oh dear Lord, this must be a test! I’m not going to be able to handle gliding my hands all over his hard muscled body without being banished to the great aming underground ! “Okay,” I say, biting my lip and stepping back so his hand falls o my hip. I lower my arms gracefully and remind myself

57 ELLE BERLIN

I’m a freaking professional. “Let’s try this again. Mr. Clarke, or, uh—? What do you want me to call you ?” “Are you into kinky roll playing and want to call me Mr. Clarke, Esme ?” “No!” I ush, the playful heat in his eyes more than I bargained for. I shake my head, ustered. “ Sorry , I—” “Why don’t we stick to Desmond,” he says, amused by my blush . “Good,” I nod, thankful. “Now, Desmond,” I say his name rmly, trying to regain some sense of composure and balance. “If I could get you to lie back down on the table, we could start this massa —” He stands up before I have a chance to nish and the sheet falls to the ground. I yelp, twisting around as quickly as possible . “Sir!” I say sharply, trying to give him some privacy. “If you need a moment to get back on the table, I’ll be happy to step outside !” “No need,” Desmond says casually, as if he’s just ne with the fact that I just got one hot eye-full of the full Desmond. And damn—my core is doing back ips for a reason! “If you’ve seen episode three of Billionaire Heat, this is nothing new .” “I think we established last night that I haven’t seen your show!” I squeak, my core pounding. I want to hiss at my own body, my ovaries doing somersaults in excitement. But I’m at work. And Desmond Pike is not supposed to be showing me his naked body—well, ever!—but, de nitely not at my job ! “Well, if you want the full tour,” Desmond says cheekily. “You can start with episode three and then skip ahead to the end of the season, that’s where most of the nudity —” “Desmond!” I cut him o . “Please!” I do my best to keep my voice calm, but the image of his full torso, his thighs, his—

58 WHISKEY SPLASH yup, I’m not going to make it through this appointment. “Could you please just get back on the table ?” He chuckles again and I wait, listening to the sounds of him moving, praying he’s picking up the sheet and covering himself properly . I tiptoe over to my station as he gets in position, and I wipe the oil o the bottle again. After what feels like too long ddling with the oils and creams, I sneak a peek behind me, and to my relief he’s on the table, face down, with his ass covered. I oil up my hands again and walk to his side, my eyes inappropriately taking in the strength and shape of his thick arms . “Okay, I’m going to start with your shoulders and neck,” I explain. “Then I’ll move on to your arms, back, and legs. What rmness do you normally like for your massages ?” “Hard,” he says with a hot breath that shouldn’t sound sexy, but it does . “Okay,” I breathe, wringing my slick hands. “If anything is too rm —” “If I need you to back o , I’ll tell you,” Desmond says quickly. “But I’ve got so many knots in my back from tossing in that bed all night, that I think you’re going to need to give me all you’ve got .” He couldn’t sleep? Last night? Didn’t he say something like that in his social media post? That’s got to be a coincidence. Unless he thinks I’ve seen it and he said that purposefully . “Very well,” I say, swallowing hard, lifting my hands so they hover over his back . I’m not ready to touch him . I really shouldn’t touch him . This is a complete con ict of interest . The sight of his back has me imagining him wrapped up in a cocoon of sheets, frustrated, unsatis ed, tossing and turning.

59 ELLE BERLIN

Does he sleep naked too? Or is that my brain projecting because he’s naked in front of me right now—torso sculpted, muscles knit perfectly in a group? He’s the kind of man that will be a pleasure to touch, if only to appreciate the design of how he’s put together . The smell of coconut mixes with the scented candles and, lightheaded, I remind myself that he’s just a client. He’s like anyone else: a body needing my services. He’s got knots in his back like any other customer . Knots—from a night of restless, unful lling sleep ! A familiar side e ect, uncoincidentally ! I take a deep breath and force myself to dive in. I’m a professional and I can handle this ! I start with his shoulders, my palms gliding softly over his thick muscles. The connection is immediate, heat shooting up my arms as my ngers fan out over his body . He moans softly, the texture of his esh wildly erotic, and I don’t know if he feels that zap of energy as well, but my hands feel charged. I’m wildly aware of the di erence between massaging a stranger and massaging someone with whom you crave something more. Skin is skin, until it’s charged with desire . I scold myself for indulging in such a dangerous idea. He’s a client! I’m a professional. I’m not here to explore the possi ‐ bility of all this irtation ! So, I dig in— hard ! I press my ngers harshly into the thick of his shoulder muscle and gouge deep for the knots below the surface. Perhaps it’s the harshness of it or the change in pace, but Desmond moans hotly—the guttural pleasure ringing in my ears. It causes me to bite my lip, my chest blooming with the excitement of pulling such a wicked sound from him .

60 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Too hard?” I breath out, not letting up as I push and grasp and mold his skin under my palms . He moans again and his breath deepens, a cue to put in a little more elbow grease. I change position and drill into his shoulder, searching for that knot. I feel the tension in his neck change as he grits his teeth, my thumb working into the ruby of tangled muscle under his shoulder blade. I dig harder and deeper, till I’ve worked that st of tension down the grain of his muscle and out his spine. He softly groans as I sooth the tendril of worked esh, gliding past it with less pressure, before I move to the other shoulder and do it again . When my hands run down the width of his rib cage, I feel him start to relax. Much of the tension in his arms releases as I caress down the delicate bones. The width of his back is intoxi ‐ cating, the oil creating a friction and warmth as my ngers prod at the sides of his abdomen . His thick arms make me slow down and savor the strength of them, pulling and gliding from the shoulder all the way down to the wrist, my ngers kneading and massaging. The pads of his hands and his ngers are just as strong and muscular. And, as I dig into the rm cushion of his palm, my mind dallies to the thought of our roles reversed and what it would feel like if his hands were the ones teasing and kneading and wringing out my pleasure . I swallow hard, realizing that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m in charge of his pleasure, his comfort, his relaxation. I’m in charge of his body and what he’s feeling. Maybe it isn’t sexual— per se—but it’s an exchange . An awareness in our skin . A connection . I work through the thickness of his other arm, cherishing each stroke of muscle, feeling him give in and relax under me. My sts work down his spine to his lower back, nding a pulse

61 ELLE BERLIN and rhythm as I slide up and down. My ngers tease the top of his ass as the oil and pressure glides down his vertebrae, again and again. My focus is intent, it’s me and his skin, digging trea ‐ sures out of his muscles, excavating them . I move to his legs and start with his feet. A scale of tiny moans sing from him as I nd the pressure points that release all the tensions we build up from walking . The room is thick with the lather of coconut oil, a scent that’s sweet and full, matching the warm air that reverberates in my chest, hitting something sensual and base. I uncover one of his legs, folding the thin cotton sheet back so his entire ank is exposed—thigh, hip, the perfectly sculpted round of his buttock . I work one leg at a time, grinding my thumbs into the sti muscle of his calf, nding the knots and unraveling them. The oil on my hands glides over his thigh, igniting something warm in my core as I drive into his tough, rm muscle. It takes both my hands to cover his ank’s thickness, my ngers curled inward near the sensitive skin between his legs that I’m trying to be mindful not to graze . The whole side of his body is beautiful, every inch made strong and built with perfect intent. He has the type of body artists would want to sculpt, marble stone giving way to sinews and muscle tone . My ngers spread wide, fanning over his whole ank, swirling and kneading. Then I use my forearm, up to the elbow, to grind against the side muscle. The rmness of my padded bone glides over the side of his ass and up his hip. It’s the most intimate part of a massage. I’ve exposed his buttock when folding the sheet back, and now I follow the same track with my hands, moving in full strides, stroking his hip and ass and thigh, over the perfect mounds of his muscle, across and down. It’s an aggressive motion, my hands covering the toned cheek of his ass

62 WHISKEY SPLASH with each pass, and for a hot moment I imagine what it would be like to touch him in a di erent context, for me to be clutching his ass instead of massaging it, gripping his sculpted behind as his hips thrust with me beneath him . My core throbs with the visceral heat of such an image. The fact that I’m actually touching him causes my breath to shallow and my body to grow heavy . I move to the second leg and repeat the process, but my mind is a mess. I know the actual feel of his body now. The images uttering through my imagination have tactile sensa ‐ tions to fuel them—and I’m suddenly aching . I dig into the knots of his ank, chanting to myself to be professional. Ignore his perfectly sculpted ass. Ignore his strong and powerful hips. Ignore the thickness of his thighs and how wicked it would feel to straddle them ! My clit pounds and it’s my turn to mu e a moan . I’m wet. The dampness of my undergarments is as slippery as the coconut oil that glistens on Desmond’s skin. My body is ready. My vagina thawed and eager to do more than just be imagining . I squeeze my legs together and force myself to focus on my hands, on my simple ngers digging and sliding. Simple hands on skin, his skin, his body. Nothing more than hands and oil and the digging out the knots. Hands and oil and — I step back, breaking the connection . I’m close enough to nishing the second leg that I hope he’s not suspicious, because I need a second to breathe without touching him. I reset the sheet so he’s covered and walk back over to my station, my ngers buzzing . I use my yoga techniques to focus on my breathing—in through the nose and out through the mouth, in through the nose and out through the mouth—intentionally elongating each breath so they aren’t so shallow and ragged. I stand in front of

63 ELLE BERLIN my station for far too long, preparing myself for the fact that we’re only halfway through this massage . “Okay, Desmond,” I say softly, facing the wall and trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m going to need you to ip over onto your back and then I can massage your front .” I’ve said that phrase a thousand times to all my other clients, but suddenly saying it to him, with my body so turned on—it sounds hotly sexual. Asking him to ip onto his back feels wildly intimate, and I realize there’s a distance that exists when I’m massaging his back, an ease to the fact that his face is hidden and I can’t actually watch his reactions. But with his face turned upward, I’ll be able to see every exhale and twitch of his lip—and hotter still is the fact that I want to see them. I want to see the e ect I have on him . Desmond is silent . The fact that he isn’t turning over sends a cold chill up my back as he stays face-down on his stomach. He probably heard the heat in my voice and knows exactly what I was thinking. After all, I’m completely unable to hide my emotions. Shit! I’ve probably made him so uncomfortable, he’s trying to concoct an exit plan so he can get out of here and report me to my boss . “Desmond?” I whisper tentatively, hoping he’s just so relaxed he didn’t hear me the rst time. “I’m, uh, I’m done with your —” “We have a bit of a problem,” Desmond says quickly, not moving, and ice splinters down my back . Shit! He totally knows. I should never have taken him on as a client ! “A, uh, a problem?” I breathe out, tightness constricting my throat. “And what, um —?” Desmond moves his arms up to the top of the table where he can lift up his torso. He shifts enough to lift his head and I

64 WHISKEY SPLASH brace myself for whatever angry I’m-going-to-get-you- red look is about to hit me . “Well—” he hesitates, not looking at me yet. “Let's just say you're very good at this .” “I’m—?” I tilt my head to the side, not understanding. “What ?” Desmond laughs softly, a hint of embarrassment in his tone, and the cold icing my back spreads exponentially. He’s afraid to say how inappropriate I’ve been ! “You're a professional,” he continues, nally turning his face to me, and I want to apologize for the fact that I really haven’t been! When, he says, “I'm sure this happens to you all the time .” I frown. This does not happen all the time ! But then, his eyebrows raise and I swear a hint of color feathers his cheeks. “How about we say—” he continues. “That this has been a very relaxing and, well … stimulating massage .” His eyes narrow, waiting patiently, and it’s not until he icks his chin toward his hips and my eyes shoot down his body that I get it ! “Oh God!” My eyes widen. He hasn’t ipped over yet because—“You have a—” I slap my hand over my mouth to make sure I don’t say it out loud . Erection. Holy shit ! Desmond Pike is hard on my massage table ! “Yeah,” he says, nodding sheepishly. “Not my nest moment, but …” “Wow, okay!” My heart races, trying to think of something to say . The good news is he’s not pissed o that I’m turned on . The bad news is that he’s just as turned on as I am, which

65 ELLE BERLIN causes my core to jump into hyperdrive. Only, I’m desperate to make this less awkward ! “Okay, not a problem—” I mumble, forcing myself to talk despite my habit of foot-in-mouth disease. “Please, don’t feel embarrassed,” I start, but his eyebrows lift and it’s clear we’re already past that point. “No, this does happen.” I laugh nervously. “It’s natural and … normal .” “Does this happen with your eighty-year-old clients?” Desmond jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and I bite my lip . “Well, no,” I admit. “But it can happen. I mean, with younger clients. Um—! Okay, okay—” I try to refocus. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to keep my back turned.” I ip around to demonstrate, staring at the wall. “And if you could just, uh, ip over and assess how, uh— how —” “Aroused I am ?” I swallow hard at the boldness in his tone . “Um, yes,” I say sheepishly, trying to hold it together and take control. “If you could just ip over—keep the sheet on, of course! And uh—” I hear him moving on the table. “And well, whatever level of … uh … erectile, uh, I mean, erections .” I shake my head. God! What am I supposed to call it? His sti y? Cock rocket? Boner? I must be in the Twilight Zone. I’m not really talking about erections with Desmond Pike, am I? “Look, whatever size—or, uh, condition—yes, condition!” I say. “Whatever condition you’re in, we can, uh, we can work with it .” “Esme,” Desmond says dubiously. “Did you just o er to give me a happy ending ?” “No!” I squeak. “Oh God , no !” I slap my hand against my forehead. Man! I really need to become the poster child for foot-in-mouth disease . “I’m sorry, Desmond!” I blabber. “I didn’t mean it that way! No, of course, we don’t do happy, uh—that! This isn’t that kind

66 WHISKEY SPLASH of a spa!” I think he might be laughing behind me, but I don’t dare turn around to check. “I was simply trying to say that whatever condition you’re in, we can accommodate —” “Accommodate?” he interrupts, his tone high, insinuating that accommodating sounds a whole heck of a lot like a happy ending . “No, Desmond!” I uster. “I’m not going to jerk you o!” He laughs loudly, the deepness of his chuckle lling the tiny room, and even though I want to evaporate into dust, some ‐ thing about it eases the tension . “We can nd a way to make you feel comfortable!” I say desperately . “Okay, okay,” Desmond says, his tone agreeing and becoming less confrontational. “So, what exactly do we do if— hypothetically—I’m really fucking aroused ?” “Hypothetically?” I squeak, my whole body ushing . “Yeah, de nitely not hypothetically .” “Right, um…” I swallow, trying to keep my head on straight. “Are we talking—?” I lift my arm up to di erent angles . “Did you just ask me to describe my, uh—?” Desmond asks pointedly, and I look at my arm angled at half-mast and realize I’m clearly a mental patient ! “Right! Bad idea !” “Why don’t you just turn around and take a look, okay ?” “What?!” My heart hammers . “I’m still covered by the sheet,” Desmond clari es. “And I think it’s going to be a lot less embarrassing than me trying to describe the angle of my cock to you .” I take a deep breath, certain that I should resign, change my name, and move to another continent . “Alright, uh…” I grab a towel from the table and wipe o my hands. “Okay, fair warning, I’m turning around now .”

67 ELLE BERLIN

I do it swiftly, keeping my eyes on the ceiling until I’m fully facing him . “My cock is not on the ceiling,” Desmond cracks, and I ush, heat blooming over my chest . “Of course, I know that,” I snap haughtily, forcing my eyes down in one swift motion . Desmond is on his back, propped up on his elbow, and staring at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was enjoying this. My eyes ick away from his face down to the sheet and — Yes, there’s a sheet covering him , but — He’s pointing straight up and creating a signi cant tent with the sheet, and from the looks of it, his whole “ten inches” joke from last night is less of a rumor and more of a calling card . So, yeah—really fucking aroused—and then some ! I purse my lips together and try to keep calm, even though my clit is pounding and I can feel his eyes on me, gaging my reaction. When I said this happens sometimes, what I really meant was that occasionally a client will ip over and have a slight chubby. It’s never like this. They’re never fully hard! But Desmond is standing at attention like he’s ready for me to climb onto the table and — “Okay…” I say hoarsely, our eyes connecting . Desmond Pike is fully aroused. The heat in this room is insu erable. And the intensity of his gaze seems to declare: This is what you do to me ! I’m waaaaay out of my league ! I whip around again, showing him my back, because I seri ‐ ously can’t face him when he’s half-naked, erect, and giving me those bedroom eyes . “Wow, it’s that bad?” Desmond teases . “No Desmond, it’s ne! Your, your —”

68 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Oh man, little buddy,” he says, addressing his own member. “She only called you just
ne .” “Are you kidding, Desmond!” I snap, so damn ustered. “Are you seriously looking for me to comment on your ten-inch cock? I mean, cock-double, my ass !” “That’s not a real thing .” “Well, even if it was, you obviously don’t need one !” I hear him laugh . “Right! Well, you’re welcome,” I say haughtily, annoyed now. “Congratulations, you’ve got a huge cock!” I shake my head, just trying to get through this. “If you could focus for two seconds, here are your options: One, we can stop the session right now. Two, I can step out and give you a few minutes alone, and then come back in after you’ve …” I hesitate, real ‐ izing that, yup, I just told him he could masturbate . “Do you have warm towels for that?” he quips, and I know he’s egging me on now, but I decide to keep with the formality . “Absolutely, sir,” I toss back angrily. “That wouldn’t be a problem .” “You’re calling me sir, now ?” “Or,” I continue, pushing on, “I can continue the massage as is and avoid—” I catch myself, realizing how charged it would be to touch him again, but I need to salvage this situa ‐ tion. “And I could avoid … the zone .” There’s a long pause as he contemplates his options . “You realize,” he says in a low voice, “you can’t even turn around and look at me, so I’m pretty sure option three is out .” I spin on my heels, pissed o and sick of him trying to undermine me at every turn. “Stop being such an ass, Desmond!” I march up to him and slap a hand down on his chest. “I have no problem nishing the massage if that’s what you want !” I slide my hand over his pec, hotly, and the electricity of my

69 ELLE BERLIN

ngers shoots straight between my legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see his cock twitch . “Oh, woah—!” Desmond grabs my wrist—hard— attening my hand against his chest and not letting me get any closer to that sheet. His whole body is rigid and the gold in his eyes has gone dark, his pupils dilated. “If we choose option three,” he says gru y, his heart racing under my wrist, “we’re going to have a very di erent problem in a second .” His eyes ick to my mouth and my clit throbs knowing exactly what he means . I’ve already got him on the edge, and if I keep touching him, he’s either going to come or fuck me in this tiny room with the buddha statues watching . “Desmond,” I say carefully, pulling my hand away. My pussy growls at the loss of connection, but we’ve already crossed way too many lines in this session. “I think this has gotten a little awkward, for which I apologize. It’s entirely my fault. I think it would be best if we end this massage right now.” I inch toward the door. “I will happily refund payment for the session. You can stay in this room as long as you need to, and—” My eyes ick to his tented sheet, and I swear a corner of his mouth lifts in reaction. “And please,” I raise my voice, as if that will cover for the fact that I keep sneaking glances. “Please, feel free to use the rest of the spa facilities for as long as you need .” I spin on my heels and speed out of there, shutting the door quickly behind me. My heart is racing as my body reacts imme ‐ diately to the cooler air in the hallway, the chill caressing my sweating body. I take a deep breath. I take ten, counting my steps as I head back up to reception desk . Naomi squints up at me as I walk up, my time isn’t up, which is her rst clue, but it’s probably the ush on my face that makes her eyes narrow . “What’s wrong ?”

70 WHISKEY SPLASH

I hand her the keys to room ten. “I’m going to need a full refund for Des—” I catch myself. “For Mr. Clarke. Please, give him a free return pass with another masseuse. Not me. It has to be someone else .” Naomi tilts her head in concern, pulling up Desmond’s reservation. “What happened? Was he not satis ed ?” I glance over my shoulder to see Mrs. Rose perusing the hall. This isn’t the right time to talk and explain the double entendre of the word satis ed. Instead, I look back at Naomi and raise an eyebrow. “Let’s just say he was perhaps a bit … too happy.” I stare at her, waiting for her to put two and two together . “No!” Naomi's eyes widen. “Oh man, got it. Refund, new masseuse. No problem.” She con rms. “I've got it covered.” Then she stops and looks at me curiously. “Wait, was this the hot guy that came in this morning? Gorgeous? Over six feet? Fit as an Avenger ?” I nod. “Yes. Actually, he’s the star of that damn movie they’re lming .” “Wait!” Naomi’s eyes light up, putting it all together. “No shit?” I glare at her to keep it down, looking over my shoulder at Mrs. Rose who’s ghting with the candle and incense display. “Okay! Okay,” Naomi lowers her voice, smiling deviously. “But you have to promise to tell me everything tonight over pizza .” I nod my head, honestly, she’s not going to believe a word of it. “My house, seven thirty. And, I'm going to take a break.” I nod to Mrs. Rose, hoping Naomi will cover and provide my employer a distraction. “Can you call me after he leaves? I don't want to make this more uncomfortable for either of us .” “Of course,” Naomi agrees, already adding complimentary services to Desmond’s reservation. “I'll explain to Mrs. Rose that you were feeling sick and you canceled, and we'll make a new appointment for Mr. Clarke. Whose real name is …?” She

71 ELLE BERLIN

shes, eyeing me for information. I know she’s going to spend the rest of her shift Googling him . “Look up Billionaire Heat ,” I say. “And you’ll nd a familiar face .” Naomi giggles and I shake my head, sneaking past her to go change in the locker room, my skin still ushed and aching .

72 CHAPTER FIVE

aomi texts me later to let me know Desmond has left N and I can head back to The Mandara to pick up the rest of my shift. But when I walk up to reception, Naomi isn’t manning the desk. Instead, Mrs. Rose is frowning in front of the bamboo display—and boy, she does not look happy ! Mrs. Rose looks like the Wicked Witch of the West’s disgruntled cousin. Her graying hair sits atop her head in a sever bun that’s so tight I swear it holds in her vital organs. I bet the woman would shed an entire layer of skin if she unraveled it. The crook in her nose is distinctly witch-y and the ice in her voice makes any need for one of our cool-remedies completely pointless. Five minutes with Mrs. Rose and any happy Zen place you just spent moocho-moola on goes right out the window. She’s the number one Zen- kill . “Esme!” Mrs. Rose points to me as I walk up, her dark eyebrows knit in a tarantula leg of unpleasantness. “I need to speak to you in my o ce, right now!” Her ice-pick of a tone goes right for the jugular, and I look around quickly for Naomi . Did Desmond complain? I did my best to leave as

73 ELLE BERLIN graciously as possible, and I know Naomi comped him a free massage and probably the kitchen sink to boot. So, what am I missing? But my Scandinavian friend is nowhere to be seen to clue me in . “Of course,” I say softly, following the click of Mrs. Rose’s heels into her tiny dungeon . The walls of Mrs. Rose’s o ce are lined with boxes of brochures, broken fountains, scented candles, and various spa equipment and oils. Her o ce feels like the hidden warehouse of out-of-date spa accessories. I remove a ten-year-old mud warmer from the chair across from Mrs. Rose’s desk and place it on the oor, taking a seat. My storybook villain of a boss is already frowning, and I’m ready for her to pull a magic wand out of the nearby stack of plastic lotus owers and turn me into something small and slimy . “What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Rose?” I ask, hoping the next words out of her mouth aren’t ‘Desmond Pike thinks you’re the most unethical masseuse this side of the Paci c and I’m ring you .’ Mrs. Rose ri es through a drawer in her desk, then tosses a wad of crumpled-up green papers on the center of the desk . “What did you do?” Mrs. Rose growls, and I have to lean forward to get a better look at what she’s o ering as evidence. I pick the papers up and start to uncrumple them, the grimy texture of the paper familiar, and it only takes a second to realize it’s money—and it’s not just a couple of dollars—oh no, multiple Ben Franklins are grimacing at me . It’s three-hundred dollars . I drop the money back on the table, confused. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rose. I don’t understand. I don’t know whose money this is .” “It’s yours !” she snips, and I shake my head .

74 WHISKEY SPLASH

“No, I didn’t drop this, or—uh, it probably belongs to a client. Maybe it fell out of their wallet ?” “Oh no, it’s de nitely yours,” Mrs. Rose says again, her eyes narrowing, beady and impatient, like a disgruntled demon. “Our esteemed guest left you a tip—an exorbitant tip. My ques ‐ tion is why ?” I stare at the crumpled cash. “I just got back from my break, Mrs. Rose. I don't even know who that's from .” She glowers, not buying my explanation. And, of course, I do know who it's from. I’ve only had one client this morning. What I don’t understand is why. The point was for Desmond to leave graciously without making a scene. Giving me a three- hundred-dollar tip is the opposite of discreet ! What did Naomi tell him ? “This is a respectable establishment, Esme!” Ms. Rose barks, and I nd myself teetering at the edge of my seat. “We have high- pro le clientele come in here all the time. Musicians, business ‐ men, movie stars. ” Her eyes narrow again, and I keep my face neutral, not wanting to give away the fact that I know what she’s talking about. “Famous men often expect a certain kind of treat ‐ ment , but that's not how we do business. Do you understand !” Holy Shit. She actually thinks I gave him a happy ending! She thinks I would comprise myself like that ! “I am aware of the company’s policies,” I say through gritted teeth, annoyed with her tone and implication. “I know I’m a newer employee here, but I’ve walked through that door every day and I’ve done my job with both professionalism and integrity. I know how to handle my clients. Even the high- pro le ones .” “So, you're saying this isn't payment for turning my spa into a brothel ?” I grit my teeth and stand my ground, forcing the streak of

75 ELLE BERLIN anger bubbling in my chest to back down. If I was Arie, Mrs. Rose’s face would already be stinging for saying that. And if I didn’t love my job, I’d probably be walking out . “Mrs. Rose,” I say calmly, taking a breath. “I’m not a whore .” She inhales sharply as if the word o ends her, even though it’s exactly what she wanted to spit in my face a second ago. Memories of Jeremy and what happened freshman year of college start crawling through my mind. Memories of how those shitheads at school treated me after those photos got around, thinking I was a cheap piece of ass they could use however they wanted . I’m not that girl! And there’s no way I’d do anything like that, especially at my job ! “I don't know what this tip is for,” I continue, looking down at the stack of bills. “But I didn't ask for it. And I sure as hell didn't do something unprofessional to get it. So, please, kindly return it to Mr. Clarke.” Mrs. Rose’s black eyes spit daggers at me. “And if you’re so damn curious, then I invite you to ask him why he felt so generous. Or, if what he says doesn’t convince you, then please ask him directly if I'm a whore .” “Esme!” she hisses. “I’ll have you red for speaking that way to me !” “On what grounds?” I shoot back. “You're the one making false claims. If you don't believe me, please ask Mr. Clarke directly. Though, I'm pretty sure you're the one he'll complain to upper management about .” Mrs. Rose's ngers wrap around the money with a disgrun ‐ tled frown, her lips pursing together in an angry bud. Some ‐ thing about what I just said sounds like maybe I did pleasure Desmond, or at least I’ve got him wrapped around my nger enough to have him lie for me. Either way, that tip just put me on Mrs. Rose’s shit list .

76 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Take it then,” she says coldly, pinching the bills together between her manicured nails like it’s something dirty. “You obviously earned it .” I don’t move, refusing to accept the money, and not liking the laced tone of her words. “I love my job, Mrs. Rose,” I say kindly, trying to di use this situation. “Whatever you think I did for that, you're wrong. I’m not taking that money. You can put it in the communal fund for everyone who works here, or return it .” Mrs. Rose stares me down, her green eyes probing and waiting for me to reveal some truth she’s searching to nd. I hold her gaze, and every second I do becomes another reason for Mrs. Rose to despise me . “I don't want it,” I repeat, standing up and walking toward the door . “Esme,” Mrs. Rose says sharply, and I stop with my hand on the doorknob. “Take the rest of the day o . And take tomorrow o too .” “Why? Are you ring me ?” There's a long pause. She's got the money in her hands, which she's counting bill by bill. “No dear,” she says with mock attery. “Please come back on Sunday. I'm sure you simply need a little fresh air to clear your head.” She shu es the bills together against her desktop, making a clunking noise as she organizes them . She lifts a hand and dismisses me. I walk out silently, not sure how I could have handled that di erently. All I know is Mrs. Rose is going to be on my hide day-in and day-out till she nds some reason to re me .

77 CHAPTER SIX

olorful sarongs hang like tapestries on the walls of my C tiny bungalow rental in the Honolulu hills. I’m snuggled up on my bohemian couch surrounded by a mountain of pillows sporting mandalas and crochet swirls, doing my best to toss back martinis as I plot my new life as an alcoholic . I’ve tried meditating . I’ve tried staring at the mishmash of colorful dreamcatchers and star lamps and pompom strings that line my ceiling . But nothing works . I even placed gemstones throughout the house to help ward o the crazy energy of the last twenty-four hours—but alcohol seems to be the only sane solution . I’m three martinis in when Naomi arrives at my house with pizza and wine. “Wow,” Naomi says, after giving me a hug and taking in my aroma. “Girl, you smell ammable !” I shrug, taking the pizza box from her and putting it on the bar top that separates my teacup of a kitchen from the main living room area. The open layout is one of my favorite things about this place, the fact that you can be chopping vegetables in

78 WHISKEY SPLASH the kitchen and still talking to someone on the couch is archi ‐ tectural genius in my opinion . “Exactly how many pre-pizza beverages have you already had?” Naomi asks, exchanging my martini glass for some sparkling soda, then pouring herself a glass of red wine . “Not enough to completely erase the last day of my life!” I groan, snagging a piece of pizza from the box, and—because I know she has my best interest at heart—I grab Naomi’s sober- me-up sparkling water concoction. “Must have carbs!” I grum ‐ ble, a tiny ping of a headache blooming at the front of my skull . I’m more than a little buzzed, and some booze-soaked carbs to curb my intoxication are de nitely welcome. I gobble down a couple bites of pizza on my way back into my cozy living room, plopping down on a beanbag on the oor near the macramé planters that hang in the window . “Mrs. Rose has it out for me,” I start, giving Naomi the low- down on my run-in with the Wicked Witch of the Mandara. “She’s totally going to re me !” “No, she isn’t,” Naomi says, putting the pizza box, plates, and napkins on my hand-painted co ee table. “Trust me, Desmond was a complete gentleman when he left. He’s not going to create any sort of fuss .” “Except he left me a three-hundred-dollar tip! Fuss or not, the chaos has begun,” I complain. “He should’ve walked out and tossed pennies at me like he was insulted. At least then Mrs. Rose wouldn’t be on her catch-the-whore rampage !” “Ok, let’s take a few steps back,” Naomi says, loading her plate with slices of pizza. “I still don’t know the whole story.” She reaches into her leather purse and pulls out her phone. “However, what I do know is that after spending my free time today binging YouTube videos featuring one hotter-than-sin television star —” Naomi ashes me a picture of Desmond on her phone. In

79 ELLE BERLIN the picture he’s shirtless—or more accurately, he’s probably naked, since the photo cuts o right at the V-of his hips, implying no pants, no shorts, no nothing. It’s an artsy black and white photo and the smolder of those amber eyes (even in black and white) are smoking hot as he looks coyly at the camera, inviting the viewer to explore his exquisite body . My skin mists and I know this is exactly why I’ve avoided all-things-internet! I won’t be able to avoid typing in his name and seeing every sexy, larger-than-life photo shoot he’s ever been in . “And might I say,” Naomi continues, thumbing through several images of Desmond looking absolutely edible, “that it only takes a few internet highlight reels of Billionaire Heat to know that your little friend Mr. Clarke—” she wiggles her eyebrows at me like it’s an inside joke. “Um, how do I say this politely?” She puts the phone down and thinks for a second. “Yeah—he’s not so little. In fact, he’s one hella-endowed, girl ‐ friend! Yum! Yum !” “Billionaire Heat is not porn!” I exclaim. “You don’t actu ‐ ally see his—? Do you ?” “Unfortunately not.” Naomi pouts. “But if you pause the video when he’s wearing those tight boxer shorts …” Naomi’s eyes glaze over for a second and the back of my neck feels damp, remembering him on my massage table. “This whole Mrs. Rose drama aside,” she continues. “What I really want to know is … Is that a body double in Billionaire Heat ? Or is he really showing o the full un-photoshopped mouth-watering Mon- ty !?” I blush, the image of him on my table and that tented sheet shooting right through me. “Naomi, I haven't seen his show, or said highlight reel, so …” “No, girl, you've seen the real thing!” She pinches my side in delight and I squirm away .

80 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Hello! It was under a sheet !” “Yeah, we both know those sheets don't hide squat,” Naomi giggles. “Especially when chubby logs are thickening against legs .” “Actually,” I put my drink down, “that’s the thing; he wasn't slightly aroused. He was …” Naomi's eyes widen. “No way! Full mast? Oh, fuck-me sailor!” She takes a drink from her wine glass and moans for a moment, then indulgently takes another gulp . “Now you see why I had to stop the session,” I explain, nibbling the edge of my pizza. “And no, he isn't … small .” “Girl, you’re a saint !” I shake my head, rolling back my shoulders de antly. “No, I was being a professional .” “Um, you were inhuman, that’s what you were. That was Desmond-F-ing-Pike! I would have been drooling and o ering him special services.” Naomi fans herself, pretending to over ‐ heat. “In all seriousness though, did he ask?” I frown, to which she nudges me, prying. “Earth to Esme, you promised details, now spill !” “You think he wanted a happy ending ?” Naomi nods furiously, her eyes eager for an answer. “He's a hot-blooded male whose cock was de nitely asking, even if his mouth wasn't .” “Oh my gosh, Naomi! You're a beast.” I slap her ankle, which is the closest thing to me, and she laughs raucously . “On the contrary,” she defends. “I would’ve happily tamed his beast if he asked !” “You didn’t even know who he was this morning when you met him,” I scold, grabbing some napkins and wiping pizza grease of my ngers . “Well, happily, the internet had no problem updating me on the pop-culture-panty-melting-phenomenon that is

81 ELLE BERLIN

Desmond Pike. Plus, I didn’t need to know he was famous. One look at his face and torso and—please sir, can I have another ?” “I would have gotten red !” “Possibly, but let’s be honest, it probably would’ve been worth it.” Naomi lifts her glass as if thanking the Gods . I roll out of the bean bag and walk on my knees over to the small fan in the corner, turning it up on high. “You know you're being ridiculous .” “So, he asked then ?” “No!” I exclaim, ddling with the angle of the fan. “It was awkward. It sounds sexy and fun when you’re teasing me about it, but the real thing was so uncomfortable. I mean, yes, he even made an awkward joke about the whole happy ending thing, but we were both embarrassed !” “He actually made a joke about a happy ending,” Naomi interrupts. “And you think he was being awkward? Esme, girl.” Naomi grabs a gemstone from the nearest windowsill and lobs it at me. “Desmond Pike wanted to fuck you bad—and on your massage table !” “Oh my gosh!” I forget the fan and snag a pillow, tossing it at her. She squeals, lifting her wine glass up so she doesn’t paint my oor burgundy. “Trust me, he did not want to do that!” I shake my head furiously. “It was uncomfortable! We were both uncomfortable. So, he made the obvious joke to break the tension .” Naomi nods mockingly, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “It’s also the smoothest way of saying, ‘Hey, if you want to climb up onto this table and take a ride, I won't tell anyone .’” “It wasn't like that!” Only my heart pounds, my pulse racing, because there was that moment at the end of the session with my hand on his chest and it felt like maybe … “I need another drink!” I announce, getting up and stalking toward the

82 WHISKEY SPLASH kitchen to the echo of Naomi’s hooting. I grab the vodka and shaker from the counter and start measuring shots . “He did leave you an enormous tip,” Naomi pokes, as if she can read my mind . “Because he was embarrassed!” I say quickly, lling the shaker with ice. “Because getting aroused on a massage table is uncomfortable, and sometimes men can't control what their bodies do. I’m sure that tip was his way of saying, ‘I’m sorry I'm a heathen !’” “Who's a heathen?” The voice is my sister’s, accompanied by the chime of the Indian brass bells I have hanging from colorful strings on the back of my door. Naomi and I turn to see Arie letting herself in from the side patio . “Don’t you have to work?” I toss at her, surprised to see my red-headed twin . “I don’t have to be at Flambé for another hour or so,” Arie says, shaking her head. “Bene t of owning the place! Plus, Naomi called me and said we were gossiping .” I shoot a look at my Scandinavian friend. “Traitor!” To which she only hoots . Arie eyes me measuring out shots and strides over, grabbing the shaker from my hand. “Give me that, amateur! There’s a professional in the house now.” I don’t deny her. Arie can make a cocktail to rival Connor’s, which means I’ll be six shots over the moon in no time. “Now let’s focus! Back to heathens,” Arie commands, ri ing through my fridge for ingredients. “Did you have to ban another pervert from the spa today ?” “Not exactly,” I mumble . “Better!” Naomi chimes in, making Arie perk up and stop raiding the fresh spices . “Better how?” Arie asks . Naomi laughs, unable to contain herself. “Desmond Pike came into the spa today !”

83 ELLE BERLIN

“No fucking way!” My sister’s jaw drops as her eyes shoot to me. Her expression is surprised, but also laced with that smug sense that she knew something like this would happen and it was only a matter of time. Great! If playing match maker last night didn’t feed her ego enough, now she’s going to take credit for this little escapade . “It wasn’t a big deal,” I defend, to which Naomi howls in the other room, undermining me . Arie pulls out of the fridge, spices and mixers in hand, not taking her eyes o of me for a second. “You’re telling me Desmond went to the spa today and you two fu —” “No! Don't say it!” I glare at her, slapping my hands over my ears. “Because it didn't happen !” “Well, what did happen—” Naomi interjects, happy to share all the dirty details. “Is that he requested Esme person ‐ ally, and she did her job so well she got him more pent up than relaxed, if you catch my drift .” “Did she now?” Arie says, grinning from ear to ear, her ruby mouth claiming victory. “He asked for you, did he ?” I roll my eyes and start fumbling through the cabinet, looking for fresh glasses. “I guess .” “Wait.” Arie pulls the cups from my hands and puts them on the counter, forcing me to look at her. “Desmond Pike was on your massage table —” “Naked,” Naomi chimes in . “And ...” Arie lifts her pinky nger from a droopy curl into the upright and locked position, her eyebrows raising with it. I try to ght back the ush that spreads across my cheeks, and I shrug nonchalantly . “Something like that .” “Holy shit!” Arie exclaims . Naomi nods, validated. “Thank you. I'm glad someone gets it .”

84 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arie's eyes narrow on me. “And you're not completely freaking out right now ?” “You mean freaking out about the possibility of losing my job?” I interject. “Why, yes, actually I am. Or do you mean freaking out about the fact that the highest-pro le guest at our resort has probably checked out and I wouldn’t be surprised if he led a harassment suit? I believe freaking out is exactly why I am drinking copious amounts of alcohol.” I lean forward and swipe the Grey Goose bottle from the counter, throwing back a hot, sharp gulp of straight vodka. I cough as the liquid sears down my throat . Arie laughs and turns to Naomi. “Let me guess, Esme bailed on him, took the rest of the day o , and spent it drowning herself in martinis? Yes ?” “You two must be twins,” Naomi nods. “Cause that was uncanny .” “Nope,” Arie turns to me with her signature smirk. “It’s classic Esme. If a hot eligible bachelor wants my sister … well, that means she’s totally freaking out, hiding in every way possi ‐ ble, and avoiding the truth that she also wants to fuck his brains out !” “Arie! Geez !” “Oh, Arie me nothing!” she sasses. “Look me in the eye right now and tell me, if your job hadn’t been at stake, you wouldn't have jumped his bones ?” I roll my eyes and walk into the living room, taking another swig straight from the bottle, my mind buzzing. I glare out the window at the setting sun. It bounces o the Waikiki skyscrap ‐ ers, hot pink and gorgeous. The golden blaze re ecting in all the windows reminds me of the way the candlelight played on Desmond’s sculpted muscles, the slick oil all over my hands as I pushed the tension out of his skin .

85 ELLE BERLIN

“Get back over here, chicken, and look me in the eyes!” Arie calls out from the kitchen . “I'm not a child,” I hiss back, but when I look at my sister, all I get is one big goofy grin lit by her mischievous devil's re . “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” she says, and my stomach drops. I'm in trouble. Again. “Oh Esme!” Arie croons. “Prepare your hot little cooch, because Desmond Pike just got the best wing man he could ever dream of. Whatever that man wants—when it comes to you, oh baby, I’m going to do every ‐ thing in my power to make sure he gets it !” “Don't you dare!” I scold, pointing a nger at her lamely. Arie playing matchmaker for one night I can handle, but full-on Arie meddling, that’s a whole di erent ball game. Naomi laughs like she can't wait to see how this is going to play out . “Don't I dare, what?” Arie asks, playing coy. “Play with re? Oh, little sister!” Her eyes sparkle, always loving to point out that ve-minute age di erence. “Welcome to Flambé. I'm going to make sure you see nothing but red-hot ames .” My stomach turns and I retreat to the couch next to Naomi as my sister laughs. “Do you realize what just happened?” I ask Naomi, who nods her head with similar excitement to my sister . “Oh yeah,” she says. “You're about to get a personal pony ride on the hottest TV bachelor’s —!” “No,” I interrupt, fuming. “I'm about to lose my job .” Naomi shrugs. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Your sister has some miraculous talents .” “Yeah,” I agree, gulping down another generous swig from the vodka bottle. “She's spectacularly good at burning down the house .”

86 CHAPTER SEVEN

our days later my life has returned to some semblance of F normalcy. Surprisingly, I haven’t seen Desmond (thank goodness!) and Arie’s meddling promise is starting to feel more like hot air than true dragon’s play . It’s only Mrs. Rose who’s still on the rampage, shadowing my every movement at The Mandara like an evil wraith. I’ve decided the best way to defeat a perfectionist is to play her own game and be extra vigilant. I do everything by the book. I show up early. I overachieve. I follow all the rules like clockwork and show the witch I’m one-hundred-percent professional. If there’s no evidence to use against me, then hopefully it will all blow over . When my shift is done, I clock out and grab my yoga mat from my locker, heading for the sunset yoga class on the beach. Tammy, one of the other girls from the spa, runs the class and it’s free for anyone at the resort, guests and employees alike . I usually do her sunrise class, enjoying the crisp morning air and letting it wake me up in the right mindset. But lately,

87 ELLE BERLIN

I’ve been so strung up at work that I need some serious after- hours relaxation. My job used to be my automatic Zen place, but since Mrs. Rose has become a royal Zen-block, I’m strung up tighter than her hair bun . Out on the beach, I wave to Tammy and take my normal position in the front row and to the right. I lay out my mat and pull my lavender hair o my neck. With the humidity my skin is already damp and some of the strands have already started to stick. I do my best to weave my hair into a lose braid as I take in the beautiful horizon . The beach stretches out on both sides of me. The day’s swimmers and sunbathers all starting to retreat for the evening, clearing out the white sand, which is bathed in a soft tangerine glow from the lowering sun. The water is calm today, and the sunlight re ecting in the water looks like a giant shimmering orb of re . It’s beautiful. Peaceful. Exactly what I need right now . I lie down on my mat in corpse pose: my legs straight out, my arms slightly to the side with the backs of my hands cupped in the sand, palms up in receiving position. I conjure up the image of the sun’s re ection oating on the ocean’s surface and simultaneously focus my breath, lling up my lungs and then wringing them out again, letting my body melt into the softness of the beach at my back . I hear more people arrive, and some whispers and commo ‐ tion, but I keep focused on the rise and fall of my chest, only allowing my mind to idle on the heat of the air that mists my skin, or the soft crash of the shoreline as the waves roll and thin with the tide’s constant ebbing . A soft ring from a Tibetan singing bowl signals the begin ‐ ning of the class and I sit up, adjusting my yoga pants and tank top. We start in Sukhasana, seated position, and focus on our

88 WHISKEY SPLASH breathing as the wash of sound glides over us, the low rolling tones from the singing bowl reverberating in my chest and lungs and leeching out the stress of my day . We move uidly into our ow, warming up and working through stretches, balance poses, sun and moon salutations. I focus on the asanas and the way my body feels, needing a little extra time with each position to loosen up the muscles . I’m in such a trance for most of the class that it isn’t until we hold an extra-long spinal twist that I open my eyes and notice the rest of the class behind me. We’re all sitting cross legged with our hips facing the ocean, but our torsos are rotated from the waist toward the resort, stretching out our backs. There are about twenty of us in the class, necks elongated and looking toward the foothills. This asana is one of my favorite poses and I challenge myself to stretch my neck even further, but when I do — I catch a glimpse of the person behind me who’s male, dark- haired, gorgeously t, and muscled . A jolt of panic shoots through my blissful state and I jam my eyes shut again, telling myself it’s not him . Of course it isn’t ! Desmond would never come to a public yoga class on a public beach. That would be ga-ga-fan-girl central for him and none of us would be getting any meditative yoga peace with all that shrieking. It’s just another guest, I assure myself . It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him . I chant the phrase in my mind like the words are three clicks of my ruby slippers making it so. I take a deep breath and focus. Tammy guides us out of the twist and then back into it on the opposite side to keep everything balanced. I ease my eyes open slightly and this time I’m looking down the beach, rather than at the whole class. I squint, noticing a small

89 ELLE BERLIN perimeter of people about fty feet away from us. And the longer I look, the more I realize it’s a bunch of tourists snapping pictures with their cell phones. Not only that; several of the resort’s employees are lined up in front of the crowd, almost like they’re standing guard . Shit! That can only mean … As we start to pull out of the twist I snag a look back, quickly, trying to be discreet, and punch-me-in-the-lady-nads it is Desmond . I whip my head forward, so he doesn’t realize I’ve noticed him, and heck, maybe he doesn’t even know it’s me either. I haven’t said anything to him, and surprisingly he hasn’t either. So, maybe we’ve both been in that perfect Zen space where the rest of the world fades into blurry silence . Only, I have distinctly recognizable lavender hair, and since he’s behind me he’s had almost the entire class to gure it out. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. We move through several more stretches, then push back into downward dog and I sneak a look at him through my legs, which is when it hits me that he’s been directly behind me all class! That means forty minutes with a prime view of every forward fold, squat, and downward dog with my legs open, ass in the air, and tight yoga pants leaving very little to the imagination . Oh God! What has he been thinking about this whole class ? My mind ashes to that all-too-hot downward dog image from the night when I rst met him and how I refused to do midnight yoga because I kept imagining all the wicked things he’d do with his tongue . My thighs quake and I can’t hold the position any longer, especially if he’s been sneaking glances at me with my hips in the air, my body extra hot from the image of his mouth tasting

90 WHISKEY SPLASH what I’ve been waving around like it’s the hot lunch special. I fold down into child’s pose, curled over in a ball, chest on my knees, my arms stretched forward like I’m someone bowing to a king. It’s a resting pose, but the fact that I’m not doing the same thing as everyone else must look suspicious. I may as well have waved at him through my open legs . I keep my eyes low as everyone comes out of downward dog, following along with the ow, and refusing to look back at him. I do my best to focus on my breath, on proper alignment, on balance, but my limbs feel like noodles and my breathing has shallowed . Inhale. Exhale . Focus on your breath, Esme! Not the hot man behind you, who’s gotten enough face-time with your ass to imagine every “from behind” fantasy imaginable. I hope the sweat beading down my back is from the workout and humidity, not the warm trill humming in my core . Finally, we lay back on our backs, palms up, at as corpses for Shavasana. It’s the last pose of every session, where you feel the bliss state of your workout zing through your body. It’s supposed to be a tiny hint of enlightenment—pure peace, emptying your mind and opening a silent window into medita ‐ tion. But rather than stripping the world away and taking me into my happy place, I can’t get comfortable . My brain is on re. My body a mix of uttering sensations and yearning. It’s exactly everything Shavasana is not supposed to be. I try to calm myself for several more breaths, but it’s just not happening. So, rather than lying here lling up with more annoyance and frustration, I decide to leave . I sit up silently, doing my best to be as quiet as possible and not bother anyone. Standing up, I grab my mat, not taking the time to roll it up, and folding it awkwardly. Sand whooshes o

91 ELLE BERLIN it and hits Desmond’s feet behind me. Shit! It’s the rst time I truly look at him. He doesn’t budge, lying on his back, eyes closed and completely peaceful, wearing tight shorts and a long tank top. I try to push away the fact that this is what he was supposed to look like when he ipped over on my massage table —blissed out and relaxed, not humiliated and embarrassed . He doesn’t stir as I walk by him, despite the sprinkle of sand that oats o of my mat and onto his arms. I keep walking and don’t look back, knowing the absolute best thing I can do is leave as fast as possible so there’s no interaction between us, no awkward hello, no pretending I didn’t see him behind me with his prime view of my butt. All I have to do is act like he doesn’t exist. It’s the perfect strategy . I speed walk past the cabanas and pool and jet into a private women’s restroom that’s o the side portico. It’s a lesser- known bathroom, hidden by a grove of palm trees and the towel station. I use the bathroom counter to roll up my mat and wash the sand o . I splash cold water on my face and all over my neck, savoring how the cool water drips between my shoulder blades . Obviously, sunset yoga is out. At least until his lm wraps. Heck, I might need to sign up at a completely di erent studio across town to avoid him ! Did he know I’d be at this yoga class? He obviously made special arrangements with the concierge since there was a line of resort employees dressed in white, creating a perimeter around us. Did Arie tell him what class I’ve been going to? I shake my head and grab my mat. I already know the answer to that question. I storm out of the bathroom, trying to remember where the nearest elevator is with rooftop access to Flambé. I’m going to tear my sister’s head o! “Your yoga technique is impeccable .” My heart jumps at the low voice behind me, heat shooting

92 WHISKEY SPLASH to all my extremities and nullifying the cold water I just drenched myself in . I spin around to see Desmond leaning casually against the wall next to the women’s bathroom, hair wet from his workout, yoga mat under his arm. He’s obviously been waiting . “Are you stalking me?” I hiss, and he smiles like I just kissed him on the cheek and giggled instead of insulting him. He pushes o the wall and heads toward me, his tank top sticking to his chest, and his arms glistening . “On the contrary,” he says smoothly. “I’m well aware of what stalking is, and trust me, this isn’t even close .” I roll my eyes and point to the beach. “Don’t you have a corral of fans waiting for you by the ocean? If you need a pen to sign autographs with, the concierge is near the front desk.” He pulls a pen out of his shorts and waves it at me like he always has one locked and loaded, still heading toward me undeterred. I ip around and head down the nearest corridor, not interested . “Esme!” he calls after me, his bare feet smacking against the concrete path. Obviously he’s following, but I don’t care . I jet up the nearest staircase, which leads to the second level and a concrete bridge with tiny alcove-like balconies on it. Each is overgrown with vegetation and overlooks the beach. I think the bridge leads to the third tower and the conference section of the resort, but I’m not really sure . “Esme, hey!” Desmond catches my hand and pulls me into one of the small side balconies, tucking us up against an iron railing that’s covered in a twisted vine blooming with pink owers . “Desmond!” I hiss, yanking my hand out of his grip. “I’m going to kill you !” “Why?” he laughs, taking all of this way too casually. I raise my eyebrows at him like it ought to be freaking obvious. “Oh

93 ELLE BERLIN right,” he laughs, remembering our last encounter. “Look, I’m the one who had to walk out the spa the other day clutching my gym bag awkwardly over my shorts! If anyone has the right to be pissed o it’s —” “Why’d you give me that damn tip?” I interrupt, poking him in the chest for emphasis, trying to make a point . He shrugs. “It was an apology !” “Desmond! You can’t pay o the girl who got you hard—” I inch at my own words and step back, cursing myself for being so crass. I lower my voice before addressing him again. “You can’t give money to the person that gave you the wrong kind of massage!” I say carefully this time. “Do you have any idea how that looks ?” The grin on his face drops. “Huh, I didn’t really think about it that way .” “Yeah, well, you not thinking about it resulted in my boss becoming absolutely convinced I’m the type of girl who…” I motion to his lower region, trying to keep my face stoic so he understands the full weight of this . “Shit, sorry,” he frowns, looking genuinely concerned. He turns back to the main building. “Should I talk to your boss ?” “No!” I grab his arm to stop him from bee-lining it straight to the spa and getting me red. “You should de nitely not talk to her .” “It’s no sweat, I can explain —” “Desmond!” I grip his bicep. “It doesn’t matter what you’d say, she’s pretty sure I—” I let go of his thick muscle and make the universal hand motion for jacking o . I stop mid-stroke and shake my head— yup, I actually just did that, like an idiot. Desmond laughs and my face ushes to match the balcony owers. I drop my hands sheepishly. “Please don’t talk to my boss. Ever! About anything!

94 WHISKEY SPLASH

That apology tip of yours has her convinced that I already own you with my little pussy- trap .” “Is that a thing?” Desmond cuts in, lifting an eyebrow. “Do you actually have one of those? A pussy trap ?” “Yeah,” I say sarcastically, nodding my head mockingly. “I do! It’s like a giant mouse trap that slices o your ten-inch cock when you get too close .” “Wow!” he spars, completely amused. “You realize I’d have to be really close to you for you to get all ten inches.” He snags my waist and pulls me close, dropping his mouth near my ear. “We’re talking so close I’d probably have to be inside of —” “Stop talking!” I lean away from his dizzying proximity. “It was a metaphor, numbskull. A joke to make a point .” “Oh! A metaphor, I see.” He nods his head and pretends that he now understands, completely mocking me. “Got it. Well obviously, my comment wasn’t that sophisticated. For example, when I said ‘inside,’ I meant we’d actually have to be fuck —” I slap a hand over his mouth to silence him and he smiles against my palm. “I know what you meant,” I hiss, dropping my hand . “Good,” he agrees. “I mean you’re so fancy with your metaphors and things. I’m just an everybody Joe Shmoe over here. I didn’t want my low-brow conversation to —” “What do you want, Desmond?” I interrupt, stepping away from him and walking to the edge of the balcony to look out at the ocean. “I was doing yoga, attempting to do something calming and meditative, to help me forget all this ridiculousness concerning you and your cock, that stupid three-hundred dollar tip, and the fact that my boss is sure I’m a whore worthy of burning at the stake .” “Do you think yoga is really going to get you to stop

95 ELLE BERLIN thinking about my cock?” His sparkling amber eyes cut to me and I glower . “Not really,” I grumble, to which he triumphantly smiles . “Good, cause what I really want is a date .” I pick a ower o the vine and toss it at him. “Not happening .” He snatches the bloom out of the air. “No, like a real date.” He tucks the pink ower behind his ear, which looks surpris ‐ ingly charming. “I’m not talking about something arranged by your sister or an awkward spa run -in .” “Awkward is the understatement of the year,” I grumble . “Agreed.” He nods, sidestepping his way up next to me. “My point being, I’d like a normal date, like normal people. Dinner —” “We already did that .” “A private stroll on the beach .” “You’re famous,” I shoot back, pointing through the palm trees to where we just did yoga. “Didn’t you notice the mob of fans snapping photos of you on the beach .” “Look,” he ips around and leans against the railing, his wet hair catching the breeze. “I just want to get to know you !” I narrow my eyes at him. “ Why ?” “Because you make me laugh .” “Oh no.” I shake my head. “What I do is turn every situa ‐ tion into the most awkward , sexually contrived, shit show imaginable. What you want is to watch me burn the freaking resort down .” “Well …” He shrugs. “Considering that re is the main attraction at your sister’s restaurant, that’s a possibility .” “Touché!” “Look, this isn’t complicated,” he says, plucking another ower from the vine and twirling it between his ngers. “I like

96 WHISKEY SPLASH you. You’re funny. I love that you say the most ridiculous things and then blush like a tomato afterwards .” “So, you’re laughing at me .” “With you!” He leans in and tucks the ower behind my ear, his ngers softly grazing the top of my ear and sending a shiver down my spine. “Plus, your hands are nothing short of amazing.” He smiles softly before his amber eyes ick up to mine, the intention behind that comment completely loaded. “And …” He shrugs. “My cock thinks you’re pretty awesome too .” “Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Your cock gets a vote ?” “Always.” I roll my eyes, but he keeps smiling, waiting to see if I’ve got some clever comeback for that one . “Look, I don’t talk like this with everyone,” he explains, leaning back against the railing again. “All I get are horny fan girls and —” “Oh wow,” I interrupt. “Your life is hard !” He knocks his shoulder into me playfully. “Listen to me !” “Oh no, I am,” I mock, shouldering him back. “It sounds like you have a esta line of hungry pussy clawing down your door like it’s the Walking Dead . However will you survive the pussy apocalypse ?” He laughs. “You’re proving my point! Other women don’t say things like that to me .” “That’s because they’re zombies,” I toss back. “Eagerly trying to defeat you with their pussy jaws .” “Wait.” He points at me, his face mock-lighting up. “That’s another metaphor, isn’t it?” He faux gasps, laying the sarcasm on thick. “I get it this time!” He makes a clamping motion with his hands and holds it over his nether regions .

97 ELLE BERLIN

“Thank you, Desmond,” I glare, distinctly not looking at his hand-jaws pretending to chomp, “for reminding me that I’m the walking poster child for foot-in-mouth-disease. Sure, this lavender-haired treasure is amusing right now, because all your zombie hook-ups don’t bust your balls, but —” “Actually, my balls don’t really like that part,” he cuts in and I start talking over him . “The novelty will wear o !” I say loudly. “Amusing today, but as boring as all the other zombie girlfriends in the morning. And honestly, I’m not a novelty at all, okay? I’m a real person, Desmond .” “I know that,” he says sharply, but I push o the railing and turn back to the bridge. It’s time to get out of here. Only, he snags my elbow. “Esme!” He turns me back to face him. “I’m a freaking movie star. I know what it means to want to be seen as a real person .” His gaze hits me hard, a mixture of erceness and vulnera ‐ bility cutting into me. Of course he wants to be seen as a real person. Everyone around him probably wants something from him, or they’re imagining he’s the character he plays on televi ‐ sion. I reach out and pluck the ower from above his ear, the edge of my knuckle grazing the side of his cheek. He turns into the softness of my touch and his rough afternoon stubble tickles my palm . “Desmond, I can’t,” I say, dropping the hand. “Not because you aren’t a nice guy, or I don’t think you’re a real person. I’m going to lose my job .” “You’re overreacting !” “No, I’m not!” I insist. “I can't date guests of the hotel. It’s a resort policy .” “Not a problem,” he shrugs. “I'll change hotels .” “Oh god no, please!” I grab his arm, the thickness of his

98 WHISKEY SPLASH bicep making my mouth go dry. “If you change hotels, I’m sure half the crew is going to end up leaving with you. Seriously, I think you're determined to get me red .” “Well,” he leans into my hand that’s holding his arm, the warmth of his breath teasing my hair. “If you’re going to get red either way, then can we please pick the version where I actually get to take you out on a date ?” “No!” He slaps his free hand over mine, sandwiching my ngers between his palm and bicep. “I’m sorry, but you’re outvoted. Both me and my cock vote for taking you out. That’s two against one. So, how about Friday you meet me at the south entrance at say—three o’clock ?” “Or, we could also do the not-mentioned-option where you politely go back to lming your movie and forget I work here altogether.” He tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t like this option. “And then,” I continue, “when you stop shooting your lm at the end of the week, you can go back to the mainland and forget you ever met me .” “Month and a half .” I swallow hard. “You’re going to be here another month and a half?” I say sheepishly, his thumb stroking the top of my hand . “Yeah, most of the lm takes place on the island .” “Well, I’m sure you have long shooting days and lots of lines to learn —” “Not really,” he cuts in. “I pretty much say things like ‘Die mother fucker!’ and ‘You’ll be sorry you crossed me you asshole !’” “Charming,” I nod. “It sounds like a real Oscar contender .” He squeezes my hand softly. “It’s a major breakout role for me. I think it could really get the critics to take me more seriously .” “Right,” I say, steering us back on track. “It sounds like

99 ELLE BERLIN you’re going to be extra busy, press junkets, late-night shows, there’s no way you’ll have time for lil’ ol ’ me .” “Actually, I’m free Friday afternoon,” he says, not letting me o so easy. “South entrance, three o’clock. Bring two out ts. Something you can skydive in and a dress .” I pull my hand out from under his and toss it on my hip. “Something I can skydive in ?” “Intrigued now, aren’t you?” He smirks . “No, I’m afraid of heights .” “Excellent!” he says, grabbing my hand again and producing that pen from his shorts. “Then we’ll kill two birds with one stone. We’ll help you get over your fear of heights and your fear of good-looking men with ten-inch cocks who want to date you .” “Date? As in plural? Not a date, but dat ing ? That sounds like more than one !” “Woah, woah, woah! Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, okay,” he says sarcastically, holding his pen up like I crossed some unspoken line. “You may have cock-approval, but I honestly need to see what happens when you jump out a moving plane before I know if a second date is on the table .” “You’re not going to stop any of this until I say yes, are you ?” He smiles, writing something on my palm with the pen. “Now you’re catching on.” I frown and he taps my lower lip with the pen. “I’m new to the language, but I think that’s Esme- ian for maybe. Not quite a yes, but I’ll take it. Friday, south entrance –” “Three o’clock. Yes, I heard you .” “Excellent.” “And I should also bring a dress ?” He smiles, his cheek feathering. “Maybe not the gold one

100 WHISKEY SPLASH with the fringe. Super-hot, yes, but maybe choose something you’d actually wear this time .” “You don’t think that’s my normal late-night wardrobe?” I sass back . He shrugs. “Like I said, super- hot .” He stops writing and curls up my hand, kissing my knuckles before releasing it. “What is this?” I ask, nodding to my yet-to-be-opened palm . “The next reason you’re going to be pissed at me .” “Oh really?” I unfurl my ngers and look down, but his handwriting is atrocious. I have to move my hand two inches from my face to decipher the scribbles. “Who taught you how to write ?” “I’m an actor,” he sasses. “All the degrees and diplomas I have are purely symbolic .” I squint, trying to make it out. It looks like it says GPH1. I glare at him. “What does that mean ?” “Don’t you work here?” he says nodding to it again, raising an eyebrow like it should be obvious, and I look back at the handwriting. I turn my palm left and right to see if I read it incorrectly, when it hits me . It means Grand Penthouse One. GPH1 . It’s his room number . My eyes ick up to him and his smile is indecent, shooting heat all the way to my toes . “And, uh, what is this for?” I rasp out, when he snatches my chin, pulling me slowly toward him with his ngers. He leans in and brushes his lips against the side of cheek. It’s a whisper of a kiss just above the corner of my mouth. Then, he drags his nose along my cheekbone till his warm breath is at my ear and his ngers are idling at the top of my throat . “This is in case you can’t wait till Friday .” He nips my earlobe, before releasing me and I’m so startled

101 ELLE BERLIN

I don’t have a response. He struts away, walking back in the direction we came from and leaving me all alone with my pulse pounding. I look at my palm, his room number—and naughty promise—sketched into my palm . Hot damn !

102 CHAPTER EIGHT

t home, I lie on my bed staring at my hand. The pen ink A has smeared, but it’s not like I’m going to forget what it said . What am I supposed to do with this information? Does Desmond expect me to show up one of these nights for a midnight howling at the moon? Is he going to be disappointed if I don’t? It’s one thing for Arie to create an awkward set up, and another for the little mishap at the spa. But this—I mean this is a real hot-blooded booty call … from a movie star ! I should go over there right now—if only for the bragging rights. And one day, I’ll be able to tell my children: “Hey kids, I had hot mind-blowing sex with the sexiest man on TV. He’s not your father of course, but that’s not the point. The point is to live a little, have fun, make crazy mistakes, and don’t forget to carpe diem a ten-inch cock when it comes along !” I’m such a spaz . And, I’m de nitely not my sister . I don’t know how to knock on a gorgeous (much less, famous) man’s door in the middle of the night wearing nothing

103 ELLE BERLIN but a trench coat and my birthday suit underneath. Do people even do that? With my luck, that’s the type of cliché you only see in bad comedies and I’m the schmuck who’d actually show up wearing it ! Of course, I’m not going to go knock on his door . Of course, I’m not going to drink ten martinis and drunk ‐ enly ask Desmond Pike if his rollercoaster is open for a midnight ride. That would be the most humiliating night of my life. Though, it’s pretty hard to top the last two encounters between Desmond and me . I pull out my phone and text Arie instead .

Esme: Giving my yoga schedule to strangers are we ?

A moment later she texts back .

Arie: I gave him your entire schedule. Plus, your work hours, and phone number, and Social Security. Don’t be startled if he shows up outside your house and throws rocks at your window. I said you’re into romantic shit like that .

Esme: I’ll be sure to not call the police .

Arie: Well, if you’re into handcu s…

Esme: Very funny .

Arie: So…did he ask you out ?

Esme: Kinda .

104 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arie: There’s no “it’s complicated” option here. This is black and white. He did or he did not. Slipping the tip in still counts as penetration .

Esme: Thanks for the clari cation. And yes, he asked me out .

Arie : Duh .

Esme: He also gave me his room number .

Arie: *eggplant emoji *

Esme : Klassy. Real klassy .

Arie: Hold on. Why are you texting me right now and not twerking on Desmond Pike’s cock like it’s your own personal bouncy house ?

Esme: Cause, I’m a lady .

Arie: He didn’t give you his room number because he wants a lady .

Esme: I can’t change my nature .

Arie: For one night you can .

Esme: I’m a chicken .

Arie: Well, at least you’re being honest now . 105 ELLE BERLIN

Esme: I don’t know this world, Arie. I don’t know how to do these sorts of things .

Arie: The penis goes in the vagina .

Esme: Oh! Is that the secret? Wow! After all these years, mystery solved .

Arie: Do you like him or do you just want to fuck him ?

Esme: I don’t know .

Arie: Booty call = I want to fuck. Date = Let’s see if there’s more to this … before we fuck. If he gave you both options, he’s letting you decide what you want .

Esme: He’s a movie star. The only option is he goes back to the mainland and adds me to a list of people whose names he’ll forget .

Arie: Then be unforgettable .

Esme: Easier said than done .

Arie: Then just have fun. He’s a fantasy. Enjoy it .

Esme: He’s a real person !

Arie: Who wants you to come on his face .

106 WHISKEY SPLASH

Esme: He didn’t tell you about that did he !

Arie: Wait, what ?!

Esme: Nothing .

Arie: This is a text message. You can’t pretend you didn’t type what you just sent .

Esme: Forget it !

Arie: Absolutely not. Tell me everything right now, or it’s going to be my rst topic of discussion next time I see him .

Esme: Good night, Arie .

Arie: Your death sentence .

Esme: It’s not like I haven’t embarrassed myself in every way possible already. So, you won’t really do any damage .

Arie: Great point. There’s nothing to lose. Go to his room right now and tell him exactly how you like it .

Esme: Arie !

Arie: Called your blu , now didn’t I? But seriously, tell him what gets you o . Guys like direction. It’s always better for both of you when you have a real orgasm .

107 ELLE BERLIN

Esme: I’m turning my phone o now !

Arie: When’s the date ?

Esme: Friday .

Arie: Plenty of time to go all in on those free spa treatments. Wax the drapes and moisturize. Men love a bald pussy .

Esme: Wow! Your tactfulness is truly profound .

Arie: If you want to come on his face … again … and again … and again … Trust me, secret weapon . Esme: Is that what you did with Connor ?

Arie: No. I rode him like a bull and showed him who’s the boss. But yes, I keep an impeccable pussy .

Esme: I look forward to the day when we have an actual conversation that could be had in front of our grandmother .

Arie: I can’t change my nature .

Esme: Touché .

Arie: Just go on the date. Be yourself .

Esme: Most cliché advice ever .

108 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arie: WWAD = What Would Arie Do

Esme: Worst advice ever .

Arie: I don’t know why you bother to text me .

Esme : Because I love you .

Arie: I know .

Esme: And I need someone to tell me to stop being a chicken shit .

Arie: Go on the date. Have fun. Seriously, have fun. Fun = fuck his brains out .

Esme: Message received .

Arie: You’re going to masturbate with that battery operated thingy instead, aren’t you ?

Esme: I dunno … you’ll just have to wait and nd out .

Arie: At some point you have to take o the training wheels .

Esme: Good night, Arie .

Arie: Okay, but wait. One last tip—don’t actually masturbate. Enjoy all that pent up tension. It’s gonna make the sex so much better when you actually get together .

109 ELLE BERLIN

Esme: If that happens .

Arie: Well, that’s up to you now isn’t it .

A gif pops up on the screen. It’s a picture of a man in bed orgasming. The image and sound bite are on a loop, the point of release on repeat . Classic Arie .

Arie: He’s acting in this, but it would be real with you .

I zoom in on the picture, and hot damn, it’s actually Desmond—his hips thrusting, his mouth falling open. It must be from the show. He does play a billionaire sex god after all. Acting or not, my nipples peak at the image of him thrusting and coming, again and again and again .

Arie: You’re welcome. Sweet dreams, Esme .

Sweet dreams indeed !

110 CHAPTER NINE

t’s Friday, and I’m standing at the south entrance of the I resort in a t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. My hand clutches the tote that carries my heels and dress. Was he serious about skydiving? Probably not. That was probably some big euphemism for adventure and sweeping me o my feet, or some such nonsense. At least, I hope it is . It’s three- fteen, which means he’s late . Arie always tells me being “on time” is the new way of being super early. But frankly, if you want to meet at three- thirty, say three-thirty! I’m just nervous, of course, because every other interaction with Desmond has been an education on how to not act around other humans. And worse, what if this turns into a late-night sleepover? Do I even want that? Arie’s been texting me GIFs from Billionaire Heat as if my pussy needs some pre-date tenderizing. If Desmond ever looks at my stream of text-messages, he’s going to think I’m some horny viper of a fan girl after all . “Miss Noel?” I turn to see a black sedan pulled up to the

111 ELLE BERLIN curb and a middle-aged driver in a suit with his hand up, ag ‐ ging me down. I’m not used to being addressed by my last name. It feels so o cial. I’m the one who usually calls people by their last names and says sir and madam, not the other way around . I smile graciously. “You can call me Esme .” The driver nods and walks around the car to open the door. I peek inside to make sure Desmond’s in the back seat and this isn’t some elaborate drug-me-and-steal-my-organs operation. He’s leaning against the far window in a t-shirt and jeans looking gorgeous with a spray of wild hair in his face and typing something into his phone. He smiles and gestures for me to take a seat, reminding me of just how easily he can turn my insides to jelly. I slide in next to him, thanking the driver, as I tuck my tote on the oor behind my shins . “For the record,” I say, before we’ve even pulled o the curb, “I’m not jumping out of an airplane .” Desmond laughs, still typing on his phone. “Of course not. They push you out. No one in their right mind jumps into what looks like certain death of their own volition .” My stomach drops. “Wait. We’re not really going —?” He waves his phone at me. “Just nalized our reservation,” he says, before tucking the device away and turning his atten ‐ tion on me completely. “What? You’re not ready to live on the edge with me ?” “I’ll take shark infested waters or a cockroach cage before you toss me out of a plane and turn me into pavement marinara .” “Well, that’s an image.” He tilts his head to the side. “I take it the fear of heights is a real thing ?” “I may look all cute and collected on the outside,” I motion to my out t, “but the panic attack has already started and I’m

112 WHISKEY SPLASH trying to decide if I should just jump out of the car right now and save us all the trouble .” “I guess I’m just going to have to hold onto you really tightly then.” He reaches over and grabs my arm for emphasis . “Very funny. What are we really doing?” The car swoops through tra c and I notice we’re headed inland and away from the city . “It’s a surprise .” “You still want to keep it a surprise even though I’m contemplating throwing myself out of the car ?” “I’m sure I can distract you from your panic attack.” Desmond’s eyes glitter as his thumb starts to draw a soft circle on my elbow. I took Arie’s advice and didn’t grant myself any release this week, which from the way-too-hot-tickle of his hand on my arm has me realizing that was a really bad decision. They’re going to write Heart exploded from panic attacks and an over-active libido in my obituary . “In all seriousness,” I say, “is there really going to be heights involved in today’s activities ?” He shrugs sheepishly. “ Maybe .” I nod, taking a deep breath and trying to keep my cool. “Okay, start distracting me by telling me everything about this lm you’re in, or why you wanted to become an actor, or the most embarrassing thing that happened to you in your child ‐ hood. Really anything .” “Fair enough,” he agrees, not moving his hand from my elbow. “I play an ex-marine in the lm. He gets mixed up in a terrorist plot o the Hawaii coast on his son’s fth birthday .” “Oooooh, a heart-warming father-son story,” I mock, raising my shoulders with faux excitement. “With plutonium and explosions to boot! Oscar gold !” He lifts that nger to casually trace the side of my arm. “There might also be some radiation-infected monsters .”

113 ELLE BERLIN

“Of course there are! It sounds like you might even be up for a Pulitzer !” “They don’t give Pulitzers to lms.” He smirks at me . “I know that!” I say, pointing a nger at him. “That was a test to see if you were more than just a pretty face .” “I’m not. Really. Pretty face is my entire career plan. If you’d seen Billionaire Heat you’d know that. I suck at acting .” “Good looking and self-deprecating! Jackpot for me .” He turns toward me, moving in closer. “To answer your other questions, I just fell into acting, I was modeling to pay my rent and my agent thought it was a logical next step. I auditioned for Billionaire Heat and as they say, the rest is history .” “Well, you’re naturally charming,” I confess, not looking him in the eye. “I’m sure that comes across on the big screen .” “Promise me you’ll never watch an episode of Heat .” “Why?” I open my eyes wide in mockery, the shift in my body causing his ngers to dance across my skin. “You don’t want me to see you as a pussy-pounding sex God with a penchant for orgies ?” “Something like that .” “No guarantees,” I shake my head again, trying to ignore the erotic tickle of his ngers. “I wouldn’t put it past my sister to not tie me to a chair and force me to binge all four seasons .” “I can see your sister doing that,” he agrees . “Now you know what I’m up against .” “So…” His knuckle runs the edge of my arm. “Are you still freaking out about heights and plummeting to your death ?” “Well, I was feeling a little less queasy till you used the words plummet and death in the same sentence.” I hook his nger, the one that’s been sending shoots of electricity up and down my arm, and with my own hand I pin his to the seat cush ‐ ion. “Quick, embarrassing childhood memory before I start

114 WHISKEY SPLASH spiraling and imagine what happens to a human body when it splats against di erent surfaces—water, rock, trees !” He laughs. “Okay, okay. Imagination of death, got it!” He peels his hand out from under mine. “In the second grade I peed my pants every day for two weeks .” “What?! Why ?” “I didn’t know where the bathroom was .” “And you couldn’t use that charm of yours to ask ?” “I was too shy .” “Yeah right,” I stare at him, incredulous. “I can’t even imagine seven-year-old you as shy !” “I’m shy about a lot of things,” he defends. “I still am.” His amber eyes turn all teddy-bear and adorable on me, but I’m not buying it for a second . “Oh yeah,” I nod my head obnoxiously. “Like you were shy on my massage table the other day ?” “Woah, woah!” His grin spreads like sin. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that .” “I’m making a point .” “Why does everything always come back to my cock with you, Esme?” he teases. “I thought we were having a nice time, but you just keep objectifying —” I slap him in the arm and he grabs my hand, not letting go . “Tell me one thing you’re shy about?!” I throw back at him, squirming and trying to get out of his grip, but he’s got me good . “I’m shy with girls .” “Ha! You gave me your damn room number, Desmond. That’s the opposite of shy .” “Maybe that’s the rst time I’ve ever done that ?” “My ass !” “Is gorgeous!” He nods as if agreeing with himself, then twists my arm and pulls me closer toward him. “But not the point .”

115 ELLE BERLIN

“Actually, you’re making my point right now.” I say, despite the fact that he’s pulled me into the middle seat and the sides of our thighs are now touching. “Ogling my ass for an entire yoga class is not shy !” “That was a good class.” His eyes ick to my hips as he makes a “mmmmm mmmm,” noise . I ignore him and continue to make my case. “Making cracks about your ten-inch cock all the time—not shy. Dropping your towel during your spa massage—not shy. Leaving me a giant tip after getting aroused on my massage table—not shy. Taking a television role where you’re going to be naked half the time— not shy. Do I need to go on ?” Desmond grins at me, not moving, his dark hair framing his face in a way that’s wicked and gentlemanly at the same time. He still has my hand pinned, but he’s not struggling with it anymore, instead he’s holding it against his chest with my ngers fanned out over one of his muscles. In fact, in my tirade, I didn’t even realize I’ve gotten in his face. My eyes ick to his mouth and his smile is so amused that I almost think he wants me to keep listing o reasons. Either that, or he wants me to lean in and — “We’re here,” he says softly . My heart thumps and it takes a second to register that the car has stopped moving. We’re parked in a wooded area away from the major cities of the island. I tilt to the side trying to look out the window, but his second hand swings up and cups the back of my neck. The heat of it is immediate and my eyes shoot to his. A soft tug pulls me forward and my heart only has a second to register what’s happening before his mouth is on mine . I almost moan into the warmth and softness that blooms through my face as his lips tease me—it’s not a hot and forceful kiss, but one that’s light and exploratory. We’re breath and

116 WHISKEY SPLASH feathers of lips and a tight rope walking of sensitivity. I fall into the ease of it as his mouth opens and his tongue claims me. My ngers grip his t-shirt and the hand behind my neck increases the pressure. Shivers dance up my skin as I kiss him back, taking in his smell of soap and sunshine, eager for all the promises of what might come next. His mouth meets my inten ‐ sity, the command of his tongue against mine shooting heat straight up my spine . We’re both panting when he pulls back to catch his breath, putting his forehead against mine as his chest heaves beneath my hand . “You’re right, Esme,” he says, in a low tone that hums as hot as my swollen lips. “I’m de nitely not shy.” Unabashedly, he drops his eyes down to take in my swollen lips and ushed face, moving his gaze even lower to the blush that spreads across my cleavage. God, that was only one kiss and my pussy is already pounding. Not to mention, his tongue is idling on the bottom of his lip like he’s barely started tasting all that he wants . Desmond smiles, but then raps on the window signaling the driver. Embarrassment streaks through me as I realize how hot that kiss was and how the driver was right there, next to us. The driver gets out of the car and opens the door next to Desmond, who’s hand is still at the back of my neck, mine still clutching the fabric on his chest. I can only see the driver’s legs from my position, waiting politely for us. Desmond leans back in, not caring about the driver, and brushes his mouth against mine again—just a feather of a touch to reignite that live wire . “Please forgive me for this,” he says softly before pulling his lips away and nodding outside of the car. “We’re de nitely going to be putting that fear of heights to the test today .” He attens his palm against my knuckles on his chest and releases my neck. I look past him and the driver to see an

117 ELLE BERLIN outdoor adventurists sign. I squint, trying to read the print, and it takes a second before I can make it out . “You’ve got to be kidding!” My heart ratchets . “Not at all,” Desmond says, a twinkle in his eye . The sign says, America’s Highest Zipline .

118 CHAPTER TEN

orty minutes later, I’m out tted with a helmet and a F harness that will clip me onto a tiny metal string and shoot me an unfathomable number of feet across a volcanic canyon. The zipline hangs precariously over a lush jungle of greenery below with a dormant cinder cone o to the side. I can’t even see the other end of the zipline it’s so far away— waaaaaay down somewhere under that emerald canopy . The view is gorgeous, I’ll admit. You can see all the way to the ocean and the day is bright and sparkling. But, the platform we stand on feels more like a rickety life raft hovering in the sky than a launch pad . Our guide checks Desmond’s harness, reassuring me that this is safe. He goes over how the physics work, going into far too much detail on the nature of gravity and how it pulls us down the zipline at three-thousand miles an hour (perhaps a slight exaggeration on my part, but the number sounded that high). Our guide ends his tirade by exclaiming that we should hold onto our butts, because this is going to be one hell of an exhilarating ride .

119 ELLE BERLIN

I do my best to refrain from asking him how many people have fallen to their deaths, and nod at him instead, tight lipped. He can give me his upbeat little sales pitch as many times as he wants, but it’s still not going to keep down my lunch . Desmond turns to me and loops his ngers through two of the carabiners at my waist and pulls me closer to him. “You ready for this?” He wiggles the harness, radiating excitement like a little boy on Christmas morning. I have to give him credit, it makes him extra charming . I laugh nervously, shaking my head, all the blood drained out of my face. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out in a second .” Grinning, Desmond crooks one of his ngers under my chin and lifts it up so I’m looking at him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, that nudge of banter in his tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face this color. It’s usually this rosy neon-pink shade .” I pinch him in the gut, not that he has a gut, it’s more like a washboard that I can hardly get any grip on. He grabs my hand and laces our ngers together, which is oddly intimate . “Do I need to make a cock joke before we push you o this ledge?” he teases . “Do I need to knee you in the nads for you to understand how badly I don’t want to do this?” I shoot back, pulling my hand from his and removing the distraction of his caressing ngers . “It builds character .” “The kicking you in the junk part, or leaping to my death ?” Desmond laughs, motioning for our guide to come over and hook us to the line. It’s a dual zipline with two metal strings about twenty feet away from each other. This way we can y over the canyon together, side by side into the Sweet Hereafter! Honestly, I’m a bit grateful. Flying down this line at the speed

120 WHISKEY SPLASH of light feels like my own personal heart attack. At least this way I’ll be able to see Desmond next to me and I won’t feel quite so panicked . “This is a horrible idea,” I tell him again, adjusting my helmet straps as the guide locks me in. “I’m going to be covered in vomit when we get o at the other end .” “That’s what the change of clothes is for.” Desmond winks, the guide clipping him in as well . “Okay, you’re good to go,” the guide announces, tugging on our harnesses and making the zipline above us wobble. My stomach almost dumps itself onto the wood platform. “Please step up to the red line .” Red for danger . Red for don’t walk past me unless you’re looking for a painful death via dismemberment . “Again,” the guide continues, “you hold the strap right here at the center of the harness.” He pulls on the umbilical-cord- like leash that shoots out from our navels and connects us to the metal pully device that attached to the line. The umbilical cord in the womb is a lifeline, but this one feels just as imsy. Easy to snap. “But you don’t have to hold on,” the guide raises his arms and wiggles his ngers. “You can go hands free all you want. The bucket of the seat will hold all your weight .” “Hands free, my ass!” I grumble. “Do you guys sell uni ‐ trazepam in the gift store? Or maybe some chloroform? Anything to knock me out till I’m at the bottom of this torture machine ?” Desmond’s cheeks rise in amusement as I grip the umbilical rope like my life depended on it—which fancy that—it actually does ! “Fear of heights,” Desmond explains to the guide, who doesn’t react, shrugging like he sees it every day . “Everybody sit back in your harness,” our guide continues,

121 ELLE BERLIN pushing through his spiel. “Bend your knees and get a sense of what it will be like out there .” I slowly lower myself into a seated position, feeling my weight pull down on the zipline above. It’s not so bad. It’s kinda like teetering from a tire swing as a kid. Except, if it snaps, I’ll fall three-hundred feet onto spikey impalements . “Okay, red line.” The guide claps his hands and signals for us to come to the edge. “When you’re ready, all you have to do is step o the platform and gravity will do the rest .” All you have to do—ha! As if it’s that simple to walk out into nothingness . My legs are lead . My stomach is churning with centipedes . It was one thing to put on this helmet and harness and indulge Desmond. It’s another to take a step o the top of a ve-story tower and be free falling . “Hey,” Desmond’s voice is soft, suddenly right next to me . He cups my chin again, tilting me up to him, so I’m no longer staring at my feet. His thumb hits the edge of my mouth, and those gold eyes release butter ies in my stomach along with the centipedes. His gaze is serious, and not full of playful irtation, just a soft kindness . “You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to,” he says, stroking my cheek, the rough of his thumb a tingle of excitement dancing along my skin. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, that’s a lot scarier than the real thing. It’s not real. None of those things are going to happen. Your brain is just psyching you out .” “It has a habit of doing that,” I say quietly, xed on his eyes. The con dence in his gaze is intoxicating . “It does that to us all.” His thumb brushes my lip, making me shudder at its tickling sensitivity, reminding me of the excitement of that kiss in the car .

122 WHISKEY SPLASH

Unexpected. Full of possibility . Can I actually do this ? “It’s just one small step,” he says calmly. “One step, and you show your fear who’s boss .” I take several deep breaths to soothe my spidering nerves, trying to hold onto his con dence, his assurance, his certainty that this will be fun and not terrifying . “I’ll be here right next to you the whole time,” he assures. “Okay? You step o rst and I’ll be right behind you .” I nod without saying anything, leaning slightly into the warmth of his touch, before stepping to the side and walking up to the red line. This is crazy and insane, and I have to take several deep breaths just to keep me this close to the edge. I peek over the ledge and the drop is several hundred feet into the lush emerald canopy, the leaves swaying in the gentle ocean breeze—deceptively calm. Don’t look down! Don’t look down! My heart starts to ratchet. In the name of all that is holy — Don’t. Look. Down! I jerk my face up to the sky, where the sun warms my cheeks. It’s nothing but clear sky above, open and full of endless possibility. You decide who you are one tiny step at a time. Start living, Esme! Your sister would be halfway down the line by now. Who are you going to be ? I reach out for Desmond’s hand again and he’s right there next to me. He grabs my ngers, holding them rmly, making sure I know I’m not alone . “We don’t have to do this,” he says, reassuring me. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want .” I let go of him and step o. Step into faith and hope —

123 ELLE BERLIN

Praying I’ve made the right decision . A hoot echoes behind me, but my stomach jams into my throat as I free fall and I drop like a rock. Panic wicks to my every extremity as I grab the umbilical strap, clutching desper ‐ ately, my breath trapped behind that lump in my jugular ! Oh God, I’m headed to meet my maker — Only, the snap of the line yanks taught and my weight is caught by the seat of the harness, swinging me in a teeter- tottering motion as the zipline shoots me forward . I’m not falling . I’m not plummeting . I’m not reeling out of control into the rocky abyss . I’m — Flying. Holy shit! I know it’s gravity that’s pulling me down the line, but I feel weightless . Free. Unbound . Air rips through me, is part of me, the wildness and speed blasting through my skin— gasping for me. I yell out, not in fear, but in triumph, releasing the knots of anxiety twisted in my stomach. The zip of air bolts through my extremities, wind and sky underneath me, above me, on every side . The rush . The speed . My head is light and without thinking I let go of the strap at my navel, unwrapping my clenched-white knuckles. The ache in my ngers is blasted with wind, and I feel the resistance of the sky, as if it has surface and texture and I could paint upon it if I tried . I hear hooting to my left and Desmond is beside me—arms wide, soaking in the blaze of the sun. Desmond’s howling becomes part of the air, part of the wild pressure that has my legs soaring and my cheeks sore from smiling so wide .

124 WHISKEY SPLASH

This is what a bird must feel like, a bullet, a current of storm slicing through the weightless azure . Reckless. Free. Alive. I laugh, adjusting in my seat and pull myself upright with the center strap. The new position cuts through the air di er ‐ ently, the air nding a new ow against the resistance of my body . “I knew you could do it!” I hear Desmond yell, and for the rst time in my life I feel like I could do anything—that I’m not bound by the rules of the world, that I am an agent of change and signi cance, that I have all the power to ask for and receive whatever I want . My eyes soar over the evergreen canopy, a bristling commo ‐ tion of colorful leaves, and to my right is Desmond ying. He’s the wild risk that scares me and lights me on re, the match I want to strike so it burns me to the ground and consumes me like this wild ravage of air . He’s that one tiny step into something wild and dangerous, and then — Free fall .

125 CHAPTER ELEVEN

dig my bare feet into the sand, my strappy silver heels in my I tote bag. I sit across from Desmond on a remote part of the island at a restaurant that feels more like someone’s backyard and private beach than a certi ed establishment . A tiny two-person table is set on the beach a few feet from the water’s edge with a path in the sand leading back up to the restaurant’s patio. The sand of the path is raked with swirls like a tiny Zen garden and holes have been dug on both sides of the path—each of the holes lled with ickering candles. If that wasn’t romantic enough, the Mediterranean style restaurant has a courtyard fence that wraps around the back patio and the white stucco is covered in pink bougainvillea vines. Above it, we can see the tops of palm trees lea ng out in all directions making it so no one can see us on the beach . It’s secluded and romantic and makes it feel like we’re alone. And to top it o , a Moroccan lantern is suspended from an iron pole above us—bathing us in golden light—with delicate streamers tied to the lantern’s bottom which toss and braid in the lilting wind .

126 WHISKEY SPLASH

A mouthwatering ceviche sits at the center of the table, the fresh sh melting in my mouth in a sauce of lime butter, sprin ‐ kled with the perfect chili powder bite to leave my lips humming. My sister would be jealous . Desmond sits casually opposite me in jeans and a blue button up, the type of thing you’d see a model wearing while lounging on a yacht. Preppy-hot. Casual-hot. I-roll-out-of-bed- looking-this-good-all-the- time hot . Desmond’s been nursing a glass of whiskey and seducing me with his eyes, dancing them over my skin like he can’t get enough of the dress I’m wearing. It’s a sundress, all white, with tiny polka dots on it that have to shine in the light for you to see them. The dress hugs in all the right places, then ares out with the type of thin fabric the wind loves to play with. It has capped sleeves for romance and a row of pearl buttons stringing up front. The neckline is, well, provocative, depending on how many buttons you want to leave open. And it’s the same situa ‐ tion with the leg slit, open buttons mean more thigh for Desmond’s eyes to dance on. I’ve left it deliciously enticing on both ends, this being a dress I actually feel sexy in, unlike Arie’s gold-fringe stripper out t. We’ve covered all manner of topics from growing up in Southern California (both of us are So Cal natives it turns out) to massage school, favorite bands, and preferred masturbation positions. Because, yes, this is me, and there’s no way I can have a conversation without the conversation inevitably turning to something embarrassing and dirty . “You ever think about leaving Hawaii and coming back to So Cal?” Desmond asks, and the little utter in my stomach wonders if he’s asking because that’s where he lives. Of course, I push the thought away, knowing I’m getting way too far ahead of myself. One kiss and a sexy dinner doesn’t mean he wants

127 ELLE BERLIN me moving to his side of the Paci c. Heck, I haven’t even decided if I like him that much . “I don’t know,” I say, twisting my lavender hair. “I’ve never really thought about where I wanted to be long term. To be honest, I’ve always gone wherever Arie is .” “Really? What about college ?” I dab my mouth with a napkin. “I found a massage school in the same city where Arie was learning the culinary trade. Wow, when I say this out loud, that sounds really lame. It’s just she’s the one who always had the ambition and drive. She’s the one with the need for a restaurant and to be semi-famous. I, on the other hand, I …” I trail o , not sure what to say . Desmond waits, watching me quietly and I scoop up my glass of wine and stare out at the ocean. Everything is purple and singing with twilight. The sun is down, but the last hints of color are still glazing the horizon. Far o , beyond Desmond’s shoulder, I can see dark clouds rolling in, ashes of lightning popping the clouds with brightness like ashbulbs going o. “There’s a storm coming,” I say, nodding to the darkness, but he doesn’t turn to look at it . His gaze is on me, waiting to see if I’ll nish what I was saying. I take another drink and mull over the question, smiling softly . “I guess, I never really thought about what I wanted,” I say nally. “Being a masseuse just t. You know? Like how you fell into acting. It wasn’t something I was chasing after, but when I started doing it, it seemed to work out. You pick something, you go with it, and fty years later—poof, that was your life !” “You never had big dreams ?” “I’ve never wanted to be famous and have fans and glitz and glamour, if that’s what you’re asking ?” “It’s not,” he says, letting that one slide o. “Oh, you mean regular dreams?” I tease .

128 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Boring dreams. Meaningful dreams,” he o ers. “Beautiful dreams.” That one comes with more authority and a look that makes my insides light up like the clouds. I uncross and re-cross my legs, adjusting my weight, the slit of my dress sliding to the side, allowing the buttons to inch up my legs . “I guess Arie’s dreams were always enough,” I say quietly. “They were so ambitious and fun, and she included me in everything. She lled up the whole room till there wasn’t much left. Not that I’m upset. I’m happy to hide. I like being in her shadow .” “Why would you ever be happy with that?” His insistence prickles my neck, and a piece of me tries to remember the last time I felt ambitious . For some reason, nothing comes to mind . I can’t think of a single instance in the last year or two where I wanted to dash out and grab life by the balls. Run with it. Go all in and step into the adventure like this afternoon on the zipline . I try to dig deeper, and it surprises me to think it may have been as long ago as high school, or the beginning of college freshman year. I rub my neck as an unsettling thought surfaces. I haven’t wanted much for myself since before Jeremy and the picture incident . “Wow,” I laugh nervously. “You know I haven’t got a clue,” I lie. “Arie’s just so beautiful and wild and exciting, and —” “You’re beautiful, wild, and exciting,” Desmond interrupts, the intensity of his gaze making me dig my toes into the sand, the soft grit rough and ticklish at the same time. “Arie’s not the only one who deserves what she wants .” “Of course,” I agree weakly, breaking our connection, my hand idling on my neck where the skin sticks from humidity. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean … Arie’s always known who she is and what she wants. And I’m, I’m …”

129 ELLE BERLIN

I look back at Desmond and feel unraveled. He’s like a dream, someone beautiful and otherworldly in the glow of the lantern. Picturesque. Untouchable. This moment feels too romantic to be real. It doesn’t even feel like it’s part of my life. It’s a page ripped out of someone else’s life, that I’ve stolen for an afternoon, someone like Arie … But I guess that’s his point. This is my life. Not my sister’s, but mine, and Desmond chose me . A crack of thunder snaps against the sky—startling us both. I clutch my glass of wine, almost dropping it in the sand, and Desmond turns to look at the oncoming clouds. They’re black and fanning out over the sky like a sheet of electric night, pockets of light ashing in the skimming folds. The wind starts to pick up and I look back at the restaurant, the palm leaves billowing . “Do you think we should go inside?” I ask. “That’s looking a little intense .” Desmond scans the sky. “I doubt they like their patrons getting struck by lightning .” I lift my hand, stretching it out toward the water and shing for raindrops. After a moment, a few wide splats plop onto my palm, then my shoulders. A couple hit the tablecloth, painting it with dime-sized polka dots. I look at the sky, calculating . “What do you think is the actual likelihood of getting struck by lightning?” I ask, leaning back in my chair like I haven’t a care in the world, the thrill from this afternoon’s zipline bubbling in my veins. I close my eyes and savor the feeling of the cool drops of rain on my hot skin . “Rare, but probably more likely than falling from a zipline,” Desmond jabs, his tone playful. “You seemed signi cantly more scared of the zipline than this rain.” A smile tugs at my cheek, but when I open my eyes, he’s looking at the sky in concern .

130 WHISKEY SPLASH

Another clap of thunder ripples through the air and suddenly the raincloud drops a new wash of precipitation, changing from tiny erotic sprinkles to a full- edged rain. I yelp, my dress and hair dampening, putting my wine glass back on the table . Lightning ashes and I jump up, the following roar of thunder crashing through my bones. Desmond grabs my hand and the two of us dash through the sand toward the restaurant, laughing. Wet splotches cover my shoulders and a third clap of thunder drops the full downpour from the cloud’s skirts . I jet to the left, instead of going through the gate to the patio. Instead, I drag Desmond over to a small arched enclave in the wall. The tiny space has a half-dome overhang and below it is a fountain with a rim we can sit on. It’s the perfect perch for waiting out the storm and watching the beach that the wind has started to ravage . “Sit!” I tell him, pushing my lavender hair out of my face as I breathe in the wildness of the storm breaking. He does and I slide down next to him, the enclave narrow, with just enough room for the two of us . The play of lightning is magical, zigzagging and snapping across the horizon, the brightness creating a contrast against the pink bougainvillea vines that hang over the enclave’s ceiling. Our table is a mess, the romantic dinner for two overturned by the wind’s gusts. One of the chairs is tipped over and my wine glass is on its side, a pounding of water lling up our half-eaten plates . “Absolutely fantastic!” I say, my heart pumping . A second later, our waiter runs out with an umbrella in hand and is startled to see us not at our table. Desmond whis ‐ tles and he turns around to nd us. The waiter nods, but rst runs to get my tote that’s sitting under the table. I thank him when he makes his way to the enclave and hands me my bag .

131 ELLE BERLIN

“Come inside,” the waiter shouts over the storm. “We’ll set you up another table. Make you a fresh meal.” He motions for us to walk under his umbrella as he escorts us, but I squeeze Desmond’s hand. It’s a soft tug to indicate I’m not quite ready yet. I want to stay here a moment longer and watch the rain, drink up the rush that’s pumping through my veins . “We’ll be just a minute,” Desmond says, and the waiter nods, handing Desmond the umbrella and running back to the gate in the downpour, getting completely drenched . “That man deserves a big tip,” I say, watching him go . “You can say that again,” Desmond agrees. “Say, three- hundred dollars?” he quips, and I smile, shaking my head at his jab. “Oh, right,” Desmond jokes. “We’re not talking about that .” The sky is indigo and so is the ocean, churning like a vicious animal, the wind roiling whitecaps that crash against the shore. Rain pounds against the stucco wall, the air humid and warm despite the erce gales, which swirl into our little alcove kissing every inch of wet fabric that’s clinging to my skin . I place my tote bag by the edge of the fountain and stand up, turning to Desmond. From this angle, he’s slightly below me as he sits on the fountain’s lip. The wind rakes at my back, wild and glorious, raindrops pounding between my shoulder blades, making me brave . Desmond looks up at me, lightning ashing, and all I can think is—this is not my life, is it?—the hot smell of sand and ocean, tropical rain, and a gorgeous man looking at me like I’m a rare beauty . Desmond’s hand grabs my hip, ngers blooming against the wet fabric, pulling me toward him, and inviting my hands to nd their way into his hair . “Okay, here's the deal,” I say, running a sandy foot up the back of my calf, the grit against my skin grounding. I stop massaging his head and lean back, pushing my own swamp of

132 WHISKEY SPLASH hair out of my face. “I know this out t looks simple and e ort ‐ less to you,” I joke, motioning to my dress and hair, which at the moment are a terror. “But little do you know, us ladies some ‐ times spend ridiculous amounts of time trying to look this good .” The side of his mouth tugs up, his hand burning into my hip. The dress is thin on its own, but soaked, it feels like he’s touching my naked skin . “So, take a moment to drink in the elegant waves of hair,” I say, making a show of running my hands through the purple locks that are now frizzy and water-logged. “And this awless makeup,” I run a nger under my eyes, which are probably black with mascara lines. “And the way this dress catches the air .” I twirl in front of him, letting the fabric slop against my legs, the wind blowing up my skirt to cool my steaming thighs. His hand glides across my stomach and back as I turn, thunder still crashing. He’s grinning when I return to my original posi ‐ tion, completely smitten . “Okay, have you got this image locked in your mind?” I ask . Desmond’s eyes rake down my front, as if he’s imagining tearing this dress o . “It’s not something that’s easily forgotten .” My mouth goes dry at the lust in that comment . “Good,” I say, my own voice raspier than intended. I bend, taking ahold of my skirt at the knee, his eyes dilate watching me as I lift the fabric up slightly. “Because all this e ortless sexy- girl fabulousness —” I tilt my head so my hair slops o my shoulders and toward him, creating a shield of hair on either side of his face, his breath only inches from my collar bone. In the enclave, every ‐ thing echoes, the rain pounding, his soft panting, my words lush and ricocheting .

133 ELLE BERLIN

“All this sexiness is about to go the way of the Dodo,” I tease. “And in a second, I’m going to look like a drowned rat .” “I doubt that,” he says, and the wet skin between my thighs squeeze . “Oh, yee of little faith,” I say playfully, tapping him on the nose. “Now remember, sexy and damp.” I motion to myself one more time, then step back, turn, and launch myself out onto the beach . Water immediately covers me like the rush of a waterfall as I skip toward the ocean, opening my arms to the storm . I twirl and spin, laughing at the sky, inviting the oncoming deluge. My hair sops down against my skull, the strands slap ‐ ping against my face and neck as I dance. My nipples tighten at the chill of water covering my breasts, water pummeling my chin, my neck, my cleavage, this dress clinging to my hips . But I keep swirling . I swirl because the air is hot and the assault is refreshing. I lean my face back to the sky, open my mouth and take in the night’s baptism . I reach the ocean and kick my feet against the tide, splashing into the storm, sand and seawater slapping at my calves. Thunder booms and for the second time today I feel wild and alive, dancing in the face of the elements, the loud rumble of clouds waking me . I turn back around, ankle-deep in the water, and look at Desmond. Lightning ashes and I can see him grinning and standing at the edge of the alcove, framed in pink vines and— compared to me—completely dry. I whip my hair back and out of my face, the lavender strands heavy with rain . “Are you coming?” I wave to him, motioning for him to follow me into the ocean, but he just stares at me with a goofy smile. “Come on!” I call out again. “It feels amazing .” He looks up at the sky, then down over to the gate of the

134 WHISKEY SPLASH restaurant, then back to me. He doesn't budge, instead he watches me with an intensity that sets my core aming . I break his gaze and twirl, feeling water on my ngertips and elbows, on my cheeks and collar bone, all beating to the pattern of the tapping urry. I twirl till I’m dizzy and I’ve waded far enough into the ocean to feel the splash of seawater at the back of my thighs . I stop to catch my breath and regain my balance, and when I do I see Desmond is halfway between us on the beach, drenched in rainwater. He’s walking straight for me, barefoot, determined, no twirls or skipping . My chest heaves . His hair is wet, his shoulders drenched, that thin button up shirt sticking to his muscles in a suction of hard esh. I swallow, my knees suddenly wobbly, a wave of ocean crashing against my behind. My dress slicks to my skin and I look up to the sky, into the starless bounds of water cascading, feeling hot and weightless . I’m certain that every drop of water hitting my body is turning to steam, for I couldn’t be more turned on by the way he’s walking toward me . “Esme,” I hear Desmond say, his voice close, and I look back to the shore, only he’s already in front of me . He’s in the water, up to his knees, those sparkling eyes as vibrant as the ashing lightning. It takes two strides for him to squeeze all the air out from between us, and without stopping he threads a hand into my hair, sting it . “For the record,” he says roughly, water dripping from his lips, “this hair,” he tugs slightly, tilting my face to the rain, “is a hundred times sexier .” His ngers widen and he steps forward, our bodies connecting for one hot second—rainwater, skin, fabric colliding —before his mouth hits mine .

135 ELLE BERLIN

It's a shock of heat and softness as his lips press into me, a pillow of tenderness combined with rain. The kiss heats my face and cheeks, it's so delicate for the storm that’s crashing round us. But then he eases in, tongue running the seam of my lips, his ngers wrapping my hair, pressing deeper as my mouth opens . I grab his shoulders, desperate for something to hold on to, my ngers fumbling over his fabric-soaked muscles. He wraps his other hand around my back to hold me steady and our bodies fuse together like one. My tits strain behind the wet fabric, raking against his expansive chest, the tiny pearl buttons of my dress suddenly fragile. Desmond sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, and the delicate pulse of suction makes my ngers rake through his hair . I want more of him . I want all of him . I want him . Reading my mind Desmond deepens the kiss, moaning into my gasp, and slipping his tongue inside mine. His slow and deliberate entrance make my nipples peak and my clit pound, and I’m ravenous to have his mouth and tongue on all the other parts of my body . The rawness of the rain makes my blood sing, wet streams of water diving through our hair, down our faces, between our hungry feasting. Thunder crashes and lightning zaps around us —making me jolt in his arms at the closeness of the crashing bolt. I break the kiss to look up, the storm is ferocious, waves wild enough to be splashing against my hips and ribs . “Come on,” Desmond says, turning back toward the beach. “We can’t be out in the water with this lightning.” The current of the ocean tugs at my legs as he pulls me by my waist toward the restaurant. The undertow is powerful, but Desmond is a lifeline pulling me to shore .

136 WHISKEY SPLASH

We race out of the water and up the sand. Only, he doesn’t head for the gate, instead he angles us o to the right, moving us past the fountain enclave where the umbrella and my tote bag sit. He leads me around the corner of the courtyard to what looks like a small alleyway. One side is the courtyard’s stucco wall, overgrown with bougainvillea, and the other is a ridge of cypress trees separating this property from the next. Dashing around the corner creates a wind shield, cutting the blasts of air that surround us, but the rain is still pounding . Desmond’s hands push against my lower back and he swings me softly to the left, toward the hanging plants. My back presses into the bed of pink owers and I've only a second to catch my breath before Desmond presses his full weight against me and his lips seal over mine again . Drenched petals tickle the sides of my cheeks, a soft wet utter like wings as Desmond cups the back of my neck, his thumb running the ridge of my windpipe and making me pant. His kiss is hungrier now and less innocent, and I can't help but angle my hips against him . The weight of his body is intoxicating, releasing a soft moan from my panting mouth. He smiles against me and moves his hand from my back down over my ribs, lower to where the wet fabric is a second skin as he clutches my hip and grinds me deeper into him. I let out a real moan this time as my mouth opens in a wanton gasp . He kisses me harder, deeper, my moan an invitation to slide his wide hot palm over my throat and collarbone, grazing the top of my breasts which are heavy and swollen. He heads lower, running his thumb along the drenched fabric, skimming my nipple and making me whimper. I clutch his neck and suck on his lip, eager and hungry, and he meets my intensity, taking control and devouring. His thumb draws circles on the under ‐ side of my breast, teasing my nipple but never fully stroking it. I

137 ELLE BERLIN arch into his hand, but he keeps his teasing thumb just out of reach, tormenting me . His other hand is on my hip and it’s just as wicked, sliding down to my thigh and kneading my skin through the wet fabric. His mouth drags away from mine to burn up the side of my jaw and I pant, raindrops sizzling against my burning face . Thunder booms and the vines shutter and tremble . I tremble as his mouth sucks my earlobe in between his teeth and he nibbles playfully. I bite my lip and moan, feeling his ngers hit the skin of my knee. He lifts my skirt, pushing the sopping fabric up my thigh, his slick ngers skillfully kneading as he ignites a shameless heat between my legs . Hooking my knee over his hip, Desmond adjusts the way we're pressed together and through the wet fabric of his jeans I feel his heat—it’s unmistakable and distinct—large, like when I saw him under the sheet . He kisses me again, everything wet and throbbing, his bulge of denim pressing roughly against my soaked thong. I feel wild and untethered with the storm, unlike myself and yet completely alive. Desmond’s wide ngers slide up the under ‐ side of my thigh and I gasp when they reach the edge of my panties. Softly he teases, his ngers tight-rope walking along the elastic edge and threatening to dip under the fabric . He pulls his mouth back and presses his forehead against mine, his ngers still running up and down the hem of my thong, his mouth open with panting . “I want you right now,” he rasps, his ngers running the sensitive skin between my thigh and pussy. “I’ll have you right here in the rain, if you'll let me .” He pumps his hips, pushing his hot bulge against my clit, and my ngers dig into his shoulders, which makes him smile something wicked . “I’m not shy,” he reminds me, and I moan at how sexy that

138 WHISKEY SPLASH comment is. “Tell me you want me to wrap your legs around my waist, right here, and I’ll take you in the rain. With the thunder and the waves, no one will hear us .” I turn my head to the side, panting; soaking up the delicious texture of his ngers stroking my thigh, the dirty promise of his words making my pussy throb . I look left, then right, assessing . There are no lights in the ally . It’s dark and stormy with nothing but a sea of rain and dark ‐ ness to mask us. No one would see us. And the wind and thunder would mu e my cries . Our eyes lock, shadows of desire igniting between us—and impatient, his ngers dip inside my panties and lash across my folds. I cry out, grabbing his wrist before he undoes me completely, the wind stealing my moan. I hold him rm, staring at him as my pussy aches for me to unleash his ngers . “Not here,” I rasp out, clutching his wrist, his pulse matching my eager body. “Not outside. It’s too public. The waiter will come back. Someone will catch us.” I slip his hand out of my skirt, untangling myself from under the weight of him, as a low rumble in his throat matches the thunder . I step away, needing space, as I brush myself o and straighten my dress. “Call the driver and take me back to the resort . Desmond growls in disappointment, thinking I want this to be over, and I grab his neck and kiss him, wild and passionate . When we separate I drag my lips to his ear. “Don’t you have a penthouse suite to show me?” His ngers tighten, real ‐ izing I simply mean not here . “If you take me against this wall I’ll come too quickly,” I warm. “And trust me, they’ll all hear .” My pussy pounds something erce, surprised by my own brazenness, and I step back to look at him. His eyes are black,

139 ELLE BERLIN my body strung, all of me excited to have said something so direct and dirty, something completely out of character . “I’ll go back into the restaurant and get my bag and pay the check,” I explain. “You get the driver and I’ll meet you at the front.” I slide a hand up his leg, grazing the bulge in his jeans and teasing him wickedly. “We don’t want anyone knowing what you’ve been up to out here .” I turn toward the restaurant, completely turned on by the commanding authority in my voice. Only, Desmond growls and grabs my hips . “Not a chance!” He spins me around and crushes me into him with another heart-pounding kiss. I indulge him for a moment, the rain pounding against our bodies before I pry myself away again, knowing this will get out of hand if I don’t . “I’ll just be a moment,” I say. “Get the driver and —” “Have you seen how you look in that dress!” Desmond snarls, ravenous. “White dress. Rain. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see you in that right now.” His voice is low and predatory . I look down and all the thin owy fabric is slicked to my body. All the places where the dress touches skin—which is all of me—the fabric is transparent. Except for my bra and the lines of my thong, I look naked. Hell, my nipples are so hard that even my bra leaves nothing to the imagination ! “Oh, God!” I swear, wrapping my arms over the front of my body, totally embarrassed. I was running around and twirling on the beach like this? And the whole time, to Desmond, I looked like I was—oh shit ! He grabs my neck and drags his lips against mine. “Trust me, it was extra hot because you didn’t realize it .” I breathe heavy and shake my head. “I’m morti ed!” I rasp out. “Once again you’ve caused me to blush some incandescent shade of hot pink.” I try to pretend this is all just ne and not

140 WHISKEY SPLASH let it ruin the fact that up to this moment everything had been so damn perfect . “Oh, I count on it,” Desmond says, kissing my forehead. “And I can’t wait to see what color your pussy turns when I’m sucking on your clit .” My mouth drops open and he smiles, like that was exactly the desired reaction . “I’ll get your bag and the check,” he says forcefully, moving a hand down to the bulge in his jeans to adjust his cock. “Everyone expects to see my character walking around fully aroused, so this shouldn’t faze them.” He points to the end of the ally. “Wait at the top of the lane and I’ll meet you in a minute .” I nod, and he steps back to look at me again—my dress slicked to every curve, nipples peaked, body on display. The heat in his eyes tells me he wants to get back to the resort as fast as possible, so he can nish what he started . And honestly, that doesn’t seem fast enough .

141 CHAPTER TWELVE

he rain patters against the rooftop of the sedan, a T symphony of drumming that matches my internal throbbing . The storm hasn’t abated, in fact, most of the island is getting ravaged. Out the car window, palm trees whip back and forth with the wind, and the wipers slosh so furiously I can barely see through the windshield, the sheet of water is so dense . Our windows are cracked open to deal with the condensa ‐ tion of breath that lines them, and a chill of air conditioning leaks into the back seat, blooming goosebumps across my body . The driver found us two towels in the trunk and I’ve wrapped the terry cloth over my shoulders and front so I don’t feel so exposed, leaving my ribs and legs wet. Desmond’s hair sticks up in every direction from him ru ing it with a towel and, despite his attempts to dry o , his blue button-up still clings to him provocatively . My bare feet are grimy and covered in sand, the toes curling against the felt ooring where the contrast is both

142 WHISKEY SPLASH sensual and harsh. I’m overly aware of every sensation on my skin, probably because of how close Desmond is and how long this car ride seems to be. I know it’s not that far, but what did Einstein say about relativity? Wasn’t it something like … when you’re hot and turned on and unable to satisfy your need, a minute feels like an eternity? Yeah, close to that, but more eloquent . Water runs down the back of my calves and the tangy-wet feel of my skin is wildly sexy. I can’t stop imagining turning o the lights in his Penthouse, peeling this fabric from my skin, and lying back naked in a giant bed mounded with pillows, my sandy toes digging into the pu y comforter . I must have moaned softly, because Desmond snaps a look at me like I practically cried out, his gaze hot and curious, wanting to know every detail of what I just thought. I blush, and shoot my eyes toward the oscillating palm trees, wringing out my hair and avoiding his torrid look . Heat covers my kneecap—his hand—and my eyes utter shut at the advance, savoring the delicious brand of his ngers against my muggy skin. When I dare to look back at him, that crooked smile is sinfully naughty as he starts to draw lazy circles on the inside of my knee . My eyes ick to the driver who is right there . This isn’t one of those limos with tinted windows and privacy screens. If the driver looks back in that rear view mirror enough times, he’ll see what’s happening. Desmond doesn’t seem to care, inching his silky ngertips further up the inside of my thigh . I grab his wrist, my breath shallowing. I’m completely torn, this is still public, even if it’s only one possible voyeur. But Desmond’s supple ngers are recklessly delicious, and this day has been all about crossing borders . If I do this, what kind of person does it make me? Am I starting to ful ll all the awful rumors they said about me in

143 ELLE BERLIN college? I wasn’t that girl then, but if I do this now, does that make their words a manifestation, as if they knew this is who I’d become ? I take a deep breath, pissed I’m even thinking about Jeremy and what he did. How is it even possible that now, years later, he still has some kind of hold over me? That he can make me feel bad for my desire and wanting . I pull a hot breath into my lungs . I do want this . I want it so much my heart is hammering . So what if the driver is there? So what if people talk? I’m my own woman. I’m supposed to take control of my desire . What would Arie do— right ? She wouldn’t care! Not in the slightest . I bite my lip and close my eyes, letting go of Desmond’s wrist and giving him permission, opening my legs a hint wider. I hear him suck in a breath and his ngers increase their pace . I focus on the swirling motion, the tickle of skin, and the way my clit aches with each delicate caress. His ngers tease both sides of my legs, knuckles running the ridge of one, ngers the other . I look down when he’s halfway up my thigh to notice his pinky toying with the pearl button on my dress. He’s reached the V in my skirt where he needs to dip under the fabric, or unbutton it. But he takes his time, swirling his pinky over the pearl, softly teasing and icking it, thrumming it and making it wobble. My clit pounds and I realize he’s pretending that pearl is my hot bundle of nerves and he’s showing me exactly how he wants to touch me. I sti e a moan at how hot that is, and watching him savor the button makes my panties slick . After toying with the nub of the pearl, he pops the button through the loop, releasing a new inch of fabric; all the while

144 WHISKEY SPLASH his ngers still tease my opening thighs as he moves to the next pearl and repeats the motion . Each swirl makes my clit hard, aching, waiting for its turn to be under those masterful ngers, in amed and thrummed . I roll my head back and look at the ceiling, breathing deeply with long controlled breaths, in ating my lungs—in and out, years of yoga practice . The ush of air moves through my body, increasing the pound between legs and stoking the re with oxygen. When I look down, he’s unbuttoned me all the way to my navel, the dress open and showing the triangle of my lacy thong . I’m so shamelessly exposed it turns me on, his ngers playing with the soft peach-fuzz of skin below my belly button. Lewdly, I open my legs and Desmond practically growls, lashing a nger across the strip of wet fabric . I sti e a cry in my throat, snapping my legs together and catching his hand like a Venus y trap. It’s too damn hot! Too wicked and perfect. If he pulls that fabric aside like I want him to, if he touches my bare pussy—I’ll be out of control . Grabbing his shirt, I pull Desmond over to me and bury my head in his neck, panting. His hand is still caught, but his ngers are mobile enough that he’s dragging them dangerously up and down the tiny piece of lace that barely covers what he wants . “I’m not going to be able to stay quiet,” I hiss in his ear, warning him to stop, else I’ll be coming in front of the driver. He pulls his hand out from between my thighs and rakes those same naughty ngers into my hair, pulling my head back just enough to lean in and kiss me. His mouth is wicked and demanding, all the sweet pretenses gone . “Good,” he says gru y, nodding toward the window. “Cause we’re here .” I turn and see the resort come into view, the pavement

145 ELLE BERLIN sparkling, and all the golden globes of light distorted from the rain into large glittering suns. It’s a feast of shimmering prisms and puddles re ecting, the rain still splashing and setting my heart alight . The driver is kind enough to drive us to the side entrance of the main tower. When he stops, I grab my tote and towel, not waiting for the driver to open the door . I run toward the building, the rain still pummeling, and soaking me again, my feet smacking against the cement that leads to the entrance. The skirt of my dress blows open and it’s a complete rush, despite the indecency, and for a moment I savor the rain against my navel, cool water lapping at my lace. I swing the towel around my torso, like when you get out of the shower, and dig into my tote for my employee key . Once inside the building, I walk to the nearest elevator and click the up button, still in view of the windows, where I see Desmond paying the driver. The silver doors open and I step inside, pressing the door-open button as I scan the oors to make sure you can get to the Penthouse in this one. Not all of them go to the top. But there it is—GPH1—thank goodness . I press the button and it illuminates, just as Desmond walks in, soaked and dripping. He slides in behind me, knocking my hand o of the door-open button and pressing the door-close instead. He waves his keycard before the sensor, giving it permission to go to the Penthouse before dipping his head into the back of my neck and kissing me through my wet hair, just as the silver doors start to close . “I can’t believe you did that in front of the driver!” I scold him, not stopping his assault as he pulls the towel from my hands and lets it fall to my ankles . “You mean, you can’t believe how turned on you were,” he says, grabbing my hips from his position behind me and grinding my ass into his wet jeans, his bulge signi cant .

146 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Maybe,” I admit breathlessly, as those greedy hands of his slide all over my body—hips, navel, up my front to cup my straining breasts. I lean back into him hotly, and he thrums my nipples, releasing a vile moan deep from my gut . “Oh God, there she is!” he praises, doing it again and making me grind against his jeans . “How many damn oors is it to the top,” I complain, and he ips me around, crushing me between himself and the elevator door. My hands grab his ass, clutching the wet denim hungrily . “If you’re too impatient,” Desmond teases, “I can fuck you in the elevator .” I buck my hips and try to throw him o at the crassness of his comment, only it makes him grind the bulge of his cock harder against my core. My mouth drops open and I pump against him, my skirt open to my belly button, baring my legs and my tiny white thong as I scrape it hedonistically against his zipper . “God, that’s hot,” he growls, hooking my leg over his hip to allow me better access, and I roll my hips, dragging my pussy back and forth against him. “Now, let me get this straight,” Desmond’s hands wring my waist. “It’s too public in the car or out in the rain, but in an elevator where the doors could open at any moment—” His ngers slide down to my hips. “That’s where you dare me to tear your panties o?” I buck against him and manage to scramble out from under his delicious weight. My legs are wobbly beneath me, but I step to the far side of the elevator, panting . “I didn’t dare you to do anything,” I counter, and he turns around and smiles, drinking me in . “Of course, you didn’t,” he taunts, looking just as incredible all wet, to the point that it's almost infuriating . I can see his pecs and abs through the fabric of his button up shirt, and he looks at me with the same veracious need,

147 ELLE BERLIN starting to pull his shirt out from his pants and untucking it. The action reveals a hot slice of his abdomen and my eyes zero in on it like a hunter ready to pounce. Slowly he begins unbut ‐ toning the shirt, from the bottom working up, my chest heaving . “I see. You didn’t dare me to tear o your panties,” he says hotly, every oor we pass becoming another button, a striptease of his abs, the v of his hips, his pecs, each button revealing more of him. “In the same way I’m not daring you to—” He pries his shirt open, showing me his glorious skin. “Pull my cock out of these pants and wrap your mouth around it .” My eyes y to his belt buckle and the bulge below, my mouth suddenly watering. My pussy slicks with the idea of rst my mouth, then my cunt, sucking him all the way to the hilt. He chuckles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and I clutch the metal railing behind me to keep from launching myself at him . The elevator dings—thank God!—and we’ve nally reached the top. To my memory, the elevator opens directly into the penthouse suite and I take a feral step toward him, trying to decide if we’ll have enough willpower to make it to the bedroom, or if we should just start rolling around on the oor in whatever room these doors open to . My pussy votes for the oor . “Good evening, Desmond,” a male voice—not Desmond’s— rings out from behind him . Somebody is there ! My body jolts and I drop down to grab the towel on the oor. Desmond swings around quickly, not bothering for modesty and uses his body to stand in the doorway and block whoever it is from seeing me . “You got caught in the rain, sir. Would you like me to set out some towels or—?” The voice asks, but I can't see who it is. He sounds young and male .

148 WHISKEY SPLASH

“That won't be necessary,” Desmond growls in a dark tone that means get lost . There's a pause and Desmond shifts in the doorway, and it distinctly feels like he’s trying to hide me, before the voice says. “Of course, sir .” I don’t know why, but it pisses me o that I’m hidden, like I'm something he's ashamed of, even though I know he’s doing it out of modesty. I secure the towel and nudge Desmond forward. He tenses as I sneak under his arm and step out, running a hand through my mussed-up hair . “Evening,” I say, my gaze falling on a nice young man, maybe twenty, even though he dresses like a fty-year-old golfer in khakis and a polo. His eyes widen at the sight of me. “Are you Desmond's little brother?” I ask, holding out a hand to shake his . “No ma'am .” “Esme,” I say. “Please don't ma'am me. This isn't a Fifty Shades of Gray novel .” He blushes awkwardly at that comment, which endears me to him. All too often, I’m the one in his shoes, turning hot pink . “This—uh, is Tam,” Desmond says, as the boy lifts his hand to me and I shake it rmly. His ngers are thin and delicate, completely the opposite of Desmond’s . “So, are you his personal assistant?” I ask, and Tam nods uncomfortably as I tread deeper into the room . The suite is incredible. A gold chandelier hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the large entry way. It hangs above large abstract paintings of geometric shapes and plush cream-colored sofas that ank each wall. It’s a fusion of old-school Victorian elegance (chandeliers and gold trims) combined with modern bravado (sleek lines and bold accents). It’s cozier than I’d antici ‐ pated, but something about it ts Desmond . “Personal assistant, huh?” I say to Tam, running a nger

149 ELLE BERLIN along the white marble entrance table at the center of the foyer, deciding to tease him a little. “Tell me, am I the rst girl Desmond’s brought up here on this trip, or do you normally look so confused when he brings someone back to this hot little —well, not so little—” I gesture to the room. “Bachelor pad ?” When I turn back to Tam he’s looking desperately at Desmond . “You're the rst,” Desmond con rms, his hot eyes narrowing at me and asking what game I’m playing. Only, I’m studying Tam’s reaction . “Is that true?” I press, and the kid jams his hands in his pockets awkwardly . “Uh, um, he—” Tam smacks his lips, fumbling for words . “Oh, I see.” I look back at Desmond with a cheeky grin. “I must be number two or three. Heck, who's counting !” “No, it's not—” Tam struggles to explain, but Desmond interrupts him . “It's ne, Tam,” he says, nally walking into the room after me and giving me a heated stare. “She's just playing with you .” Tam shakes his head, completely ustered, and excuses himself into the elevator. I wave goodbye and give Desmond a moment to tell him … well, whatever he's going to tell him . Leaving them behind, I stride through the rst room and into the second. It opens up to a giant living space with cozy modern furniture, white walls, and lots of tropical plants. The ceiling is high with several gold chandeliers sparkling with crys ‐ tals. Looking toward the ocean are several arched windows that open to the bay, which I can’t see with the thunder and rain outside still rumbling . Instinctively, I start turning o the lights, darkening the massive room before I walk past the couches and bar to the patio balcony on the far side. I drop my tote bag on the co ee table and let my eyes adjust to the darkness, opening the

150 WHISKEY SPLASH

French doors that lead out to a gorgeous pergola-style trellis and it makes my stomach utter with the romance of it . Thick vines coil and weave through the structure blocking out the rain, a lush of dark leaves covering the poles and sides of the trellis. Large yellow trumpet owers dangle like jewels drip ‐ ping with rainwater from the underside, hanging above a small pool and creating an arch-like cave of vines. The entire patio and pool are laid with Spanish tile, starting with tiny designs on the cool glaze beneath my feet and erupting into more elaborate geometric patterns as the markings dip into the pool . I walk up to the long horizontal basin and notice one side is a tiled ramp allowing you to wade into the waters, the oor covered in swirling images—mandalas, and starbursts, and oral patterns. Lightning ashes o in the distance, igniting the expanse of dark clouds that span all the way to the horizon and painting the sky in an amber purple hue . “Would you like a fresh towel ?” Behind me, Desmond is leaning against the open French door, tossing his hair with a uy towel and o ering me the second one folded in his free hand . Graciously, he hasn’t turned any of the lights back on, which helps put me at ease. I watch him a moment as he dries his face and hair, then the front of his chest where his shirt is still open . Awake under his gaze, I drop the wet towel clutched around my torso and kick the sopping lump across the tile toward some patio furniture. Immediately, my body prickles without the weight and shield of it, the dress clinging to my shoulders and tits. I walk toward him, legs and stomach exposed, the cotton fabric gripping my body with a hot sense of desperation . I take the towel he’s o ered, the rich cotton fabric is extra decadent, and nuzzle my face into its softness. Tilting to the

151 ELLE BERLIN side, I dry my hair, the graze of the towel against my ears and scalp absolutely heavenly . “I'm sorry about Tam,” Desmond says. “I wasn't trying to make things awkward. I forgot he was here, and then there’s the issue of your dress.” His eyes skate down my body and I pretend to wring out my hair to distract myself. “The dress is wet and —” “I look naked,” I say blatantly, dropping the towel on a patio chair and not bothering to dry the rest of me. I stand before him, the warmth of the night air sticking to my body, leaving little to the imagination . In the darkness, I can still see Desmond’s eyes sparkle . “You should never wear that in a rainstorm again,” he scolds . “No?” I loft back, my voice light. “Are you going to punish me if I do ?” He steps forward and cups my jaw so delicately I almost tremble. “Damn right, I am,” he says harshly, wetting my lips with his. For all the delicacy of his ngers, his mouth is hot and demanding, licking and opening me till I'm drunk on his teas ‐ ing. His hands feather down my neck till they’re at the collar of my dress, the heat from before is softer now, his ngers deli ‐ cately unbuttoning. I don't stop him, his knuckles and thumbs grazing my cleavage as he pops each button . The talent of his mouth has my lips buzzing, and I slide my ngers up his exposed chest and it’s my turn to explore his warm skin. He inhales sharply when my ngers dally at his stomach, tracing the ridges of muscle, inching down the soft fuzz that leads to his belt buckle . “Maybe I’m the one punishing you,” I whisper into his mouth, my hands fanning along the top of his jeans . “All bloody night,” he a rms, punching the last button through the loop and peeling open my dress. His ngers drag

152 WHISKEY SPLASH across my bare stomach and set me on re. I match my ngers with his, mimicking as I open the fabric of his shirt to circle his ribs as well, our skin tacky and hot from the rainwater . “I’ve wanted you since that night at Flambé,” he says, his wide ngers massaging my waist. “I wanted you in the spa, at yoga.” He growls ferally, his wicked hands sliding up over my breasts, hungrily cupping them and making me gasp. “How badly did you want me?” His dark voice asks, caressing my tits with his erotic worship . I pant against his mouth, arching into the talents of his amoral ngers, fondling, kneading, only to whimper when his hands glide up my collarbone and neck till he's holding my chin in both palms and reeling me in. His kisses are like drowning, soft and hot, and demanding my surrender . I follow each wave of sensation as his tongue plays with mine, our bare stomachs brushing, the bulge in his pants grazing my belly button. The whispering touch is so erotic, I suck his bottom lip into my mouth again, demanding more heat from him . “Needy,” he teases, before dragging his mouth down my jaw, my neck, his lips a blaze of heat along my windpipe. I look at the pergola above us, owers blooming and trembling with rain, delicate as his teeth rake my neck. I slide my hands into his hair, clutching the silky strands and lacing them between my ngers . “You’re right,” I pant. “I should de nitely wear this dress more often .” He snarls, peeling the cups of my bra down in one hot motion, spilling my tits out. I moan as his hands cover my naked breasts, his rough callouses on my aching tips . His soft seduction is over, his head plunging down and taking my nipple into his mouth. My ngers dig into his skull,

153 ELLE BERLIN which only makes him suck harder and ring my hot bud with his rough tongue . “Oh, wow,” I shudder. “Wow—” I gasp, hardly breathing . Every slash of his tongue slicks my pussy and makes my clit pound. It’s as if he’s working both at once, and if he isn’t care ‐ ful, he’s going to make me fall apart . He moves to the other breast and I can hardly take it anymore, my whole body in amed and limber. My mind buzzes, half-aware of his hands sliding up my spine and wrestling with the elastic of my bra. After his ngers tangle for a while, I rasp out that the bra unhooks from the front, and suddenly the elastic is unleashed and he has full range of my tits, devouring them with his hands and mouth . Delirium seethes through my head, unspooling and brazen. My bare leg hooks around the wet jean of his thigh, and his hands are all over my skin, my breasts, my shoulders, my navel. His teeth rake against my nipples as he sucks and ravishes, and I literally can’t stand up anymore . “I need to—” I scrape out, my legs starting to wobble. “Sit or lay down , or —” Desmond’s hands shoot around my waist as I start to lose my balance, and his mouth nds mine again. The warmth of our bodies slide together as I’m wrapped in his muscled arms . “Bed? Couch?” he asks, turning us toward the door, and I reach out and grab the doorframe . “No—” I shake my head, my lips dragging against his. His bed sounds too decadent, too soft and intimate, and I don't want pillows and cushions at my back right now. “Pool.” I point behind us, pulling my heat-drunk face up to look at him. “Your bed’s too soft,” I breathe. “I want to be fucked against some ‐ thing hard .” His grip tightens, and I nip the bottom of his chin, grabbing his thick hands and untangling myself from him. I know he

154 WHISKEY SPLASH only lets me go because I’m walking toward the pool and picking out the exact spot I want him to have me. Tell a man what you want; isn’t that what Arie said? It seems to be working . I force myself to walk on my wobbly legs toward the opening in the canopy, lightning still cracking across the sky beyond the pool. I crouch down at the edge and slip my legs into the pool, quickly pushing my whole body under the watery lip where I'm suddenly weightless. Water kisses every sensitive inch of me, its erotic glove slipping over my elbows and stom ‐ ach, and deeper till it’s between my legs and caressing my core . My dress oats around my waist like kelp, still wearing it by my arms with the capped sleeves over my shoulders. The drift of fabric is a sensual tease, licking like the ns of a mermaid against my body. Thunder rumbles and I turn back to him and smile, the ocean would have pulled us under into its wicked salt if we’d stayed seaside. But the pool, the pool has three walls and a ramp to contain me . “Get in,” I command, locking my eyes on his, ready for him to ful ll all those naughty promises. I nd the bottom of the pool and stand up, lifting my shoulders and swollen breasts out of the water to entice him . He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling his shirt open and back, tearing it o his shoulders as fast as he can. I bite my lip at how thrilling it is to watch him strip, unveiling all that muscle and skin, and reminding me of how hot it was to touch him on my massage table. My ngers itch, wanting that hard muscle under them again . He reaches for his belt buckle and I moan softly, a tiny smile inching over his mouth at hearing it. He slows, staring at me as if he can read my mind. I remember those thick and powerful legs, how I touched them on my massage table, running my palms up and down his incredible anks. And how

155 ELLE BERLIN now, all I want is to feel their powerful girth between my thighs, spreading me . “Wet jeans are the worst,” I joke, as he struggles to pull the heavy fabric down over his ass . “Not as easy as dropping my towel in your massage room,” he admits, smiling, deliberately reminding me of the rst time I saw him naked. He peels the wet denim down his legs, kicking o his ip ops to wriggle the jeans over his ankles. My clit pounds, the bulge in his shorts substantial. In fact, it looks even larger than what I saw on the massage table, if that's even possible . The second his jeans are o he's in the water, still in his shorts and swimming toward me . There isn't time to swim away before his thick arms wrap me and I'm gasping into his mouth again. There's so much skin, tits and stomachs, muscles, his hips, his powerful thighs. I've touched it all before, but this time his mouth is on mine and I’m the one who’s ravenous . I wrap my legs around his waist, the skirt swirling around us, the water making everything slippery and delicate. His mouth nds my nipples again and I arch back, my mind going hot and delirious. Thunder claps and a new pound of rain is released from above . My legs scrape a tile seat behind us and I realize we’ve drifted into the shallower end. Instead of sitting back into the seat, I pull away from Desmond, which makes him snarl. Only, I turn our bodies, and push him up against the tile, so he's the one sitting. He’s up to his chest in water as I climb on top of his lap and straddle him . His eyes scour my naked front as he sits back and lets me get situated, pulling the dress and my bra from my shoulders, and tossing them onto the tile patio behind him. His hands ring my waist, his amber eyes scanning my body that’s now naked

156 WHISKEY SPLASH except for my thong. It’s dark, which I prefer, with just enough light from the thunderstorm for him to make out my curves and shape . A low animal noise rumbles from his throat and his hand drops to my knees. Gripping forcefully, he pulls me forward against him, angling my pussy so it’s on top of his bulging cock . I hiss, my mouth dropping open as I clutch his shoulders to keep me steady . “Ten inches, remember,” he says crassly, before sliding his hands up the back of my thighs to cup my ass. “I’m pretty sure you’re not about to forget .” He drags me roughly—forward and back—sliding my pussy along his cotton-covered length. I gasp, wicked pulses lashing through my core and burning me so hot I’m hardly breathing . “Tell me,” he continues in a naughty voice. “Since the day in the spa, when I ipped over and you saw me under the sheet”—my clit pounds—“How many nights have you gone to bed dreaming about my cock?” I bite my lip and don't answer, which makes him smile something wicked. “Well, I couldn't stop thinking about you climbing up on that table and —” He rakes my body against his cock again and I topple forward, my mouth against his neck, my chest heaving . “God, I can’t stop thinking about you riding me,” he says hotly into my ear. His hand rakes up my spine, igniting every ridge. “I may have been the only one visibly turned on at the spa, but I know—” He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, locking his eyes with mine. “You wanted me.” His eyebrows rise in irtatious question. “Admit it, you were massaging my legs, my ass, my naked body—tell me your panties weren’t wet ?” I burn at his words, my chest heaving, my wet tits out of the water and only inches from his hot breath. His eyes ick down to my nipples like they’re gumdrops he wants to devour, but

157 ELLE BERLIN he’s not going to satisfy himself—or, more accurately, me—until I confess that I wanted him . “Yes, they were wet,” I admit, my voice brittle, and he covers my nipple with his barbaric mouth. I cry out, digging my nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders, as he devours, turning me to jelly in his arms. His rough hands grab each side of my hips, tangling his ngers into the elastic strings of my thong. It’s so erotic as he teases, tugging softly before—snap!— he forcefully tears my thong o. “God, that's hot!” I exclaim, my bare pussy starting to pump against his cock . I'm doing the work now, pumping my hips and dragging my sensitive esh along his thick ridge. I don't think it's possible for him to get larger, but it feels like he does . “You ready for me?” he growls, my ample breasts raking against his chest, my pussy quaking and hungry to be taken . “Yes,” I gasp, my mouth on his neck. “I want your cock inside me !” I reach down between us and slide my hand inside his boxers. We groan together as my hand connects with the esh of his engorged penis. I stroke him and he bites my lip as my ngers explore him . “Damn those demon hands,” he hisses. “You’re way too talented with them!” He grabs my wrist, pulling my hand out of his shorts . “What are you doing!” I hiss . “Making you work for it,” he smiles against my mouth, his cock still sheathed under his shorts . “Yeah?” I rock my chest against him, our slick bodies on re. “You don’t think my talented hands can tear your shorts o, the way you did my thong?” I growl at him, wanting his cock out, ready to slide down his impressive shaft . “God, you’re hot when you want me inside you,” he nips at

158 WHISKEY SPLASH my neck, his thick arms around my waist and crushing me to him, making it impossible to do anything. “You’re just going to have to get creative if you want to ride me, Esme, otherwise I’m going to fuck you my way .” I claw at his back, furious and excited to see exactly what he means by that. I buck in his arms, not giving up so easily . “Desmond!” I pant. “I’m so damn close, I don’t think I can last much longer .” “Good,” he growls, suddenly lifting me up out of the water, his hands on my ass, my bare pussy dragging against his abdomen. “Cause there’s a promise you made me at Flambé that I’m ready to cash in on .” “What? A promise ?” He moves me swiftly out of the water and walks us over to the ramp section of the pool, lowering me down onto my back so I’m splayed out underneath him against the Spanish tile. I’m mostly out of the water with just my ass bobbing slightly against the water’s edge, my knees cup his waist as he crouches over me. My spine is on re, blazing into every hard pane of tile at my back, ready for him to unsheathe his cock and take me . Only, he leans over me, dragging is mouth across my breasts and down my stomach. Instead of pulling out his cock, his soft lips glide past my navel and over the arch of my mound, nibbling and inching toward my pussy . “Oh god, Desmond!” I shiver at the realization. “If you—” I moan and arch my back. “I won’t be able to take it if, if you —” He smiles against my skin, my ass lifting, pulling back just enough to hook each of my knees over his wide shoulders. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at him. Desmond’s head is between my thighs, my quaking desire spread in front of him. My toes dip into the water behind his back and his eyes have gone completely black .

159 ELLE BERLIN

I shake my head at him as he smiles and starts to blow softly on my bare pussy . “Des—Des—” I can’t even get his name out, it’s so fucking amazing. “That’s too hot!” I whisper, eyes uttering back into my head . “What's too hot?” he teases, his tongue dipping forward and slashing between my folds . “Oh God!” I cry out, my entire body arching and falling back against the ramp, shoulder blades pressed hard against the tile, my ass bobbing in and out of the water. Desmond’s mouth retreats, blowing again on my pussy and tempting me to come . “You ready?” Desmond teases, and I moan wantonly, op ‐ ping my hands out to the side, looking for something to grip, but there’s only slippery tile. “Good,” he whispers. “Because you promised to come on my face .” The memory of saying that wicked thing pulses through my body, and I don’t have time to react before Desmond’s mouth covers my cunt completely . “Oh, God—Oh!” His tongue parts me, plunging deep inside and I’m so tightly strung that my thighs quake at his entry. He dips and explores, slithering recklessly over my folds, making me cry out at each luxurious thrust. I waxed and pampered like Arie suggested and every swipe of his tongue is extra sensitive, thrumming me with his wicked lashes . “You taste like the ocean,” he growls, sucking my clit between his lips and I buck shamelessly, grinding my naked pussy against his face. He doesn’t let up, wrapping his hands around my thighs and sucking harder . “You evil—glorious—oh, God!” I babble. “Your wicked tongue shouldn’t be allowed !” He rings my clit . “Oh God, don’t stop !” I see stars as he rings it again .

160 WHISKEY SPLASH

And again . I clasp my hands over my face, it’s so damn hot, my ass sliding up and down the tile as his shoulders rock, tongue inside me, punishing . “How many pussies did you have to eat to get this good!” I cry out, not even able to shut up during sex. “Is there a school for this type of thing? Because God, you’re bloody inhuman !” I writhe against his face, gasping, massaging my own tits as my orgasm buds . His hands dig into my thighs, opening me even wider, my knees are almost touching the tile as I’m spread under him . “Desmond! Desmond!” I’m chanting his name, spiraling so hot my cunt is clenching. I dive my hands into his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. “I’m going to come! I’m going to come!” I warn, my feet on his ribs, trying to give me more leverage . His tongue laps wide, up and back and inside, thrusting and ringing my clit and—all of me winds up like a gun being cocked, and — Wicked vile words explode out of my mouth as I drag my cunt against his lips, saying everything and anything . “I’m coming on your face Desmond,” I cry out. “Oh God, I’m coming on your face !” He doesn’t let up, sucking harder as all of me shudders and unspools. My thighs quake against his cheeks, my clit a hard candy in his mouth, every slick and erotic fold trembling. My legs go slack against his shoulders and he rocks me through each carnal wave. My throat is hoarse from the things he’s now heard me shout, my entire body thrumming like a plucked string, the orgasm still vibrating in every nerve of my being . I gasp, try to breathe, gulp down air, wheeze . The heat of his mouth releases from my pussy and he crawls up over by body. “Holy shit,” he curses, staring down at

161 ELLE BERLIN me like a hurricane just hit him. “You weren’t kidding! That was—” He licks his lips instead of nishing what he was going to say, like he wants to savor the exact avor of my orgasm . “I’m pretty sure that was all you,” I say breathlessly, and he shakes his head . “I’m not sure I did anything other than hold on and go for the ride. Damn !” “Cheeky boy!” I sass, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down against me. The whole incredible weight of his body presses me into the tile as I kiss him, tasting my own erotic avor on his tongue. “I think I’m the one who got hit by Hurri ‐ cane Desmond .” He smiles against my mouth, well aware of his talents, and my arms and legs wrap around him . “You know—” he says, kissing me softly before brushing some strands of hair o of my forehead. “If that’s how hard you come on my face—” A sideways smile pulls at his cheek. “I think you’re going to explode when you come on my cock .” He shifts his hips, pressing his hard bulge against my rawness and my mouth falls open. He’s still hard as a rock, unsated, and wanting release. Only, I’m so overheated, so totally gone, I can’t imagine taking him right now . He starts kissing me softly, perfectly. He cups my face so gently that I feel like I’m melting under him, dissolving into the tile, lost in his sweetness . I don’t hear the thunder anymore and a cool wind gusts over us, making him shiver. Our arms tangle and the heat between us shifts, becomes less animal and more tenderness. Our breath starts to sync and he feels like an ocean lulling me with his soft waves . Every kiss touches something deeper in my skin, and maybe it’s because I just came so unabashedly, and he’s already

162 WHISKEY SPLASH seen the wild animal inside that I’m not afraid to show him the rest of me . “Bed,” I whisper to him, wanting the softness now. Wanting the luxury and the intimacy and his overwhelming beauty . He pulls back and the lust in his eyes is still here, but some ‐ thing more is threaded in his amber stare. He nods and I lean up to kiss him softly, our lips whisper, tiny tendrils of some ‐ thing budding between us . He pushes o of me, the release of his weight making me lightheaded as he steps back. He’s calf-high in the water with me naked below him, those gorgeous eyes soft and scanning me elegantly, like he wants to imprint in his mind every second. This moment. The next. Keep them all in some precious box. I don’t close my knees, allowing him to see—all of me—including the slick organ he honored so wickedly . And as he looks at me—really looks at me—I feel the heat of desire slick me again. I close my legs and look back, meeting his intensity, before dragging my eyes down to where he’s thick inside he shorts. He’s seen me. I ick my eyes back up to him, waiting . He doesn’t let that irtatious smile get the better of him, instead he stares straight into me as he slides his thumbs under the elastic band of his shorts and pulls them down. I don’t break our stare, even when I see the shadow of his cock release from his boxers . The heat in his eyes is intoxicating, and I know I’ll get to look at his Adonis-wet body in a minute. Instead, I take in the vulnerability in his eyes, admitting to myself that I want to get to know him, to feel this sexy and cherished and seen by him. And I hope he can feel it too, that he isn’t some hot actor to me. He’s more. He’s someone I let down my guard to be with .

163 ELLE BERLIN

He bends over and unhooks his shorts from his ankles, tossing them onto the tile to his left—fully naked . I look down . I look at his impressive cock, thick and ready, and completely hard . I bite my lip, my mouth watering again, wondering if I’m brave enough to crawl up to him on my knees and swallow him . “Na-ah,” he warns, snickering softly like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. That feral heat is back in his gaze, the domi ‐ nating lust that owned every scream I just gave him. “I’m going to give you a two second head start,” he says hotly. “If you can get to the bed before me, then you get what you want. But if I catch you before you get there—” That smile parts his lips. “Then I’m bending you over the nearest piece of furniture I can nd, and —” My pussy pulses, knowing he’s serious, maybe even hoping he’ll catch me . “You promise,” I toss back at him, scrambling up to my feet. He growls, leaping toward me, and I howl, shooting toward the French doors, when — Flash! Flash! Flash ! Three pops of light come from somewhere on the patio. I raise my arms to block my eyes, completely startled. When I realize, someone else is on the balcony with us ! And they have a camera !

164 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

cover myself instinctively, slapping my hands over my I naked body . Flash! Flash ! Desmond’s naked too and the bulb keeps ashing, capturing us . I’m a deer in headlights, frozen in place . How the hell is someone taking pictures of us? We’re on the top oor! And by who? My eyes jet to the shadow behind the trellis on the patio section of the balcony—a shadow that’s a person—but I can’t make them out because the ashes keep blinding me. But they are holding a camera, and the only thing that makes sense is that they’re paparazzi trying to get pictures of Desmond while he’s — “Who the fuck do you think you are!” Desmond roars. He’s out of the pool, naked and moving fast toward the shadow. “I’m going to kill you !” The pool … Desmond naked … God, we were just in the pool together, with me on my back, and Desmond was —

165 ELLE BERLIN

Holy shit! Was that person taking pictures of us the whole time ?! Every fear and terror rakes through me and I run through the French doors into the dark living room, ramming my shin into a table in the process and smacking it ! “Ouch!” I shout, hearing Desmond yelling behind me at the photographer. He’s angry and it sounds like he’s going to tear the guy’s head o —rightfully so—but I don’t dare look back . I can’t be out here in the open, not naked like this, not with someone taking photos! I hear a crash behind me like some ‐ thing smashed, his camera hopefully, followed by the sickening sound of sts smacking against bone . Punches. I look to the terrace, but it’s too dark and I can’t see anything . I scramble through the shadows of the main room, trying doors until I nd a bathroom, which I hide myself inside it, locking the door behind me. I ip on the light, but the image in the mirror startles me . The girl looking back is naked, rain swollen, sex ushed, recently fucked . I shake my head at how overt she is, how obvious. Haunt ‐ ing, cruel words echo through my head, the awful things Jeremy and his friends said to me, their dark laughs chanting: Whore! Whore ! The girl in the mirror is the same girl who will be in what ‐ ever image is plastered all over the tabloids tomorrow with the headline: Desmond Pike’s Latest Slut . Anger and shame grips me, a black hole in the pit of my stomach covering me like a shroud. It took years for me to recover from what Jeremy said, to try and believe something like that would never happen again. But I’m the fool, I’m the

166 WHISKEY SPLASH one who walked into this trap. Because, yes, I barely know Desmond. And yes, who am I, other than some late-night hookup who gave in to her base desires? His fun-time slut while he’s shooting in Hawaii . It must be a paparazzi photographer, I’m certain of it. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Some paparazzi shit ‐ head must’ve been hiding up on his terrace, looking for the shot of the century—and boy, did he get it ! Cold streaks through me. Terri ed of what images will be uploaded and passed around the internet . Will it be those last moments with us getting out of the pool? Me naked, him naked? Or do they have cameras that can take pictures in the dark? Did they take shots of me spread out under his tongue, yelling obscenities and coming ? Shit! How could this possibly happen ? How could I be so stupid to let my guard down ? All the What-Would-Arie-Do fun and games is complete bullshit. Especially when this happens. Only, Arie, she could deal with this sort of thing. She’s so comfortable and alive in her body that she’d happily pose nude for the world to see. Me? I’m the twin who gets centipedes and spiders in my stomach and the feverish impulse to throw up . I yank a bathrobe from the shelf, knocking down several towels in the process, wrapping myself in it and pulling the strings tight so I am as covered as possible. I’m a mummy swad ‐ dled in terry cloth. It should feel soft, but the tiny bristles scrape against my nakedness like a metal brush scouring my sensitive and ushed body . Which I deserve . I’m the naive girl who thought a fun night with Desmond Pike would not come with consequences. I bundle myself in the robe, sinching it tight and turning o the light. I can’t look

167 ELLE BERLIN at myself in that mirror, I can’t face my re ection, that girl in all that brightness, and the harsh stinging reality that’s crashing in on me. I slump against the door and slide down till I’m sitting on the cold tile, darkness surrounding . I can’t believe this is happening—again! I let down my guard and bam! There’s someone taking pictures in my most private moments. It was one thing for Jeremy to share intimate moments with his friends, it’s another for it to be public and uploaded to the internet. That’s the sort of thing that never goes away . Ever! From now on, if I apply for a job, every prospective employer will enter my name into Google and—Voila!—a front row seat to Esme as Desmond Pike’s late-night poolside escapade ! I bury my head in my knees trying to breathe, my nose running and my face damp, telling myself this isn’t as bad as I think it is. Maybe nothing will get out. Maybe Desmond will beat the guy to a bloody pulp and he’ll be nothing more than meat soup. I heard those punches, the bone crack. The guy is probably sitting in a lump with a bloody nose and Desmond’s trashed his camera . But part of me knows I’m being naive. I didn’t think things would be so bad with Jeremey either. I thought it was one image to one friend, and it would all blow over. But then there were strangers snickering in hallways and assholes soliciting me . I breathe, try to focus—inhale, exhale—try to get my heart rate to slow down. Try to get my hands to strop trembling . It hits me that I should probably check on Desmond, or be calling the cops, or security, but my phone is out in the main room and there’s no way I’m moving. I’m not going back out there. Hell, I’m not even sure how I’m going to get out of this

168 WHISKEY SPLASH bathroom and get home tonight. All I want is to be back at my house, curled up in the one safe place I know, and mentally hitting delete on the last week of my life ! I hear Desmond’s mu ed voice ltering in from under the door. He’s far away, out in the other room somewhere and he isn’t yelling anymore. He’s talking to someone, on the phone maybe, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He must be calling security, or maybe someone on the crew, his handler, or what ‐ ever people you have when you’re an actor and the paparazzi bust into your life. He sounds far too calm for my ratcheting heart, as if he’s used to this sort of thing, like it’s normal . How can this ever be normal ? No wonder actors are fucked up . A few minutes later, I hear the sound of the elevator ding, followed by commotion and more voices. More lights are icked on out in the other rooms or hall, and a harsh yellow glow seeps into my tiny chamber of darkness from under the door. That slice of light creeps up along the thigh of my bathrobe, too bright, too incriminating, and I inch to the far side of the bathroom and lean against the tub to get away from it . There are footsteps—lots of them, back and forth—along with mu ed voices and shadows pacing behind the doorway . Desmond must have called security because I catch frag ‐ ments of conversations: someone apologizing, inquiries about if he wants to change rooms, questions about how the intruder got up here, does Desmond want to press charges . I hug my knees to my chest, not sure what to do, feeling forgotten and wanting to disappear . I need to go home . Only, I’m not walking out there in my bathrobe, not with whoever is out there. I work at this hotel. I’m bound to know at least one, if not all, of the security o cers! There’s a strict no- sleeping-with-guests policy !

169 ELLE BERLIN

They’ll get me red . Worse, I can’t bear the questions and strange looks, the eyes that will look at me and judge, thinking, ‘What’s a nice girl like Esme doing in a celebrity’s penthouse? Oh right, of course, she’s fucking his brains out. Just another one of his skanky tramps .’ I could try to sneak out, but that’s probably impossible. Especially since I need to get my tote bag and personal belong ‐ ings which are on the table in the main room. And worse, my dress it slopped like evidence next to the pool, they’ll know someone was here with Desmond and probably have to ques ‐ tion me . My cheeks burn. This is unbearable. This is like everything that happened with Jeremy, except now there are police o cers involved. How could I be so stupid ! The doorknob jiggles forcefully and my heart lodges into my throat . Someone’s coming ! But the lock catches. The urgency settles and I hear Desmond’s voice on the other side of the door . “Esme? Are you in there? Are you okay? It’s me,” his voice is soft and comforting . “Is he gone?” I cough out. “The asshole with the camera! The guy who —” I choke on the words, not able to say it out loud . “Yes,” Desmond con rms. There’s a whooshing sound, which must be his hand brushing against the door. “He’s gone. Security took him .” My heart pounds, suddenly able to breathe . “Is security gone ?” “No, they’re still looking through everything. They’d like to talk to you .” “Not happening!” I snap, putting my face in my hands,

170 WHISKEY SPLASH jolted by my own anger. God, how did this happen? “Sorry,” I call out. “I’m just —” “It’s okay,” he says quickly, sounding genuinely concerned. “Are you alright in there ?” How do I answer that question ? I’m literally curled in a ball in his bathroom with my heart over-palpitating and my sts clenching my bathrobe like my life depended on it . I’m two breaths shy of a panic attack . “Esme?” he says again, waiting another deadly length of silence for me to say something. “Hey, would it be alright if I come in?” he asks kindly. “Just me, no one else. Would you be alright with that ?” I don’t answer, sucking down air through my mouth and wiping my nose . “Esme?” I look up at the ceiling, at the tiny tile box I’ve quarantined myself within. The cold tile under my feet reminds me too much of being in the pool, of the two of us, of how close and perfect it was, until — “Please? I promise it will just be me,” Desmond asks again. “I promise I won’t let anyone else near you. Esme ?” In my silence I hear him lay his head against the door and the mu ed sounds of what I think is cursing. He’s genuinely pissed about this too . “Okay,” I call out. “Hold on a minute .” I get up from the oor, clutching the robe as tightly as I can before I shu e to the door. My stomach squirrels, not sure what I’m going to say or how I’m going to face him . “Just you?” I whisper into the door, my hand on the cold knob . “Promise.” “Just you,” I repeat, turning the knob till the lock clicks. It

171 ELLE BERLIN snaps loudly like a ash of a lightbulb—fast and unsettling. My stomach roils as I open the door just an inch, the light that’s spilling in feels harsh and invading. But I force myself to step back so he has room to come in . The door inches open, just enough for Desmond to peek in to see me huddled against the wall in the robe. His face falls at the sight of me and I feel even more embarrassed, turning away from him . “Hey, hey,” he says softly, slipping into the room, wearing a fresh shirt and some gym shorts. He shuts the door and locks it behind him . “Please don’t turn on the lights!” I say sharply, before he has a chance to touch the light switch . “Okay, not a problem,” his voice echoes in the small room, feeling hollow and far away, and all I can do is shake my head, completely frustrated . “Desmond, I’m so embarrassed!” I blubber. “We were naked and … and … some guy was taking pictures and —” “I know, I know.” Desmond puts a hand on my shoulder, testing, and when I don’t pull away he steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “I’m so sorry that happened .” His strong arms envelop me, cocooning me in a way that this bathrobe can’t. It makes some terri ed part inside of me loosen. He’s an armor, a sturdy wall of protection, more certain and con dant than my feeble legs. I bury my face into his chest and one of his hands cups the back of my head. His warmth, his strong arms, the rmness of him—something about it rumbles all the fear to the surface and I just lose it . “I can’t have pictures of me on the internet, Desmond!” I say, my shoulders heaving. Words start spilling out of me. “I can’t have naked pictures of me in some tabloid! I’m not you. I’m not famous. I don’t get naked in front of cameras, or for my

172 WHISKEY SPLASH job. Maybe you’re used to this paparazzi shit and having people sneak into your private life —” I tilt my head up to look at him, completely exposed. His dark eyes look down at me, shimmering kindly . “Des, this tonight, this wasn’t me,” I explain. “I don’t do things like this. I don’t randomly hook up with guys and—” I gesture weakly to the pool, shame ooding me with something hot and scared. I start trembling and he holds me tighter. “I’m some nobody girl who’s going to get torn to shreds by the internet. Have you seen what kind of troll-assholes are on there? I’ll be labeled your Hawaii little slut, or whatever bullshit they’re going to write about me, and … and … and I can’t have that happen, Desmond. I really can’t! My private life is supposed to be private! Not out there all over the internet like I’m some cheap wh —” “Don’t say it!” he says harshly, cutting me o . “That’s not what you are!” The anger in his voice is laced, aimed at the intruder, not at me, but it still echoes through my feeble bones. “I want to kill that guy for making you feel this way.” He hugs me harder and the crush of him makes it easier to breathe, like he’s leeching the panic from strangling me. “None of that’s going to happen. Okay? You’re going to be alright .” He strokes my hair, trying to soothe me, but I don’t want to be calm . “It’s not okay!” I hiss at him, gripping his shirt. “You and I, we were, we were—” I can’t even say it, I’m so ashamed. “He was taking pictures of us! You were, and I was—” His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing the side of my mouth, acknowledging the intimacy of it. “It’s not okay !” “You’re right!” his voice darkens. He angles my face up to look at him, and my eyes have adjusted enough to make out his chiseled features. “Of course, what he did is not okay. I wanted to kill that paparazzi piece of —”

173 ELLE BERLIN

The hand at my back curls into a st, his muscles tensing . “Esme, this is not normal, okay? Yes, there’s paparazzi around, but that shithead broke into my room. He broke the law. He invaded our privacy.” His st unravels and he cups both of my cheeks, the warmth of his hands haloing my face. My hands press into his chest. “I broke his camera. I smashed it into a thousand pieces. I broke his ash card, and evidence. There are no pictures, Esme. Not one .” I nod, wanting to believe him, but somehow it doesn’t feel that simple . “Nothing is going to be on the internet,” he con rms. “No one is allowed to see you the way I saw you, okay? Ever !” I drop my head, his hands still warming my cheeks, humili ‐ ation spreading through me like a vicious rash. For some reason, it terri es me that I was so bold and open and brash with Desmond, so needy and untamed. I didn’t even recognize myself and part of me is ashamed that even he saw me that way. Of course, I didn’t feel like this when we were in the pool. In fact, I felt more alive than I have in years . But – this! These photos, this incident! The fact that it wasn’t private, that there are security men who are going to ask me questions, that a stranger watched us, took photos of us— whatever moment we had together, it’s ruined now . “You promise the pictures are destroyed?” I say into his chest, not sure I could bear it if they were out in the world . “Yes.” He kisses my forehead. It’s sweet. I want to lean into it and be comforted by him. I want his warm arms to squeeze me so tight this all disappears. “I promise .” I nod, pulling back from his embrace and look up at him. I search his face in the darkness. I know it isn’t fair, but I need to know if he’s thinking it, if deep down he thinks I’m some slutty girl he knew would come back to his Penthouse and fuck him . “Desmond, I’m not some slutty —”

174 WHISKEY SPLASH

“I know! I know,” he says, brushing the wetness from my cheeks. “I know.” He pulls me forward and kisses my forehead, his lips are too soft, too kind and comforting for the demon swirling inside me. I want to believe him. I want to think he means that . I pull away from him again, even though he’s the one thing that makes me feel steady and grounded. Maybe that’s what scares me . “Can you get my clothes?” I ask softly. “My tote is out on the co ee table, and my dress is—” I sigh heavily, thinking of it strewn next to the pool along with my undergarments. “The tote is ne,” I say quickly, not needing the rest. “It has my clothes from this afternoon. That’ll be—” I trail o , letting him hold my face for a long moment, closing my eyes and trying to hold onto his warmth, his con dence. But there’s darkness swirling between us, so much of my past has been trudged up in a single evening, too many fears and vulnerabilities . When I look at his eyes, they’re dark marbles searching me, and maybe he sees all that sadness and hurt in me, things someone like him wouldn’t want to be a part of. A fun night in Hawaii, that’s what this was supposed to be, and suddenly it’s heavy, too heavy for him to carry. I don’t blame him . “My clothes,” I repeat. “And can you nd a way that I don’t have to talk to security? I’ll lose my job.” He drops his hands from my cheeks and the loss of his hands feels like stepping out into a harsh winter night when you knew the cold was coming, but somehow you miscalculated how coarse it would feel, how it would leave you so raw . “Of course,” he says softly. “Let me go get your clothes and talk to the ocers .” He slips out the door and I don’t expect the lump that jams in my throat, my body speaking for what I can’t. I blink back the tremble in my windpipe, not wanting to admit that this—

175 ELLE BERLIN him and me, this night—felt like the beginning of something, as childish and naive as that sounds. Or maybe, for the rst time in years, I was willing to jump into my life and take a risk . But the second Desmond walked out the door, it felt like goodbye .

176 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

take an Uber home and sit on my front deck looking out at I the city . I don’t go inside . Instead, the cold wood of the raised patio is wet and hard and perfectly grounding. I look out at the darkness, the city dim, but still sparkling from its drenching of rain. The bay is no longer tossing with waves and the resort looks small and minia ‐ ture from way up here—far away . Exactly where it needs to be . Far, far away . I want everything to stay dark with the ocean wafting softly in the moonlight after the breaking storm, the sky starless. I want everything to be mu ed and safe, protected from the bright harsh reality that I’ll have to face in the morning. The girl that I am now. The truth … revealed for all to see on the internet, if what Desmond said doesn’t pan out. Even if there are no pictures and nothing is uploaded to the internet, I know who I was tonight with him. I know the shameless unreproach ‐ able woman he let out. The girl I’ve hidden for years, who fool ‐

177 ELLE BERLIN ishly wanted to trust someone with her body, her desires. Who dodged a bullet, despite her carelessness . Tonight was a warning. A reminder of what happens when I let someone get too close, of when I let down my guard. A reminder that I will never be my sister, because we may have the same face, the same body, the same voracious desire … but I’m the one who gets destroyed in the re .

The next morning, I call in sick and scour the internet for anything — Any news about Desmond . Any paparazzi photos from Hawaii . Any gossip surrounding his lm or the crew in Waikiki . But there’s nothing . Thank God there’s nothing ! Around noon, I break down and call Arie, because I can’t handle this alone. She comes over immediately and I tell her everything, and I mean everything. I tell her about the zipline and the thrill of excitement, the make-out session on the beach, about my insatiable desire for Desmond, and the adventure of being someone else, someone who is bold enough to go back to his room. I tell her about the intimacy between us, the lightness and fun of it, and then the heat of the unbridled woman who lay beneath him and came in a way I’ve never come before. Arie hugged me then, like this was something she’s been hoping for me for a long time . But then, of course, I have to tell her about the reality that ruined it—the photos, the ashes of light, the cold possibility of everyone knowing who I was with Desmond—of everyone having an opinion about who I am . “That’s the hardest part,” I say to Arie, who now sits on my

178 WHISKEY SPLASH couch, with me swaddled in a blanket. “The judgement. Other people thinking they know me .” “You mean the security o cers and the people at the resort?” Arie asks softly, her normal sassiness holstered for the afternoon . “Yes them, but also everyone on the internet, whoever would see these things .” “First, no one has seen anything. And second, you don’t know any of them even if they did,” Arie says quietly, leaning against my legs as we both sit on the couch . “I don’t have to know them for them to judge me,” I say, looking up at my ceiling where my dreamcatchers and hanging plants all seem to intertwine together into a complicated web of confusion. “They can still call me names and think I’m some slutty whore who fucks anything that moves .” “Just because they think that doesn’t make it true,” Arie says, drawing lines against my kneecaps with her nger . “Isn’t it true?” I look over at my sister with her ruby hair draped over my knees and she narrows her eyebrows at me . “No!” Arie sits up straight and tosses that red hair back. “Because you just told me what happened. Hello, you’re a beautiful, gorgeous woman who shared a hot, wonderful evening with a guy she likes .” I shrug, not convinced . “And let me be clear,” Arie says, nger-snapping in the air for emphasis. “Slutty whore is my personal title and you’re not allowed to have it !” I crack a smile for the rst time all day, and Arie sits up and points at my ash of teeth . “Good! See! There is a sense of humor still in there,” Arie says triumphantly. “I need to see more of that !” “We have the same chromosomes,” I say, shaking my head

179 ELLE BERLIN at her. “You’re biologically required to say nice things to me. You’ll love me no matter what .” “What about Desmond then?” she asks carefully. “Because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think you’re my previously mentioned personal title, that again, you’re not allowed to have .” “You sure about that?” I counter. “He’s famous. I don’t know him. Maybe he does this all the time .” “That makes him the slutty whore,” Arie shoots back. “Not you !” “But that’s not how the world sees it!” I grumble, frustrated. The double standard is infuriating. Arie can claim the slutty whore title all she wants, because again—she’s Arie. She knows how to wear it like a badge of freaking honor. She’s completely impervious to these things . “Fuck the world!” Arie practically yells. “They don’t know you. They don’t know Desmond! It’s none of their damn busi ‐ ness! You’re allowed to fuck who you want, when you want, where you want, and let’s be honest for a second—it sounds like it was pretty freaking awesome !” I start picking at a loose thread on the side of the blanket, pulling the string and letting it unravel. It was a pretty awesome night, wasn’t it? If I close my eyes and admit it to myself, the truth is I haven’t felt so connected, so completely in the moment, so ready to surrender in, well … I can’t remember when . “I’m not in love with him, you know,” I say quietly. “There’s nothing between us except ridiculous irting and —” “The best freaking orgasm of your life!” Arie interrupts. I bite my lip, not wanting to admit it. “Esme, that isn’t nothing. In fact, for you, it’s pretty damn important. You actually let your guard down enough to have an orgasm .” “Hey!” I growl at her. “I’ve had orgasms before !”

180 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Not a real one.” Arie shakes her head wide-eyed. “Not a goooooood one!” Arie’s voice gets low and guttural like she’s trying to point out some deeper mind-blowing orgasmic space that only the privileged elite are allowed to access. “Not a toe- curling, pussy exploding, ring-my-fucking-bell-you-beautiful- sex-god type of orgasm .” “It wasn’t that good,” I counter, pulling the blank up higher and hiding under it . “Oh, fuck you it wasn’t that good,” Arie sasses, pinching me in the leg. “You already told me the story about Mr. Pike and his other-worldly tongue. And guess what, I’ve been around you your whole life to know the di erence between a BS-you- totally-faked-it orgasm and the real fucking deal .” “Fine,” I admit, my face ushing. “It wasn’t too shabby .” “Wasn’t too shabby? God! I should record this and send it to Desmond and see how he feels about your lackluster review .” “You wouldn’t dare !” “Try me!” Arie tosses back at me, and for a second I think she might pull out her phone and start texting him. But instead she keeps talking. “And for the love of all things sacred, Esme, you’ve been drinking too much of the Disney Princess Kool- Aid. You don’t have to be in love with Desmond to have sex with him, much less have mind-blowing sex with him. And simply because you have sex—and yes, let it please be mind- blowing sex—that doesn’t make you a whore .” “I know that .” “Actually, I don’t think you do know that.” Arie shakes her head and looks at me softly. “I think Jeremy Vaughn took your virginity and now you can’t consider being with anyone without his voice lingering in the back of your mind, calling you a whore whenever you have sexual desires .” “This isn’t about Jeremy Vaughn!” I snap, pulling away

181 ELLE BERLIN from her and getting up. I throw my blanket on the couch and walk to the kitchen . “Or maybe it has everything to do with him,” Arie says, as I stomp into the kitchen and tear open the freezer door, scouring the contents for something sugary and bad for me. Ice cream preferably . “Can we please have a conversation about guys where you don’t bring up Jeremy Vaughn?” I toss around the corner at her. “This isn’t the same !” “No?” Arie asks from her spot on the couch, not coming over as I pull out ice cube trays and frozen dinners and bags of peas, making a mountain on the countertop. “Because last time you let a guy get close to you, he burned every ounce of your trust and shared intimate photos of you with his friends. And now here comes Desmond, who likes you despite all your awkwardness, actually likes you and is genuinely into you .” “You don’t know that!” I say, glaring into the ice box, which is empty and doesn’t contain even a measly old freezer-burnt pint of ice cream . “Earth to Esme, there was enough chemistry, enough genuine connection between you and Desmond, that he managed to get you to open up and let down your guard. He got you to feel comfortable and brave enough to be the girl I know you can be! That’s nothing short of a miracle in my book. But then some other asshole takes photos of you and you think it’s the same thing as what Jeremy did. Only, it’s not. Because the last thing Desmond wants is photos of you on the internet .” I stand there holding bags of frozen vegetables, my ngers aching with cold seeping into my hands, trying to take in every ‐ thing she’s just said and make sense of it . “So, yeah,” Arie continues. “You’re right, Desmond and Jeremy actually are nothing alike, except for the fact that you’ve crisscrossed all your wires and are telling yourself they are.

182 WHISKEY SPLASH

Because you don’t want anyone to hurt you ever again the way Jeremy did !” I drop the vegetables in the sink and step to the side, moving into view so I can look across the counter into the living room where my sister is sitting . “Can you really blame me?” I say softly, my whole body an exposed wire that she’s pulled all the insulated coating from . Arie looks at me sadly, and I can’t take the pity in her eyes. I start breaking up the frozen mounds of vegetables against the side of the sink, the big rocky chunks slamming against the metal basin. It’s like she’s known all this for years and here I am disappointing her again. I’m nothing more than Arie’s lame little pity project that she just can’t seem to crack . “You know what?” I shake my head. “Maybe you should just go, okay. Maybe I just need —” “Someone to nod and listen and rea rm your con rmation bias? You want me to con rm everything you already believe so you can sit and stew about it?” Arie snaps, standing up. “You can get a dog for that .” “I just want someone on my side! Okay ?” “I am on your side, Esme!” Arie hisses. “The problem is you don’t like what I have to say .” “Because I’m not you!” I toss back at her, throwing my hands up in the air. “I can’t do what you do. I can’t forgive the way you forgive. I don’t know how to be Wonder Woman and kick ass and be amazing and brazen and con dent all the time! I’m too self-conscious. I care too much about what people think! I need you to understand that you can’t x me with whatever magic pill of What-Would-Arie-Do, because I’m a di erent person! When I try the things you try, they blow up in my face !” “I’m not trying to x you!” Arie says, now on the opposite

183 ELLE BERLIN side of the sink with her palms face-down on the granite counter, staring at me . “Every time you bring up Jeremy Vaughn,” I explain, “you’re playing some Psychology Today game of x-your-sister that you probably saw online or on television! Somehow you think I’m broken and it isn’t until I start screwing the brains out of every pretty boy I meet, like you did before you met Connor, that you’ll see me as halfway human again. Only, I. Don’t. Do. That. Shit !” My sister’s glare is livid. She looks like a feral rodent that’s about to leap across the counter and claw my eyeballs out. But instead of going ape-shit, she lowers her eyes and taps on the counter slowly with her red ngernails, calculating what she’s going to say next . “For the record,” she says nally, her words coming out slow, “I never wanted you to be like me, and I know you would never act like me.” She looks up, her gaze sharp as ice. “I knew you’d never hook up with Desmond Pike unless you wanted to. I can tease you and play matchmaker all I want, but in the end you had to decide if you wanted him. Which you did .” I frown at her, not wanting to hear it, but she keeps going . “So, what I really think is pissing you o right now,” she says, “is the fact that the two of you had something. And no, you don’t have to be in love with him, and hell, maybe it was just sex—but some part of you trusted Desmond enough to be intimate with him. Truly intimate with him. You let yourself go there with him when you never let your guard down with anyone. And I don’t think you’re really upset about the photos. I think you’re upset that you might actually like Desmond Pike, like him enough that you let down your guard and it actually went really well. Really, really, fucking well!” she emphasizes. “But someone took pictures and now you have an excuse to throw it all out the window. Because telling yourself Desmond

184 WHISKEY SPLASH will betray you like Jeremy did is a whole lot easier than admit ‐ ting to yourself what you really want .” I stare at my sister, silent, her words bouncing around my head like a loose bullet that hasn’t hit its target yet. Instead, it keeps ripping up walls and doing damage as it ricochets . “And what exactly do I really want?” I toss at her angrily. “You seem to know everything, so let’s hear it !” Arie shakes her head and grabs her purse and keys from the countertop, not answering. She struts to the side door and walks out, letting the screen smack shut behind her, leaving me all alone in the middle of my kitchen with the contents of my freezer melting. I start tossing the frozen dinners and vegetables back into the ice box, organizing it like I’ve got a PhD in Tetris- refrigerator-organization when my phone buzzes. I pick it up and it’s a text-message from Arie that says :

Arie: Text me when you’re willing to admit you already know the answer to that question .

Later that night, after binge-watching Downton Abbey , talking to Naomi on the phone, and checking every news, gossip, and celebrity website imaginable (and nding nothing about me and Desmond), I jump in the tub and turn my essential oil dehu ‐ midi er up to full blast. I throw half my collection of bath bombs into my vintage clawfoot tub and slip into the luxurious and soapy water . Oily colors swirl and zz around me, coating my shoulders and skin in a tie-dye of glorious colors. The water consuming my skin keeps making me think about Desmond, about his hands and his mouth and the feel of us together in the water, the way we t together .

185 ELLE BERLIN

My hands run down my body, the rainbow of oily colors slipping against my soft skin. Arie’s right, I did let down my guard with Desmond . I let him in . I can blame it on hormones and biology all I want, except that’s not the whole picture. Hawaii is full of beautiful men with beach-toned bodies ready to make my vagina do summer ‐ saults. Desmond was di erent. He was more than a biologically beautiful specimen that made my body ache. But why? What is it about him? What did he do di erently that made me feel like I could be someone else with him ? I lie in the water for a long time, twirling my ngers over my own skin, drawing designs in the marble color of oils, when I start to wonder if it’s not that I was someone else, but that maybe that boldness, that con dence, was always in there somewhere, lying dormant . I sit up and dry my hands against a towel hanging from a bar near the tub and snag my phone. I pull up Arie’s number as I start texting .

Esme: I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. I wasn’t pretending to be you. I wanted to have sex with Desmond because he saw the real me. The awkward, ridiculous, foot-in- mouth-disease, Esme. He wanted me .

I lie back in the tub, placing my phone on the side table next to it, listening to the zz of bath bombs and crickets singing outside my window . Could it really be that simple? Did Desmond simply see me, the real me, and he didn’t run for the nearest jet plane to get a continent away ? Ever since we met, all I’ve done is say every stupid, crazy,

186 WHISKEY SPLASH embarrassing thing that’s lled my head and somehow, weirdly, he’s stood in that shit-storm and thrown it right back at me like a game of competitive volleyball. In fact, he seems to actually nd it charming . My phone buzzes and I pick it up again .

Arie: Exactly! Now tell me what you want .

I look at the phone for a long moment, tapping on the side of the device lightly, as I search for the words .

Arie : Stop overthinking !

Esme: Okay, Ms. Bossy !

Arie: Girl, ask Connor. You have no clue what bossy looks like. Now tell me the rst thing you think of. What do you want ?

Esme: I want someone who sees me, the real me. Someone I can open up to and trust. Explore my … our …

I stop, wanting to write more but not daring to .

Arie: You’re overthinking again .

Esme: Old habits die hard .

Arie: Just spit it out .

Esme: What if he breaks my heart ?

187 ELLE BERLIN

Arie: You’re getting too far ahead of yourself. He can’t break your heart until you give it to him. You can’t give it to him unless you give him a chance. And maybe he’s not worth your heart. But you won’t know that if you don’t try .

Esme: Are you about to give me a Yoda lecture about not trying but doing ?

Arie: Nope, I’m going to give you a lecture about getting yourself some more orgasms. Because girl, you freaking deserve some !

Esme: Good thing you’re a good chef and not the writer of an advice column .

Arie: You think that was shit advice ?

Esme: Better than a fortune cookie .

Arie: I see orgasms in your future .

Esme: Ha . Ha .

A phone number shows up on my screen .

Esme: What’s this ?

Arie: Desmond’s phone number .

Esme: HOW do you have Desmond’s phone number !?

188 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arie: The same way he had your yoga schedule. We traded secret weapons .

Esme: I thought your secret weapon was waxing .

Arie: Oh, it is. And after the story you told me, dear sister, I’m pretty sure you fully appreciate the full caliber of said secret weapon .

Esme: Maybe .

Aire: Call him !

Esme: And say what ?

Arie: Dear Desmond, No salacious photos showed up on the internet today. Maybe we need a second round to nish what we started. Orgasmically yours, Esme .

Esme: Ha ha .

Arie: P.S. I very much liked coming on your face, you’re such a gentleman .

Esme: I don’t know why I bother to ask you anything .

Arie: Because you know I’ll always tell you the truth. And the truth hurts. Remember …

189 ELLE BERLIN

ask for what you want. Now piss o , I’ve got a restaurant to run .

Esme: I love you .

Arie: Ditto .

I stare at the number she sent me, contemplating what to do. Does Desmond even want to hear from me? When he snuck me out of his hotel room, maybe he was hoping that would be the end of it. He probably only gave Arie my number before our date and now — My phone buzzes and I look to see my sister’s message .

Arie: You’re overthinking! Call him already !

Esme: Okay! Go cook some food or something, geez! I’m sure something is burning in the kitchen .

Arie: I’m giving you ten minutes. Then, I’m texting Desmond your address .

Esme: Ha . Ha .

Arie: You think I’m joking? Go ahead and test me, I double-dog- dare you .

Esme: Good night !

I program Desmond’s number into my phone and stare at it. I stare at it so long the water of my bath turns cold and all the zzing colors mix together and turn brown .

190 WHISKEY SPLASH

Hit call, you chicken. Just click the damn button ! I decide to text him instead .

Esme: This is Esme. Just checking that Arie gave me the right number. Hope you’re well .

I stare at the phone for a long moment after I hit send. Hope you’re well? What’s wrong with me? Am I a doily- crocheting grandma? Geez. Of course, he’s ne. He’s not worried about some damn photos online. This is a normal day for him. It’s nothing out of the ordinary in the life of a celebrity . I wait to see if he’ll say something back, staring at the blank screen of my phone like a damn teenager. Several minutes go by and I put the phone back on my side table and slip down under the water till I’m up to my chin. The water is chilly now as I wrap my arms over my chest. It’s ne that he’s not respond ‐ ing. He’s busy, of course. Duh. He’s probably on set, strapped to some crane contraption and ghting that radiation monster with a light saber. His phone is probably in his trailer and he won’t even see that I texted for several hours. Or maybe he’s seen it and he just doesn’t care . Which is ne . I get out of the tub, sopping wet, grabbing my towel and stepping out. I haven’t even covered myself when my phone rings, the harsh sound cutting through the quiet and echoing against the tile of the room. I look at the screen and it’s Desmond . My slippery wet hands bobble with the phone as I try to accept the call and not drop my phone into the water basin. I press too many buttons, my towel hanging precariously around my body as I head for my bedroom .

191 ELLE BERLIN

“Um, hello? Hi?” I practically shout into the phone as I try to catch the call and make sure I don’t miss it . “Esme, hey.” The purr of his voice through the phone is just as sexy as when it’s in person and I hate that a piece of me is over-excited to hear it, perhaps even forcing me to admit that I miss him . God, I’m acting like such a teenage idiot, imagining there’s something between us when I barely know him. When we are de nitely not a ‘we.’ When ‘ we’ is nothing more than two consenting strangers who just happen to have a positively inhu ‐ mane attraction to one another, that the romantic in me wants to write it in the stars like a delusional crazy person . “Yeah, um, hi,” I say, sitting down at the edge of my bed with my wet hair dripping down my back. “I got your uh, your number from my sister. She said you gave it to her and, uh, yeah …” I trail o lamely. Note to self: stop watching all romantic comedies, STAT. They create unhealthy expectations about the world and turn you into a babbling idiot . “I’m so glad you texted!” he says, not letting the awkward ‐ ness seep in and I brighten. “I’ve been asking Arie all day for your number, but she wouldn’t give it to me .” “Wait, you have?” I say, sitting up confused . “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you were okay .” “And double-wait, my sister didn’t actually give it to you? That’s a rst .” “She said you needed space.” I smile into the darkness of my room, realizing she was protecting me, making sure I wanted to talk to him . “She’s a good sister .” “Are you—?” he pauses, leaning into the discomfort “—all right, I mean.” His voice is soft and genuine, reminding me of that hug in the bathroom. His tentative voice is like his arms, testing before enveloping me .

192 WHISKEY SPLASH

“I’m …” I lie back on my bed and look up at the prisms and crystals that hang from my ceiling. They’re dark now with no light and rainbows to refract, cold sts of stone. “I guess so. I’m okay, I didn’t see anything online .” “Nothing has been put up online,” he insists, and I imagine those hands cupping my face, pleading for me to believe him. “I’ve had my people monitoring all the normal sites all day .” “Your people,” I breathe the word out slowly. “That’s so weird to say out loud. Weird to think you have people looking for pictures of me—” I trail o again, swallowing hard and wondering what he told them. What intimate images did he tell them to look for? Did he describe what we were doing? What I look like? Do his people have a system for this sort of thing ? “Fuck,” he swears softly into the phone, a hint of anger in it. In fact, I don’t think he’s swearing at me so much as at the whole situation, at how the two of us have very di erent lives. “It’s not like that,” he says, trying to explain it. “Yes, I have people. Yes, they’re looking for photos of ... us.” He laughs lightly, sounding far away, far on the other side of this phone, in his life, in his world. “I just wanted to be able to tell you there’s nothing out there, because there is nothing out there. You were so upset, and of course you should be upset, I just …” “Thank you,” I say softly, grateful he bothered at all, and trying to squelch the knot of discomfort in my belly . Of course he had to tell someone, his sta , his people, whomever they are. That must be what you do when you’re famous. You have people who handle it . “Of course, it’s ne,” I say delicately. “Obviously you had to tell them and have them …” I grip the towel at my chest. “I didn’t mean to … look, this is all really weird and di erent for me. That’s all. I’m not used to … I’m ne. I mean, I’m glad there’s nothing out there .” “Esme, I swear to you there isn’t .”

193 ELLE BERLIN

“Good.” There’s a long pause, and I can hear him breathing on the other end. My ears go cold from my wet hair against the comforter, creating a damp spot behind my head and shoulders. The awkwardness of all this feels palpable—the silence, his breathing, the fact that I have no clue what to say to make this comfortable again . Maybe I was wrong about the we (that it isn’t a we) but I wanted to imagine it was. How does one really move past some ‐ thing like this? Maybe it’s better to let the ripples in a pond settle after you throw a giant rock in it, to realize that some things have been swallowed and are gone . “I, uh,” I start, lifting my head up and moving the cold hair from my back, wanting to at least try to salvage this. “I had a nice time,” I say gingerly. “Yesterday. Other than the photo thing of course. The rest of it …” “Yeah,” he says softly, and I shake my head. What am I saying? My neck ames. I’m saying ‘yes, I enjoyed getting naked with you.’ That’s what I just said! Jesus, I may as well mention that I’m naked now too, lying on my bed and thinking about him like some horny cheese ball . “Right, okay, so this is all really weird and uncomfortable,” I breathe nervously into the phone. “So, I’m just going to go. No harm no foul, right? We had a fun time, the paparazzi fucked it up, but we don’t need to prolong the inevitable. So, I’ll just —” The silence on the other end feels so big, my chest tightens . In all the romantic comedies, that was his cue to say some ‐ thing witty, adorable, and salvage this. But in real life—in my life—this is what I get . Silence. “You’re lovely,” I say quickly to mask the rock that’s digging into my throat. “Really, really, lovely .” I hear him take a breath, but I hang up .

194 WHISKEY SPLASH

I hang up before he can say anything, no matter what it was . I don’t think he—we—could salvage this. It’s all too much and we’re too di erent. We live in two di erent worlds. He’s a fun fantasy to imagine for a moment, but he’s not someone you build something with in real life. Hell, he’s not even going to be on this island in a few more weeks . The teenager inside me is screaming. She thinks I’m throwing away the adventure of a lifetime, but the truth is, I’m being an adult. I’m being reasonable and level-headed and smart. Fun is fun, but that’s not how I’m wired. I’m not wired to have a fun few weeks and then pretend it didn’t mean anything. I’m not wired to do anything other than give him my heart and then watch him make excuses for why he has to give it back to me . We’re strangers. We’re not a ‘we.’ We’re nothing. There are no photos. No evidence. No nothing. A memory. A lovely memory . So, let’s let him be that .

195 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

’m curled up in my plush, queen-sized bed that I’ve turned I into a comforter tsunami. I’m swaddled. I haven’t taken a shower in two days. I probably look like a dumpling emoji with feet sticking out, and I don’t care. I don’t ever want to leave this perfect little cave . Arie and Naomi have been on rotating shifts, feeding me a non-stop diet of ice cream. Sure, it’ll be awful for my ass, but great for morale. Naomi’s been covering me at work, and Arie’s been on internet reconnaissance, double and triple checking the inter-webs to make sure that nothing has hit the tabloids and gossip rags about my evening with Desmond. She assures me that nothing has . “We live in a give-it-to-me-now culture,” Arie says, swirling her Chunky Monkey ice cream like it’s a soup rather than a creamy delicacy. “Two weeks pass and the world is going to be on to new things. Even if your ass showed up on TMZ, no one is going to care because it was so last week .” I poke at my chocolate fudge brownie, not convinced. “But

196 WHISKEY SPLASH they will care for that week,” I counter. “They’ll care long enough to ruin my life !” “Your life is not that interesting to ruin,” Arie counters, and I glare at her from under my marshmallow cloud of covers . “Thanks! I feel much better now. Your comforting skills are on par with a crocodile .” She shrugs. “You got all the sweet and nurturing genes and I got all the bitchy ones!” Arie laughs, throwing her head back. “I’m pretty sure I got the good end of the deal with that one .” “Ha ha, very funny,” I deadpan . “Esme,” Arie pops onto the bed and pokes me, which I barely feel with so many blankets swaddling me. “As I see it, that night was the most interesting thing to happen to you— ever! But primarily the part before the photography, where you and Desmond had some star-crossed-lovers-let’s-cross-galaxies- for-each-other type of chemistry .” “Nope!” I hold a nger up to her. “No romance sci- movie-making bullshit! None of that is true in real life .” “But that’s your bread and butter!” Arie tosses back, and I sit up in my swaddled state and stare at her . “Hello! You’re the one who told me to stop drinking the Disney Princess Kool- Aid !” “Yeah, but I didn’t tell you to stop drinking the Desmond Pike afternoon delight !” “It’s not happening .” I op back. I told Arie about how I talked to Desmond and how everything was awkward. In fact, look up every synonym for awkward and it still wouldn’t cover it . “Your whole star-crossed-lover theory,” I counter, “can more accurately be chalked up to the fact that Desmond is an actor who plays a sex God on TV, and he’s picked up a thing or two in his plethora of opportunities to get women in the sack. Good technique. No crossing-galaxies- chemistry !”

197 ELLE BERLIN

“Personally, I think he’s into you .” “He was into my pussy !” “He most de nitely was!” Arie hoots and I chuck my spoon at her . “That’s not what I meant!” I scowl at her. “He can have any woman he wants. The fact that I was in his crosshairs —” “And his boxers !” I chuck a pillow at her. “The fact that I was the one who crossed his path for two-point- ve seconds does not mean he has any real interest in me .” “I hope he lasted for more than two-point- ve seconds,” Arie teases . “Is everything sex to you!” I growl . “No!” My sister sits up with her wicked smile. “I’m also a big fan of food and booze and cooking. I have a restaurant, remember?” She gives me her best how-can-you-see-me-as-so- one-dimensional look, but then adds, “But I also love making everyone orgasm when they eat my sweet treats, so—” She jumps on me and tickles me. “I guess that’s kinda about sex by default .” “You’re incorrigible!” I hiss . “Oooh, big word!” Arie swoons, making fun. “You have no clue how that turns me on. You should ask Connor about it sometime .” “Yes, I know Connor’s vocabulary makes you hot,” I sass . “Everything about Connor makes me hot,” she says honestly . The doorbell rings and Arie springs up. I roll my eyes at her. “Oh, you can’t wait for Naomi to take over, can you?” I tease . Arie shrugs and heads for the door. “Maybe I’m excited to hear you give Naomi another play-by-play about Desmond’s giant cock,” Arie sasses back .

198 WHISKEY SPLASH

“We are not talking about his cock anymore !” “Oh trust me, we are!” Arie calls as she skips into the next room. “There’s no way I’m letting you forget what you could be having !” “That’s not how this works!” I yell after her. “He’s already forgotten my name and has probably moved onto his next Hawaiian adventure .” Arie doesn’t respond, probably out of earshot or already gabbing with Naomi about how I’m not her blood twin because she can’t understand why I’m not knocking on Desmond’s door every night to o er him turn down service . I roll over and look out the bay window of my bedroom, staring at my palm tree-framed view of the city . This view—this window—is the whole reason I took this rental. The window is big enough for my bed and it creates the perfect reading nook. There are walls on three sides, and I’ve put several translucent sheers on the fourth side to make me feel like a princess. It’s the kind of nook that would make Pinterest jealous. It’s my favorite place in the house, heck, in all of Hawaii. It’s perfect for rolling myself into a stay-puft-marsh ‐ mallow-man of covers as I get over Desmond . I poke through the stacks of romance novels that line my windowsill, lea ng through covers of regency seductresses in their o -shoulder gowns. I know I told Arie that I should lay o on the romantic comedies, but who am I kidding? You can’t change a girl’s nature. They say the best way to get over a guy is to nd another one, right? So I’ll do exactly that, except in my case, I’ll nd one in a book. A safe, easy book, full of fantasy and fun and none of the real-life drama . There’s a light knock on my door and I sneak an arm out from my cocoon and wave Naomi in. “No need to be so polite,” I yell back to her. “Arie’s already suggested I tell you the inti ‐ mate details of Desmond’s cock, but I think we should nd the

199 ELLE BERLIN naughty parts of these books and read them out loud in obnox ‐ ious pirate accents and laugh till we piss our pants.” I roll over with a generous stack in my hands . “Both sound fun, but—” she says, except she is de nitely a he ! That’s not Naomi’s voice . “The rst one, I could probably do by looking down my own pants, however —” I nearly fall out of the bed . “I would be interested to hear how you’d describe it .” De nitely Desmond’s voice . De nitely Desmond ! I op over—or more precisely, roll like a beached whale clutching her personal trove of steamy erotica, to see Desmond Pike standing in my bedroom ! I must be hallucinating . “What the fuck!?” I swear. “You are not—! How the hell—? Who let you in? How do you even know where I live ?” Desmond leans against the doorframe smiling, his hair swept back and gorgeous, looking like he fell gracefully out of the pages of GQ . “Remember that meddling twin sister of yours?” he says casually, and I look for the spoon I chucked at her; it seems like an apt murder weapon . “Arie!” I yell. “I am going to kill you !” “You’re welcome!” Arie’s voice sing-songs from the other room and Desmond laughs . “You didn’t have the decency to warn me?” I call out to her, wondering if I can hide in these blankets and pretend he isn’t in the room. Arie laughs wildly, like that would have been the worst idea in the world and this little scheme is working perfectly . I look at Desmond, horri ed. I haven’t showered. I haven’t

200 WHISKEY SPLASH looked in a mirror in two days and I probably resemble—and smell—like a homeless person. Yup, this is my life . “So,” Desmond says, walking toward me. “I can’t tell if you’re feeling better—talking about my cock and all—” I slap my hands over my face and blush profusely. “Or, if you’re ready for an insane asylum.” He nudges me in the comforter, swaddled like a baby. “It seems you’ve created your own straight jacket and padded room all in one .” “Clearly, I’m mentally ill!” I toss at him, horri ed. “Arie didn’t warn you? Well now you know. The secret’s out of the bag. I’m completely bat-shit crazy !” He smiles like that’s completely endearing and takes a seat on the edge of my bed near my feet, pulling something out of a grocery bag that he’s been carrying . “I was told to come bearing ice cream,” Desmond says, holding up a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and placing it next to me. I do my best not to squirm, trying to keep my cool, even though Desmond Pike is in my room and sitting on my bed ! Holy shit . What the fuck is happening ? “You realize it is completely inappropriate to sit on a girl’s bed without her permission!” I say, my nerves getting the best of me and my mouth deciding to go wild without consulting my brain rst. “Much less o er her ice cream. What am I supposed to think you’re doing ?” Oh. My. God! Brain, where the hell are you ! Desmond smiles and leans forward, his torso leaning against my legs in the process. He smells like sunshine and the beach, and the way the light catches his hair is perfectly dreamy. Some people look amazing from every angle . “Well…” he says, quirking a smile. “I’m pretty sure noth ‐ ing’s going to happen when you’re wearing ve-hundred blan ‐

201 ELLE BERLIN kets and haven’t brushed your teeth in at least twenty-four hours .” “Jesus fuck!” I jam my face into the pillow . This is so embarrassing. I’m a hideous toad, complete with bad breath and slimy skin. But through my pillow I hear Desmond laughing . “Here,” he says, pulling something else out of his grocery bag. “This might help with the smell.” He lays a bouquet of owers down next to the ice cream, only they aren’t just ow ‐ ers, they’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen ! “Fucking peonies!” I exclaim, and his face drops . “Wait. I thought you liked peonies ?” “I do !” What is wrong with him? Why couldn’t he bring me some cheap drug-store carnations dyed a ridiculous color like blue? Why did he have to go to some bloody farmers market and get a fresh-cut bouquet of my favorite fucking owers wrapped in craft paper like a damn prince?! I pick them up and stu my face in them, because I have to! Because they’re too gorgeous. Because they smell like bloody sunshine and gloriousness. I think I may even moan—because I have no decorum when it comes to peonies—which my sister knows, the wench . “Glad you like ‘em,” Desmond says, and I look up to see him beaming . “I hate them!” I snap . “I can tell .” “I’m sure your assistant bought these .” “Absolutely,” he nods. “I would never take the time to go hand-pick owers for someone who hung up the phone on me when I was trying to apologize .” “I get awkward !” “I know .” “You realize that buying a girl owers is what you do when

202 WHISKEY SPLASH you’re trying to apologize for something awful you’ve done, like forgetting an anniversary or cheating on your wife,” I snap . “Well, I wouldn’t say it was that bad,” Desmond says, not giving me an inch. “I’ll admit, the photo part was crap, but the rest was the kind of evening that’ll make a guy never want to cheat in his life .” Our eyes lock and I can’t take it, his gaze is way too hot, way too sweet. What the hell is he actually saying? I bury my face in the peonies instead . “I’m glad you hate those,” he says, and I don’t dare look at him . “They’re hideous .” “I should probably just throw them away .” “If you put these owers in the trash, I will cut you!” I sass, breathing in the soft oral aroma and hoping there’s some hallu ‐ cinogenic agent present that might make me forget this whole embarrassing event . “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had an entire bunker of weapons in that blanket … or cocoon … or caterpillar out t.” He motions to my spaghetti tangle of sheets . “What? Comforter couture hasn’t hit the mainland yet?” I joke . “You’re ahead of the curve .” “Oh no, it’s perfect for those extra special moments when hot men show up unannounced in your bedroom. A girl never wants to get caught looking frumpy or ridiculous!” I glare at him knowing that’s exactly how I look, vowing to pummel my sister for not even hinting that I should take a shower this morning . “I’ll admit,” he says, pulling something else out of his grocery bag. “You de nitely look better in this .” He pulls out a hanger with a dress and holds it up. I ush and I’m certain my ears just burned o my head. It’s my dress

203 ELLE BERLIN from our date. The one I ran around into the rain wearing, the one I left on his terrace. It’s been dry cleaned and the elegant capped sleeves ru e softly in the sunlight from my window, the tiny polka dots shimmering . He holds it out, o ering it to me and I swallow hard, the blankets around me an inferno, baking me raw. It’s horrifying to have to accept something I tore o so shamelessly, way too eager to press my naked skin against his. A sideways smile creeps up his cheek and he knows what I’m thinking, the image of me, bold and depraved, burned into both of our memories . I try to hold it together and act like this isn’t a big deal as I take the dress. It’s totally normal to accept your discarded clothing from a movie star. I grip the hanger, letting the blan ‐ kets burn me up as I attempt to casually hook the garment onto the back of the chair next to my bed. But then — I see my bra and thong. They’re both dry and clean, folded neatly in a plastic bag attached to the hanger . Are you kidding?! Desmond had to pick those up too? Not just my dress, but my lacy undergarments ? My hand wobbles . What the hell did the laundry person think when he handed them my dress and—oh man!—I notice the thong is torn. Of course it is, because he fucking tore it o me when I was grinding against him . The hanger slips from my sweating ngers, crashing onto the oor and clattering like a damn siren. I think I’m going to die. Desmond Pike laundered my bra and panties and just handed them back to me. This must be a special ring of hell, one where I’m hot enough to spontaneously combust, but the universe is cruel and not gracious enough to grant me such a mercy . Desmond scoops up the dress and undergarments and resets them on the chair for me like a bloody gentleman .

204 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Hey, no worries,” he says quickly, catching my eye. “If it makes you feel better —” “Nothing you say right now will make me feel better !” “Well,” his eyes glimmer, “I seriously thought about keeping your bra and panties like a real creeper .” “Desmond!” I yelp, falling back on my bed and throwing my hands over my face. He laughs, full throated, lling the room with his amusement . “I’m kidding !” “I know you’re kidding, Desmond. But this couldn’t be more embarrassing !” “Are you sure?” He ops down next to me, anking me on the bed, his shoulder pressed against mine as he snuggles up. “I’m sure I could make this more awkward if I tried .” “Please stop!” I say into my mu ed hands, vowing to never remove them from my face again. But then, I hear pages shuf ‐ ing next to me and Desmond coughs like he’s trying to get my attention . “You wanted a pirate accent, right?” he says playfully . “What?” “Aaaahhhrrg maaeety,” he croaks, donning a pirate snarl. “Theee young veeerile Duke tossed Rosalind onto the bed, his throbbing mem-ber thick and erect, eager to sheath itself in Rosalind’s quivering —” “Oh my god! You are not!” I sit up and look at him nose- deep in one of my romance novels. He tosses me a devious smile as he continues reading in a roguish accent . “Rrrrrrosalind gaaaah-r-sped in excitement.” He rolls his R’s, making a show of it. “Herrr ample bosom heeeaving!” He laughs and turns to look at me, his shoulders in line with my own. “You like this stu ?” I glare at him, my mouth dry and my skin roasted purple as

205 ELLE BERLIN a beet. I swallow, realizing it’s not like there’s anything I can do right now to make this any worse than it already is . “What can I say.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “One has to spice up her life somehow .” Desmond’s eyes narrow at me, his eyebrows raising in accu ‐ sation. “Really? Your life isn’t that spicy? Interesting .” I was wrong . Desmond referencing our naked time together and implying I didn’t think it was scorching hot enough is de nitely worse . “That is not normal for me!” I say quickly, but he’s already shaking his head . “I see. Clearly, I’m not that memorable .” “That’s not what I meant !” “Oh, no no…” He turns back to the book and starts lea ng through the pages. “Obviously, I need to get some new tricks.” I smack him and he laughs, picking up several other novels. “Which one of these is your favorite? Can I borrow it?” He smiles as I glare at him. “For research of course. You know, I do play this hot-shit gigolo on TV. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was disap ‐ pointing .” “I’m going to kill you .” “Or you can just tell me which ones you’re into, that way I’m ready if there’s some role-playing you’d like to do. I bet the costume department has some fancy dresses like the ones on these covers .” “Desmond!” “Oh yes, just like that!” he teases. “I love it when you yell out my name when you’re excited .” I turn to look at him, inches away from me in my bed. I’m furious, embarrassed, overwhelmed! I shoot daggers of despera ‐ tion at him, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut because I

206 WHISKEY SPLASH seriously don’t trust it not to say something even more incrim ‐ inating . He grins at me triumphantly . “No more yelling out my name?” he teases, brushing his thumb against my lip . I squirm, twisting away from him and rolling toward the window to grab a piece of paper and a pen. I scribble something on it and hand it to him . “Interesting,” he says, as I hand him the note. “Afraid of what you might say, huh?” I nudge him with my shoulder and he laughs from his throat. “You realize sometimes you say the wildest and most delicious things.” He turns his lips to my ear and lowers his voice. “And you’re prophetic too. I’m particu ‐ larly fond of the one where you came on my —” “Desmond!” I growl at him through clenched teeth . “Oh yes, there she is!” He twists away from me, sitting up before I can knock him out of the bed. “Easily ustered and unable to contain herself from calling out my name .” His smile is way too smug as he lifts the note I wrote and ips it over to read it. He reads it out loud: “Why are you here Desmond?” He shifts to look down at me below him and his eyes soften. “You haven’t gured that out yet ?” Our eyes lock and the gold sparking in his gaze makes my stomach ip op . It’s just heat, I tell myself. Desire and nothing else. A pure biological connection zipping through the air between us . He lifts an eyebrow like he’s waiting for me to admit that I want to tear o my comforter and wrestle him to the ground in my ripe, un-showered lth. I shrug instead, playing innocent, not letting my stupid mouth get the better of me and allowing it to say something he’ll inevitably twist around . His cheek feathers with amusement as he reaches over me for the pen, deliberately leaning the weight of his body against

207 ELLE BERLIN me to get it. He starts to write something on the back of the paper, and I twist, trying to see what he’s jotting down. Only, he slips out of the bed and stands up, walking several feet away from the bedframe as he nishes what he’s writing . I hold my hand out when he’s done and he smiles . “Eager aren’t we,” he teases, but then he steps forward and grabs my hand, pulling me up toward him with the miles of comforter around me and all. He wraps an arm around my back, squishing us together and holding us face to face. His gold eyes sparkle as he tucks the note into the blanket right under my chin. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says softly, his eyes icking to my mouth. “ And uh —” He’s too warm, too perfectly beautiful, his powerful arms holding me upright and enveloped. I feel weightless and light ‐ headed, his lips too close for — “Be sure to brush your teeth, Esme !” My eyes cut up to his and they sparkle, victorious, well aware of what he just did. I growl at him through my closed lips, decidedly making sure I don’t open my mouth, because, yes, I probably have Loch Ness monster breath. He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m doing. Then, he plants a quick kiss on my forehead and lets go of me, walking out of my room and leaving me dizzy . “What?!” I wheeze, trying to walk after him, but I’m too tangled in all the sheets that I trip over my own feet ! He waves back at me as he opens my front door, then points down his shirt, indicating the paper he tucked into the blanket under my chin. I scramble to nd it, digging into the comforter, but when I look up with the paper in my ngers, Desmond is gone . The paper says :

Ever been on a
lm set? 7:30 am. I’ll pick you up .

208 WHISKEY SPLASH

He wants to take me to his lm shoot? Like to hang out? Like another date ? When I look up, Arie is standing in my eyeline between my room and the front door, that evil red mouth of hers curled up into a devilish grin . “You do realize I look like a mental patient right now!” I snap at my sister and she laughs. “You couldn’t have told me to shower, or brush my hair , or —” “And he still asked you out again, even in your mummi ed queen-of-the-damned out t, now didn’t he ?” I glare at her, trying to peel o the sweat-covered blankets . “Uh, huh,” Arie says triumphantly. “You’re welcome .” “I didn’t say thank you !” “Nope,” my sister says, holding up a nger. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She points down below my waistline. “I was talking to your vagina who just realized Desmond Pike is totally into you, even when you look like a mental patient. What was it you were denying earlier about out-of-this-world- chemistry ?” “It’s not —” “No no no!” Arie interrupts, hands on her hips. “The jig is up. It doesn’t matter how many excuses you try to use. It doesn’t matter how many incredulous looks you want to toss my way! Go into the bathroom and take a look in the mirror if you don’t believe me. The reality is Desmond Pike wants you and he wants you bad! So, get with the program girl and saddle up, because Desmond Pike wants to take you for a pony ride !” Arie gyrates her hips, making it clear she means I’ll be taming a bucking stallion . “Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmm,” my sister mock- moans . “I need to take a shower,” I say, shaking my head and trying to ignore the tingling in my lower regions . “Oh, I bet you do!” she winks at me, still undulating like a horny dragon .

209 ELLE BERLIN

“Call Connor,” I say, tossing one of my balled-up sheets at her. “Do that to him. You’re embarrassing yourself .” “Great idea!” Arie says, pulling out her phone as I walk toward the bathroom. “You know you love me, sis .” I walk into the shower and discard all my clothes, not wanting to look in the mirror and face what I actually look like. I turn the water up to cold . Cold. Really freaking cold !

210 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

esmond’s teenage assistant, Tam, picks me up in the D morning in a nondescript rental car. He’s all smiles and sunshine in his khakis and polo uniform as he tells me to sit in the front seat . “Mr. Pike is already on set,” Tam explains, as I get into the car. “They’ve got him in hair and make-up right now. We’ll probably arrive as they’re getting ready to shoot the rst scene .” I nod, smoothing out the owy pale-yellow shirt with embroidered owers that I’m wearing. I’ve paired it with some jean shorts and a pair of strappy gladiator-style sandals that wrap up my calves and feel a bit excessive, but I’m going to a movie set. I don’t know what you wear to something like that. Hollywood people are stylish all the time, right? Even if they’re shooting Desmond out of a cannon, they’re probably wearing Gucci as they do it . “Is it weird for me to be on set?” I ask Tam, who pulls out of my driveway and starts weaving through the streets. “Aren’t these movie shoots usually secretive ?” “They’re not open to the public if that’s what you mean,”

211 ELLE BERLIN

Tam says, shrugging. “But this isn’t Billionaire Heat. It’s not like he’s shooting a romantic scene .” “Yeah, that would be awkward,” I say sheepishly, realizing Desmond really must take his clothes o in front of people all the time for Tam to be making a crack like that. I pick at my ngernails and try to pretend I’m not thinking about the fact that Billionaire Heat is still on television and that Desmond’s day job, when he returns to Los Angeles, will be pretending to sleep with beautiful people . “It’s actually a pretty cool scene today,” Tam chimes in, like he knows how awkward that got. “It’s a big action scene, explo ‐ sions, that kind of stu .” I nod, telling myself it’s all smoke and mirrors and make believe. “If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Pike doesn’t usually invite people to set .” I study Tam to see if he only said that to be kind, or if the idea of Desmond never inviting anyone to set simply makes me some weird experiment. “Mr. Pike?” I say, remembering how formal Tam was with his boss when we came into the Pent ‐ house the other night. Tam was all Sir -this and Sir -that. “Does he ask you to call him that ?” “No.” Tam shakes his head. “I think it’s polite. Usually, he rags on me for being so formal with him .” “Are you a new assistant then ?” “Four years,” he says without a beat. “He hired me right after signing for Billionaire Heat .” “Wait,” I squint at Tam, trying to do the math in my head. “How old does that make you ?” “Twenty-three, Ma’am,” he says. “I’ve got the face of an angel—that’s what Mr. Pike says. He hired me when no one else would; they all thought I was too soft for this business .” “Are you?” I ask without thinking and he smiles kindly . “Probably,” Tam admits. “If I worked for anyone else, I’m sure they’d eat me alive. It’s nice to work for someone whose

212 WHISKEY SPLASH ego isn’t so in ated they feel like they’re allowed to treat everyone like their own personal minion .” “So …” I start, watching Tam as he turns o the main road and heads toward the ocean. We start winding down a dirt street surrounded by trees. “You’re telling me Desmond plays a womanizing ego-maniac sex God on television, but in real life he’s Mr. Altruism with a heart of gold ?” Tam laughs, blushing softly. “At the risk of ruining his reputation, basically .” “And what reputation might that be?” I ask tentatively . “That he’s the guy he plays on television .” “Which he’s not ?” Tam looks at me and smiles sweetly. “Which do you want him to be, Ms. Noel? Cause, I like this job and I really don’t want you to get me red .” I raise my eyebrows, surprised that Tam thinks I have that kind of power. “I’m pretty sure I can’t get you red .” “Oh, I don’t know,” Tam says, gripping the steering wheel as we bounce down the road. “The fact that Mr. Pike invited you to set means he’s trying really hard to impress you .” “No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head, noticing the road narrow and that the trees are getting thicker. “You’re making that up !” Tam shakes his head. “Four years.” He holds up his ngers to emphasize how long he’s been Desmond’s assistant. “Plus, there’s this .” Tam hands me his phone. The screen is open to a series of text messages from Desmond. Only, all of Desmond’s texts are labeled Mr. Pike instead, because Tam is the poster-child for politeness, which I actually really like about him. I scroll through the messages where Desmond is telling Tam to pick me up. The rst few messages tell Tam my name and my address, plus when he should be on my doorstep. But it’s the

213 ELLE BERLIN last text underneath them that makes me release a breath. It says :

Desmond: She’s going to give you a hundred reasons for why she shouldn’t show up today, but please make sure she gets here. I really don’t want to mess it up with this one .

I have to read the text several times to make sure I didn’t imagine it, to make sure the mushrooms in my omelet this morning are not making me hallucinate. Does it really say that? I really don’t want to mess it up with this one . My throat feels tight . It does. It says it in black and white . About me . I hand the phone back to Tam, my ngers slippery . “You weren’t supposed to show that to me, were you?” I say softly, staring out the front windshield at the jungle of trees that stretch over the dirt road . “Nope.” He tucks the phone into his pocket. “I most de ‐ nitely was not .” The car rocks, jolting back and forth with the roughness of the road beneath us. The trees zip over the car in a beautiful blur of green making my stomach a bit queasy . “Why would you—?” But I bite my lip and swallow my words. Of course, I already know the answer. Because Tam actually respects his boss, maybe even sees him as a friend. He’s looking out for Desmond. He’s making sure I’m not some money-sucking fame-grabbing succubus who’s going to turn his boss’s life upside down and spit out his heart like a piranha . I roll down the window and take a deep breath, trying to cool the buzz inside my head. The mist of sweat that coats my

214 WHISKEY SPLASH neck is a slippery slope warning me to be careful. To think through why I’m here and what I really want . I reach over and graze Tam’s elbow softly . “I promise I won’t get you red,” I say honestly, touched that Desmond has someone watching his back, but also over ‐ whelmed by the weight of what’s just been dropped in my lap . My ngers fall from Tam’s elbow and I breathe in the salty ocean smell and the muggy tang of palm trees and summer rain. It lls my lungs with a balloon of emotion I’m not sure how to hold, warning me to tell Tam to turn around and take me home . “We’re here,” Tam says, before I can breathe any words of retreat, turning us into a parking area in the middle of the jungle. There are trailers and equipment trucks lining the opening, and through the trees I see the beach littered with pop-up tents and people assembling lights and camera equip ‐ ment. Tam rolls down his window to wave at a security guard who stands at the corner and ags us in, pointing out where we should park . I notice Tam text Desmond that we’re here, but then he whisks me out of the car and gives me a rundown of basecamp rather than taking me to see his boss. Basecamp is what Tam calls the area with all the trucks and trailers, before pointing out all the di erent departments and their respective stations. There’s art and props and special e ects and costumes and hair and makeup. Crew members are carting all sorts of equipment toward the beach: large rolls of cable, giant lights, metal poles and ags, carts and dollies . If that wasn’t overwhelming enough, Tam walks us to the beach where the set is and explains that this scene is a show ‐ down with the radiation creature. The sand is covered in debris and scorch marks, and there are long gashes like Godzilla tracks all over the shoreline. I make a crack about radioactive monsters

215 ELLE BERLIN when a crew member walks by with a tub of what looks like green Jell-O, and Tam explains that I’d be surprised at what looks convincing as radio-active blood on-screen. He goes on to cite something about black duct tape being used for the blasters in Star Wars and that old tricks are sometimes still the best . True to his eloquence, Tam politely introduces me to most of the crew members that we pass, telling me their names and job titles—grips and ga ers and some such jargon that I’ll never remember. Primarily, I’m impressed that Tam knows everyone, and goes out of his way to make sure I don’t feel like an invis ‐ ible outsider. But the one thorn in my side is the fact that Tam is distinctly introducing me as one of his old friends who happens to live on the island . Not once does he mention me in relation to Desmond . After my umpteenth introduction to some producers and production assistants, the latter of which kindly ran o to get me one of those fancy director chairs to sit, Tam and I have a moment alone and I can ask him what game we’re really playing . “Is there a reason we’re pretending I don’t know Desmond?” I ask pointedly, as Tam clips a walkie-talkie radio to his belt and strings the earbud from the device into his left ear like a secret service agent . “Oh?” Tam looks up at me surprised. “I’m sorry. You seemed extra nervous in the car about people knowing what your relationship to Mr. Pike was. I thought people would ask fewer questions if I introduced you this way. Is that a problem, ma’am ?” “Seriously, Tam,” I say, as two PA’s walk up with chairs for us and unfold them. “You don’t have to call me ma’am .” “I can also call you Ms. Noel,” Tam says, and I roll my eyes . “Or Esme .” “Ms. Noel it is,” he says, clicking some buttons on his radio,

216 WHISKEY SPLASH and waiting for the two PA’s to be out of earshot. “Would you like me to introduce you to the crew di erently ?” I shake my head, dismayed. “Honestly, Tam, it’s not like Desmond and I are …” I open my hands as if to say whatever we are is as elusive and unde ned as the air in my hands. “I have no clue what you’d even tell them my relationship to Mr. Pike is .” Tam’s eyes ick behind me just as I feel two big arms wrap around my shoulders and the heat of breath is at my ear . “You could try telling them you’re the reason I can’t get any sleep at night,” Desmond growls in my ear and my whole body turns to liquid. I don’t know if he said that loud enough for Tam to hear, but Tam’s a professional, and polite enough to start ddling with his walkie-talkie like it’s far more interesting than anything going on in front of him . I untangle myself from Desmond and turn around to face him, my body ushing with the fact that I’m clearly not Tam’s old friend from college if his boss is going to wrap his arms around me like that. Not to mention, looking at me with the devious glimmer in his eyes that slip over me like a hot caress . I tear myself from his gaze, taking in his costume. He’s wearing a tattered camo shirt and jeans, both covered in burn marks and charring. A bloody scrape runs down his cheek, oozing a crimson color that makes me cringe. It’s makeup, of course, making him look beat up from a ght, but it’s surpris ‐ ingly realistic . I step back and orient myself, peeking around us quickly at all the people who are busy doing their jobs . “Hello, Mr. Pike,” I say formally, sticking my hand out to shake his. “I’m Esme, Tam’s old friend from college, we went to —” I kick Tam in the leg to get him to ll in the blank . “UCLA,” Tam says without a beat, clearly listening and

217 ELLE BERLIN not actually using his walkie-talkie. He looks up at his boss sheepishly . “UCLA,” I repeat, as Desmond narrows his eyes and takes my hand, playing along with the charade. “We were both studying—” I kick Tam again . “Accounting,” Tam says quickly . “Accounting,” I repeat . “With a minor in French,” Tam adds at the end . “Right, that one was all him,” I say, trying to let go of Desmond’s hand, but he keeps gripping me. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr .—” “You don’t have to pretend you don’t know me,” Desmond says, not letting go of my hand, even though the normal length of a handshake has clearly subsided . “Ok, then please tell me who I’m supposed to tell all your co-workers I am?” I say, gripping him back. He steps in closer, pushing all the air out from between us . “Esme, you don’t have to tell them anything,” he says softly, his eyes falling to my mouth and the pulse of heat between us making my arms shiver . But I lift my head and stare right back at him, standing in that raw heat and attraction . “You realize that’s not how this works, Desmond,” I say rmly, shaking my head. “You have the luxury of not having to tell anyone anything. And that’s because no one is going to ask you who I am .” His eyes narrow, not following, and I motion to Tam behind me . “But they will ask Tam, and they will ask me,” I say. “And sure, I can be elusive and not say anything concrete. But trust me, that only sends one message for them to hear.” His grip tightens on my hand. “Cause that’s the di erence between being the hot-shot movie star who’s allowed to be whoever he

218 WHISKEY SPLASH wants to be, and that no-name lavender-haired girl who’s got one story written on her back. You’re absolutely right, I’m going to be pegged as the girl who keeps you from sleeping at night, except not for the reason you were implying .” Desmond lets go of my hand, the playfulness dropping out of him. “Shit.” His whole face drops, taking in what I’ve just said. “Shit, I didn’t think about any of that .” “Cause you don’t have to,” I say too sharply and his shoul ‐ ders de ate. “Look, it’s ne,” I say. “This is all part of the double-standard of being born female. I’ll be okay .” But a shadow casts over his eyes. “No, really, it isn’t,” he says, looking up at me like he really fucked this up. I grab his arm and step closer to him . “Desmond, I want to be here,” I clarify. “This is really exciting and fun. I’ve never been on a movie set before, and it’s really awesome to get to see what you do. I’m attered you wanted to show it to me. I just…” I lower my eyes before looking around tentatively at all the people busily doing their jobs around us. “I don’t want everyone to think, well, what people naturally like to think when a pretty girl shows up next to your side. All right ?” He doesn’t look convinced, a crease etching itself into his forehead, and more than anything I want to cup his face and run my thumb across his lips so he realizes it’s not him I don’t want. That I love that he’s asked me here to see his work, that he wanted to share this. I want him to know that I’ve also got a thousand uttering wings in my stomach at the idea of de ning what we are as something that has clear edges when we aren’t there yet. I want whatever we are to have the space to naturally gure itself out, but without the labels and the judgments and the eyes of everyone around us . “So, Ms. Noel, I mean, Esme—” Tam says, correcting himself and stepping up next to us. “Esme is a really good

219 ELLE BERLIN friend from college,” he says, gingerly taking my hand o Desmond’s arm to alleviate any suspicion should anyone be watching. “She is incredibly good at accrued expense reports. Dean’s list, that Esme .” Desmond looks from Tam to me to make sure I’m okay with this whole charade and I smile softly . “Expense reports, boring I know,” I say, playing along. “But you give me an Excel spreadsheet and I am a kid in a candy store.” Desmond smiles softly at the joke. “All those ones and zeros, and phew!” I mock fan myself. “I mean, what more could a girl want ?” Tam raises a hand to his ear, listening for a second before stepping to the side and addressing Desmond. “Mr. Pike, they’re calling you to set. They’re ready to block the scene with you .” I smile and once again o er him my hand. “It was lovely to meet you,” I say, as he takes it and squeezes my palm as if to say he’s sorry. “I don’t want to keep you from your job.” I pat the director’s chair beside me. “I’ll be right here with Tam on the sidelines.” He holds my hand a little too long, and I can hear voices on Tam’s headset requesting Desmond . “Mr. Pike,” Tam says, gesturing to the people on the beach. “If you’d follow me this way, sir .” “I’ll be ne,” I say softly, and something in his eyes doesn’t want to leave my side. But I nod to Tam and the people wait ‐ ing. “There’s a beach to save from a Jell-O bleeding space alien .” “Radiation monster,” he corrects . “Same thing,” I toss back and his lip quirks, squeezing my hand one last time before he follows Tam to the center of the beach where the swarm of crew swallow him up for the rest of the morning .

220 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

t’s almost sunset and I’m texting Arie the umpteenth I exploding Jell-O monster image. I’ve seen Desmond y o a crane hooked to wires, motorcycles do wheelies down the beach and collide, Jell-O ooze out of a rubber tentacle, and a guy run into the water in a raging ball of ames. Tam explained to me that every time that stunt-man is set on re, he makes some ridiculous amount of money, like three-thousand dollars. I suppose that makes sense if you’re going to deliberately allow someone to douse you in kerosene and light a match . It’s been an exhilarating day, even though I’ve probably said a total of three more sentences to Desmond since the morning. None the less, it’s still one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences that I get to cross o my bucket list . Tam hands me a piece of paper and points back to base ‐ camp. “We’re wrapping for the night. If you’ll just come with me, the producers want me to have you sign this before you leave .” “What is it?” I ask, ipping over the paper and trying to read as I follow him toward the trucks where the crew is

221 ELLE BERLIN loading up their gear. Tam leads us toward the line of Star Wagons on the left, opening up one of the doors for me to climb in. Desmond’s trailer, I imagine . “It’s an NDA,” Tam says, as I walk up the steps into the small RV-style coach . The inside is decked out with nice cabinets and a leather couch, there’s a kitchen and several televisions, and o to the left what looks like a small bedroom. It’s not the kind of trailer you take camping unless you go glamping in style . “Non-disclosure statement,” Tam explains. “Basically, it says you won’t share anything you saw today online or with the tabloids. It’s ne that you took pictures with your phone. We simply ask that you don’t post them on the internet. Spoilers, that sort of thing .” “Oh, of course,” I say, taking a seat on the couch and scan ‐ ning the document. Tam puts a glass of sparkling water on the co ee table and tells me to take my time . “I’ve got a few things to clean up,” he says, walking down the steps. “Relax. Watch TV.” He points to the amenities. “I’ll be back in a little while to pick that up .” “You bet.” I nod, skimming the ne print and taking a drink. I read all the pages, like a nerd, before signing the docu ‐ ment and putting it back down on the co ee table. Then, I get up and stroll through the empty space, not sure what else to do with myself. I check out the fridge, which is stocked with protein shakes, sparkling water, and fruit. I snag a strawberry as I open cabinets to nd dishes and snacks, the normal suspects . I nish the strawberry and toss the stem, deciding to peek through the other side of the trailer where there’s a small bath ‐ room with a stand-up shower. It’s simple and masculine, nothing fancy . The bedroom matches the uncluttered décor with simple dark

222 WHISKEY SPLASH sheets on a full-size bed that literally takes up the whole crowded compartment. The bedroom is more of a closet, with a rim of tinted windows spilling grey light onto the starched sheets. It reminds me of a bunk in a boat house or train car, where the bed is raised to waist height and you can’t even walk around the mattress because it butts up against the walls. Basically, there’s about one step into the room before you have to crawl up onto the mattress like a kid into a tree fort. But I’m sure it beats sleeping on the couch . “The bed’s not nearly as cozy as your comforter behemoth from yesterday, huh? But de nitely eective .” I startle, completely spooked by the voice behind me and spin around to see Desmond lling up the tiny hallway that leads to the bedroom door. I didn’t even hear him come in . “Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I gasp, hand on my chest, noticing he’s changed back into his normal clothes of a t-shirt and jeans. He’s washed o all his scrapes and bruises and there’s no bloody gash across his face anymore. No more lieutenant-commander-monster- slayer . Just regular, beautiful Desmond . “Sorry,” he chuckles, a soft smile matching his tone . He doesn’t move, silence lling the lack of space between us as I stand awkwardly in his trailer bedroom. The back of my knees graze against the bed, even though I’m technically standing in the doorway. And Desmond, he’s too large for the tiny hallway, his broad shoulders lling up the whole space, stealing every breath, and I know I can’t slip past him without sliding my whole body against him . Heat bleats in the air, palpable from the fact that we haven’t been alone with one another all day, and the layout of this trailer seems determined to force us on top of one another. I haven’t had a chance to really think about that text message I saw on Tam’s phone this morning, but now that he’s inches

223 ELLE BERLIN from me, the underlying meaning feels serious and heavy. I don’t want to mess it up with this one . “Um, hi,” I say softly, to break the tension, and I notice his hands gripping the railings in the hall, like he needs them to stay in place, instead of launching himself at me. My pulse pounds at the shallow of our breathing . “I’m sorry about this morning,” he says nally, and I realize, by no intention of his own, he’s cornered me. The only real space is behind me, meaning I could move backwards if I wanted, but that would be onto his bed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like my —” “You didn’t,” I say quickly, stepping forward and putting a hand on his cheek, touching his face softly like I wanted to this morning. “It wasn’t you. It was the situation,” I clarify, stepping out into the hall with him and brushing my thumb over his lip. His amber gaze is tentative, not sure he trusts what I’ve said. “I get that de ning us …” The word is heavy, trapped in between our bodies, where there’s no space. His eyes light on mine, dark and curious, the temperature between us a delicate re. I cup the other side of his face and the shape of his jaw is elegant and perfect beneath my ngers . “I know that de ning us right now would ruin it,” I whis ‐ per, leaning forward and dragging my lips against his . It’s not a kiss, so much as a breath. The two of us caught together in this moment, breathing. He meets that softness, our mouths in sync, trying to give me—us—this space to be what ‐ ever it is . We breathe in the silence, easing into the simplicity of this being only him and me without anything or anyone else around to de ne it. He waits, lingering on my mouth, his eyes closed as I trace my hands down to his throat, feeling the sensitive

224 WHISKEY SPLASH tendons at the front of his neck, the ball of his Adam’s apple, the thickness of his shoulders . Almost unconsciously, my ngers dig into the muscles at the back of his neck, feeling the tension there, seeking it out and looking to unravel it. He moans, knowing my hands, allowing them to release the weight of his day into my ngertips. And in that soft surrender I kiss him, softly, tenderly, like a question. A tiny invitation to relax into my grasp . His arms slide around my waist, but they aren’t crushing or incessant, instead they cup the small of my back softly, lingering with a certain weightlessness. Our mouths dance a lazy waltz of gentleness, a whispering brush as trust buds between us, as we learn each other’s language . I hum into his soft exhale as my hands move from his neck to his shoulders, kneading into the thick muscle of his upper arms. The groan that escapes his lips is a thank you, a sigh of air that aches of his day, slipping out between the strokes of my ngers . He lets my hands extract all his stress and hesitation, our mouths tasting of strawberries with their delicate fruit. The knots and tension held in his upper body turns limber and soft ‐ ens, my hands working the muscle like a ritual, a puri cation, as he dissolves under my ngertips . After a while, I stop digging into his shoulders and pull back to look at him, brushing his hair out of his face. He gazes at me lazily, before saying, “You might be addicting .” I tilt my head down, embarrassed, and he tangles his ngers with mine sweetly . “Private massages are expensive,” I warn him, looking back up . “Oh man.” He bites his lip, trying to keep something down. “I’m seriously trying not to make a happy ending joke right

225 ELLE BERLIN now, but—” he shrugs like the cat’s already out of the bag. “Too late. I said it .” “Way to ruin a completely lovely moment,” I scold him . “Speaking of,” Desmond starts, then raises his hands to correct himself. “I mean, the massage part, not the foresaid awkward moment-ruining comment. Have you ever thought about opening your own independent contractor massage business ?” “You mean going to people’s houses and giving massages ?” “Sure, or having your own place,” he says. “No obnoxious boss. No resort policies that totally throw a wrench in a would- be traveler’s personal vacation .” “Oh, you’re on vacation, are you?” I quip . “No, no.” He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about me. I’m at work. This—” He points around him to the trailer. “Is me working, working hard. I mean, you, in here. That would not be kosher for your resort policy. This is completely not a date .” “Agreed.” I nod, and he lifts an eyebrow as if I was supposed to ght him on this. “Well, you did spend most of the day covered in exploding Jell-O and completely ignoring me. Crappy date if you ask me .” “Not because I wanted to,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “I’d happily roll around in Jell-O with you .” “Ha! I bet you would !” His eyes light, like that’s a challenge, and he picks me up, making me yelp. “Of course, people would be lming us if I did, so I thought I’d wait it out till I got that lavender-haired beauty all on my own .” The mention of lming us makes my stomach squirm, even though I know he meant it as a joke . I try to let it pass as he slips one of his arms around my waist and the other to the back of my head, kissing me as he moves us into the bedroom. Desmond lifts me up over the high

226 WHISKEY SPLASH edge of the bed before laying me back against his sheets. Then, he crawls up onto the bed over me, laying the weight of his body on top of mine like a whisper, a perfect compression . It’s my turn to moan into the soft force of him, heavy and draining the breath out of me, wringing my stress and fear away with the supple roll of his hips . Nothing about him is hungry, he doesn’t reach under my clothes or graze the parts of me that would normally heat in anticipation. He touches my face gingerly, kissing me like it’s the rst and last thing he might ever be allowed to breathe . Fingers tangle into my hair, twists his whispering touch into my bones. The sway of his body is an ocean rocking nimbly against the shore and I am the sand beneath him slipping through the ngers of his tide . “Desmond,” I say softly, a rock of fear in my gut that I can’t ignore. I twist so we’re laying on our sides, face to face, with our limbs still tangled. “I know you just made that lming comment as a joke, but I need to tell you something about the whole paparazzi photo incident .” I feel his body sti en, but he runs his hand through my purple hair to keep from separating the connection between us . “Okay,” he says softly, waiting for me talk . “Obviously, I was upset,” I start, taking a breath. “Anyone would be.” He nods, listening. “Having personal pictures taken of me, or your coworkers thinking I’m your—” He kisses me softly so I don’t say it . “You’re not,” he whispers . I nod, but my mind is caught in how I will nd a way to say all of this . Wondering if I even should . He runs a quiet nger along my cheek, waiting, and I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling. It’s lined with a glossy faux wood that’s shiny and too re ective, our outlines visible in

227 ELLE BERLIN the panel, a ghosted whisper of myself below, as if that will always be the most honest image of me . Blurry. Unde ned. Someone you can’t really see . Desmond pulls his hands o my body like he knows I need the space, and we lie there for several long moments before I nd the courage to say, “Something happened when I was in college .” I pull my hair o my neck and spread it out wide like a halo, the blurry rivers of my wild hair reaching out like ngertips . “I had this boyfriend, Jeremy,” I say, closing my eyes and reminding myself to breathe. “He took pictures of us when we were together. Intimate. It seemed harmless when it was happening. But I was young and stupid and I thought we were two college kids being silly. It was the kind of thing where a part of you knows you’re doing something risky and naughty, but you’re blinded by how much you care about the other person, and how close you feel to them, that you trust them without thinking about if that trust is really founded. You take for granted that they feel the same way about you as you do them, and you’d never question the fact that intimate, private moments you share are just between the two of you. Maybe it’s something about falling in love for the rst time that makes you so damn naive, and you just can’t see what people are really doing. Cause, he …” I lose my words, the taste of them sour, aching out a dark ‐ ness that is easier left unspoken . My face in the re ection above is smeared and blurry, reminding me that I can stop talking about this, push it away, let it ghost back into my heart with its sharpness .

228 WHISKEY SPLASH

“I already want to kill this guy,” Desmond says, his voice soft, but angry . The st in Desmond’s voice hits a tendon in the air, cutting a string in me, and unlacing my lungs. I glance at him for the briefest of moments and all those knots I kneaded out of his shoulders are back. I pick up his hand and thread my ngers through his, surprised that the rough of his ngers makes me feel more con dent . “You probably know where this is headed,” I continue, losing a breath and leaning into the wobble inside it. “He shared the photos. Initially, I thought it was only with his friends. I was furious, of course, but then later, after we broke up—” I atten out his hand between my ngers, tracing the lines of his upturned palm. “Strangers at school, people I didn’t even know, they, um, they started soliciting me.” A tremor shakes in my chest, that re of shame building. “Asking me if I’d do things I—” I swallow, curling up his ngers and closing my eyes . “You don’t have to tell me,” Desmond says kindly, the bed compressing as he rolls slightly to kiss my temple. “I can imagine .” “It’s worse than you imagine .” I run my tongue over the back of my teeth, up the ridges at the top of my mouth, wondering if words exist for what I feel, wondering if the words will scrape and scar my lips to shreds . “They were things I’d never do,” I say nally. “Things I didn’t even do with Jeremy. But somehow, when people see pictures of you doing anything sexual, and you’re a girl …” I drop his hand back on his chest and cover my face, the heat of my hands on my clammy skin making me realize I’m burning . “Well, I guess you cease to be human anymore,” I manage. “To them, you just become a body, something they think they

229 ELLE BERLIN can own and objectify, harass. Something they can say nasty, awful things to .” “Sometimes I hate human beings,” Desmond says, his hand curling into a st. Through my ngers I can see his eyes wishing he could erase this for me, remove this wound. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, as if he needs to speak for all of mankind, as if to say this dark knot of pain doesn’t de ne how he sees me. “Oh God,” Desmond’s face falls, devastation wracking through his features. “Then that paparazzi piece of shit took our photos and you must have thought —” He turns to me, his entire body rigid, needing to punch something, his eyes pleading . “Esme, I’m so sorry !” “You didn’t do it on purpose,” I say softly. “I mean, you didn’t do it at all. You are as much a victim as I am in it all .” “Yeah, except I didn’t have to relive a personal trauma. Shit, Esme.” He sits up and curls forward to rest his arms on his knees. “No wonder you didn’t want to talk to me again. And then I showed up at your house all cocky and saying crass things, like a fucking douchebag.” He turns back to look at me. “Why are you even here right now? How is it possible that I’m not the one with the restraining order ?” I brave wrapping my hand around his elbow and pulling him back down next to me so we’re facing again. I stare at him for a long time, eventually daring to touch his lip with the knuckle of my pinky, tracing the sensitive space between us, etching out lines of de nition made of patience and tenderness . After a long while I say, “You do realize that you’re also addicting, Desmond.” The words are soft, spun in a yarn of vulnerability that requires bright lights and exposure. “I want to know you, Desmond. I want to —” My ngers trace the line of his chin, the curve of his neck, his shoulder .

230 WHISKEY SPLASH

Desmond’s eyes walk over my skin, over the embroidered owers of my shirt, over the straps of my sandals wrapping my calves . “I want to hold you,” he says. “But I don’t know if I should touch you .” “I’m not broken, Desmond,” I assert, taking his hand and placing it on my cheek. “I want you to touch me. I wanted you to touch me the other night, when your hands were on re and your tongue—” Our eyes connect and my body wakes with that connection between us, zipping and intimate, his hand is a brand, perfectly soft as he cups my chin. “I still want you,” I brave. “I just need you to know that we—” The word feels charged, speaking for all the webs of trust trying to reach out their ngers and nd something real and solid. “We,” I repeat, “have to be private. It’s non-negotiable. I realize that might normally go without saying, but that’s not been the track record of my life .” He inches forward and captures my mouth, lling me with the softest, kindest kiss I can imagine. It isn’t a pity kiss, or one laced with desire. It’s a thank you, an unspoken contract, a promise . He wraps me in his strong arms and my hands nd the muscles of his back, kneading into the tension that’s returned there and searching to once again unravel it. I do it to distract myself, or maybe I do it to allow myself to lie here in this vulnerability with him, secrets laid bare in my skin, while I unearth the stress in his . Desmond slowly rolls on top of me and the compression of his body is a release. Weight wrings me completely, the bubble of fear in my breast ushing out. It’s like I’ve been carrying this weight and he’s so heavy and consuming that all I can do is unravel my ngers and drop it . He kisses me till my lips are swollen and my ngers have

231 ELLE BERLIN unlocked every knot in his spine. He kisses me till the bulge in his pants is thick and the ache between my legs is throbbing. He gently rocks against my heat but he doesn’t undress me, doesn’t slide my hands against his desire. He devours me with the soft undulating weight of him, with his lips asking for my every gasp and trembling. Thanking me for being brave enough to allow him to have it . This is a quiet other side of Desmond, without the dirty heat or irtation, but a peeled back simpler version, something more raw and exposed. Or maybe that’s me? Under him, meeting him, toes curled and ngers in line with every breath- lled exchange. Is it possible to say things with our hands? With our mouths? With our bodies? Can we speak without words and nd a language in how his hands nd my own, in our ngers’ delicate unraveling ? This feels deeper and more intimate than when his tongue was on my core. I’m aroused, of course, but nowhere close to coming, because this isn’t about some back-arching animalistic pleasure. It’s about us, together, breathing and burning and nding space between the irting and innuendo to simply be in each other’s arms, learning to trust each other . I drag myself away from his mouth, panting, and trace the shape of his cheekbones with my thumbs. I trace the curve of his lips and the round of his chin. I memorize the feel of his earlobes under my ngertips . Those amber eyes of his are so intense and soft and search ‐ ing. They look deep into me and unearth something that’s scared and bold and vulnerable. And I know if we were naked right now and he was inside me, rocking into me with those soft balmy thrusts, we wouldn’t be fucking, we’d be making love . I pull him back into a kiss, pushing all my unease away so I can drown in his lips, not ready to look at that reality. Desmond meets my intensity as if he saw it too and felt that same pulse of

232 WHISKEY SPLASH blistering rawness in me, the part that’s scared to trust him but wants to anyway. Each of his kisses hooks deeper into my skin, talons in my breath, my heart a tangled web of fears and dreams laid out beneath him, his arms and weight and heat tightening . We kiss for so long that the light through the tiny tinted windows on the side of the trailer grow dark. We kiss for so long that I’m sure Tam and anyone else who cares to butt into our business will think we’ve been in here braying like animals. Heck, we’ve probably been in here long enough to have ipped each other over three times round and gotten kinky with our bad selves. But I love that we haven’t. I hate that they will talk and gossip, but they won’t know the truth. They’ll have no clue about what has really happened . Only me and Desmond will know that something completely di erent, and beautiful, and silent has blossomed between our lips and our breath. Something so tender and bril ‐ liant and alive, that it scares me to my center. And yet, I’m not ready to unwrap myself from him yet. In fact, I’m not sure I ever want to slip out from underneath him .

233 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

y schedule at work is brutal. Disappearing for several M days has Mrs. Rose in Godzilla mode and she’s gone out of her way to keep my hands busy. I have non-stop massages for the next four days straight, and even Naomi apolo ‐ gies when I see my upcoming slate . “It feels like she’s trying to catch me doing something suspi ‐ cious,” I say to Naomi in the locker room, collecting my oils and towels for the day. “But at the same time, she’s overloading me with work. Is she trying to exhaust me and get me to slip up ?” “Just do what you normally do. Nothing fancy. Nothing di erent,” Naomi suggests, loading up her own massage cart. “Don’t go overboard. Do exactly what you know you’re supposed to. She can’t re you when you do everything correctly .” “I know. You’re right,” I say, lining up the oils on my cart by size so they’re in perfect symmetrical balance. “Do my job. Keep my head down .” “The last thing you need to do is sweat this job, Esme.”

234 WHISKEY SPLASH

Naomi pulls her long blond hair up into a bun. “You may have your awkward moments —” “Understatement of the year !” Naomi nods in agreement. “But you do your job well and you do it impeccably.” She points to my cart where the bottles and towels are stacked by the millimeter and color coded. I see her point. “You’re going to be ne,” she insists. “Well, unless Mr. Clarke comes in again.” Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively and my panic button ares again. “Don’t worry!” Naomi laughs. “I’ll snag him all for myself and you won’t even know he was here !” “You wouldn’t dare !” “Ooooh, getting possessive, now are we?” Naomi teases. “Don’t want another girl’s hands on your man , eh ?” “He isn’t my man,” I say too quickly, even though I told Arie and Naomi about Desmond and me, about the kissing and that tightrope of connection we’ve been walking. “He wouldn’t come the spa anyway,” I hiss, shutting my locker and pushing my cart toward the door. “I’ve already lectured him on Mrs. Rose and not getting me red .” “Which is why I wouldn’t tell you if he came in. I’d just service him myself,” Naomi says mock-innocently. Her head falls back with laughter at the glare I shoot her. “Oh man, you’ve got it bad .” “You realize this is exactly the type of thing Mrs. Rose is looking for ?” Naomi shrugs, pushing her cart up next to mine and leaning in as she lowers her voice. “You do realize this is Desmond Pike, right?” she says, lighting her elven-blue eyes on me. “There are a hundred other spas in this city. It’s not like he isn’t worth getting red over .” “Um, you sound exactly like my sister right now .”

235 ELLE BERLIN

Naomi laughs. “Is that so? Well, I must be hanging out with your sister too much .” “She will rot your brain !” “Like a hard candy made of sin and profanity .” “That is a very accurate description,” I admit, as Naomi opens the door for me to push my cart through. We head down the hallway toward our respective rooms and I breathe in the sassafras scents, reminding myself that I’ve got this. “Oh hey,” I remember, as I get to my client’s room. “Do you want to join me for yoga after work this week?” I ask Naomi, but she nods to the private steam rooms that line the back hall . “Actually, some of the girls and I have been using the steam rooms after hours,” she says. “Chatting and relaxing. Or using the individual ones if we just need a quiet moment .” “Mrs. Rose is allowing that ?” “Yes, actually,” Naomi nods. “Despite popular opinion, she isn’t all hell- re and Godzilla .” “To you, maybe .” “She requires that we wipe down the rooms afterward, but we have to do that anyway regardless of if we use it. So, why not put in an extra sweat while we’re at it,” Naomi explains. “Yoga may help clear your head, but if you want to detoxify for good, come share one of our steam rooms .” “Mrs. Rose will surely be on my back then .” “Or…” Naomi turns to me with her listen-to-me-for-once face. “You could act like normal, like nothing is going to happen and hang out with us girls. Freaking out about Mrs. Rose is the easiest way to slip up. If you act like nothing has changed and you do your job like normal, then she’ll piss o . So, come hang out with us like you normally would .” I frown at her, unconvinced. “That all sounds good in theo ‐ ry,” I say. “ But —”

236 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Haven’t I covered your ass lately like I’m your own personal fairy-godmother?” Naomi counters, and I have to admit she has. “You don’t think I, and the girls, will have your back? We all know Mrs. Rose’s Sherlock-Holmes-charade is crap. We’ve all had that awkward chubby-situation in the massage room. No one wants Mrs. Rose breathing down their neck like she’s doing with you. You’d be looking out for us too if the tables were turned .” That’s true. I’d be Ocean’s Eleven -ing the shit out of this if it were Naomi or Tammy or any of the others on the chopping block. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” I concede. “But I might just do yoga instead .” “To limber you up for Mr. Clarke?” Naomi teases, pinching me in the side as my neck starts to ush . “You really need to stop hanging out with Arie!” I toss back, pulling out my key for my rst session. “I’m not sure I can handle having two of you badgering me !” Naomi laughs again. “Too bad!” She winks, pinching me one more time before walking down the hall to her own client’s room. I look at my schedule and take a deep calming breath before knocking on the door . Be normal . Do your job . Follow the rules . Simple.

At mid-day Desmond texts, inviting me to lunch, only his idea of lunch is room service up in his penthouse suite and there’s no way I’m going up there. Not only because I’m embarrassed to face the scene of the crime, I also wouldn’t be able to stop sneaking glances at that beautiful terrace with the vines and

237 ELLE BERLIN trumpet owers where he tore unladylike obscenities from my throat . Additionally, I can’t go up there because someone might see us. It’s the middle of the day and there are resort employees everywhere. There is still a strict don’t-date-the-guests policy after all . I text him back, saying as much—the resort policy part, not the bit where I’m remembering the thunder and lightning and him stripping down naked in front of me. I tell him to order something portable, like a sandwich, and meet me half a mile down the beach near the aquarium . When my lunch break arrives, I set my phone timer to make sure I’m not late getting back to work (follow the rules, young grasshopper), then I head down the beach to meet Desmond . When I arrive near the aquarium, I text him that I’m the one in a pink sunhat. Normally, he’d look for my lavender hair, but I’ve tucked it all up inside the hat, just in case someone is out here watching. Not that anyone from the hotel is following us, but this beach is really public. There are plenty of cameras and cellphones and who-knows-who hiding in the bushes. I push away the thought of that photographer breaking the law and invading our privacy. But still, we are out in tourist-central, begging the question of why his crew isn’t staying on the quieter side of the island, hidden from all the tourism and Waikiki bustle . Flip- ops in hand, I walk to the water’s edge and soak my feet in the salty ocean, telling myself to forget about it. Be normal, right? Be normal at work. Be normal in everyday life. Simple. I turn my face up to the sun and let the tide roll in, water glazing over the backs of my feet and splashing against my ankles. It’s a tiny pleasure, a small moment to make space and breathe, and it’s absolutely heavenly .

238 WHISKEY SPLASH

Arms wrap around me from behind, warm strong arms covering me just like on the lm set. I don’t startle or move, knowing it’s him, leaning into the comfort and ease that is Desmond. The water kisses my ankles and his cheek brushes against my own, soft stubble, soft sand, and I stare out at the horizon like this breath is enough for us to always stand in . “I could be a complete stranger, you know?” I quip, as his head dips down and his lips graze my neck. “There could be a hundred tourists out here in pink hats, and you’re about to give a grandma a heart attack .” “Grandma? Really?” One of his hands drops down to my hip. “You realize your hair is not the only part of you I’ve gotten good at recognizing .” His words breathe against my ear and the ocean at my ankles isn’t nearly cold enough to douse the sizzle blooming through my chest. I turn around to face him, to nd he’s in a ball cap and sunglasses—incognito mode as well. I can’t see his eyes, but that smile is enough to boil my insides to stew . “It seems we’re both hiding from the world,” I say, nodding to his LA Dodgers cap and aviator glasses, an almost cliché movie star out t. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says playfully. “Do you not know who I am?” He tears o the cap and sunglasses and wraps me in a kiss so hot and brazen I almost think he wants the whole beach to take notice . I pull away and look around sheepishly. “Put those back on!” I hiss, tugging at the accessories in his st. “You do realize this beach is full of people wielding cell phones .” “Oh no! They’re all going to send pictures back to the resort, aren’t they?” he mocks, tearing an unamused smirk from my mouth . “I’m sure they’re all far more interested in you,” I clip out . He smiles wickedly, pulling me back in close and nipping

239 ELLE BERLIN at my ear. “That sounds like great news for me, cause then I get you all to myself .” “Put it back on, Clark Kent, because you’re not going to get anything all to yourself when you’re surrounded by cell-phone harpies. Heck, I’ll be all the way back at the resort before you get through half of your take-a-sel e-with-Desmond-Pike line .” “Fair point,” he obliges, putting his cap and glasses back on, then slipping a hand around my back to walk us toward a shady and decidedly less-crowded part of the beach . “You do realize you can’t talk to me when we’re at the resort,” I say. “You have to pretend you don’t know me. If you see me in the halls, or at the front desk at the spa , or —” “Or if your ass is in the air in front of me at yoga,” he inter ‐ jects, and I elbow him . “That too!” I hiss. “Though now I’m resigned to avoid yoga while you’re still here in the resort, thank you very much .” “Pity,” he says, sitting down on the sand and pulling me down into his lap. “You have no idea the naughty things I was thinking about while looking at your —” “Get your one-track mind out of the gutter, Mr. Pike,” I scold. “Before you make me lose my appetite .” “But it might increase a di erent appetite,” he says hotly, growling into my neck as he shifts me forward so I’m sitting between his legs with my back against his chest . “You’re insatiable,” I say, as he pulls the pink sunhat from my head so it’s not smacking him in the face, releasing all my lavender hair to the wind. I’ve half a mind to gripe at him about it, except that mouth of his is nibbling on my earlobe and the slight breeze that grips my hair and slides over my skin is all too delicious . “You’d think I’m on the menu,” I tease, nudging him away after letting him play for a minute . “You’re not?” His hands grip my hips, and my neck heats

240 WHISKEY SPLASH remembering how thoroughly he feasted on me when that mouth was between my legs. “To be clear,” he whispers huskily, “I invited you back to my room rst, you’re the one who chose the beach .” I elbow him in the gut and he laughs, releasing me enough to lean over and grab the paper-bag lunch he’s put in the sand beside us. “If there are tacos in here, I’m getting up and leaving .” He laughs even harder at the irony of that. “Oh man, I wish I’d ordered tacos, that would’ve been perfect .” “Heathen!” I sass back at him, pulling out two sandwiches and handing one back to him . “You bring out the best in me,” he chirps, nally letting go of me and unwrapping his lunch. He proceeds to tell me about his last few days shooting as we devour our sandwiches, and when we’re done eating, he leans me back against his chest again as he explains how he’s convinced the producers to book Flambé for their nal wrap party . “Once we’ve nished shooting,” he explains, “the head honchos like to throw a big shin-dig. It’s a thank you to the crew kind of thing .” “Really? That’s awesome!” I adjust myself against him. “Arie must be doing back ips at getting a gig like that. Plus, one that’s so high- pro le .” “Well, I may owe her,” he says. “You’ve gotta admit, she may be the best damn wing-man a guy could hope for .” “Ha ha, very funny,” I toss back. “I thought Tam was your wing man. He de nitely bailed your ass out on set the other morning .” His arm wraps around my stomach, his palm resting lightly on the thin gypsy-lace tunic I threw on when I changed out of my spa smocks . “I’ll be sure to give him a raise.” His ngers dally at the top

241 ELLE BERLIN of my shorts, swirling on top of my tunic, making me dizzy with the sunshine and the dull hum of the shoreline crashing. I close my eyes and listen to the white noise of people and birds, all laughing and cawing and lling up the air around us . “When’s this party?” I ask, realizing there’s an expiration date on this, on him with his arms wrapped around me, on lazy circles being drawn on my abdomen. There’s only so many days left for lunches and banter and those heated looks in his eyes promising that there are so many other parts of me he wants to devour . “Two and a half weeks,” he says, his ngers still swirling over my navel like they haven’t realized that isn’t much time, as if his hands on my body is something he can always have . “Mmmmm,” I nod, pretending that number hasn’t fazed me. I close my eyes and smell the air, full of seawater and sand dollars and ripe emerald ribbons of kelp. A mermaid’s treasure trove in a small island breeze. I reach back and thread my ngers through the hair at the base of his scalp, below the ball cap, wanting to hold on, if only for this perfect uninterrupted moment . “Hey, speaking of,” he says softly, and my ngers slip from the back of his head, falling down to the sand. “We’re actually going to be lming on one of the other islands for a few days .” I sit up and turn my legs to the side, still in his lap, but now able to look at him. “You are?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down, but those aviator glasses are like mirrors and all I can see is my own re ections looking back at me—clearly disappointed and not wanting him to leave. An open book, that’s what I am, with every emotion written on my face as always. “That’s cool,” I say, turning my gaze back to the ocean, not able to look at myself in those silver mirrors, being way too obvious . “Hey—” His hand turns my face back to him and he pulls his sunglasses o so I can see him. “I’d ask you to come with

242 WHISKEY SPLASH me. Honestly, that o er is on the table, but I’m pretty sure you’d give me a lecture about —” “Wanting to keep my job?” I say quickly, all of it leaking out of me like a balloon de ating. “Or how weird it would be for Tam’s old accountant buddy from college to be hanging around like a damn groupie ?” Desmond nods, knowing exactly how bad that sounds. “Something like that,” he agrees, those gold discs of his eyes never leaving me for a second. “But I swear, the second I get back, I want every free minute you have .” He drags me forward into a endish kiss, a scandalous feeding of my mouth, that makes me gasp and unravel. It’s hungry and needy, and way too hot for the two of us out in public. I want to climb on top of him, straddle him, feel his arms and his mouth and count every gasp I draw out of him. That unspoken connection between us is thrumming, and I know that delicate teasing of his ngers on my stomach was all a charade, because he really does understand what little time there is before an entire ocean separates us . The alarm on my phone goes o and I pull back—lips bruised, eyes black. He’s seen this look in me, wanting all of him, wanting to surrender. “When do you get back?” I ask breathlessly, the buzzer sounding at my hip. I’ve seen this look on him too, unafraid to taste every inch of my skin, ready to consume me in his re . “Friday,” he says . “Always a damn Friday,” I hiss . “Date night,” he jokes . “If that’s what you want to call it,” I say in a tone too husky for him to miss. His eyes darken as I unravel myself from him, standing up and pulling my phone out of my pocket. I silence the incessant chirping, before looking back down at him . We’ve reversed positions. Last time, I was the one on the

243 ELLE BERLIN tile below him, spread, and looking up at his glorious body. Now he’s the one in the sand, gazing up at me, with his eager eyes drifting over my outline like the ocean has served him up a rare feast . I bend over and grab my hat from the sand, our ankles brushing, and the zip of electricity that lashes between my legs is inhumane, too hot for the tiny hint of our skin touching ! “I have to go back to work,” I manage to get out, and he nods, eyes icking to my mouth. If I bend down into the sand to kiss him one last time, I know it will be over, we’ll be nding the nearest, dirtiest, public restroom and it won’t be pretty . I step backwards instead. He doesn’t complain. He knows it’s the safest option . “You leave today?” I clarify, and he nods . “In a couple of hours .” “Okay.” I stu my phone into the back pocket of my shorts, and thread my feet through the rubbery thongs of my ip- ops. “Friday then .” “Friday,” he nods again, below me, looking so damn gorgeous . “I’ll text you my schedule .” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t say anything. His hands are sted in the sand, restraining himself. His eyes light on me like a dangerous match . It’s my cue to go . I nod and start walking up the beach toward the resort, wind in my hair, the taste of his mouth on my lips, my legs trembling. I let the wind blast through me, like on the zipline, lling me up with possibility and fearlessness. I let the wind swallow and consume me, hoping I’ll be able to make it in one piece to Friday .

244 CHAPTER NINETEEN

dreamy purple liquor sits in the belly of a martini glass A with silver mist wafting from the surface like a cauldron bubbling. The smoke swirls around a plump blackberry that’s speared on a toothpick and balanced across the glass’s wide opening. It looks like Halloween and blackberry dreams mixed together in one delicious love aair . “And what are we calling this glorious little beauty?” I ask, tapping my hand on the bar next to the drink . It’s eleven in the morning at Flambé and the place is closed till the evening. Arie is behind the counter playing mixologist, and her boyfriend, Connor, sits at a table in the dining room rolling his eyes. He can take Arie to town in the mixology department and I’m surprised he’s not behind the bar making this invent-a-thon a competition. Instead, he lounges in a chair with his arms crossed, shaking his head like this has been going on for hours . “That one’s a Flaming Phoenix,” Connor says, answering my question, nodding to the misty lavender concoction. “And, Dragon’s Blood.” He points to an elegant raspberry daiquiri

245 ELLE BERLIN sprinkled with thyme and set on re. Then he gestures to the third, which smells like ginger beer and spiced rum. It’s the one Arie is currently working on, hand squeezing a wedge of passionfruit over the rim as she tries to light the spritz of juice on re. “That one is something else altogether,” Connor says, ba ed. “She read somewhere that you can light alcohol-soaked fruit juice on re. It’s supposed to zzle like a sparkler show, but she hasn’t mastered it yet .” “I’m not a quitter!” Arie throws at him, not looking up, completely xated on the drink as she picks up a soaked orange peel and sprays the mist across the mouth of the drink, ashing it with a brûlée torch to see if it will explode like Pompei. “Last I checked,” she says to Connor, “you liked my focus and endurance .” “That wasn’t in the context of your entire apartment being turned into a vodka-fruit cannery,” he says dryly . “I think my fruit juice to alcohol ratio is o ,” Arie says, when her second attempt doesn’t catch on re. “I wonder if the season and the ripeness of the fruit plays a part ?” “Oooh, what is this?” a fourth voice joins the choir, and Simon—Arie’s business partner—walks in from the back o ces. He wears a striped button-up shirt and horn-rimmed glasses, sporting the nerdy Clark Kent look like it just became the latest fashion. Simon’s the accountant. Arie’s the talent. “Are you trying to come up with a new drink for the movie wrap party?” Simon asks, walking up to the bar and picking up the latest red- dragon blood concoction and taking a sip . Connor rolls his eyes like that sweet little chunk of change is not going to be worth his girlfriend’s soaked-fruit obsession . “I call it insanity,” Connor quips. “She calls it creativity. It’s not like the menu we already have isn’t explosive enough.” He raises his voice with that last statement to make sure Arie heard him .

246 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Famous people. Hollywood,” Arie retorts, listening but still engrossed in her drunken edible arrangement. “This is a high-pro le gig. Explain to them that this is important, Simon! I have to pull out all the stops .” “She has to pull out all the stops,” Simon echoes sarcasti ‐ cally, not taking sides . Arie rolls her eyes. “Plus, Esme’s boyfriend will be there, and we’ve got to impress him .” “Correction,” I interject. “He’s not my boyfriend.” I hold up a nger before swiping the lavender drink and plucking out the blackberry that’s balanced across the lip with a toothpick . “I’m sorry,” Arie corrects, abandoning her fruits to nally look up at the three of us. “Her hotter-than-sin fuck- buddy .” “Oh, he’s not that either!” I toss back, pulling the black ‐ berry o the toothpick with my teeth. “We haven’t even done that hot little deed .” “I was thinking about coming up with a cocktail that uses his last name,” Arie says, not paying attention and obsessing over her next idea, turning back to the shelves of alcohol that are lined on the wall . Connor looks at me and raises an eyebrow, surprised she hasn’t skewered me with what I just said. “She totally missed that little comment, now didn’t she?” Connor says quietly, and I nod . “You know, something that has a pike in it,” Arie continues. “He is the star. I could use some sort of mini cocktail spear and stab it through some fruit or something .” “Maybe all these booze-soaked berries for a start?” Connor oers sarcastically, but she isn’t listening . “Whatever you make, keep it in budget,” Simon says, grab ‐ bing some papers from behind the cash register and heading toward the door. He points to Connor. “Make sure you keep her in line .”

247 ELLE BERLIN

“I’m not her keeper!” he tosses back indignantly . “Yes, you are!” Simon says, heading for the elevator . “Clearly this whole Hollywood soiree gig has her o her game,” I toss at Connor, who nods his head like I haven’t seen anything yet . “Maybe the pike could light on re,” Arie continues, not even paying attention to us. “You know, when you pull it out of the drink. In honor of Mr. Movie-star-bedroom-buddy.” Connor and I both laugh and she looks up at us suspiciously. “Why are you two laughing ?” “No reason,” I say, walking past her and behind the bar. I start pulling out green liqueurs—Midori, Absinthe, Apple Vodka—and placing them on the corner next to the litter of abandoned and un nished drinks. Welcome to the island of mis t cocktails. “The lm has a radiation monster in it. Maybe go with a green liqueur and throw in an octopus tentacle or something .” Arie picks up one of the bottles and tilts her head to the side, the wheels in her head churning. “Hmmm, not a bad idea,” she admits, reaching for an empty glass to start experi ‐ menting . “On the subject of the wrap party,” I say. “Will you need me to work the event or are you fully sta ed?” Arie’s head snaps up like I’ve grown three heads . “Work the party?” Her face scrunches up like I poured milk into her orange juice. “You’re going to be Desmond’s fucking date. Hello !” I shake my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The wrap party is a work thing for Desmond. You know, Hollywood people, high-pro le.” I point at her. “Those are your words. If I’m at this event, it’s only going to be because you have me tableside, juggling aming oysters .” “For the record!” Connor interrupts. “Esme is not allowed

248 WHISKEY SPLASH to juggle anything that is on re!” He looks at me with a don’t- kick-my-balls smile. “For the record, I think your awesome. You know I do. But let’s all be honest about the fact that your delightfully charming awkwardness sometimes sets clothing— and sometimes people—on re .” “Let’s not forget,” I defend, “that the rst time anything came close to catching on re in my presence was your broth ‐ er’s fault! Or yours, technically, because you’re the one who clocked him !” “Point taken,” Connor glowers. “But I still don’t think aming acrobatics are your strong suit .” “I can happily man the salad bar,” I toss back at him . “We don’t have one of those.” Connor frowns . “I know that,” I sass, throwing my hands in the air. “That was rhetorical .” “Rhetorical is the fact that you are not working this event,” Arie’s voice goes up with her insistence. “What you’re going to do is buy yourself the sexiest damn evening gown you can nd, so when you’re hanging o of Desmond’s ip-me-over-back ‐ wards arms —” “Hey, I’m sitting right here!” Connor interjects, warning Arie to back o of the Desmond-love- fest . “Arms that are clearly not as gorgeous as Connor’s man- pipes,” she tosses at him ippantly. “The point is, when everyone is looking in your direction, you want them to think, Damn! That’s the luckiest man on the planet .” “Except for me,” Connor tosses in. “Cause I get to go home with the dirtier and nastier twin .” “That says a lot about you,” I say dryly, and he smiles . “Yes, it does .” I roll my eyes at Connor, but Arie’s grinning like he tossed her a cut diamond . “I’m not getting in the middle of this,” Connor asserts.

249 ELLE BERLIN

“But my vote is on the dress. In fact, ask him to go with you when you try them on. That way he can pick what he likes best .” “And what do I say when he asks what the hell I need this dress for?” I ask, throwing a hand on my hips . “Easy.” Connor shrugs. “Don’t tell him anything. He’ll go mad at the idea that you’d be wearing whatever he’s picked out in public without him; that alone will probably get him to invite you to the party on the spot .” Arie points at Connor like that was some foolproof Einstein-level plan that she’s ready to endorse with an ovary. I frown at both of them . “It sounds like both of you have been breathing too much burnt fruit,” I retort, grabbing my purse before heading for the door. “I’ve got to get to work.” I nod to the bar covered in half- made drinks. “Don’t go overboard and stress yourself out like you did before the restaurant opened,” I warn Arie, then point at Connor. “Please keep an eye on her .” “I always do,” he says sweetly, then points back at me. “I’m not kidding about dress shopping. Do it. And wear something sexy underneath. That way, when you ask him to zip up the back in the dressing room, he’ll be thinking about taking the dress o as much as putting it on .” “Are you two the same person?” I ask, pointing between Connor and Arie, and frown suspiciously. First, my sister gets Naomi to join in her meddling habits, and now Connor too? “I’m starting to suspect that Arie and I didn’t share a womb,” I toss at Connor. “But instead, it was actually the two of you who were separated at birth! You’ve been drinking too much Arie- Kool- Aid !” “That would mean I’m fucking my brother!” Arie calls out . “I wouldn’t put it past you!” I shoot back . Connor just laughs. “Esme, maybe start with bedding the

250 WHISKEY SPLASH guy,” he tosses at me as I open the door to head to the elevator. “That usually helps seal the deal .” “Wait what?” Arie’s eyes cut to me like an eagle on prey. “You and Desmond haven’t actually —?” “Aaaaand, I’m late for work,” I say, walking out backwards. “Thanks Connor .” “You said it rst.” He shrugs as my sister untangles herself from the bar and speeds in my direction. I turn fast and scamper toward the elevator, managing to get the doors to close just as Arie is exiting the restaurant and stalking toward me. I swear, dragon re is breathing out of her nostrils. I wave sweetly as the doors slide shut, allowing me to escape . Of course, I know that’s not the end of it. It never is. But maybe it will distract her from obsessing over cocktails and feeling the need to impress Hollywood . Maybe.

Later that afternoon, I’m between massage clients when I get a text message from Desmond. I almost drop the phone when I read it .

Desmond: Your sister just messaged me asking why I haven’t, and I’m quoting here, “reamed you with my hot throbbing man- pike .”

My sister is such a delight . I twist out of the hallway and turn into a private nook of the spa where a cascading lotus fountain sprinkles my feet. I do my best to hide my cell phone so it doesn’t bother any of the passing patrons .

251 ELLE BERLIN

Esme: I’m sorry! That puts a new level on meddling sister now doesn’t it ?

Desmond: Yeah, that’s an understatement .

Esme: Welcome to my life .

Desmond: I’m surprised she didn’t devour you in the womb .

Esme: Me too! But remember, she’s your favorite wing -man .

Desmond: I may have to re her .

Esme: You can try. But you’ll probably have to get a restraining order .

Desmond: How did you ever survive high school? Or college ?

Esme: Lots of therapy .

Desmond: And you seemed so normal .

Esme: You knew that wasn’t the case from day one. Pimp out my sister for a Yelp review, remember ?

Desmond: Best blind date of my life. Only, it wasn’t a blind date, so much as an ambush .

252 WHISKEY SPLASH

Esme: If it’s any consolation, she’s just trying to get you laid .

Desmond: Was it the “ream my sister” or “hot throbbing man-pike” part that clued you in on that ?

Esme: If it makes you feel any better, my prude- shaming text messages include—and I also quote : “Dust o that ancient vagina and start cleaning the cobwebs with that womb broom .” “Did you say Desmond’s movie is about monsters o the coast of Hawaii? Because you should have been torpedoing his eel weeks ago .” “I’m pretty sure Desmond can do two person push-ups with his eyes closed. You better be signing up for private lessons .”

Desmond: *Private* lessons ?

Esme: Oh yes, puns and all .

Desmond: For clari cation, if I actually “ream you with my man-pike” do the text messages from your sister stop ?

Esme: No. Then she’ll start asking for detailed descriptions .

Desmond: Of course she will .

253 ELLE BERLIN

Esme: If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll understand .

Desmond: Again, how did you survive the last twenty -six years of your life ?

Esme: In a constant state of humiliation .

Desmond: And you choose to live near your sister? You could y across the globe and change your name? Assume another life ?

Esme: That’s love for you. Yes, I often want to kill my sister. But, I love her more .

Desmond: You realize, that’s the sweetest thing you could have said .

Esme: I’m the sweet one. She’s the heathen .

Desmond: You’re a really good sister .

Esme: I’m sorry if she embarrassed you .

Desmond: I’ll survive. Now, tell me about how I can get you to sign up for some *private * lessons .

Esme: Well, at least you’re catching on to the language .

I hear Mrs. Rose’s footsteps stomping down the hall and I

254 WHISKEY SPLASH peek out of the alcove to see her headed in my direction. I quickly dash o one more text .

Esme: See you Friday. Gotta go. Boss is coming .

I tuck my phone away and sneak through the hallway to the locker room, pulling my supplies out for my next session. Mrs. Rose swings in and looks at me suspiciously, but I’m busy orga ‐ nizing my supplies. I wave at her with a small smile and she frowns, walking out without a word . After my nal session and I’ve cleaned up my station, I pull out my phone as I’m changing in the locker room, getting ready to hang out with Naomi and the girls in the steam room. Act normal, right? Do what everyone else is doing and avoid suspicion . I see Desmond’s reply and my legs go weak .

Desmond: I’ve signed you up for a private lesson at 5pm on Friday. Two-person pushups require a lot of stamina. You might want to carb-up so you’re ready .

I must ush, because Naomi gives me a suggestive look as she walks in and tosses me a robe and towel . “Strip down, girl, and meet us in the steam room,” she says. “Then you’re going to tell me everything Mr. Clarke just texted you, because damn !” My face heats even more and I turn away from her when she tries to peek over my shoulder to see what we’ve been texting. “I’ll be a second,” I say, dashing o a nal text :

Esme: Did you just tell me to pig out on wa es? You’ve stolen my heart already .

255 ELLE BERLIN

My phone beeps one more time as I slip on my robe .

Desmond: Pick your fancy, but wa es isn’t what I’ll be eating .

Naomi is right: damn. I’m not going to survive Hurricane Desmond .

256 CHAPTER TWENTY

’ve made it to Thursday without any incident with Mrs. I Rose, which is a blessing. Especially since I’ve had butter ‐ ies in my stomach all week, which have turned into a tornado because tomorrow Desmond comes back. It’s a godsend that I haven’t tripped over my own feet or knocked a client face- rst into a mud bath . I’m the rst to arrive in the spa’s salt-infused steam room, the other girls still packing up their carts before joining me like they’ve done all week . The small room reminds me of a Roman bath house. It isn’t a big courtyard with pillars, but the ceiling is arched like a tunnel and the benches and walls are made of a warm yellow stone. It gives the illusion of being ancient and old, and the salt in the air creates an earthy tang reminding me of a hidden tomb in a giant temple, a private sanctuary. There’s room for six of us on the at planks of granite, the benches wide enough to lie down on. And the seats face each other as if you’re supposed to ruminate for hours with your friends, soaking up the steam as you philosophize on life’s meaning .

257 ELLE BERLIN

The temperature in the chamber is immediate, pebbling my skin with sweat as the vapors kiss my exposed shoulders, turning the towel wrapped around my mid-section damp. A pyramid of rolled towels lies near the entrance next to a bowl of rosewater and I snag an extra towel before moving to the back of the room. I walk to the slab near the at wall in the back that’s hung with Moroccan-style lanterns. The candlelit glow through the metal sheets cast intricate shadows over the granite and steam, and when I walk close to the wall the light tattoos my arms and legs in elaborate patterns . I’m the rst to arrive and this corner has become my go-to location all week, and now that it’s Thursday, the habit has become routine. I place the rolled towel in the corner to act as a pillow, then unwrap the damp one that clings to my skin . I’m alone and nobody’s here yet, so I take a moment to let the steam glide over all of me. It’s a consuming humid blanket and I tilt my head back to bask in the feeling of the sweltering exhale of heat as it soaks my naked body. The thick haze of moisture slips over my breasts and stomach, up my arms and down my spine, cupping my backside. It’s a sensual blaze of invisible hands limbering up my muscles and stealing the stress buried at the back of my neck. Whoever’s idea it was to start using the steam rooms after hours is a freaking genius . I allow myself one more delicious moment exposed to the room’s elements before I lie down on the bench and atten my spine against the wet stone. I place the damp towel over my hips, torso, and chest, so I’m decently covered, with only my legs and shoulders unveiled. My friends will be in here in a minute and even though some of the girls don’t mind lounging around naked in each other’s presence, I’m not one of them . I’d be lying if the hard stone against my shoulder blades doesn’t make me think of Desmond. My mind is already buzzing between what might happen tomorrow when he gets

258 WHISKEY SPLASH back from his shoot and the memory of my body arched against the hard tile of his pool. Naomi’s been teasing me about him all week, and Arie’s been on her text messaging vendetta, thinking ridiculous phrases like “go batter dip his corn dog” and “why aren’t you pounding the punani pavement” as if that’s the equivalent of an inspirational speech . I stare at the ceiling and try to melt into the steam, lying in corpse pose and relaxing my gaze. Thankful for this quiet moment before Naomi and the girls come in whistling and giggling . I ll up my lungs with hot wet air, centering my thoughts on being in the moment, on being present. I walk my mind through the sensations around me, the brine of salt on my lips, the silent echo of my breathing. Steam drifts through the lacy patterns of light on the ceiling, candlelight ickering, and I’m in a dreamland, a cloud- lled bath of humidity. The wet-gold stones are grounding, making me aware of my legs stretched out long and at against the smooth rock, my body sweating. Mois ‐ ture wilts along my cheeks and neck, a soft drizzle pooling along the underside of my breasts. I close my eyes as a low vibration hums in my stomach, like a singing bowl strumming me with sound, opening me up to a state of internal revelry. This is what bliss is, a calm openness, sweating out all the bad and allowing the good back in . I hear the door to the chamber click open and one of the girls comes in. She’s quiet, easing the door shut like she knows I’m in the middle of some euphoric mental sanctuary. She pads in softly and maybe grabs a towel. I ease my mind back to that blissful state where my body is light and my mind is steam, not hearing her sit or lie down, thankful she also wants to bask in this simple ecstasy. After a while, I reach my arms up, elon ‐ gating my body and stretching, pressing my ngers into the wall behind me as I wring my muscles out like a cat arching .

259 ELLE BERLIN

“Mmmmm,” I let out a soft tone so she knows it’s okay to start talking if she wants to. “You have no clue how badly I needed this this week,” I say in a low whisper that dissipates through the brume . “You can say that again,” comes a dark growl, and my nipples peak . I know that voice, that intonation, a pang between my legs suddenly aching . My body snaps closed from its arched stretch, my hands shooting to the top of my towel to grip it. It can’t be! And yet, in the nebula of steam on the other side of the stone chamber stands Desmond . He leans against the arched doorway, his arms crossed over his bare chest. The ripples of his abdomen glazed in the watery perspiration of the room, and his thick V of muscles are exposed just above the towel he’s got wrapped around his hips. It’s too precarious, that tiny scrap of cloth with its split in the fabric, showing o his muscled thigh as if the towel isn’t long enough to contain him . I push damp hair from my face and sit up, clutching the towel to my breastbone . “I’m hallucinating!” I squawk out, my voice echoing through the tiny room . It’s Thursday . Hello, Thursday! He doesn’t come back till tomorrow . I must be high on steam or whatever drug-laced ju-ju good ‐ ness they pump into this room, because he cannot, is not, in front of me. Not at the spa. Not where I work. Not with the girls about to walk in at any moment ! A sexy smile creeps over his mouth. “Did you miss me?” His smooth voice coats the steam, slipping over me like the hot moisture beading my every extremity . “It’s not Friday!” I say lamely, his presence immediately

260 WHISKEY SPLASH waking my body, the wet towel over my front molding to my chest. “You can’t be —” “I nished lming early,” he says, pushing up o the archway and taking a step deeper into the room. “I booked a ight back to Oahu as soon as I could .” I shoot up, clutching the towel over my front as I face him. “You can’t be here! In here!” My legs wobble as my entire back and legs are licked with foggy heat. “The other girls are going to come in! I’m waiting for them.” I point behind him at the door. “The spa isn’t open and —” “You don’t think I paid them o ?” he says smoothly, taking another dangerous step toward me and splitting that towel of his open so the slit runs all the way up to his hip. My mouth goes dry as he practically shows me his entire naked ank, and it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath that towel either. My core starts to pound, his presence disarming . “What do you mean you paid them ?” “Well,” Desmond explains, “if Mr. Clarke tips everyone at this spa—” His eyes light on me with his scheme. “Then it’s going to be hard for your boss to single you out. She’s going to have to think I’ve had everyone’s hands on my —” My skin bristles at the idea of anyone else’s hands on him, which he notices, releasing that wicked smile from his lips. He takes another step, deliberately adjusting his towel and unleashing the knot. White fabric slips o his hips, unspooling around the back of his ass, and I can’t help my mouth from falling open at the overtness of it . All of his naked body is exposed except for the drape of fabric between his legs where he sts the towel right in front of his cock . “You’re going to get me red!” I rasp out, unable to keep my eyes from raking over his glorious thighs. Thighs I want to climb !

261 ELLE BERLIN

“I promise you I’m not,” he says walking toward me. “Mrs. Rose is gone.” I shudder at the fact that he knows her name, and he raises his eyebrows to say he’s done his homework. “Naomi is gone,” he continues, inching closer. “All your coworkers are gone. It seems you’ve been given the job to lock up for the night. Just you, Esme .” I step backwards at his advance, the sight of his powerful body turning me to liquid, making my pussy thrum with excitement . Alone. That’s what he just said . He paid everyone o so he could slip into this steam room and be alone with me . I clutch the towel over my front like a tiny lamb, knowing he’s seen everything under it before, and knowing just as well that I know exactly what’s waiting for me under that sted towel between his legs. I step back again, hitting the wall behind me, my ass pressing into the hot stone, the light from the lantern falling over my shoulders, covering me in swirls of shadow . Heat ripples in the air between us, a mirage maybe, an illu ‐ sion of steam and heat as he keeps walking forward. His gold eyes are dark and dangerous, his presence completely occupying . We’re only two small towels away from being naked together, again, only steps away from our glistening bodies being pressed and tangled sinfully. The steam sets me to melt, every inch of me feverish, my skin unsure it can handle the brand of his hands, his weight, the demand of him . “Desmond, what if you’re wrong and someone comes —” “I locked the door,” he says, only a step from me. “There are no windows, no cameras, no one. I’ll never let it be anyone

262 WHISKEY SPLASH except you and me,” he says with a rmness that makes my heart balloon . “You and me and your ten-inch cock,” I blurt out and he dips his head, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. It cuts the heat, and the boyishness of his amused smile makes my heart pound . “Okay,” he agrees. “Just the three of us.” He nods, dropping his towel to give me a hot eye-full of his thick cock . My mouth dehydrates from lack of moisture and seeing how aroused he already is, at how easy it would be to drop to my knees and wrap my hands around those gorgeous thighs and return the favor he once gave me . But suddenly he’s close, right in front of me, both of his hands swinging up to each side of my shoulders. His palms slap against the stone as he cages me in between his muscled arms, boxing me in with his nakedness. The proximity of him makes every part of my body beg, his searing eyes promising to make me scream louder than when I dragged my pussy against his tongue . He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The hover of his body is a dare . His mouth only inches from mine, his entire posture taunting me to reach out, slip my ngers over his skin, down his abs, over his most impressive part. We’ve been joking about his cock for days, but now it’s time for me to take him—between my lips, between my legs . My heart is racing with how badly I want him, my body weak and his dominating position spinning my brain. This is all happening so fast. The fact that he’s even here is enough to have me reeling, but the fact that he’s above me with his wide chest and arms—naked, vulnerable, ready . I gulp down the balmy air, his eyes waiting patiently, asking permission to swallow me whole .

263 ELLE BERLIN

I lick my lips and break his stare, daring myself to look down the front of his body, over the robust planes of his chest, the muscles of his stomach and legs, and then—at his cock . I take my time savoring his gorgeous, weighty manhood, something I would normally look away from, normally too private and personal. But in the dripping steam I caress him with my eyes, exploring his shape, thick and beautiful, his chest breathing heavily as I savor it. The girth of him drags a breathy moan from my throat and I feel Desmond’s mouth brush against my forehead, smiling at my admission. The mere sight of him making me wicked . “I know what your hands feel like,” he says huskily, “all over my body.” He’s talking about that day on my massage table, when my hands rst explored his velvet brawn. “Almost every inch of me knows your talents .” I burn, knowing he means the beautiful part of him I’m now looking at. A hint of guilt trickles through me, aware that he’s made me come and cry out, but I—I’ve made him moan and thicken, but I haven’t brought him to completion . I lift my gaze to those amber eyes, seeing the kindness behind the desire, the kindle of an emotion that ties us together, knowing his posture isn’t a demand. It’s not even a plea, so much as a question . Are you ready? Do you trust me ? I clutch the tiny towel draped across my front, my nipples peaked against the cotton. It’s such a tiny shield for all that’s bursting within me, my desire, my boldness, my need. This vulnerability that wants to trust him with all of me, to blossom as much as surrender . Symbolic and literal, I drop the towel. Peeling away and exposing parts of me I want him to know, to touch, to unearth in my skin. The fabric slips away between us, releasing a growl from him, the falling cloth a whisper but also a lashing .

264 WHISKEY SPLASH

The towel pools at my ankles and I take the slightest step forward, my nipples brushing against his chest as my eyes utter at the wickedness of it. Prickles of heat tighten the hard buds, shooting ripples of pleasure across my breasts, down my ribs, keeping my pussy swollen . He doesn’t take his eyes o me as my hands fall to his hips, the contact a whisper, my ngers a phantom ghosting up his abdomen, his chest, slipping around to trace his back muscles. His eyes hold me, intensely, watching my every reaction, my every eck of excitement and nervousness as I tread this tightrope of discovery. The reverence in his eyes, the waking tenderness of it, consumes me in a way his body can’t, his hands still at against the tile, his strapping arms still caging me in. But his eyes, they feel every ngerprint I lay on him, every quiet kiss of devotion . I angle my head, softly opening my mouth and brushing my lips against his. It isn’t a kiss, so much as a caress, a breathless wandering as the tips of our bodies touch. I reach down between us and delicately lift his cock. He groans at the tickle of my ngers as I tip him upward and I lay him against the soft pillow of my belly, sandwiching his heat between our navels . “You undo me,” I breathe, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and tugging softly, inviting him to take my mouth, my heart, my body . Desmond cups my neck delicately, but his mouth is unleashed, ravaging, drowning. I moan as his tongue claims me, runs against my teeth, opens me till I’m gasping. The tiny pres ‐ sure of his hand at the base of my skull is wildly erotic, but his cock pressed between our stomachs has me lascivious and raw, the undulation of our bodies thickening him . His hunger grows, our bodies carnal and molding, my breasts raking against his steam-slicked chest. A thunderstorm of electricity shooting bolts between my legs. His second hand

265 ELLE BERLIN

nds the small of my back, ngers tickling the top of my ass, unweaving me in hot pulsing breaths. But it’s the new pressure, the way his hand curves my hips and stomach against him, the way it slips his cock indecently between our stomachs, fusing us tight, making him grunt and st my hair and bite . It unleashes the beast inside of me . I kiss him hard, ruthlessly. The wet fog making our skin so slick, my hands can’t stop slithering—over his shoulders, his ass, his wickedly muscled back. Desmond presses me harder against the wall, angling his weight into me and sandwiching me between the callous wall and the scorching brand of his body. I whimper, achingly empty, dragging one of my drenched legs upwards and hooking it over his hip. Desmond hisses as the new position slides his cock closer to my open trembling . I pump my hips, my bare pussy quivering at my hedonistic need to climb him, to have both of my legs wrapped around his waist and his cock deep inside me . “Against the wall?” Desmond asks, repositioning his hands so they’re lower and gripping my ass. “Is that how you want me ?” I moan into his neck, his words shooting straight to my empty core . “Tell me how badly you want me inside you right now,” Desmond demands, and I cup the sides of his face and kiss him passionately, my tongue sliding against his. I nip and devour, wanting to taste every dirty word he’s just said. My hips grind against this thickness, but he pulls away slightly, moving the position of his hand, thrusting this thumb deep inside me . “Oh god!” my nails dig into his shoulders . “My cock’s much bigger,” he teases, probing with his thumb before pulling it out to ring my clit with my own juices. I let out an intelligible sound, something barbaric and whim ‐ pering, becoming liquid as his thumb teases. “Ask me to fuck

266 WHISKEY SPLASH you,” he says harshly in my ear, sucking my earlobe into his mouth roughly. He rings my clit again as I moan into his neck. “If you don’t ask, I’m not going to do it .” I’m pumping against his thumb, trying to use his hip for leverage as my ass slaps against the stone behind me. My pussy sucks on his rough nger as I invent a whole new language of growling . “No no no,” he whispers, pulling his thumb out of me and lifting my head, running his thumb over my delirious mouth with my own slickness. “I need words. Real—” his hand drops to my breast, kneading it’s swollen weight. “English.” His mouth drags over mine, tasting my greedy heat. “ Words .” I nip at his mouth before he can nish his sentence. “Yes!” I growl. “No more damn foreplay, Desmond! I need to know how your cock feels inside my cunt !” It’s the crassest thing I’ve ever said, but also the most freeing . My core spasms at my own vicious wanting . I’ve never demanded to be fucked so brazenly, never let down my guard enough to make my desire a command . It turns Desmond into an animal . He crashes his mouth against mine and I’m gasping and mewing into his dominant assault. We’re beasts, lustful and petulant, his hips pumping against my core, working my swollen pussy against his ravenous lashing . “Inside me!” I growl. “I want your cock —” “Yes, ma’am!” he growls against my mouth. “I just need you in position rst, and—” I nip at his mouth but he pulls back, his lustful eyes crinkled with his smile. He steps away from me to nd something in the towel he discarded on the oor. When he nds it, he ashes the gold packet at me before tearing it open and sliding the condom over him . My whole body tightens—this is really about to happen !

267 ELLE BERLIN

“I’m going to lift you up,” Desmond explains, coming back to me. “I’m going to hook both your knees under my forearms so I can hold you, okay ?” I nod, his smile heated as his head lowers between my breasts, raking and sucking my tits as he positions himself below me. His hands slide between my thighs, parting them, his blaze of a mouth devouring the esh of my stomach as he opens me. My bare pussy glistens, slick with steam, and I almost beg him to cover my trembling folds with his rakish mouth and let him hear me scream . But his hands slide between my thighs to cup my ass as he hooks my knees over his thick forearms. He nods at me once, before hoisting me up, my hands wrapping around his neck and clutching his shoulders. I hang on desperately, his skin slick as my spine slides up against the golden stones. The motion drags my pussy up his muscled abdomen and I whimper as my core clenches with the wicked sensation . My hand slaps against the back of his neck, gripping him . Holy shit! I’ve never been so sensitive . I’ve never felt my whole body pound with every throb, never felt so empty and needy of his cock . My head goes light and I gasp down the wet air as he lifts me higher than seems possible. Our eyes connect and I realize he has me open and spread against the wall beneath him, his powerful arms holding me up as if I weigh nothing . It’s the sexiest and most vulnerable thing I can imagine . He adjusts, lowering me just enough to feel the root of his cock press against my entrance. I shudder, moaning into his neck . “Oh god, Desmond! That’s way too fucking hot !” “Mmmm,” he moans into my mouth, swirling his hips devi ‐ ously and teasing that root against my clit. He’s thick, the girth of him laying ush between my folds, his tip teasing my ass. I

268 WHISKEY SPLASH shiver, ready to come without him inside me yet, ready to grind against that thick log of esh that’s unleashing me . Desmond catches my mouth and kisses me wildly, before pulling back and nodding down to his engorged cock. “I don’t have any free hands,” he says hotly. “You’re going to have to—” His eyes dilate as I understand, looking down to where his ngers grip my ass, the weight of my body hooked over his arms, my back pressed against the tile, legs open and hollow . I reach between us and take his length in my hand, our eyes locking as blackness and lust lls both of our gazes. I lash his head through my wetness and we both gasp at the contact . He’s huge and perfect, my pussy impatient as I guide him to my throbbing entrance . “Desmond,” I pant, whimpering against his mouth. “I’ve never needed to be fucked so badly before!” I angle him just right, guiding his head into me, his velvet tip waking something new and ravenous. “Please,” I beg. “I need you to fuck me !” He doesn’t need any more prompting. He drives his hips forward and parts me in one wicked thrust ! His cock slides deep inside me, almost to the hilt, slapping my pelvic bone back against the tile. I cry out is name as my nails dig into his shoulders, holding on tight as he pulls himself back out again . My head falls into his neck at the deliciousness of how he feels pulling out as much as entering. My teeth scratch against his skin, feral, as he drives back into me, then out, then in— lighting my pussy on re as he nds a erce rhythm . He fucks obscenely, pumping so powerfully he has me arching and crying out, my tits bouncing with every pound, my entire lower half burning white hot . The slick of the steam and the heat make the smack of our bodies more carnal, hands gripping esh, tits dragging across his chest. Desmond’s hips thrust like a piston, his cock driving

269 ELLE BERLIN gorgeously. He’s so strong that my ass and spine slide up and down the back wall, his ngers furiously gripping my behind, all the way to my hips. It’s a pinch of pain that shoots a scorching rush of excitement through my spasming pussy . No man has spread me so aggressively and with such power. I’ve always been seen as a delicate ower, having sex sweetly—which has been ne I guess, but nothing, nothing compared to this . Now that I know the pure carnal heat of Desmond Pike pounding me into another reality, I don’t know that anything else will ever satisfy me . “Oh God, Desmond!” I crow, my thighs and pussy clenching and meeting his shameless thrusting. “No man has ever made me come on his cock !” “Never?” He pounds harder and I shake my head, totally lost in the waving thrusts of his whole domination . “No,” I moan. “They always had to go down on me or —” He lifts me higher, pushing into me at a whole new angle and making my mouth drop. “You’re saying you’ve never been truly fucked before ?” “I guess not,” I gasp against his mouth, my words raking out my throat. He smiles triumphantly and I start babbling. “I want to come on your cock, Desmond,” I say vulgarly. “Please make me come on your cock! God, you’re— Oh God, Desmond! Oh God —!” My pussy clenches and ripples, my mouth ravenous for air as Desmond increases his pace and takes me right to the edge, pleasure exploding as my gasps hit completely new octaves. Grinning, Desmond changes the angle again as my orgasm crests and I can’t breathe, I can’t see, a new strip of pleasure tears through me that’s sheer power and ecstasy . My eyes glaze over as Desmond leans into the new angle,

270 WHISKEY SPLASH his own release building. Sel shly, I angle back to watch him grit his teeth, the power and beauty of him as he focuses on thrusting inside me. His head tilts up, eyes catching mine and I see his eyes dilate, his skin ush red, his mouth tremble as his cock reams and quivers, reaching his edge . It’s beautiful, the jolt of release and a ection that slides through his gaze as he comes, just as needy and desperate, nding pure pleasure in me. I dig my ngers into his back as he bites through his release, the intimacy of looking right at me completely unraveling . The intensity of his thrusts slow as he captures my mouth, wild and soft and full of raw emotion. He holds me tightly as he takes a few steps back and turns, slowly lowering us both onto the bench. He sits himself back against the stone with me cradled in his lap, straddling him. He kisses me for so long with his arms clutching my spine, that I’m sure I’ve gotten lost in the stars . Eventually, his arms loosen and he pulls back to look at me, pushing my hair out of my face. I’m ravaged, hair slick and wild, breasts swollen and bobbing with each of my breaths. Slowly, unabashedly, like it’s something he owns, he runs his hands up my body, over my soft stomach, my heavy tits, and back down again to my thighs. It’s not a possession, but an act of worship, the need to participate in something that lls him with awe . “You’re way too good at that,” I say, leaning into his touch, his hands passing over me once more before sliding around to my ribcage and spine. Desmond shakes his head softly as he leans in to smile against my lips . “You realize,” Desmond says, his voice tight. “Now that I’ve had you—” his hands slide down to my ass and he pulls me closer to him. “I’m going to be thinking about every possible way to make you scream like that again .”

271 ELLE BERLIN

“I’m pretty sure you were thinking about that before you had me.” I nip at his lip . “Maybe,” he admits. “But now that you’ve come on my cock, I’m going to make you do it again and again .” “Is that so?” I tease, softly licking his mouth . “Uh huh,” he agrees, his wide hands slowly pumping my hips, rekindling that heat between my legs . “Really?” I pull back and start to roll my pelvis in his lap. “Because I’m not sure it’s humanly possible to make me come that hard ever again .” He kisses me deeply, his cock still deep inside me. “Chal ‐ lenge accepted .”

272 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

hree days later, I’m downtown at the fanciest dress shop T in town, surrounded by chandeliers and racks of silk and ta eta. The saleswomen in the boutique hover like ravens in black pencil skirts and stylish hair that’s over-coi ed. I don’t think lavender-haired masseuses who make a blue-collar wage are their normal clientele. I told Arie as much when I looked at the boutique’s website on-line and saw the faux red runway they have for you to parade down to make you feel like a super ‐ model, the red carpet anked by chandeliers and sparkling sconces . “It doesn’t matter if you can’t a ord it,” Arie instructed. “Find the dress that makes you feel like a fucking goddess and put it on your credit card .” “That’s not free money, you know,” I complained. “You actually have to pay that o later .” “How many times in your life are you going to get to live out a fairytale like this?” She tossed back at me with a knowing smirk .

273 ELLE BERLIN

“Interesting,” I said back. “Because I thought I was supposed to break-up with my Disney-princess obsession ?” “Um, that was when you weren’t getting laid !” “Oh, so I’m allowed to live-out the princess fantasy—petti ‐ coats and tiaras and all—as long as there’s room under all that tulle for Desmond to bone me ?” My sister shrugged. “Now you’re catching on .” “Barbarian!” I rolled my eyes as I copied the name of the shop and their address into my phone . “Oh, and no matter what,” Arie continued. “Don’t let Desmond pay for the dress .” “I wasn’t going to!” I said quickly. “I’m not a gold digger, geez .” “Exactly!” Arie agreed. “You’re a young independent woman who can buy whatever fucking dress she wants, with her own hard-earned dime .” “Or I’ll sell a kidney on the black market for it .” “Still your dime,” she insisted . “A kidney for a dress,” I said dryly. “ Charming .” I ip over a price tag on the nearest gown and do my best to keep my lunch down when I see the amount . You can a
ord one beautiful dress in your life , I tell myself, a bit lightheaded. A gorgeous, once-in-a-lifetime-dress that you’ll make Desmond never forget you in. A dress I’ll also use after the party to cook and clean, run errands, do yoga, lounge on the beach, because it will be the only thing in my entire wardrobe after I sell o all my belongings on e-bay to aord it . I run my hands over the trove of fabrics, elegant satin, beaded brocades, corsets and lace. All of it is nely made and making my inner thirteen-year-old jump up and down like I gave her a pony. I remind myself that this is just a party, not an elaborate ball with men in bandoliers and coattails, or ag- strung trumpets announcing ladies and lords through the

274 WHISKEY SPLASH echoing hall. But I admit, a huge piece of my life feels like a giant fairytale right now. My prince has already wakened me with his kiss, then ravaged me with his cock enough times to leave me deliciously sore . “Can I help you nd something?” comes a tart voice salted with vinegar, and I turn to the saleswoman beside me. Her hawkish features are severe and her lips purse into a forced smile. Her raptor eyes dart to the rack I’m perusing like I’m a thief, making me drop my hands from the dresses. It’s as if my oily ngertips have already made the gowns unsellable to her proper clientele and now she’ll need to take them out back and burn them . “Um, yes,” I swallow hard. “I have a, um … a thing to go to, and I need something to wear .” “A thing? ” the saleswoman spits out the word, looking me up and down. A feather of a sneer tugs her lip and I know she doesn’t approve of my casual jeans and grey blouse dotted with tiny pink owers. I must look like a cheap coupon-cutting- wholesale-rack enthusiast from the way she’s going out of her way to hold her tongue . “It’s um, a party,” I clarify. “An evening event. Where people eat and—” Her features are stoic as I bumble through my non-speci city. I didn’t really think through what I’d say. Connor just told me to be elusive. However, he forgot my inability to be eloquent, turning everything I say into a tossed verbal-salad. “Actually, I’ll uh, I’ll just look around,” I say nally. “And if I nd anything I like, I’ll let you know .” “Absolutely, ma’am,” she practically hisses. “You do that .” “Hey,” comes Desmond’s voice over my shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late !” The saleswoman’s eyes ick past me and her prickly features drain to white. Desmond’s arms wrap around my waist as he kisses me just below the ear, clearly too intimate for us to

275 ELLE BERLIN be friends. And from the pucker of her mouth falling open, I can tell the saleswoman recognizes Desmond, probably having seen all four seasons of Billionaire Heat. Her eyes narrow as he lingers too long with his head nuzzled in my hair and a shadow of judgement sweeps through the saleswoman’s bird-like frown, asking who the hell am I to be with him? I cough politely at Desmond, nodding to the woman, whose face lights up into a sweet cherry blossom of congeniality the second his attention hits her. She’s a poisonous chameleon, that’s for sure . “Hi,” Desmond says kindly, reaching out his hand to greet the woman. “ Desmond .” “It’s an honor, Mr. Pike! We’re delighted to have you in the boutique today,” she says, drizzling on the charm, as if you can put sugar on top of a burnt cake and call it brûlée . “Did we get a dressing room yet?” Desmond asks, his hands moving from my waist to relax on my shoulders. The amount he’s touching me is not lost on the saleswoman and I swear her sts are so tight they could crush coal into a diamond. “And can I get a water?” Desmond continues. “Or maybe you have one of those zzy drinks?” The authority he speaks with, and the simple fact that he knows those are things he can ask for in a dress shop, lets me know he frequents boutiques like this all the time, reminding me of the ri between our lives . “Of course, we have Perrier, sir,” the woman nods. “Lime wedge ?” “If it’s no trouble .” She practically salivates before replying. “Oh no, sir. It would be my absolute pleasure.” Her eyes ick to me, those features held impeccably in a rosy smile, but I see the glimmer of distaste as her gaze glides over me. It’s the same prescriptive look I got when Jeremey’s pictures were distributed, like she knows exactly what I am. My throat tightens as she turns on her heels and heads to the back of the

276 WHISKEY SPLASH store. Desmond and I haven’t been in public together much, not when anyone knew who he was and looked at me like I’m … garbage . I’m ready to walk out. I don’t need a dress. This was all a ruse to get Desmond to take me to the party, but maybe he still won’t. The last thing I want is to spend my meager life-savings on a dress I don’t even get to wear. And on top of that, I’ll have to return to this boutique and see the smirk on that saleswoman telling me I’m completely disposable . Desmond feels the tension in me when I hardly move, not even touching the dresses. His ngers starting to knead into my neck. “Was that woman a bitch to you before I walked in ?” I nod. “ Yup .” Desmond kisses the back of my head, then starts pulling dresses o the rack. “In that case, I think we’re going to have you try on half the store .” I pinch the bridge of my nose, the bleat of a headache starting to bloom. “I don’t need a dress,” I say softly. “We should just go .” I turn to the door to get out of here before that damn woman comes back, but Desmond catches my elbow. “Hey,” he says softly. “First, no elitist bitch of a woman gets to treat you like dirt. I won’t stand for it. And second, if you leave, then you don’t get to try on this hideous monstrosity!” He holds up a dress that looks like it’s been ocked with chicken feathers. “Did you know poultry-chic was a thing ?” “Oh my god, what died on that dress?” I almost burst out laughing and his eyes soften, happy a little humor could di use the situation. “That gives new meaning to the ugly duckling .” “Fowl is the new black .” “And she didn’t treat me like dirt,” I say, rolling my shoul ‐ ders as if her words are a lm of discomfort I need to shed. “She just —”

277 ELLE BERLIN

“Made you want to leave,” Desmond says, kissing me on the head. “If she did that, then she did enough .” “Look, I don’t want to make a thing out of it,” I explain. “We can try a couple things on, then get out of here. Forget about it. Okay ?” “Okay,” he says softly, before lifting up the Chickens-gone- wild monstrosity. “But you’re de nitely putting this one on .” “Why? So you can have nightmares about me as a giant chicken-lady?” I quip, and he pulls me close again . “Are they naughty nightmares ?” I push him o . “You will never want to touch me again after you see me in that thing .” “Doubtful,” he teases, lea ng through the next rack and pulling out more dresses . The saleswoman comes back a few minutes later with the drink—decidedly his drink, nothing for me. She hasn’t even oered. A detail that Desmond notes as he loads up her arms in pounds of dresses, before making a show of walking over and handing the drink to me without taking a sip, causing the woman to scowl when he shows her his back . “Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” she asks, spinning her features into daisies and sunshine when he turns back around . “Nope,” Desmond says curtly. “This is all about the lady.” He nods to me. “Whatever she wants, she gets .” The woman smiles sourly. “Of course .” “Oh, and can we see the three dresses in the window,” Desmond points to the elaborate window display up front. The woman’s face falls, revealing that it’s actually a chore to undress the mannequins, or maybe she’s not even supposed to do it. Her eyes ick to me, her lips in a tight line implying those dresses are probably worth a down payment on a house and I shouldn’t be wearing such an extravagance. “Is there a problem?”

278 WHISKEY SPLASH

Desmond asks sharply. “Or should I speak to the manager about —” “No no no! Of course not, sir,” she balks, zipping up her expressions with a cheery laugh. “I’ll get them out for you right this moment.” She walks away quickly, handing the already mountainous stack of gowns to one of the other girls before she stalks up to the window . “You’re going to make this the worst sales session of her life, aren’t you?” I ask Desmond under my breath, and he looks at me like I’ve grown a third eye . “Me? What? I’m a sweetheart. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” He walks up to a rack and pulls out a shim ‐ mering sequin number. “Disco ball meets unicorn fashion .” “That looks like something from Arie’s wardrobe, though you’d be surprised to know teenage me would have sold an arm for something that sparkly .” “Interesting,” Desmond says, adding it to his stack. “Though that would’ve made the whole masseuse career a little hard, stumpy.” He runs a nger down my arm for emphasis. “And, I rather like your hands .” “I’ve noticed,” I say quietly, and he pulls my lavender hair back to kiss my neck . “Okay, here’s the plan,” he instructs. “You pick out the dresses you actually like, and I’m going to nd the ugliest ones. Then, you’re going to give me a fashion show like we’re in one of those movie montages. Deal ?” “Deal,” I nod . Desmond raises his arm to the saleswoman. “Miss?” he calls out. “Do you have anything with bows? Like great big giant bows ?” I pinch him in the side. “Don’t be obvious, geez .” He bats my hand away. “Maybe I have horrible taste. Now get shopping, lady .”

279 ELLE BERLIN

Desmond turns into the customer from hell, getting the woman to run in circles around the store, even making her pull dresses from the back room. Not once does she even come near me, she’s so occupied, and I manage to nd a small selection of gowns I’m actually excited about . They pour us champagne when I parade down their red carpet runway in bows and feathers and sequins. To Desmond’s credit, he’s a better actor than he says he is, pretending to take each one seriously. He even makes the sales ‐ woman call one of the design warehouses to see if they can actually custom design a bow that’s the size of a dolphin . When we get to the gowns I actually want to try on, I ask if we can make the show a little more private, and the sales woman walks us into a side section of the dressing room with three mirrors around a tiny circular step-pedestal. I tell the sales ladies I can get into these dresses on my own, tired of being stu ed and zipped and clipped and pinched. After all, the dresses I’d actually buy don’t have Desmond’s faux-taste in ru es and ounces . I ask if we can have a little privacy and the saleswoman looks at Desmond for permission. He nods, and despite her need to please, the woman actually looks relieved that she’ll get a moment to rest. When they disappear into the front room, Desmond takes a seat near the mirrors and pedestal and I move into the adjacent tting room to try the rst one on . I start with a spaghetti strap emerald gown that hugs in all the right places and with my lavender hair, makes me look like a mermaid. Desmond’s eyes air when I come out of the private room and step up on the mini pedestal. All our silly fun from before wrings out of the air as his eyes darken, taking in how the fabric slips over my curves . “De nitely a contender,” he says in a low purr, and I smile softly .

280 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Are you sure?” I twist in the mirror, showing o the sexy back side that hugs my ass. “I bet they could put a giant bow right here on my derriere ?” “You cover up something that beautiful and I’m going to murder someone,” he growls, and I shake my head at him . “You have impossible taste, Mr. Pike,” I tease, heading back into the dressing room . “You could just go naked,” I hear him say through the wall, and I laugh . “I’m not sure you’d let me out in public naked,” I throw back, taking o the emerald one and putting on the next. “I distinctly remember you having very strong opinions about anyone seeing me in my wet sundress .” I don’t hear his response, but in the mirror of the private room, I look at myself and can’t help but think about that sheer fabric when I was on the beach. Today, I’m wearing undergar ‐ ments made by the same company as the lacy white pieces from that date. Only, now I’m wearing a sheer grey set. The bra is a balconette with thin pinstripes, like on a suit, only, my nipples are visible through the transparent fabric, giving the bra a singular intent—to drive Desmond wild. The same pattern is mimicked on the panties below, and I know Connor told me to invite Desmond in to zip up one of these dresses, but honestly, I don’t think either of us could deal with the consequences if Desmond saw me in these. I slip on the second dress quickly, covering myself and feeling too heated by my own overt choice in undergarments . I walk out in the second dress and Desmond’s eyes are hooded. I can tell he’s been thinking about me running around in the rain in that sundress and I almost make a quip about how this is Hawaii and freak thunderstorms are Oahu’s jam, they happen almost every day. But his predatory expression makes me step up on the pedestal and leave it alone .

281 ELLE BERLIN

The second dress has a beaded bodice and soft tulle skirt that oats out like a fairy gown. The top curves with a neckline that gives the illusion of swirling vines cupping my cleavage . “How many of these are there?” Desmond says with a rawness in his throat, his eyes dancing over me and making my skin heat . “What?” I tease. “I thought we were going to try on half the store !” “Please tell me there’s only one or two more .” “You don’t like this one ?” “That’s not what I said.” His voice is low and direct. I smile, sauntering over to him and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes rake down my cleavage, which was my inten ‐ tion of course, and I can feel the tension in his arms, forcing himself to stay seated . “Three more,” I whisper, and his eyes ick up to me and narrow as if to say this dress charade was a very mean trick I’ve played . I come out a few moments later in something short and lacy, then I show o a sheath black number, but it’s the last one that makes me weak in the knees. It’s an ombre chi on gown that starts out a soft grey tone that then turns lavender. It matches my hair perfectly, but it’s the romantic draping that makes me feel like Grecian Queen. Two drapes of fabric cover my breasts, creating a deep V, and then the fabric collects together at my hips and fans out. Ribbons tie under my breasts and around my waist, Aphrodite style, with the sheers spilling over my hips to play peek-a-boo with my thighs and knees. Silver beads dot the bottom of the skirt, creating constellations around my ankles. It makes me feel sexy and beautiful at the same time, like I’m not just an elegant lady, but someone powerful . I spin on the pedestal and the whole time Desmond is

282 WHISKEY SPLASH quiet. When I turn to look at him, he’s gotten up out of his seat and is walking over to me. He takes my hand and pulls me down o the pedestal, wrapping a hand around my back . “This one,” he says quietly. “I don’t care how many more there are, I’ve never seen your face light up like it does in this one.” His ngers cup my shoulder blades so delicately, I want to melt. “No contest.” He pulls me closer. “You look like the universe, and the whole universe looks like it’s in you .” Our eyes lock and the depth in his eyes makes me feel full, like I could get lost in the safety and beauty of them. I reach up and trace his lips. I don’t kiss him. Instead, I build constella ‐ tions on his mouth, a cosmos of tenderness for me to slip away on . “You still haven’t told me what this is for,” he says softly, and I kiss the dimple at the edge of his mouth. Worlds between us to breathe . “Nothing important,” I say, taking his hand and leading him to the private dressing room and locking the door behind us. One of his eyebrows raises and I turn to show him my back and nonchalantly say, “I need help with the ties and zippers on this one .” “Do you?” Desmond says in a low voice, and I shrug, not allowing myself to be baited by him. I face the wall of dresses that hang in front of me and wait patiently, pretending the mounds of tulle and embroidery and ribbons are far more inter ‐ esting than the fact that I’ve asked him to undress me . “Untie the ribbons rst,” I say, loosening a breath as Desmond lifts my hair o my neck, slowly collecting it. “Then you’ll see where the zipper begins .” “Mmm-hmmm,” Desmond hums, pretending to listen as he brushes the waves of my hair forward. He drags his ngertips along the nape of my neck several times, making a show of removing every wisp of purple before the soft pads of his

283 ELLE BERLIN

ngers trace down the sheer panels on my shoulder blades to nd the ribbons that tie at my waist. His mouth brushes against my neck as he undoes them, his lips and breath painting my skin, the warmth of his exhale sliding across my collar bone and down the deep V at the front of the dress . Then he nds the zipper at the middle of my back and starts to part the fabric. Connor didn’t warn me about how incredibly erotic this would feel. The point was to tease Desmond, but suddenly I’m the one heated. Chi on hugs my hips and drapes down my sides, and when I close my eyes I imagine myself cloaked in the darkness of night, gazing out at the sparkling ocean after the wrap party, his ngers unearthing diamonds beneath every parted inch of this gown . He takes his time, his knuckles tracing my spine, his mouth still breathing at the crook of my neck. When he reaches the end of the zipper at my lower back, he slips one hand inside the dress around my ribs, sliding his ngers over my stomach. The heat of his palm is sinfully delicious, my body uttering as his touch ghosts over my navel. My insides soften and my breath shallows as he idles there, his hand a universe of delicate sensa ‐ tion, as if he’s memorized all the constellations and wants to record them in my skin . His free hand grazes back up to my shoulder and starts to peel away the panel of fabric that hangs there. He’s unzipped me and I can easily get out of the dress on my own now, but the delicate way he slides the strap o my skin has me aching for him to always undress me with such attention . The hand on my stomach moves up, grazing the underside of my breast before he pulls it out to remove the other strap. The dress slips o my body with the weight of the fabric, pooling in a cloud of chi on and stars at my ankles . Desmond tilts his head to the side, and he must look in the mirror, because he curses. “What are you wearing?” he hisses,

284 WHISKEY SPLASH the wick of his voice making my nipples tighten as if they know they’re only hidden by the nest of pinstripes molded to their shape . I bite my lip and say coyly, “What you normally wear under your clothes. A bra, panties.” He ips me around callously for being so coquettish, my ankles tangling in the chif ‐ fon. His barbaric eyes rake down the front of me, and I see the glint of the beast that’s not going to be able to control himself . “I’m buying you that one,” Desmond growls, pointing at the dress at my feet and pushing me back up against the wall and kissing me ercely. “And for the record—” He cups my breasts savagely, thrumming my nipples through the sheer fabric. “That dress looks incredible on you, but it also looks amazing on the oor .” I buck against his advance. “You’re not buying me anything,” I snap, his hands dragging over my stomach and breasts wickedly. “It’s my dress. My purchase .” “Purchase for what?” His ngers squeeze, pinching my nipples crassly. “A wedding? Charity event ?” “Nothing important,” I repeat, nipping at his lip and shrug ‐ ging like his assault isn’t a sinful purgatory . “Yeah, you already said that,” he growls, pulling the strap of my bra down and palming my naked breast, before devouring my mouth. I weaken into his onslaught, our tongues fencing, before I nudge him back and yank my bra strap back up, righting the cup . “We’re in a store!” I hiss . “You think I give a damn?” he says, dropping to the oor and un-tanging the dress from my feet and delicately placing it on the bench of the dressing room, the motion far too careful for the heat in his voice . “I give a damn!” I say, even though heat is streaking through me at the sight of him below me on his knees .

285 ELLE BERLIN

“Are you going to invite me to whatever wedding or event you’re wearing this dress to?” he hisses, sliding his big hands up my naked calves . “I don’t know,” I throw back. “Are you going to invite me to the Flambé wrap party ?” His eyebrow rises like he’s suddenly seeing through this whole charade, but then he says, “Do you mean to tell me that your sister didn’t show you the guest list with your name on it ?” His hands snake up the back of my thighs, and my eyes widen at both his advance and what he just said. “Putting my name on a guest list is not the same as asking!” I rasp out, suddenly hearing the sound of the saleswoman’s voice o in another part of the dressing room . Desmond moves his face toward the apex of my legs, either not hearing the woman out there or not caring. “Do you want to go to the wrap party with me?” he asks, the heat of his breath blazing against the pinstripes of the panties, wetting my core . “That woman is out there!” I hiss through my teeth, keeping my voice down. “She’s already pissed you brought me here! But the second she walks into that back room and doesn’t nd you there, she’s going to think —” “I’m doing this?” he interrupts, pulling the fabric of my panties to the side and licking the bare skin beneath . “Holy shit!” I grab his hair, digging my nails in. His tongue icks like a ame along the line of my folds, softening me. “Desmond! You can’t —” “I already am,” he says against my pussy, his tongue darting deeper in search of my clit. My body creams and I almost topple over on top of him. My eyes ash to the mirror across from us, where I stand with a bed of dresses at my back, tulle and lace framing me. The view of him kneeled in front of me is worth the price of every dress in this store. My skin is spotted in patches of red, and my tits in the sheer bra are so fucking

286 WHISKEY SPLASH hot, even I’m turned on, my nipples a dusky rose. I start to whimper as his head bobs, his mouth beginning its wicked worship . “Not here!” I beg him. “Please! I’ll be too loud.” His tongue parts my folds again and I have to grab the dresses next to me and cover my face to sti e my moan. “Desmond, not here! Please, take me back to my house and I’ll let you do anything you want to me, just let me buy the dress and leave .” “The dress you’re wearing to the Flambé wrap party, right ?” “Yes! Of course, now, please —!” He rings my clit, making my entire pelvis buck against his wicked face, before moving the sheer fabric back over my throb ‐ bing core and standing up, his eyes dark and his lips soaked. “Anything I want to do to you at your house, huh? You promise ?” “Not if you walk out looking like that!” I grumble, reaching up to wipe o his slick mouth . “I was saving that,” he complains, like he had food on his mouth . “I can’t let you out in public, can I?” “Probably not advisable,” he quips, bending down to pick up the dress and replacing it on the hanger. “I’ll get this wrapped up for you .” “Don’t you dare buy that!” I warn. “If you do so much as lay a penny down for that dress, I’ll never let you taste my cunt again !” His eyes are and he kiss me again, wild, passionately, drag ‐ ging the taste of me over my own gasping breaths. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says. “But you also know exactly what will bring me to my knees .” “Literally.” I raise my eyebrows and he smiles . “You’re going to be the death of me .”

287 ELLE BERLIN

“Not before you make me come a few hundred more times, I hope,” I sass . He steps back, shaking his head at me in mock disapproval, but his eyes say the opposite. “My, my, Miss Noel,” he purrs. “If I didn’t know any better, I might say you’re just as foul as that sister of yours .” “I’ll be sure to tell her that .” “Don’t you dare!” His eyes widen . “Afraid of the text-message storm that will pour down on you as a result ?” “Honestly, yes,” he admits, unlocking the changing room door, the dress carefully draped over his arms . “She’ll probably give you a medal,” I throw at him, covering myself up with one of the dresses behind me. “The Pulitzer prize of orgasms .” “They don’t give Pulitzer’s out for that .” I smile sweetly. “Too bad .” He shakes his head at me and slips out of the dressing room. If that woman is out there, then at least she’ll have to deal with the surprise of seeing him walk out of my dressing room. I close my eyes and sink back into the soft fabric of the dresses, lace and tulle brushing my heated skin, a too-soft cushion when my blood is already set to broil. My heart pounds. What am I going to do when Desmond goes back to Los Angeles and that wrap-party is my last night with him? How am I going to survive the withdrawal of it ?

288 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

he dress box sits on my dining room table tied closed T with a giant satin bow. I can see it through my open bedroom door that we didn’t bother to shut . There’s an incriminating trail of discarded clothing leading to my bed that’s tucked in the bay window—shoes, socks, two sets of crumpled jeans, my grey blouse with the tiny pink owers hanging from the edge of my desk, his t-shirt and boxers on the oor, my pinstripe bra and panties recklessly abandoned on opposite sides of the room, a torn open condom wrapper . Cliché, maybe . Completely worth it? You bet . “Is your life sexier than this one now?” Desmond asks, as we tumble onto the bed naked, picking up one of my romance novels and running the spine up my leg. “How about this one?” I take the two books out of his hands and push the others o the bed . “I can’t believe you’re jealous of a bunch of books,” I toss at him, rolling in his arms, into the sunlight that’s warmed my sheets all afternoon .

289 ELLE BERLIN

“I just want to make sure I meet expectations,” Desmond says, kissing down my front . “The irony being that you don’t think you’ve already done that ve times over .” “Five times over, huh? Interesting .” Desmond sits up on his knees and pulls me toward him, his hands running down my naked back as I straddle him, the two of us fused and upright in my bed, both of us kneeling in each other’s arms, worshiping. The layers of transparent princess sheers surrounding my bed create a gauzy cocoon of warm light, the sun streaming in through the drawn sheers of the bay window . We are gold kissed with tenderness as I adjust his thickness and slide down his velvet length, stretching me as we move in each other’s arms. There’s no urgency. We are two sheets in a lazy wind, rolling and caressing in a sea of cotton . I’ve never been so exposed, so bare and uncovered in sunlight, with anyone. I’ve always been intimate in dark rooms, switches down, midnight stars too far away to o er any color . Jeremy taught me to hide in the darkness. To hide my desire. Hide my body. But in this bed with Desmond, in the blinding mid-day afternoon, I’m lit like a brilliant star . The hair on my naked stomach glows, the softness of our navels brushing with the tide of our hips rolling. My soft nipples are pink and white ushed, bleached from so much sunlight, wet from Desmond’s mouth. His hands paint wings on my shoulder blades, his deepening breath weaving con ‐ dence into my starshine. His lips whisper over my shoulders, leaving an imaginary trail of jasmine owers in his wake, the white stars blooming on each freckle he nds . Our eyelashes tangle in a haze . His stubble is a peppered almond shade . The taste of his skin a sunburnt tang in all this bright .

290 WHISKEY SPLASH

His body requires all of me to cover him, my hands lost in his brilliance, the sun-burnished white of his skin light-soaked and making our individual edges hard to de ne, ooding us into one . The re in my core bleats hotter when I look down to see his cock glistening as I pull my hips back, the sun revealing the intimacy of how thoroughly I’ve taken him. The pump of our bodies feels too soft and slow for me to come, but the wicked ache of my clit brushing roll after roll against his pubic bone has me mewing as my pussy lights its own sun. Desmond follows my gaze, looking down to where we connect, the sunshine-covered slick of our bodies rolling and swelling . He cups my face and kisses me, drowning me in sunshine, whispering something about how beautiful I am and how lucky he is. And in a moment of astonishing grace, I don’t feel the need to say anything, to wrap this in some awkward verbal display . Instead, I melt into our luminosity . I dissolve into the burn of our bodies . And when we come, it isn’t wicked and writhing, but softer, like a hot ember slowly burrowing into your skin. It’s like when you open your eyes to see something so bright and incandescent that you want to look away, but you can’t. You have to stare into all that amber-gold beauty and keep breathing as the wave of your nakedness is blossoming . His breath is my breath . My skin is his skin . All our pleasure and trust are wrapped up in the sun. All our naked gold sparkling as we become a shuddering one .

291 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

onnor wants to take credit for Desmond asking me to the C wrap party, even though Arie keeps mentioning that I was already on the guest list . I don’t tell either about how Desmond and I made love all afternoon after I got the dress. All evening too, and into the morning. We didn’t call it that, but we both know that’s what it was. We both knew something changed as we lay naked in the sun. Then we turned on all the lights in my apartment, turned on every string of lanterns, lit every candle, lled up my tiny space with as much brightness as possible, as if we needed to see every inch of one another and leave nothing in darkness . “There’s something di erent about you,” Arie says, looking me over two days later on my lunch break. She sucks on the straw of her oversized mocha-frappa-co ee monstrosity, giving me the once over. “There’s a glow about you, or something, like you’ve got some fancy new age-defying moisturizer at the spa and haven’t stolen me any of it yet .” I roll my eyes at her and shrug like I’ve got no clue what she’s talking about .

292 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Oh wait!” Arie’s eyes light up. “You’re getting laid on a regular basis now and are on the multiple-orgasm diet!” She says it loud enough that several other people in the co ee shop turn to look . “What is wrong with you!” I hiss, ducking my head down and trying to hide behind a fake plant to avoid the prying eyes . “Didn’t I tell you getting laid regularly would make you look ten years younger?” Arie asks triumphantly . “That would make me sixteen,” I toss back at her, swiping her drink. “Too much ca eine makes Arie a crazy loud witch !” She snags the co ee cup back. “Um, it’s not the ca eine that does that. And while we’re at it, I would loooooove for you to say thank you.” Arie motions with both hands to bring on the compliments. “It’s high time you admit for once in your life that I was actually right. That Desmond looks good on you! And he looks good inside —” “Don’t say it!” I plug my ears as several more vulgar things sing out of my sister’s mouth, causing more heads in the co ee shop to swivel in our direction. “You know,” I say, nodding to all the strangers around us, “one of the goals of dating someone famous is for other people to not know about it .” “Ooooooh, so you’re dating now?” Arie says, raising her voice. “You’re not just raw-dogging him like the zombie apoca ‐ lypse is about to come .” “Raw-dogging?” I stare at her wide-eyed and gritting my teeth . “You know, without a condom .” “I wasn’t asking what it was,” I hiss, well aware. I push my seat back and get up to leave. “I was pointing out your absolute lack of decorum. And yes, we are practicing safe-sex, if that’s what you’re asking .” “What I’m asking for is my thank you,” Arie sing-songs,

293 ELLE BERLIN following me out of the co ee shop, through the corridor, and past the pool . “Will saying thank you get you to stop making comments about raw-dogging a certain someone who is one-hundred- percent a guest of this resort?” I ask, lowering my voice as we pass the cabana rentals and towel boys. “Because you will absolutely get me red if you say those things in front of the wrong person .” “Maybe,” Arie grants, looking at the employees at the towel stand like she couldn’t care less about what they overhear; but for Arie, it’s a surprising concession. I stop walking, causing her to almost bump into me . “In that case, thank you, Arie,” I say obnoxiously, giving her a mock-bow. “Thank you for embarrassing me every moment of my life. Thank you for trying to hook me up with strangers and giving them the challenge to thaw my ice-block of a vagina. Thank you for being the world’s most detestable wing-man, and for saying every naughty, raunchy thing that utters through your brain. Thank you, oh wonderful warden of all things orgasmic, for teaching me the glory of casual sex .” “And multiple orgasms,” she adds, prompting me . “And multiple orgasms,” I say, rolling my eyes . “You’re welcome!” She says, opening her arms up to hug me. “Though you did say you two were dating now, which de ‐ nitely kicks things up a notch from your everyday casual bam- bam of the ham .” I leave her arms hanging in the air and walk right past her, heading for the elevator . “Seriously,” she says, following me. “What exactly is your plan in the post wrap-party department? Is Des —” I shoot her a look to stop saying his name and she pretends to zip her lip . “After the wrap party,” Arie continues. “Is your new hunk-

294 WHISKEY SPLASH a-hunk-of-burning-love going back to the mainland and you’re saying sayonara to the Pike of pleasure? Which personally, I don’t suggest, because in all seriousness this happy-fucked glow looks freaking amazing on you ?” I stop at the elevator and hit the button. “I don’t know, Arie. We haven’t talked about it. But the logistics of it aren’t looking good. When there’s a great big ocean between us, it’s not like your whole wham-ham-bam plan is going to be getting much traction .” “My wham-ham-bam plan?” She looks at me like I’ve got three heads . “Whatever!” I frown at her. “You said it .” “Yeah, I didn’t say that !” “I’m pretty sure you did .” “Euphemisms aside, you should probably talk to him about it ?” “Really?” Now it’s my turn to look at her like she’s an alien. “You don’t think I should ride it out till the last possible moment then close up shop, like you did the eight-thousand times before you met Connor ?” “Eight-thousand is ambitious, even for me,” she quips, as the elevator door opens and we both get into the empty cart. “But the fact that you’ve, A—not only had sex with this person, but done so multiple times; and B—he actually knows how to make you orgasm; and C—he isn’t a serial murderer. Uh, it sounds like we’ve found the famed magical white whale, if you know what I mean .” “I’m not that di cult to please!” I growl at her, insulted . “Um, actually you are,” Arie retorts. “You shouldn’t be that di cult to please, but I’ve known you your whole life and of the few men in this world you’ve let into your bed, none of them compare to Desmond .”

295 ELLE BERLIN

“You don’t know that!” I snap defensively, tossing my hair back and pushing the button for the Spa level . “Oh no, I de nitely know that!” Arie says, practically burst ‐ ing. “I’ve been waiting for Moby Dick to come into your life for a long time. Trust me, you notice when he’s here .” “There are plenty of sh in the sea !” “Yeah,” Arie nods like I’m crazy. “There are plenty of smelly, lame, blubbery, scaly, bottom-dwelling, scavenger, blow- sh, shit heads in your happy little metaphor, yes. But, earth to Esme, there’s only one Desmond Pike .” Knots start to st into the back of my neck; of course I know what she’s talking about. I’m not stupid. It’s just—he’s Desmond Pike, and I’m no one. And the second he gets back to the mainland he’ll forget this lovely purple haired girl from Hawaii . It’s not like he’ll be sitting at home sulking, he does have fame and fortune and the glamorous movie-star life to distract him . “How did you know about Connor,” I ask softly. That gets Arie to shut up and look at me seriously . “How did I know Connor was the one?” Arie asks earnestly . “Yes.” I nod. “And I’m not talking about the sex or your out- of-this-universe chemistry,” I say, tossing her own star-crossed cliché back at her. “How did you know you were in love ?” “Shit.” She looks at me plainly as the door to the elevator opens. She grabs my elbow and walks me over to a side terrace that looks out over the pool and ocean. “Wow, okay, so you two are actually pretty serious if you’re asking me that .” “That’s not what you meant with your whole white whale metaphors?” I toss back . She shrugs sheepishly. “I don’t want you to let a good one get away. Sometimes you have to wrestle with the slippery sh

296 WHISKEY SPLASH for a while before you both decide it’s not meant to be. I didn’t think …” Arie’s face goes pale and she purses her ruby lips, not a good sign when Arie’s concerned . “So, how’d you know? With Connor?” I press . “You realize, I’m the last person you should ask the love question,” Arie stalls . “No,” I counter. “You’re the best person to ask that ques ‐ tion, because if even the great love-em-and-leave-em Arie Noel fell in love —” “Fuck-em-and-leave-em,” Arie corrects, raising her nger . “You’re avoiding the question .” “It was when he punched his brother .” “What?” I look at Arie, confused . “I realized I was in love with Connor when he punched Ned,” Arie clari es, pulling a ringlet of ruby hair forward and twirling her nger in it. “He defended me in front of his family. He picked me over his family. Or maybe it was afterwards, when I invited him to stay over at my place. You know I never let anyone stay over at my place, much less cook me breakfast in the morning. And if breakfast was ever part of the scenario, it wasn’t for eggs and hash browns, it was to ll the cream donut if you know what I mean .” “Thanks for that image .” “I let my guard down, okay?” Arie lets out a sigh and turns to look out at the ocean. “Heck, maybe it was when he made me breakfast the next morning. All I know is, when I woke up in the morning, Connor was still there and he’d made me break ‐ fast—and yes, I could’ve turned it into the stickiest maple-syrup wrestling match imaginable, but I actually wanted to sit in bed and just eat eggs and pancakes with him. That one’s not a euphemism. I didn’t want to have sex. I wanted him, there, in my life, every morning. All the time .” I watch my sister in this rare moment of honesty and quiet.

297 ELLE BERLIN

She bites her lip and rolls her shoulders back like it’s a stupid thing she doesn’t want to admit. Even though, to me, it seems like the most romantic thing ever . “Look, Connor and I went through a lot of ups and downs,” Arie says with more honesty than I expect. “He scared the shit out of me, because being with him meant I wasn’t in control anymore. I was breaking my own rules, and I thought, if I rejected him rst then he couldn’t reject me. So …” Arie looks at me honestly, a shadow of vulnerability cast over her. “Lucky for me, Connor’s a persistent asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She tosses her hair back and regains some of her previous composure, looking back at me. “So, I suppose if you start letting Desmond into your life in a way you normally wouldn’t, that’s probably a sign. But again, I’m not Dear Abby, so—grain of salt and all that shit .” I look down at my hands and they’re trembling, everything my sister’s said is reverberating through me. “Let him into my life in a way I normally wouldn’t, huh?” I echo, my voice hollow . When I look up, Arie’s staring at her phone with a concerned look on her face. Her eyes ick to me quickly before she tucks it away. “Yeah,” she con rms. “Has Desmond done anything breakfast worthy ?” “Was that important?” I nod to her phone and she shakes her head, waving it o. “No, and you’re avoiding the question. Breakfast worthy? Punch your big brother in the face in public worthy?” she says, prompting. “Gimmie a list. Aaaaannd— go !” I don’t need to give her a list. I already know the answer to this question . “We made love with all the lights on,” I say quietly. “We made love in the sunlight.” Saying it out loud doesn’t sound that important, but after years of hiding and turning o the

298 WHISKEY SPLASH lights, making sure I’ve always been somewhere hidden and dark— that feels like opening a book to a fresh chapter. “It’s not something he did,” I say. “It’s something I did. Something I trusted him with .” My sister nods, swallowing slowly and studying my face. As she said, she’s known me my whole life, she’s well aware of my tendency to blackout every space I’m seen naked in . “You need to tell him that,” Arie says softly, none of her normal sassiness shrilling her voice. “You need to tell him what that meant to you .” I take a deep breath, my lungs feeling way too large and hollow. Part of the reason we work is because we don’t de ne it. Desmond and I have an unspoken space that we’ve decided to nd each other in, and that’s what has made what we have so safe. If I tell him. If I say any of these things out loud, won’t it add too much weight to the delicate balance we breathe in ? But then a lump forms in my throat. “I told him about Jere ‐ my,” I say, realizing that’s the sort of thing Desmond was supposed to run away from. Not the sort of thing that would make him stay . I look up at Arie and the glazed emotion in her eyes hits me right in the chest. It’s a spear of honesty, revealing that Arie didn’t believe I’d ever tell anyone about Jeremy. That it was a secret I’d carry forever. The rawness in her gaze makes my own throat pinch and my eyes tear. These are words my sister never expected to hear . It wasn’t the silence and not de ning us that built this bridge between our hearts. It was trusting Desmond with that piece of my past, that piece of myself. And even more, I dared to unwrap myself in sunshine and make love to him in the light. What if our tightrope of comfort and tenderness actually exists because I did tell him, because I chose to trust him and speak ? I didn’t give him my heart. I haven’t fallen in love. Instead,

299 ELLE BERLIN

Desmond showed me where I’d buried my own heart, and listened as I used a tiny delicate brush to sweep away all the words and dirt and fear and muck I’d layered on top of it. And then, he asked me to take one small step o a ledge, not to fall, not into his arms, but to build my own wings and y. My sister reaches out and takes my hand. “Promise me you’ll tell him,” she says sweetly. “Everything you’re thinking. Everything that sunlight means to you. And do it before the party, before he leaves. Hell, do it today .” I nod softly, still parsing this, not sure I even truly know what it is . Arie steps forward and kisses me on the forehead. “If anyone deserves to know, it’s Desmond,” she says, keeping her voice down. “And you’ll regret it if you don’t try.” I chew on my lip, not sure how I’d even begin to explain it to him. “He already loves how awkward you are,” Arie reminds me. “Own it. Be yourself. Bumble through it. Just tell him .” I know she’s right . “Okay,” I say, loosening a breath . Of course, she’s right .

300 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

sit on a lounge chair on the terrace of Desmond’s I penthouse room staring out at the sun bleeding into the horizon. The tiled pool under the pergola of vines and trumpet owers is behind me. The pool where he rst unhinged me. Over here, near the railing, by the lounge chairs is probably where the camera man hid, waiting for his moment to strike. The thought of those photos still shoot a chill of centipedes over my skin, but I force myself to stay put. To stay out in the sun. To be visible . Everything that happened in that pool was beautiful. It was something I wanted, something I was brave enough to ask for. I can’t let one photographer ruin that beginning, that rst night when Desmond woke me with my own desire. It was still ours . Desmond walks over with two glasses of wine and puts them on the side table. “Sorry!” he says, tossing his phone and sunglasses on the table as well. “It’s the last few days of shoot ‐ ing, so there’s a lot of last-minute changes, things they need to add to the schedule. My phone’s been blowing up all day .” He sits down on my lounge chair with me, next to my legs,

301 ELLE BERLIN running his broad hand all the way up my tanned thigh and under the ru es of my scarf-skirt. It seems so normal and comfortable for him to do that, to reach under all those paisley swirls of color and rest his hand on my skin . Desmond’s amber eyes glow in the sunlight as his gaze rests on me, a calmness smoothing out his gorgeous face, like looking at me is a welcome breath of fresh air. It makes all those uttery wings inside my body go crazy, and I lean over to take a long gulp of my glass of wine. I replace the glass and scooch forward, draping one of my legs in his lap and wrapping my arms around him. I kiss him in the sunshine. That’s what I need, a thousand more kisses in the sunshine . He tastes like sauvignon blanc and salt, and his lips are soft as ripe peaches under my teasing. He could lie me back on this lounge chair, glazed in marmalade sunset, and make love to me right here if he wanted. I pull away and reach back for the wine, taking another large gulp . “What’s wrong?” he asks, kissing my throat, and I give him a tight smile at how obvious I am, and how easily he can read me . “Nothing’s wrong,” I say, putting the glass down and turning back to face him. “I’m just—” I laugh nervously, trying to think of a way to say this. “I’m working up the courage to —” “Tell me you love me?” he asks, raising a teasing eyebrow . A string of tension pulls directly in my gut, straight through my umbilical cord—a visceral punch that leaves me unbal ‐ anced. My face heats, ushing neon, that’s not what I was going to say. A smile spreads across his face at whatever reaction I’m making, and it knocks the fucking breath out of me. Suddenly, we’re kissing, and he’s taking my mouth and licking me open, our breath lling up my lungs with the terrifying possibility that it wasn’t a joke at all .

302 WHISKEY SPLASH

“Des,” I push him away, untangling our lips. “I need to tell you about the sun .” His eyes glitter, and his neck and hair are back-lit in gold, a halo of softness radiating behind him—the smile that slips over his face is practically giddy . “You don’t even know what I’m about to say,” I nudge him, and that smile spreads even wider, making him look sun-drunk and beautiful. “What the heck is that smile !” “It’s nothing,” he shrugs, and I poke him in the side, making him squirm. He snags my nger, pulling me closer to him. “Okay, maybe it’s not nothing. Maybe it’s the fact that what ‐ ever crazy, ridiculous, awkward, beautiful thing you’re about to say—about the sun,” his eyes fall to my lips, to my neck, then back up to my eyes. “Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s just going to make me fall in love with you more than I already have .” My stomach ips . His grin crinkles all the way to his eyes, watching my reac ‐ tion—my silent, shocked, speechless — “What the fuck did you just say ?” Nope, maybe not so speechless . He laughs as the blood drains from my face, and for a second I swear he actually blushes. Desmond blushes . “I think you heard me,” he says, leaning in and brushing his lips and breath and starlight between us. “Now tell me about the sun .” My throat is closed, my head buzzing, his lips a delicate butter y at the edge of my mouth. I force myself to swallow as he moves up my chin, my chest blossoming. Did he just say what I think he said? He just — “Stop overthinking!” Desmond says, nipping my ear. “Tell me what happened with the sun ?” I look past him to where the giant gilded orb kisses the hori ‐

303 ELLE BERLIN zon, turning the entire world to gold. “Desmond,” I manage to get out, my chest pounding. “I’ve never been in the sunlight with anyone. Naked in the sun with anyone.” I clarify. “The other day at my house, in my bed, when we —” The words seem hard to say, weighted after his confession. Desmond pulls back and looks at me, searching my expression. He was there. He knows . “When we made love?” he says, and I’m not sure which word spooks me more— we or love . Desmond brushes the hair back from my cheeks, lling me with his encompassing smile, not letting me turn away from what he’s saying . “Yes.” I nod, breathlessly. “When we made love in the window. We were in the sun.” I don’t know if any of this makes sense, but his eyes are so soft and tender I want to drown in them. “I’ve never let anyone see me before, Des. I’ve always been in the dark, or low light, never somewhere so open and exposed. You make me want the sun. You make me want to show you all of me .” His arms wrap all around my back and I’m consumed by him. Scalded. Burned. His lips white-hot with my confession . “See,” he says nally, between kisses. “Everything you say just makes me fall harder and harder .” “You’re such a cliché,” I breathe against his lips . “Guilty.” His warm hands slide under my shirt and over my ribs, pushing my shirt up. “There isn’t much sun left,” he whis ‐ pers in my ear. “Can I see you in what’s left of it?” His request is reverent, not hot and demanding, instead it’s like a tiny prayer, and it makes me bold and courageous . I nod against his mouth and push him back softly, untan ‐ gling myself from him and the chair. He leans back on the lounge pillows as I kick o my ip ops and walk to the edge of the balcony near his feet. The tile is cold, but the sky is ushed orange. Everything glows with golden hour, the chairs,

304 WHISKEY SPLASH the terrace, the windows of the penthouse blazed in pink Aurelian . I slip my owing skirt down over my hips and peel my t- shirt up over my head. I unhook my bra and panties, dropping them softly on the tile by my ankles, then I stand in front of Desmond, naked, my body coated in gold and wind. He gazes at me like I’m a work of art, a thing of beauty, emotion and reverence wetting his stare. My lavender hair is yellow in the sunset, becoming tawny-sa ron ames that waft down my shoulders. I feel full and wild and invincible. My own, and his . I nod to the cell phone on the table next to him, a utter of fear in my gut, but knowing this is important. Being seen is step one. Facing my fear is the other . “Take a picture,” I say softly, giving him permission . His eyes widen as he stares at me, not convinced. I nod again, and he scoots forward toward the phone. I close my eyes and repeat it. “Take a picture. Just you. For you.” I lick my lips and enjoy the feel of the wind and sun on my skin, the night descending as the sunset starts to seep the light from my bareness . I feel hands on my stomach, soft and erotic as they brush across my ribs to my sun-drenched skin. I open my eyes as Desmond cups my shoulder blades—the echo of his ngers drawing wings on my back when we were sun-bleached in my bed . “No one is ever taking a picture of you like this, including me,” he says, and I see his phone abandoned behind him on the stand. “I’m just going to have to burn each one of these moments into my memory.” His eyes rake up and down me like that’s his plan. Our eyes connect and I know he means what he’s just said. He’ll never let me feel that way again. Private always means private . He kisses me, wildly, with lust and love and the last dregs

305 ELLE BERLIN of sunset. His hands slide down my back all the way to my ass as he picks me up and turns me around, lying me back on the padding of the lounge chair . “You realize that we are going to have to invest in a ridicu ‐ lous amount of sun block now,” he quips, unzipping his pants and pulling out a condom as he crawls between my open legs. “Because I’m going to want you naked in the sunshine all the damn time !” “Of course you are,” I laugh at his joke, but then he growls, sheathing himself before he slides deep inside me, making me gasp. He’s still clothed, his pants only pushed down far enough for him to enter me. The feel of his belt buckle against my thighs is cold and naughty, making me reach around his back to clutch his jean-covered ass. Something about my nakedness, my vulnerability under him as he’s fully clothed, has me rocking against him wildly. It’s the fact that we look like we’re fucking, and that we’re moving hotly like we’re fucking—insatiable, greedy—but every stroke of his cock comes with a confession . Because in my ear he’s whispering my name as he says : I love you, Esme. To me, you’re perfect .

306 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

he bed in the Grand Penthouse is sinful. I’m tangled T between three-hundred-thousand-thread-count sheets, four-dozen pillows, and the softest bed any princess-and-the- pea could hope for . I think Desmond should move in here forever, and then I can wake up in this bed all the time. I moan at the decadence that surrounds my body, part of that decadence being Desmond’s arms cradling me as we spoon. He nips at my ear and I stretch, pressing back against him as I wring out my muscles. He uses the opportunity to run those hot hands up and down my whole front, and yup, I’m moaning for completely new reasons . “Do you want breakfast and room service?” Desmond asks in my ear. “Or just to be serviced?” He scoops a hand between my thighs and pulls me back against him and it’s at least another hour before he gets up and showers, needing to wash o that gorgeous sweaty body . He leaves me to languish in his bed of sin and I must fall asleep again, because the next time I see him he’s dressed in a

307 ELLE BERLIN vintage pullover and jeans with the smell of crisp soap wafting o him like a fresh basket of laundry. He kisses me on the temple, bending over me, next to the bed, and I threaten to pull him back in and rub all that fresh shower smell over me instead. “That’s how one gets clean, right?” I quip . “Don’t tempt me,” he growls, running a hand over my exposed breast, causing me to toss all of the covers o , showing him the rest of my naked self, sunlight spilling in from the half- drawn shades . “So, you’re telling me I have to walk into that cold empty shower all alone,” I ask mock-innocently. “To smell half as good as you do right now ?” He runs his hand all the way down my body, grabbing my ankle and yanking me down to the end of the bed. I yelp as I slide so far down the sheets, my ass teeters precariously at the edge. I sit up on my elbows as he makes a show of swinging each of my knees over his forearms and opening my legs in front of him. I immediately erupt into goose esh, it’s so overtly sexy, my skin becoming covered in splotchy red patches of excitement. The tiny crook of a smile plays over Desmond’s lips as he looks entranced, unable to take his eyes o the wet jewel between my thighs . “You wouldn’t dare,” I toss at him haughtily, like I’m some pampered princess he’s about to scandalize. All he does is smile, his shoulders shrugging as if to say he can take another shower, and I almost gasp at how hot that gets me . A bell rings from the other room, the door I think, and both of us turn to look at who might be there. Desmond turns back to me with a pouty frown as he slowly inches my legs back together. “You wouldn’t dare!” I hiss at him, something feral in my throat coming out in a growl. He’s totally going to leave me wet and unsatiated . “Breakfast is here,” he says, lowering my legs and I glare at

308 WHISKEY SPLASH him so hot I’m ready to tackle him to the ground and ride his face with room service ringing the bell in the background. “If you need to take a cold shower,” Desmond says, like he knows exactly what’s running through my smut of a mind. “Go for it, but you’ll have to come out to the other room for the hot sausage .” “Oh, you’re so amused with yourself with that one, aren’t you?” I glower at him and he laughs . “We can’t just lie around in this room and fuck all day,” he throws back at me . “Actually, we could !” “Hey, one of us has to be on set in three hours,” he says, backing up into the other room with his hands in the air like he’s a criminal. The crime being not using those hands to make me howl like an animal . “That sounds like plenty of time to lick my plate clean,” I toss back, and he points at me smiling . “Oh, I see what you did there!” Desmond says, impressed. “Breakfast puns, egg- cellent !” I throw a pillow at him, which he de ects as I drag myself up out of the sheets. “There better be the queen’s trove of breakfast pastries in the next room when I get out of the show ‐ er,” I grumble . “Oh, you know there will be,” Desmond quips, pointing to the other room. “That’s where you’re going to nd me, sitting in a mountain of sweet-pu s, licking out the cream.” His wicked smile gets so wide, he can’t contain his own amusement . “Oh no, I see what’s happening here. Loud and clear.” I stalk toward the bathroom. “Just you wait. We’ll see how you like it when my little cream-pu shop is closed down.” I make an X shape with my arms over my nether regions. “Out of busi ‐ ness. No entry. No taste testing for happy little Desmond .” Desmond’s eyebrows get higher and higher with each of my

309 ELLE BERLIN ridiculous comments, erupting into a nal bellow that lls the whole room. I stalk into the bathroom and slam the door, turning the shower up to vagina-freezing-cold. His laughter is still echoing as I slip under the icy spray and yelp as my whole body is doused in arctic water. I should have just stayed in that gorgeous bed and nished the job all by myself .

Twenty minutes later, I come out into the living room in my robe, thoroughly soap-happy and vagina-frozenly clean. The room service cart sits next to a dining table in a window nook with the silver domes sparkling and covering our breakfast. Mimosas bubble in champagne utes bathed in wispy morning light and I almost have to pinch myself at how picturesque it is . Only this whole gorgeous image is missing the most impor ‐ tant part — Desmond. I twirl around and scan the room, but he isn’t doing some ‐ thing silly and obnoxious like lounging in one of the armchairs with a pipe in one hand and the crossword puzzle in the other. I stroll up to the table, snagging a fresh strawberry, only to notice Desmond’s half-eaten pancake drowned in syrup, the silverware still on the plate, like he was mid-bite when it was abandoned . “Des?” I call into the room, my brow furrowing. “Deessss– monnnnd?” I sing-song, peering around the room like he might be playing hide and seek, ready to jump out from behind a couch. Dirty rascal, I wouldn’t put something like that past him . But when I walk toward the front foyer, I see him outside on the terrace talking into his phone. Talking is a polite word for it. His hands are slashing through the air and I’m pretty sure

310 WHISKEY SPLASH whoever is on the other end of the line is getting torn a new hymen. I hope it’s not Tam. I wonder if they shifted the shooting schedule and he has to leave sooner than expected . I open the French doors that lead to the terrace and Desmond’s clipped and angry voice ruins the sparkling view of the ocean . “I don’t know!” he hisses into his phone. “Call legal and sue their asses o . Get it done !” “Des?” I wave at him and his head shoots up like a hawk. “Is everything alright ?” “I gotta go,” he growls to whomever he’s talking to. “Get it done and call me back in ten .” He shoves the phone in his pocket and strides toward me, angry tendons taught in his neck. My back prickles at the fury wrought on his face, all the playfulness and banter from earlier long gone . “Hey? What happened? Are you okay ?” He doesn’t answer when he reaches me, wrapping an arm around my back instead and kissing me on the top of my head . “Des?” “Where’s your phone?” he clips out, moving me backwards into the living area . “Um, I donno,” I answer, tripping over my feet and confused. “In my purse, maybe. In the bedroom. Why ?” He kisses me on the top of my head again and lets go of me, stalking toward the bedroom . “Desmond? What is going on ?” He disappears behind the bedroom door, then walks out a second later with my phone in his hand . “I promise I’ll replace this,” he says, looking at me across the room for half a second, before he opens the back of my phone and pulls the battery out. Snap! He breaks the battery clean in half .

311 ELLE BERLIN

“What the—?!” Cold shoots through me at the sharp aggres ‐ siveness of it, at the fact that he’s breaking something of mine without even explaining what’s going on. “What the hell, Desmond ?” He chucks the battery in the trash, the clang of the metal echoing through the room, shooting a shrapnel of sound into my skin . “Give me my phone!” I snap, marching toward him with my hand out. Desmond is tense, his whole body knotted in anger as I approach him. “Start talking!” I grab my phone from his hand, clearly it won’t work now, but I don’t want him doing any more damage to it. “What the hell was that?” I point at the battery in the trash . He doesn’t look at me, a balled-up st clenched under his nose. “Fuck!” he hisses, that st swinging to hit a decorative basket on the side table next to him. Fake owers spray across the room as the basket is launched into the air . “Woah, woah, woah!” I scold. “Sit down right now!” I snap, and he does . He drops into the armchair to his right and puts his head in his hands. All the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention . Obviously, something has happened . Something bad . I almost start barking demands, but when I reach him he looks so damn spooked and scared my blood runs cold . “Okay, okay,” I lower my tone, slowing, like I’m approaching a spooked animal. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, alright?” I crouch down in front of him and delicately remove his hands from his face, replacing them with my own. His shallow breathing catches, easing slightly, as I tilt his chin up so he looks at me. “Desmond? Talk to me. What is going on ?”

312 WHISKEY SPLASH

His face is devastated, torn between anger and fear, but there’s a glint in his eyes of something more—something that makes my lungs squeeze all the air out of them . He looks like he’s lost a child, like the world just fell out from under him, like he has to tell me my sister has died . “Des—?” I don’t even get his name out when his face crum ‐ ples and he looks down at his knees, his emotion punching me right in the chest and dousing me in adrenaline. “You’re freaking me out .” He pulls me forward, kisses me— ercely, desperate—like there’s a hundred things he needs to tell me in this kiss, a hundred stolen moments that are spilling between his nger ‐ tips. But the most raw and important thing I feel from him is panic and sadness, like he doesn’t want this kiss to end, like something large and unstoppable has been put into motion and if he just keeps kissing me it won’t happen . “Des!” I pull away from his mouth. I can tell how badly he doesn’t want me to know, but I can’t carry all this anxiety and weight from him without knowing why and how. But, when our eyes lock, a darkness and gravity sit in his gaze . This isn’t about him . This is about me . My eyes are and I step back, my hands falling from his face—that instinct to panic oods through me before I truly understand its existence. Desmond just destroyed my cell phone battery because he desperately didn’t want me to see what was on it . “Desmond?” That st is in my throat. “What the hell is on my phone ?” His eyes plead with me to ask him anything else . “I’ll x this, I promise!” he rasps out, my spine tingling . “Fix what?” his hands cover mine—too strong, too insistent . “I promise .”

313 ELLE BERLIN

“Fix what ?!” I peel back, tearing my hands away and standing up. My legs are wobbly and the terry cloth robe around my body reminds me of that night with the photographer, with me huddled on the bathroom oor . “They’re taking the picture down from the internet. It’s illegal and it can’t be —” All I hear are the words picture and internet . Everything in my vision turns red. My body becomes liquid . I sit down— maybe . His hands are on my face— maybe . I can’t really register anything other than the worms slith ‐ ering up every inch of my skin . Picture. Internet. Am I even breathing ? “You smashed his camera,” I say—maybe, I think I’m speaking . My face is hot, wet and pu y. His hands are brands on my cheeks. Desmond’s in front of me, but everything’s blurry . “You said you destroyed it, every picture he took .” “I did,” he assures me, his hands raking through my hair. Fingers clawing at my skull. “The picture isn’t from this room .” My eyes snap to him. Clear. Only for a second. Clear enough to see his pleading face. To hear what he’s said . “Where?” I rasp out. “There’s nowhere else !” He kisses me on the forehead. “Esme, I’m so, so sorry. I promise, I’ll make this go away .” “Show it to me!” I push him away, standing up and needing to breathe. “Show it to me !” His head is shaking, but I pull my phone out and slam it down on the co ee table .

314 WHISKEY SPLASH

“You!” I point at him, my nger accusing, shame and dark ‐ ness brewing deep with my fury. “ You show it to me. No one else. You .” He inches each time I say it, my words bullets . What he’s about to show me wouldn’t have happened with anyone else. This has happened because he’s famous. He can promise it won’t happen, and he can promise he can stop it— but clearly, he can’t ! Something is out there . Me. Him. Us. Fuck! “Desmond,” I say softly, my voice a knife. “If you make me walk out of here without showing it to me, I’ll—” My breath falls out from under me, scraping away everything solid and leaving me dangling . I don’t know what I’ll do . I can’t see past this very minute . But we won’t survive it. It will break everything . “Okay, okay,” he says quickly, pulling his phone from his jeans. “If you’ll just sit down and I’ll —” “Just show it to me !” He presses the buttons on his phone, navigating to it before holding the phone out to me. His hand is a bridge, a bridge to something I don’t think I’ll survive happening . “I love you,” the words slip out of Desmond’s mouth as I take it, making me shudder. Making me look up at him and not at the phone like this is the last time I’ll get to hear them. They hit so deep I feel hollow, hollow with how I want them to x everything and how I know they can’t. Hollow with how the world can’t seem to exist with two private people in it . Love can’t weather this storm .

315 ELLE BERLIN

My hand trembles as I look down at the phone. All I catch in the headline is Desmond’s name. I’m sure it says something blasphemous, but my eyes go immediately to the picture. The picture that makes my heart stop . The photo is of a window with the lens of the camera peeking in through the curtains. But it isn’t just any window — It’s my window . The window of my bedroom . Of my apartment . It’s not a photo of this Penthouse. No, it’s my personal space, the one safe place in my life . My home . And through the lacy sheers of the window, bathed in sunlight you can see me naked and straddling Desmond. You can’t see any compromising parts of my body—thank God—but my lavender hair is obvious, and if you know me, my face is recognizable enough . My face is in the sun—my mouth open and gasping—mid- orgasm . I drop the phone and sit back in the chair behind me . Maybe I fall into it . Desmond is saying things, I know he is, probably apologiz ‐ ing, but I can’t hear him. It’s all too personal. Too much of a shock. How long has this picture been up? Who’s seen it? People at the resort? My boss? My parents? Anyone on the globe could nd it . My chest feels like it’s caving in because that moment was such a turning point for me, an intimate, perfect moment of trust and even it— it can’t be sacred ! I feel Desmond’s hands on my face. I feel him cupping my cheeks as he’s on his knees in front of me wiping wetness from my face . “Esme? Esme?” Desmond’s chanting my name, or calling it,

316 WHISKEY SPLASH trying to bring me back from this storm cloud of impossibility exploding in my head. “We’re working on taking it down. Okay? We’re —” I nod. I hear him, but what he says doesn’t mean anything . The fact that it’s up there means people have seen it, taken screenshots of it, shared it . Desmond can get it taken down, but that won’t erase it. It won’t change what people will think, and what they’ll assume . Desmond’s phone is buzzing. He picks it up. It’s one of his people, someone tasked with hunting down the pictures of me fucking their boss . It sounds so crass, even in my head, even though I know it was more than that between us, but I’m naked – mouth open ! There isn’t anything left to the imagination . There’s no room for interpretation . I’m doing exactly what everyone thinks I’m doing in that photo, even if it meant more to me. The sunlight still strips us down to one single narrative . I walk toward the bedroom, numb, not sure how I’m even moving. Desmond’s on the phone talking so fast it could be a di erent language. His voice gets distant as I reach the bath ‐ room, dropping the bathrobe on the oor as I walk into the shower. I turn up the water till it blasts with heat, water so hot it’s searing. It’s such a shock it makes me cry out when I step under it, the pelts of water so harsh they could be melting my skin o. I don’t adjust the temperature . I let it scream over my body, turning me red, letting it burn away the image of all my sunlit skin wrapped in Desmond . “Jesus, that’s too hot!” Desmond’s voice is in my ear. His arms wrap around my body . I collapse into him and somehow he turns o the water. Somehow he sits down on the oor of the shower and holds me

317 ELLE BERLIN in his arms. I can’t tell if I’m breathing or sobbing, only that I’m naked and he’s clothed and we’re both in a wet ball on the oor together and I want to scream . Maybe I do scream . Maybe he screams with me . But he doesn’t let me go. He holds me against him and I swear he’s the only thing keeping me aoat . He’s the only thing keeping me from drowning completely .

318 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

hold my head up high as I walk into the Mandara. I’m not I delusional enough to think I’m keeping my job. I was already on thin ice with Mrs. Rose, but now there’s unrep ‐ utable evidence that I’ve broken the resort policy. Even if Mrs. Rose wanted to be kind, which I know she won’t be, scandal is scandal . Naomi rushes up to me as I walk through the corridors toward the locker room. “Oh, my God!” she says, grabbing my arm. “Are you okay? I saw the photo; we all saw it .” I shake my head. “Not really,” I whisper. Of course, I’m not okay, but I try to roll back my shoulders and stand tall, doing my best to save face even if I’m horri ed by the fact that my close friends have seen an intimate image of me. “This was bound to happen with a celebrity, right?” I say softly, the joke falling at. “You said he was worth getting red over, didn’t you ?” Naomi frowns, guilty shadows falling over her face. Of course, I know she was kidding when she said that before, and I’m not trying to make her feel bad .

319 ELLE BERLIN

“Bad joke,” I say, shaking my head . “No no no,” Naomi says quickly, waving her hands around like the last thing I should be worried about is her. “It’s ne. What do you need right now? What can I do ?” I squeeze Naomi’s arm. “I’m just going to get my things and go,” I say softly. It’s the best I can manage honestly, and the last thing I want to deal with right now is the pity on Naomi’s face. “Actually, if you could go occupy Mrs. Rose so I don’t have to face her right now, that would really help. I’m sure she’s chomping at the bit for me to come in so she can roast me .” Naomi nods. “She did tell everyone to bring you straight to her o ce if you show up .” “I don’t want a scene,” I clarify. “I just want to get my belongings and bow out as gracefully as possible .” “I’m on it,” Naomi con rms. “I can probably buy you a good fteen minutes. Is that enough ?” I nod and Naomi turns down the hall toward Mrs. Rose’s oce. I thank her as she goes, heading for the locker room myself, moving past the massage rooms and Buddha fountains. I’m about to slip undetected into the back room when I hear footsteps behind me . “Excuse me ?” I turn to the voice, expecting to see security or Mrs. Rose, or one of the resort’s upper management, but instead it’s one of the spa patrons. A man in his mid-forties wearing his spa robe and ip ops walks up to me, looking like he’s made a wrong turn . “Hi, sir,” I say politely. “Can I help you ?” His eyes light up as I address him and he moves down the dark hallway toward me. “Yes, actually. I thought that was you .” I squint at him and shake my head, not following. “Excuse me ?”

320 WHISKEY SPLASH

He peers over his shoulder quickly before shimmying up next to me. “I’m not sure of the etiquette,” he says, raising his eyebrows in question . “Etiquette for what, sir ?” He lowers his head and whispers. “Do I simply request you for a massage, or do I pay you directly ?” “What are you talking about?” I frown, and the man looks over his shoulder again before squaring o in front of me and opening his eyes wide like I should know. “What do you want to pay me for?” But as the words come out of my mouth, his smile turns dark and he loosens his robe, ashing me his semi- erect lower half. “Oh, my God !” “How do I order a massage? Do you do room calls?” He’s completely serious as he says it, not fazed in the least that his robe is open and he’s almost cornered me . “What the hell is wrong with you!?” I yell, my whole body turning red with rage and embarrassment. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Who the hell does he think I am? “This is harassment!” I growl at him and he inches, yanking his robe shut . “Excuse me? I thought you —” “You thought wrong!” I snap, lashing out at him. “You can’t just ash me and ask me for sexual favors !” “I know you do this,” he barks back, enraged. “I saw you in —” “You see one picture of me on the internet and you think what? I’m a call girl? I’m going to blow you for money? Jerk you o? You suddenly think there’s a happy-ending spa package with your name on it? I’m a human being, not your personal fuck toy !” “Sluts like you get o on it!” he hisses, clutching his robe and glaring at me. I’m ready to punch him. I can’t even deal

321 ELLE BERLIN with the audacity of this guy, of anyone, to see one photo of me and think I’m for sale ! I hear footsteps and doorknobs opening, and suddenly Mrs. Rose is storming down the hallway glaring at us. I know she’s about to throw me out for what’s happening, as if this asshole’s actions are my fault . I shake my head, furious, and push past the jerk, stalking up to my boss. Mrs. Rose’s tight-lipped face is already frowning at me, ready to pounce, but I beat her to the punch . “Don’t even bother,” I hiss, before she says anything. “I’m red, I get it. I was only here to get my things anyway .” “You will leave now!” Mrs. Rose hisses . “Already on it! You can have Naomi collect my things for me.” Mrs. Rose turns up her chin, a glimmer of triumph in her face. “Oh, I see,” I continue. “Gloat all you want. But you were afraid this would happen, Mrs. Rose, and guess what? It’s happened! But not because of me. I’m not the one who solicited that asshole.” I point back at the patron who’s listening intently . “Ms. Noel, you’re not allowed on the premises—” Mrs. Rose starts, but I cut her o. “You’re banning the wrong person,” I snap. “That man just propositioned me. He’s the one giving your establishment a bad name, not me! But because he’s a client, you don’t care. You’d rather cater to him than protect your employees .” “We all saw your photo, Ms. Noel,” Mrs. Rose pinches out through pursed lips. “We all saw what kind of woman you —” “Photos of my personal life. Personal, not public, my personal life, Mrs. Rose. Photos that are none of your business and has nothing to do with my job !” “Your reputation —” “Oh no! Don’t go giving me the ‘if a girl wears a short skirt, she deserves it’ speech! If that’s what you really think then you’re part of the problem! If you actually care about the repu ‐

322 WHISKEY SPLASH tation of your spa, maybe you should worry a little more about the type of clients you allow in here, and how you’re putting your employees into a dangerous situation!” I motion back to the man, who’s scowling. “Rather than blaming the girls who are victimized. Maybe you should think about that !” I hu past her; Mrs. Rose’s eyes are as cold as stones. She doesn’t want to hear anything I’ve said. She’s already made up her mind about me, same as that man who’s just harassed me. It all makes my skin roil. This damn world is ipped upside down and backwards and frankly, I can’t stand another second of this establishment ! I rush out, furious and embarrassed. I should feel good about what I’ve said to Mrs. Rose, standing up for myself and for my coworkers. None of us want to be harassed on the job . But honestly, I just feel sick .

Arie sits on my front porch and rants, tearing the world a new asshole. Desmond sits beside me on the steps, not saying anything as Arie curses the universe. She was livid when she saw the photo, and practically incandescent when I told her about the guy at the spa. Desmond was too. He wanted me to go to the police and report the guy. But I just want them both to lay o so I can have some peace and quiet . The photo has been taken down. It took about twenty-four hours to do so, but it’s at least not on the gossip website anymore. Desmond’s suing them, but the damage has been done. The picture is still out there. It can’t be taken back again. And everyone’s seen it: the cast and crew of Desmond’s show, all of the resort employees, all of Hawaii, Hollywood, America, the globe . I stare out at the city, feeling numb. I’ve gone through so

323 ELLE BERLIN many emotions I’m wrung out, every sinew of my body strung bare. I’m unemployed. I’m banned from the resort. My parents even called about the photo—talk about humiliation. And for the rst time in my life I don’t want to be here, in Hawaii, or living near my sister. It’s not because I don’t love Arie or want to be around her. It’s because I don’t want everything in Hawaii that’s around me—this apartment, the friends to face, this life. My whole body feels like a hollow instrument full of holes, and the husk of a self that is left wants to blow away and fracture into a thousand pieces on the wind . I just feel done with all this . I get up abruptly, not even listening to what Arie’s saying as I clomp into my apartment . “Hey?” Desmond calls after me softly, getting up quickly to follow me. “You okay? Do you need —” I’m tired of people asking if I’m okay. If a photo showed up on the internet of them naked and orgasming, would they be okay? No! Absolutely not. ‘Okay’ is not a word that would exist in their vocabulary. Of course, Desmond understands that. He’s in the photo too, but everyone else — I stalk into my apartment, not answering him and head into my bedroom. I stop short as I’m confronted with my bed, my perfect reading nook with those princess sheers and sunlight. My favorite place in this apartment. And now — It’s the rst time I’ve been in my room since the photo dropped, the rst time I’ve faced the bed we made love on and the window someone watched us through. What kind of scum- of-the-earth thinks it’s okay to sell photos of people having sex? Much less watch and take photos of the deed? Do these people have souls ? I move past the bed to my closet, inging the doors open and pulling down my suitcase. I start chucking clothes inside— jeans, shirts, underwear, toothbrush—the essentials .

324 WHISKEY SPLASH

“What are you doing?” Desmond’s voice is soft, having tiptoed around me all day . “Packing,” I clip out, stating the obvious . “For?” “Anywhere.” I toss in sundresses and socks. “Not here .” “You can come stay with me at the hotel,” Desmond o ers, and I want to turn around and scream . “Actually, I can’t!” I face him, the sizzles of anger snapping in my sts. “I’m banned from the resort. I lost my job. I broke the big don’t-sleep-with-the-guests rule.” I glare at him like this is his fault and he willingly takes that arrow. “They won’t even let me visit Arie at Flambé .” “I’m sorry,” his eyes hit the oor, avoiding my anger. “Are you going to stay with your sister ?” “I don’t know!” I snap, tossing makeup into the suitcase. The truth is, I haven’t really thought about it. I look back at him and at the bed he stands next to. “I just—” I nod to where the photo was taken, to where the sunlight spilled all over us and I felt so free. “I can’t sleep here .” Desmond looks at the bed, sadness washing through him also. “You were so beautiful,” he says, staring at my sheets. “Every time you were beautiful, but that time, I didn’t know about the sun, but I knew it was di erent .” “Yeah, well some asshole was watching!” I snap, throwing the suitcase shut . “That doesn’t make it less important. Less meaningful,” Desmond says, walking toward me, but I hold up a hand to make sure he doesn’t touch me and he stops in his tracks. “I’m not ashamed of what we were doing in that photo .” “I’m not ashamed, Desmond!” I grit out. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m—” I turn to him, feeling weak and stripped bare. I don’t even know what I want to say or how to express this quag ‐ mire in my gut. I ball up my sts and settle on, “I’m angry!

325 ELLE BERLIN

Pissed o that that moment can’t mean what it did before, because now there’s all this other crap—the photo, the photog ‐ rapher watching us, the man in the spa today—that’s ruined it. It can’t be a perfect moment between us anymore. It isn’t.” I swallow hard after the words escape me, raw with the fact that something I wanted to hold onto so desperately has trans ‐ formed to ash in my hands. I shake my head, the sour in my throat making my face pale. “And this isn’t the only time it’s happened, Desmond !” He lowers his head, knowing that’s true. Knowing his job makes this thing between us impossible . It’s not a thing. We are not a thing. We are so much more than that, and my entire chest feels carved backwards and torn open at the loss of it . I zip the suitcase shut and brush past him into my open living and dining room. He follows me silently as I grab my keys and phone. On the table sits the beautiful box from the dress shop, the ombre dress with the constellations in its skirt folded up inside. I stop next to it and run a nger along the dark black bow . “I still want you to come to the wrap party,” Desmond says softly, as my pinky dallies on the satin . “Everyone working on your lm saw that photo,” I say, shaking my head, not wanting to face them. Not wanting to face anyone . “I don’t care .” Our eyes connect and he’s determined, his features hard and ready to take on what someone might say about us. A little piece of my heart melts seeing the determination in him. I want to believe it, not that I don’t think he’d defend me, I just wish it was enough . “I care,” I say softly, stepping away from the box and

326 WHISKEY SPLASH leaving it behind on the table. Something in me breaks as I do it . I love that dress . I love the way I feel in it and the way he looks at me when I wear it . Desmond’s golden eyes catch mine as if he can feel the weight of that box being left behind and he isn’t ready to let it go. But I can’t go to the wrap party. It was all a fairytale in the rst place, anyway. Everything with Desmond was, that’s what this photo has taught me. Desmond and me—together—that was a lovely dream, a lovely fantasy I got to play out for a little while. But nothing in our life would ever be private again, and I can’t live like that. I just can’t . “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, putting on a fake smile. “Even if I wanted to go, I’m not allowed on resort property. That includes Flambé .” “Then we’ll change the venue!” Desmond insists, but I shake my head . “Please don’t do that to Arie,” I ask kindly. “She’s worked so hard on that wrap party. It’s important to her. Please don’t take it away from her. I’d never forgive you if you did .” “Fine, they can keep the party at Flambé, but I won’t go !” “You have to go, Desmond. You’re the star.” I put my suit ‐ case down and walk over to him. “You owe it to the crew, you know that .” His hand nds my cheek. “Then I’ll take you somewhere else to wear that dress .” “So the paparazzi can take pictures of us again ?” “Somewhere indoors. Without windows .” I tilt my head into his hand and close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch. “I’ve spent too many years of my life in that prison,” I admit. I open my eyes again to look at him. “You

327 ELLE BERLIN showed me the sun, Desmond, and I want the sun. I don’t want to live without it ever again .” His eyes falter as I say that, realizing this is the problem with our relationship. I want both the sun and privacy, but with Desmond, I can only have one . “I want you,” his voice is low, barely a whisper, and I turn my face into his palm and kiss it before removing his hand from my cheek . “You know how that’s going to turn out,” I say softly, nodding to the fact that I’ve packed a bag and I can’t even bear to be in my own apartment anymore . “Where will you be? I leave in a week .” I shrug, dropping his hand. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe I’ll call you when I get a new battery for my phone.” I nod to the empty phone next to my suitcase. “Or maybe I’ll forgo the phone and just disappear in the silence .” “I have your sister’s number,” he says, not giving up, and I smile at his insistence . “True,” I admit. “But she’s loyal to me. It’s a twin thing .” He takes a deep breath, his face begging me not to do this, to not disappear from his life. Some things are not easy to let go of. Some things can’t simply be lost . “I’ll never forget you showed me the sun,” I say softly, step ‐ ping forward and kissing him at the edge of his mouth, lingering longer than I should. “Thank you.” His hand cups my head long enough to feel the weight of this rushing out between us . I step back and his ngers fall from my hair . I step back and tear open the space between us . I step back and take my suitcase, turning to the open door of my at, beyond which lies so much I’m unsure of. Behind me stands the one man I never thought I’d be walking away from,

328 WHISKEY SPLASH but there’s no way around how impossible it is for us to be together . We is something I don’t know how to survive, not because I don’t want to give him my heart, but because the world around us is too cruel and has crushed us before we ever had the chance .

329 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

aomi puts me up in her parents’ beach-rental. They own N a tiny bungalow on the quiet side of Oahu about thirty minutes from the bustle of Honolulu. It’s the perfect hideout, snuggled in the palm trees and far away from the city. There are no honking cars, no tourists crowding the beach, no sign of life. It’s just me in a hammock with a view of the endless ocean —a thousand miles of possibilities in front of me . I made Naomi swear to not tell Desmond where I am . Or Arie . “Please inform them I’m on the island,” I told her. “Tell them I’m ne, and that they should focus on nishing the lm and the wrap party. I’ll talk to them when I’m ready to talk to them. I need space .” Naomi nodded before taking my computer, my phone, and the landline that’s normally at her parents’ bungalow . I wanted all electronics and internet devices gone, out of my mind and unable to beep or chirp or distract me. This bungalow is a social-media-free-zone, a black hole of silence to protect me from whatever shit is being said about our photo on

330 WHISKEY SPLASH the internet. I don’t want to hear a single word of it. Even if it’s Arie cursing the world on my behalf. Even if it’s Desmond whispering I love you . I want the silence . I want the salty breeze to mummify me in a Zen-like cocoon of quiet bliss. Everything felt so small and impossible when that photo raked through my life, and I’m trying desper ‐ ately to carve out a small island of space for myself. A space that’s free of gossip and judgement and strangers butting into my life. Judging my life. Thinking I’m — I lie back on my yoga mat and push the images from my mind of that asshole at the spa soliciting me, or Jeremy’s friends making lewd jokes, and every stranger who thinks my body belongs to them because they’ve seen me in a compromising situation . The last three days of yoga and meditation and journaling have helped to empty my mind, but they can’t seem to ll up the cavern in my chest and the feeling that running away from Desmond feels like cowardice. I stare out at the endless ocean, wide and expansive, covering more than half the globe with its vastness—and I feel so small . I could leave Hawaii . I could go anywhere in the world. I’m young. I’m capable. I could dance on the shores of the globe and dip my toes in the water of a dozen di erent seas and oceans—the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the Baltic. There is so much more of the world to see and all I’ve been doing is skipping in the puddles of my sister’s shadow. I want to rise with the sun, embrace adventure, and shine on my own . But is running across the globe still running ? I curl up into a tight ball and ask myself what I’m really running from? The photo and the past? The words and judgements of those on the internet, the strangers I don’t

331 ELLE BERLIN know? Or maybe the fact that I really do have feelings for Desmond ? Real. Honest. Feelings . Am I truly not strong enough to weather this storm for him? Does our intimate moment truly no longer belong to us? Was it not his body I wanted to taste and take and hold inside me? Was it not his touch I wanted to expose to the sun with every tender inch of my skin? Was it not his heart that made me feel brave enough to wrap us in the light? Am I really afraid of how real and raw and culpable the two of us really were ? The lump in my throat says yes . The lump in my throat is also harder and deeper than just him. Somehow, I haven’t been living my life at all here in Hawaii. I’m an imposter in my own story. A lightly sketched side-character that even I wasn’t willing to fully face, or ask: Who are you? What do you really want? Without your sister? You? Esme? Who do you want to become ? I feel raw and scraped bare. The photo scalds me with how naked and sexual it is, but something deeper in that image makes my soul shake. For the rst time I was me. For the rst time I was unafraid, and vulnerable, and willing to be real. If the photo had been the two of us that rst night—on the terrace in the pool—would I be as upset about it ? I cover my face with my hands. The answer is no. Yes, it was the beginning of something between Desmond and I, but it wasn’t the moment I wanted to be truly free. Truly me . The sky above is blue and cloudless. Like the ocean, it’s so wide and endless, as if everything around me is trying to tell me that the only thing holding me hostage is my own fear and cowardice. I could open my own private contractor business and be my own boss. I could give private massages and make my own hours and belong to myself. I’d have the freedom to do that anywhere, and I’d never have to be tied down again .

332 WHISKEY SPLASH

The thought alone terri es me. But it’s also exhilarating—to be on my own, to do something without my sister, to do some ‐ thing that’s all mine . I take a deep breath, lling my lungs with salt and possibil ‐ ity. Have I really been following Arie because I didn’t want to make any real decisions for myself? Has she always been my security blanket? The shield I used after Jeremy to make sure I was always safe ? My ngers tingle. The ocean is so wide with its possibili ‐ ties. Almost too vast, it’s paralyzing. I could do anything, so instead I do nothing. Even with Desmond, I pushed the possi ‐ bility away again and again and again, because it was a chal ‐ lenge I wasn’t ready for. Thank goodness he was persistent. Thank goodness Arie was too . I open my arms wide on the sand, yoga matt at my back, palms up and receiving. How is it possible that I’ve spent most of my life letting others make decisions for me? How is it possible that I let the waves of the ocean push and pull and drag me, without once trying to swim against its tow ? It’s time to stop . Time to start deciding what I want for myself . I get up o my mat and walk toward the ocean, wading into the light surf. Sand swirls between my toes but the water is warm and inviting. I wade all the way up to my waist in my shorts and tank-top, reminding me of my date with Desmond and the lightning storm that blew in without warning. That night, all I wanted to do was run furiously toward danger—elec ‐ tric skies, roiling surf, powerful undertows . I was alive then, truly alive. Truly unafraid . I dive into the ocean and swim, holding my breath, pulling myself through the water till my arms and legs burn. I surface and continue to swim toward the horizon, toward in nity, toward all the possibilities. Only, this time I’m not following my

333 ELLE BERLIN sister, and I’m not letting the waves and swells decide where I should go for me . I’m headed forward . Out. Toward all the things that scare me. All the things that threaten to drown me. All the things that I must face and conquer on my own .

I oat in the ocean . The waves have stopped crashing and I can see the milky way. It glitters above, large and more expansive than I ever dreamed possible . Dreams can be funny. We put so much stalk in dreams, so much of our hopes, our wishes, our plans for who we could— who we should be . In the ocean, staring up at the sky, I’m not sure I care about who I should be anymore. Who others think I am. Who I might have hoped, or feared, I might become. Or who I might have run away from. In fact, when faced with the billions upon billions of glittering stars—more stars than ounces of water beneath me as I oat, more stars than grains of sand on the entire globe—I realize how small I am . I realize that dreams are dangled before us like gemstones tied to a thread, making us reach and hope and gasp and regret. But when I stop thinking that the world should move for the wisp- lled fabrications in my head, I realize, I’m one small insigni cant person. One small breath in the billions of breaths that ll the sky of this world. And one small person, loving another small person, feels far more precious and important than all the other insigni cant judgments . Lying still in the ocean, where I draw myself in the constel ‐

334 WHISKEY SPLASH lations, re ected in the heavens, re ected in the water. All one has to do is imagine drawing one dot to the next, to see them ‐ selves in all those wild indigo patterns. We can all put ourselves into the stars . But somehow, that fantastical wish is nowhere near as important as one small person loving another small person . Because love is the only thing that feels big in all that vastness .

335 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

he dress sways at my heels, layers upon layers of violet T chi on whispering against the curve of my ankle bones. Rhinestones and pearls peek against the light, winking and ut ‐ tering, like stars a billion miles away raging with one last blast of light before blinking into oblivion. I loved this dress because of the way it made me feel beautiful and invincible. I loved it because of the way Desmond couldn’t take his eyes o me, of how it made me feel glowing and radiant and like I could steal all the light in the room, bending it back into my undeniable gravity . I love it now because it reminds me of how insigni cant a dress is. How it can look like the universe, but will always pale in comparison . I love it now because it reminds me that my small life has very little impact on the larger things in the world, so I ought to not be afraid of the things I want and the tiny universes inside me that I can conquer all on my own . I love it now, because it is just a dress, and I am just a girl, and walking into Desmond’s wrap party at Flambé isn’t all that

336 WHISKEY SPLASH important or consequential. It won’t send echoes through the world. It won’t matter if a few security guards turn a blind eye to let one small girl slip into a party. One picture on the internet shouldn’t sever all the things one felt were important and precious and full of worth . People turn when I enter Arie’s restaurant and walk up into the main dining room of the wrap party. The dress alone is a showstopper, but add to it the lavender hair, the smoky eyes, and the fact that everyone in the room knows who I am. The crowd has spent more hours studying my bone structure, the shape of my open mouth, and the curve of my neck and spine—thrown back in pleasure—than even I have. All of them are voyeurs into my personal life, as if I should be ashamed, when they’re the ones who gave the image their voracious attention— studying and coveting and judging from afar . Arie sees me rst and nearly drops a tray. I nod to her, before turning all my attention to Desmond, who’s in the center of the room talking with the producers. The stirring of whispers makes Desmond turn, and the light that lls his eyes makes me feel like the center of the universe. The world was born out of re and torment, land and ocean and sky burning from the toiling underground, and the surprise in his eyes comes from that same kernel of astonishment . “What—? How—?” Desmond’s speaking to me even though I’m yards away, and the men in suits beside him turn, recogni ‐ tion ltering through their gazes. They know who I am, the girl in the photo—the scandal—stalking into their party in her glit ‐ tering radiance . Desmond’s eyes wet. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m here that gets to him, or that I’m braving all the things I said I couldn’t. Or maybe it’s the dress, this powerhouse of violet crystals, sparkling and demanding his attention .

337 ELLE BERLIN

“What are you doing here?” Desmond asks, as I stalk up to him, not breaking my stride. “What are you —?” His un shed phrase feels like a compliment, a confession, a question laced in surprise and awe. What am I? I wrap my arms around him and take him in a kiss; a hot, passionate, heart-pounding kiss. He melts into me like there’s no one around us—no party, no gawking, no cameras—only this tiny universe that’s made of us . Us. We. Him and me . He pulls back from the salt of my tongue, breathless. His eyes slip around the room, sizing up the crowd, and for the rst time the un-bridled Desmond Pike actually blushes and looks —shy . I’m not shy. That’s what he said that rst date in the town car, right before he kissed me for the rst time. I’m de nitely not shy . And yet, here I am, scandalizing him . I grab his chin and turn his face back to mine. His attention belonging to me and no one else . “If you give any of them the attention they want from you,” I say lowly and with a growl. “If you act like you give a shit what a single one of them thinks about who just walked in the room, and who just braved every judgmental eye on her—” I tilt my head to the side to make sure he knows just how serious I am. “Trust me, I will walk right back out and you will never see me again .” My heart hitches at the silence that cinches through the room. Desmond’s Hawaii slut just crashed the party, marked her territory, and without a word screamed: “So you’ve seen a photo of us fucking? You know what? I don’t care !” Desmond’s eyes catch me with his expression, as if he’s

338 WHISKEY SPLASH never seen this side of me and he’s not sure who I am, except— he still loves her . His mouth crushes against mine—hot and lustful—making me blush and burn and meet his fervor. His arms wrap around me and I shudder like a virgin about to be undressed and de owered. The wicked eyes of everyone in the room are on us. I can feel the balmy heat of their disapproval, judging. Who kisses like that in front of everyone? What kind of person has no shame? What kind of person dares show her face after such a humiliation? Why isn’t she humiliated? Why isn’t he ? Desmond keeps kissing me till my blood broils and my body wants us to nd a dark corner where I can wrap my mouth around what I feel hardening against my stomach. I pull away before things get completely out of hand, and turn to face the men Desmond was speaking to before I rudely interrupted them . “Esme,” I say, wiping the bottom of my lip. The lipstick inevitably amiss. “I’m Desmond’s girlfriend .” They raise their eyebrows as if such a declaration goes without saying after our very public display of tonsil hokey, but the real reward is Desmond’s arm around my waist, pulling me closer against him as he echoes the word “girlfriend,” like it has a new exotic ring that he can’t stop saying . A whistle comes from behind us and we all turn as Arie walks up to us with a tray of aming cocktails . “Hot damn!” she exclaims. “If you didn’t notice, that’s my twin sister,” she says to the room. “And if she wasn’t already taken—” A nod goes to Desmond. “I’d fuck her myself!” Arie’s hand slaps on my ass, lling every hot-blooded man-in-the- room’s mind with late-night fodder of kinky-twins-bedroom delight . “Hi,” I say softly to my sister, and she just smiles something wicked .

339 ELLE BERLIN

“It’s been about six years,” Arie says smoothly. “But I’m glad you nally arrived for the party.” Her eyes icker up to Desmond sneakily. “And you, my friend, are one lucky mother- fucking bastard .” His eyebrows raise in alarm and Arie snickers . “Oh, don’t you dare pretend you don’t know exactly the hot-piece-of-pussy you just snagged and —” Desmond’s eyes shoot to me in surprise. “Oh, she’s worse in person,” he exclaims. “Muuuuuch worse than the texting assault. You didn’t think to warn me ?” I smile wickedly, Arie’s hand still on my ass, and the tray of ames heating our faces . “What did you expect? She’d turn down the heat?” I say sassily, stepping forward into Desmond’s personal space again. “Did you forget? This is Flambé !” His arms wrap around me again and we’re kissing, everyone watching, a-thousand-pictures-they-might-be-taking be damned !

The constellation dress on the oor of my bedroom and Desmond lies naked under my princess sheers, staring up at the dreamcatchers on the ceiling. I’m snuggled into the crook of his arm, basking in the scent of his skin and the indigo shadows that trace over our nakedness . “You’re really going to move to Los Angeles?” he asks again, as if he can’t believe I suggested such a thing . I roll over on top of him, his broad body beneath me as I look down through my hair at his beautiful face. “What part are you having trouble with?” I ask de antly, his hands running down my ribs to cover my ass. “The starting my own company part? Or the fact that I’m going to be living in my parents’ guest

340 WHISKEY SPLASH room for at least a year as I get this independent contractor gig o the ground ?” He leans up to capture my mouth. “It’s the part where you’ll be in my city with me and I won’t have to be ying back and forth from Hawaii constantly to get my x.” “You would’ve done that for me ?” “Are you kidding me?” His hands massage my backside. “I was about to buy my own private jet to save on expenses .” “Well, now you just get to hang out in my parents’ house,” I tease . “Are you implying we’re going to have to be quiet when they’re home, because—” He ips me over, laying me out on my back beneath him, his thickness hard and ready again as it presses against my abdomen. “Let’s be honest about this— you’re not very quiet.” He kisses me wickedly, his hands scalding my sides. I’m moaning as he tugs on my bottom lip, egging me on . “No sex in my parents’ house!” I scold . “Is that a rule?” He asks, sheathing himself with a new condom and sliding lower so his cock slips between my legs, making me pant. “They do know who your sister is, right? I’m pretty sure your parents’ house was never the virgin chapel of —” “I’m not my sister, you know!” I snap, as he positions himself, making me croon and open wider for him. “No sex in my parents’ house is de nitely a rule,” I insist. “You’re just going to have to take me to whatever incredible fancy Beverly Hills mansion you live in and fuck me there .” “You promise?” Desmond asks, parting me slowly and making me moan. “Can I pay you in orgasms for all those naughty massages you’re going to give me?” He pumps deeper into me and I nod, already lost in the wicked pleasure of his vitality .

341 ELLE BERLIN

“You better not tell your friends that I give you those kinds of massages,” I say, breathless. “I have a business to build and I can’t let anyone get the wrong idea .” “You think I’m going to let anyone near you,” he growls, sinking deeper and kissing my gasping mouth. “I’m going to tell everyone you’re the worst masseuse in the entire LA basin, you’re going to have to earn every—” He thrusts hotly. “Damn —” I clutch his back. “Client you get. That is—” Desmond’s pace increases. “If you have any energy left after I’m done with you .” “Mmmmmmmmm,” I moan into his fevered thrusting. “You forget—” I unwrap my legs from his hips and position my feet against the bed, lifting my hips to meet his delicious assault. “I’m Arie’s sister. We have incredible stamina !” Desmond growls something vicious, but now it’s my turn to ip him over so I’m on top, where I shamelessly ride him. We’re in my bed with the windows open, the night air caressing our wet backs that are slicked from our exertion. Anyone can look in and watch us, photograph us and show the world . I don’t care . The worst is already out there . The world has already seen this image. What’s another picture of us fucking really worth? The world is already bored of this romance, because they didn’t ruin it. They didn’t tear it apart . Instead, here we are, fucking each other’s brains out and it’s hotter and more intimate than before, because they can’t take this from us. They can’t make me feel ashamed. Because I love this man, and for the rst time in my life, I’m gonna take the world by storm .

342 WHISKEY SPLASH

Want more of the Flambé series ?

Keep your Flambé x going with Ned and Olivia’s book, Café Diablo .

Turn the page for a hilarious (and smoking hot) opposites- attract romantic comedy featuring Connor’s stick-in-the- mud older brother, Ned, and Flambé’s feisty hostess, Olivia .

343

CAFÉ DIABLO

SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK

1

NED

“ ’m not coming !” I That’s a direct quote. A simple quote. One that leaves no margin for error or misunderstanding. It will hold up in any court of law for its directness and clarity, and no jury would ever contest my side of the story . It’s exactly what I said to my younger brother, Connor, this afternoon when he suggested for the umpteenth time that I come to his girlfriend’s restaurant, Flambé , tonight, which he also works at. But the plethora of phone calls and text messages on my phone seem to imply he doesn’t understand English . I’m not coming ! Three words. Uncomplicated. Elegant . He should really know better than try to win in the argu ‐ ment department, a truth proven by the fact that he abandoned a career working in our family’s law rm to sling cocktails for a living . I’m not coming, which means I don’t want to come, which means I’m not going to come, which means don’t be upset when I don’t show up .

347 ELLE BERLIN

It may be my birthday, but that doesn’t mean I need to drink myself into a stupor like a heathen . Yes, it’s my birthday . Yes, I’m working late . Yes, I’ve been told multiple times in my life that I have a stick up my ass the size of the General Sherman tree in Califor ‐ nia. I don’t really care . Birthdays are for children. Balloons, streamers, cake—these are all frivolities you only need to stroke your ego when you’re eight. Every self-respecting adult stopped celebrating the fact that they’ve been on this earth for another year the second they were old enough to vote. Fine, I’ll make an exception for when you’re twenty-one, but only because you’re celebrating the fact that you can legally drink, not the fact that you need to eat cake and be showered in confetti . Thirty-two years on this planet does not constitute a cele ‐ bration. It does not need copious amounts of alcohol. It does not need my brother and his friends telling me what a jolly chap I am. What it does need, is for me to nish this case brief, so I’m ready for court next week! The judge doesn’t care if I’m hungover and unprepared. I’ve told my brother Connor several times that aming cocktails and Mai-tai’s are designed for those on vacation in Hawaii, not for those of us who actually live here and have jobs . Point being—some of us have to work . My phone buzzes and I roll my eyes as another text message from my brother ashes across the screen .

Connor: I’m coming to get you .

I shake my head, thoroughly annoyed at this point. He can drive across town all he wants. The answer is still no .

348 CAFÉ DIABLO

Ned: I’m starting to think you were dropped on your head as a child. Please re-read the previous messages that make my position about hanging out tonight quite clear .

Connor: This is not a negotiation. I’m not a jury you need to convince. The ruling is already out. You’re coming. I’m getting you drunk. End of story. Now, change out of your suit and put the work away .

Ned: I’ll have security escort you o the premises .

Connor: I doubt that .

Ned: Are you calling my blu ?

Connor: Yup. And you’ll understand why when I show up in 10 minutes !

Ned: The doors will be locked .

Connor: I’ll knock politely. 9 minutes. Go change .

Ned: It’s a free country .

Connor: For the record—see exhibit A, this text message thread—in which I told you to change and you ignored my warning. I’m not paying for your suit when it gets ruined .

349 ELLE BERLIN

Ned: I’m REALLY not coming if my clothing is getting ruined .

Connor: Yes, you are. 8 minutes .

Ned: I’m hanging up now .

Connor: To go change? That’s excellent news. I’ll see you in seven .

I shake my head and grumble, tossing my phone on the far side of my desk and not replying. Connor can show up all he wants, but nothing he says will convince me to change my mind. It’s a fact—which he knows is a fact—so I don’t know why he bothers. I grab my stack of witness testimonies and start lea ng through the highlighted sections of the material, but I end up reading the same sentence ve times because my mind can’t stop thinking through all the ways in which I can disem ‐ bowel Connor when he arrives . He can really be a cocky asshole sometimes. Sure, he’s a freaking maven with women, and I’ll give him credit for that night when he stood up to our dad. But that doesn’t mean he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants! Ever since he got together with Arie and took that job at Flambé, he seems to think the world is his oyster and nothing bad will ever catch up to him —even when he already has a track record of getting arrested and making me the chump who bails him out of everything. You’d think that would give me some iota of authority to say “no” to him, but somehow it only makes him more obnoxious . The buzzer rings on the front door of my law o ce and I check my phone. It’s not quite nine o’clock. That was a damn short ten minutes. I throw the phone in my pocket and get up,

350 CAFÉ DIABLO heading toward the door. The sooner I get rid of Connor, the sooner I can get back to work . The loud buzzer rings over and over in an incessant roll like a drunk woodpecker hacking at the door. It sends a ball of annoyance crawling over my shoulders, just like when we were kids and he had to have my damn attention all the time— Ned, look at this. Ned, pay attention to me. Ned! Ned! Ned! I storm toward the door, stalking out of my o ce and through the dark reception area . “You realize I’ve already said ‘no’ a hundred times!” I bark toward the door. “The fact that you actually drove all the way over here—” I grab the knob of the front door and swing it open. “Makes you a fucking asshole !” Connor doesn’t turn around and look at me . He doesn’t do that because Connor is not the person on the other side of this door . Nope. On the other side of my door is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen . I bite my tongue and school my face, because—punch-me- in-the-nads—the woman in front of me is beautiful ! She’s a stylish black-haired beauty in a silk tank-top and a pencil skirt who looks like she could be a lawyer. Only, this must be her after-hours look, cause it’s way too sexy for an oce. Sure, the out t comes with all the hallmarks of a power suit from Vanity Fair—minus the jacket—but it’s the kind of threads a super model wears to a fashion show rather than a board meeting for a CEO. Her wavy, black hair frames her face, and there’s a regal Asian quality to her features. Her cheekbones are sun-kissed and covered in almost-invisible freckles, the ghost of youth’s innocence brushing the edge of her temples. But her innocence stops there, because the rest is a

351 ELLE BERLIN viper: bold red lips, smokey eyes, and a small build that screams trouble . I narrow my eyes at her, noticing a dainty gold chain that rings her throat, which again, is deceptively sweet, if it didn’t thread my gaze across her collar bone and down the front expanse of skin to disappear between — “Edwin Voss, I assume?” she says, pulling my eyes back up to her sultry glare, and I choke back the fact that I checked out this woman’s chest and swore at her like an uncivilized bu oon . “I’m sorry,” I apologize, trying to cover for my previous indiscretion, taking a second to peek down the hall she stands in to make sure Connor is hiding behind one of the planters and laughing . “Edwin Voss?” she repeats, her tone annoyed. “This is your oce, correct?” She motions to the sign on the door where it says Voss Associates, another gold chain dangling daintily from her wrist. My eyes dance down her frame again, but when they return to her face an eyebrow is lifted up like that was completely inappropriate . Which it was . I’m complete shit with women . “Um, uh—” I cough, clearing my throat. “Sorry, it’s after hours and I was waiting for my brother, who’s—” I catch myself. She doesn’t need to know my sordid history with the asshole who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer and with whom I unfortunately share DNA. I roll my shoulders back and give her a steely frown. “Yes, I’m Ned Voss,” I say crisply. “What can I do for you ?” She reaches out a hand, more tiny gold threads dangling. I ignore them. “I’m Olivia Reese,” she says, tilting her hand up and waiting for me to shake it . “Uh huh—?” I say noncommittally, and after a long pause I take her hand, because clearly she won’t say any more until I

352 CAFÉ DIABLO respect her with the pleasantry. Her hand is delicate but her grip is strong, clutching me with more force than I expect from her—which makes my brain think things it shouldn’t . “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Voss,” she says, squeezing tightly and stepping closer to me with a smile that’s nally relaxing that sultry mouth . “You do realize it’s after hours?” I say, nodding to the dark room behind me as she squeezes my hand harder. “I’ll be happy to help you with whatever you need. But to be honest, the best plan of action is to make an appointment with my secretary in the morning. I’m actually in the middle of —” “A big case, yeah,” she says like she’s familiar with it, or me, making me suspicious as she looks over my shoulder and into the darkened waiting room, the half-light from my o ce the only thing illuminating me from behind. “The thing is—” Her eyes light back on me, the deep brown glimmer of them catching with a hint of gold deviousness. “I’m not here for your services .” “I’m sorry?” I squint at her. “You’re not ?” Those sultry lips hitch. “ Nope .” Her other hand swings up from her hip and covers my hand—the one she’s still shaking me with—her original grip tightening. And before I can react, metal is slipping over my wrist with a swift cranking sound. I look down as — She snaps a handcu on me ! “What the —!” Only, she lets go of my hand and lifts hers to show me that she’s attached the other side of the handcu to her own wrist— mine now dangling from hers . She’s just handcu ed us together ! “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap, and she just laughs, that regal after-hours power woman shaking o of her like a fake skin .

353 ELLE BERLIN

“Take this o me right now!” I bark, yanking on the cu , but she only clenches her hand into a st and lets me struggle . “Sorry,” she practically sing-songs, “but, Connor’s orders .” “Excuse me?!” I stop struggling and glare at her. “What did you just say ?” She tilts her head to the side and lets all that sexy black hair slide o of her narrow shoulders . If I wasn’t so pissed o , it’d be hot . “That’s right,” she nods. “I’m here on behalf of the fucking asshole you expected to be behind this door,” she says with a wicked smile. “I work at Flambé, and it’s my job this evening to escort you to the premises. Connor warned me that you wouldn’t come willingly .”

How will Ned get those handcu s o ? Or, will he keep them on and nd out what Olivia has in store for him ?

Join Elle Berlin’s reader group and be the first to know when Café Diablo is ready to pre- order :

links. elleberlin.com/ RG1

354 HUNGRY FOR A FREE BOOK?

Read the Flambé prequel for free .

Get your free copy of Dirty Martini

Read about the hot night that started it all …

Something—or someone —had to inspire hot-headed chef Arie Noel to open the sexiest restaurant in Waikiki. That someone is Xander Carlisle .

Romantic, gorgeous, and the trendiest new chef in London, Xander is American girl catnip. But to Arie, he’s just an old friend from culinary school; he’s de nitely not “the one who got away.” Even though she’s spent hours fantasizing about how he might crème her brûlée .

When Xander invites Arie to cook for him, she doesn’t want to admit that she just got red. She can’t seem to work in anyone’s kitchen—especially a man’s kitchen—without turning it into a aming temple of mayhem. Arie desperately wants to impress her friend, but his irty glances hint that more is on the line than her cooking reputation .

Tonight might inspire something they’ve both been avoiding since college … and it starts with the perfect dessert .

You won’t find Dirty Martini on any platform or from any online retailer. Sign up for Elle Berlin’s VIP Reader Group to get your exclusive copy !

Get your free book :

https://links.elleberlin.com/ martini2 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Berlin is the author of steamy contemporary romance novels that will make you laugh out loud .

Elle has a background in screenwriting and design, and is an amateur baker. She’s a sucker for romantic comedies—espe ‐ cially ones with lots of kissing and witty banter. A true foodie, Elle will seek out exotic o -menu delicacies and walk the extra block to the bar that has star anise in its cocktails. Inspired by exotic locations, delicious food, and contemporary art, Elle hopes to make the world a little more decadent one sexy book at a time .

When she isn’t writing spicy stories, you can nd Elle oil paint ‐ ing, reading in her hammock, sipping wine, baking macarons, or rose gardening (even though she has a black thumb and half of her plants end up dead ).

CONNECT WITH ELLE BERLIN

Join Elle Berlin’s reader group and never miss a new release. Learn about hot new giveaways, get free books, and satiate all your book boyfriend desires .

Elle Berlin’s Reader Group : links.elleberlin.com/ RG2

Elle Berlin’s Website : elleberlin.com

Connect on Social Media :

facebook.com/elleberlinauthor instagram.com/elleberlinauthor pinterest.com/elleberlin

ALSO BY ELLE BERLIN

Heat Series High- Rise Heat Tropical Heat ( coming in 2021 )

Flambé Series Dirty Martini ( a Flambé prequel ) Flambé Whiskey Splash Café Diablo ( coming in 2021 ) Champagne Fizz ( coming soon )