Sugar on the Edge(77)

“Why would you want me in a bikini when I do nothing but walk around naked all day and night here?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Good question. We’re definitely not leaving this room since we have to put clothes on.”





“How, in the order of the universe, does a derelict drunk of an author meet an incredibly sweet photographer and end up with her on a hot, white, sandy beach in the Caribbean, where she makes sweet love to him day in and day out, and his heart gets hopelessly lost to her?”

Yes, we finally put on clothes and made it down to the beach.

And yes, Savannah’s white bikini is getting me quite hot and bothered.

We’re lying side by side on wooden lounge chairs. The sand is warm and soft… super fine, white crystals that sparkle in the sunlight. The water is an unbelievable clear blue, transparent as glass, and also sparkles in the sunlight. Savannah is holding my hand, our fingers lightly laced together as we bake under the sun, sip Mojitos, and watch the day drift by.

I don’t ever want to fucking go back. In fact, I wonder if I could rent a room here at Jade Mountain, keep Savannah naked, and write my next book from here.

“I find it odd that the universe gives you the talent to write dark, erotic, thriller-type books and yet, you sit there now and spout the most beautiful words to me. Put those in a book, sell them, and you’ll have women falling at your feet,” she says while gazing out over the water.

I turn my face to look at her. She has her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. Large, oval sunglasses sit on her delicate face, and her lips glisten from the rum drink she just took a sip of. Her bikini stands out stark against her tanning skin, being nothing more than a four triangles of material held precariously closed by a few strings.

“Is your heart getting hopelessly lost to me as well, love?”

She turns her head slowly to me, and although I can’t see her eyes behind the dark frames, by the set of her chin and the way she squeezes my fingers, I know she’s serious when she says, “So lost that I don’t know if I’d even be able to find where it went.”

“I’ll tell you where it is. It will be residing right next to mine. I’ll give you access to it any time you want, but I think I’ll keep it buried with my own, just for safekeeping.”

We stare at each other a moment more, letting our sappy words hover in the humid air, and then Savannah snorts. Her free hand comes up and she covers her mouth trying to stifle herself, then her head is thrown back and she’s laughing with gusto. I laugh with her, and it feels fucking awesome.

“God, we’re so corny,” she sighs as her giggles die down.

“Okay, so let’s talk seriously,” I tell her with a final grin and turn my face back to the water. “You said you’d continue on as my assistant, which I’m not letting you back out of by the way, but I think you should also do something with your photography.”

“Like what?” she asks lazily, taking another sip of Mojito.

“Whatever you want. What was your primary goal when you graduated college?”

“I wanted to do wildlife photography. Then I wanted my own place where I could lock myself away in a dark room and develop my pictures. Then I could frame them and sell them, and get rich, rich, rich. But mainly… I just want to take the photos of the animals. All that other stuff is just so I have a way to support my habit.”

“So, when you say photos of wildlife… you mean like on the plains of Africa type wildlife?” I ask, not really liking that idea. First, it would put her too far away from me, and second, I didn’t relish Savannah getting eaten by a lion.

“Any type,” she clarifies. “Doesn’t matter the type of animal. As long as it’s wild and in its natural habitat.”

“So, you should do that. You should take certain days to make sure you get out and shoot that type of stuff.”

“And do what with it?” she scoffs. “There’s not a huge market for that type of photography.”

“You can do whatever you want with it, Sweet. Sell it to magazines, give it as gifts, or display it in an art gallery. Hell, publish a fucking book of your photos. I can help you get that done.”

Savannah turns to look at me again and even without seeing the feeling in her eyes, I can tell she has skepticism on her face.

“The point is,” I tell her solemnly, “is that you can do whatever you want, even if it’s only to take the photos for your own pleasure, and we can look at them together while we cuddle on the couch and drink wine.”

“You make everything seem so easy sometimes,” she murmurs.