Wait. There he is.
He’s here, at this party.
Hmmm. I stop and watch him for a few moments. He’s deep in conversation with a tall, beautiful woman. Her hair is dark, like his, and she’s dressed in a pale pink strapless gown that flows down her slender body and pools at her feet like satin water.
Vaughn cups her face with both his hands, his eyes intent on hers. Her eyes are glued to his lips as he whispers. And then she nods and wipes a tear. Vaughn leans in and kisses her gently on the cheek and then pulls her into an intimate hug.
I turn away, my heart beating so fast inside my chest I have to take deep breaths. I swallow down the lump in my throat and before I know what I’m doing, I’m running.
Chapter Eight
#SecondThoughtsSuck
I FIND myself on a beach. Not the Cove Beach or wherever the hell Mr. Asher invited me to. Some other beach that’s finally open because obviously that party was the one responsible for closing down the resort this weekend. His party.
Why would he invite me out tonight if he’s at a party already? If he’s got a girl here with him? What was he saying to her? Giving her an excuse for why he needed to leave and meet me?
That’s bullshit. I’m not a boyfriend-stealer. I think girls who date married or taken men are scum. I would never do that. Not in a million years.
But I feel dirty. Like—ashamed for even thinking about it.
I know his reputation. He’s a flirt, if I want to be nice. He’s a man whore, if I want to be honest. He’s not married and most of his relationships are very private. But there are rumors about why they are so private. Something akin to a nondisclosure agreement.
Which, OK, that makes sense if you’re rich and famous. I guess. But after what I just witnessed, I think he might have those contracts because he’s hiding things.
His sexual preferences have been in the weekly tabloids more than once. But for some reason none of those stories ever affected him. Maybe people just don’t care. I never did. The thought of Vaughn Asher being a deviant in the bedroom is more appealing than not, if I’m being honest. Lots of women feel that way today, so it’s no wonder that these stories of his dark sexual side never touched his movie-star persona.
But I’m not into secrets. I have too many of my own to bother with strangers’. I like fun and flirty. Do I really want to know about Vaughn Asher’s dark side? Wouldn’t it be better to just leave him up on that pedestal I made for him and go on living in a fantasy?
I swallow down my heartache. Which is just ridiculous. I have no relationship with this guy. And he came off a little bit obnoxious before I realized who he is and changed my tune. But he is obnoxious. Pushing himself into my raft today and sending me this bizarre invitation to meet him on the beach.
For what?
For sex, you dumbass!
He wants to use me. And I was fully planning on letting him. But no way, not if he’s got a girlfriend. Not even if he was breaking up with her, because that’s almost what that conversation looked like. She was sad for some reason—he was comforting her.
I drop to the sand and remove my shoes, my toes digging in until they are on the verge of cold. “Grace,” I say in a soft whisper. “You’re way too impulsive, Grace. You’re so eager for a fairy tale, you create one where it doesn’t exist.”
“It’s the wrong beach,” a husky voice calls out from behind me.
Vaughn. He’s found me.
“Did you get lost?” he asks. He stands beside me for a moment before taking a seat on the sand. “A few of the waiters saw you on the path outside the party and said you came this way.”
I can’t look at him and I have no idea what to say, so there’s nothing but the crashing of waves.
“This beach is private.”
“Oh,” I say, as I laugh a little to myself. I grab the straps of my shoes and I’m about to stand up when his large hand wraps around my small wrist.
“It’s OK,” he says in a soothing voice. “We can stay here.” His grip pulls me down and I give in and settle back on the sand. “Did you eat dinner?”
I shake my head no.
“Are you hungry?”
Another no.
“Are you mute?” he asks with a laugh. But when I stare up at him his laugh dies in his throat. “What’d I do? You’re looking at me like I’m the devil.”
I take a deep breath and look away. His beautiful eyes are too distracting. I can’t concentrate when I gaze at him. He steals my breath and invades my thoughts in all the wrong ways. I can feel the heat of his body next to mine. He’s still wearing his suit. Not a light one, like the rest of the people at the party, but dark. A black suit.