Bittersweet Lies (Bittersweet-Series Book 1) Page 10

  Later on, when we all sat together at the dinner table – yes, to my astonishment even Blake was present, although he did not exchange one single word with me – the mood was boisterous, which was somehow disturbing.

  Even Blake was in a good mood for a change and participated in the conversation. I honestly have no idea what to make of it.

  Has he now decided to ignore and stay away from me for the rest of his life?

  Or is he going to work on his mood swings and look for a way to behave like a normal human being toward me?

  Communication is supposed to be helpful or so I’ve heard.

  But then, what do I know?

  It’s one thing to ignore me, but that he sits with me at the same table and DOES NOT insult me, I regard as a good sign.

  “Thanks, that’s it for today,” Shane responds and smiles at me.

  “Who would have believed you’re a little gardener?”

  “You’re exaggerating greatly,” I reply laughing, lightly punching his arm.

  “I like plants. I guess over time I developed a knack for it.” I shrug and lean against the kitchen counter.

  He leans his head and grins. “I’d like to have your hands. You were a great help to me today.”

  “If you want, I’ll lend you my magic hands again. Or …” I take a little break and look at him mischievously. “… from now on I’ll just help you with the garden work.”

  “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to me.

  “Deal,” I repeat and shake his hand.

  “I’m glad we got that out of the way.” He sounds happy and I feel a little better.

  I don’t mind gardening, besides, I like spending time with Shane. At least this way I can show a little gratitude for his help.

  “Now go outside, relax at the pool and enjoy the great weather,” he orders and gives me a look that doesn’t tolerate back talk.

  “I guess that’s not such a bad idea,” I concede.

  My reply seems to surprise him because he briefly frowns.

  “Since when do you make it so easy for me?” he asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “What, no back talk or smart remarks that counter my proposal?”

  “Oh, I can think of some,” I slowly say, refraining from grinning.

  It’s not like I can blame him. Usually, I always have at least one argument handy.

  “You’re right. From tomorrow on it is back to everyday life, so today I should enjoy myself and relax a little. I already unpacked and I’m all set for tomorrow. So, I see nothing that says I can’t.”

  He gives me a push toward the stairs. “Now go upstairs and slip into your bikini before the sun sets,” he urges as he shakes his head and laughs.

  “I’m on my way!” I call over my shoulder good-humoredly as I sprint upstairs to my room like a madman, rip open the drawer and change.

  Yes, maybe I’m exaggerating, but who cares?

  Two minutes later, I lie comfortably on a lounge chair, enjoying the sun’s rays warming my skin.

  I love summertime, especially the sun. And the bright blue sky, the scent of flowers, the melodic birdsong, airy clothes, eating ice cream every day without feeling guilty, and cheerful people.

  Yes, I even like sweating if I get a little sunshine in return. I’m a genuine sun worshiper.

  Today is a particularly hot day. The sun beats mercilessly down from the sky and not a single breeze to provide a little cooling.

  Beads of sweat accumulate under my back, buttocks, and legs, but I enjoy the feeling. I cannot remember the last time I felt so at ease and comfortable.

  When I hear someone open the patio door, I push up my sunglasses a bit to sneak a peek, only to immediately gasp and hectically pull them back down to cover my eyes again.

  Yes, naturally.

  Of all people who could come here, it has to be HIM.

  Fantastic.

  Talk about bad luck, shoots sarcastically through my head as I try to pretend to be unaware of his presence.

  It will save both of us a lot of trouble for then we won’t talk and, above all, get on each other’s nerves.

  Apparently, he sees it differently because a few seconds later, I’m suddenly in the shade for a certain someone, whose name I don’t want to mention, believes he has to honor me with his presence.

  Since I’m not in the mood to give up on my well-deserved rest without a fight, I continue feigning ignorance and lie completely still with my mouth pressed together so my lips cannot utter a sound.

  “How much longer are you going to ignore me?” he says, breaking the silence.

  He sounds somewhat … amused.

  He? In my vicinity?

  Oh, God, it’s worse than I thought.

  “For as long as it takes for you to get lost again,” I reply since he makes no move to step away.

  He laughs. A deep, melodic, and so damn appealing laugh.

  “Well, brace yourself, it’ll be a while,” he whispers and bends down to me, supporting himself with his arms on each armrest of the lounge chair.

  Although my glasses are tinted, I’m sure he can still see my eyes through the glass.

  The lounge chair does not offer many options for escape, which is why I press my head firmly into the cushion to, at least, create minimum space between us.

  Every time he’s so close to me, I’m no longer rational and usually do something completely stupid that I regret later on.

  “You have goose bumps,” he states happily.

  “You don’t say,” I reply sarcastically. “Perhaps it’s because some guy is blocking my sun.”

  As he shifts his lips into a grin, I can see his perfect white teeth despite the tinted glasses. “Don’t tell me you’re cold.”

  Bastard.

  I bite my lower lip. “No,” is my rather unconvincing answer.

  “Still, would you kindly move your ass out of the way?”

  Of course, I’m COLD.

  Before he showed up, I was basking in full sun but, to make matters worse, now a light breeze is blowing, which doesn‘t make things any better. The beads of sweat that accumulated under me and partially cooled me a few minutes ago now just feel damp and unpleasant on my skin.

  “I could warm you up,” he offers. “Body heat is supposed to help or so I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t you have anything else to do?” I ask, pondering his offer. That his words exacerbated my goose bumps I prefer to omit.

  “As far as I know, I live here,” he says unfazed. “Besides, it seems we have no choice but to get along with each other. So why not start right now?”

  “And you’ve come to this conclusion now because …?” I want to know, ignoring his conciliatory look.

  It’s simply another one of his game.

  “Because I had plenty of time to think about the situation and concluded it would be best for all involved. Unless, of course, you want me to be hard on you,” he adds with a diabolical smile.

  “And you figured this out in only one day?” I inquire in disbelief.

  “Or did you come up with this idea after you screwed Barbie’s brains out?” I ask, biting my tongue almost simultaneously.

  “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

  “I guess you don’t care about her actual name, do you?”

  “No, why would I? Someone who looks like a Barbie doll thanks to many surgeries has earned that name in my opinion,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Well, you have a point …” he agrees and seems to be thinking about something.

  “Listen here,” I say quietly while kneading my fingers in my lap. “It just slipped out; it must be due to the heat.”

  “Truce?” he asks, offering me his hand.

  I discreetly wipe my hand on my leg and shake his.

  “Truce.”

  As his fingers touch mine, small electric shocks course through my body making me gasp quietly.

  Hoping he didn’t notice my embarrassing reaction to his touch, I withdraw my hand and
slide it under my thigh.

  In one swift move, he rips my sunglasses off my nose and grins at me naughtily. “I’m going for a swim now. Want to join me?”

  “I’d rather cook in the sun for a little longer. But thanks for the offer.”

  “At least watch me then,” he whispers, leaning back down and pushing my glasses into my hair. A little breeze ensures his scent to blown straight into my nose.

  All I can do is inhale deeply. It’s fresh and somewhat manly. He smells of shower gel, the sun, and his incomparable scent.

  “That’s okay,” I whisper, completely dazed, and even manage a little smile.

  Like a damn god, he gracefully saunters to the pool.

  Involuntarily, I watch every one of his movements and check out each contour, every muscle of his body as it flexes when he moves.

  And here I didn’t even want to stare.

  The guy could be straight out of one of those model magazines, so what woman wouldn’t stare?

  Before he dives perfectly into the water, he throws me one last look and gives me that special smile that makes my heart beat faster.

  My eyes follow his steady, fluid strokes, the way his wet, tanned body slices in and out of the water, glistens in the sun and looking so perfect.

  No, joining him in the pool would not have been a good idea.

  He swims a couple laps without pausing and climbs out of the pool gracefully.

  Oh God.

  I’m honestly trying not to stare, but it’s even worse than I expected.

  Individual drops of water trickle down his perfect body and disappear beneath the hem of his skimpy shorts, which cradles his tight ass nicely, awakening naughty thoughts in my mind.

  When he turns and approaches me like a predator does its prey, I’m completely lost.

  That look. Dark, dangerous, captivating.

  His gait. Confident, arrogant, masculine.

  The wet, wild hair that gives him this sexy wet look.

  The wet, toned upper body with its defined six-pack, which should be outlawed.

  The intricate black motifs that snake over his entire left arm and chest, making him look even hotter.

  That knowing smile on his lips and the small dimples only make him sexier.

  Fuck.

  He not only looks like one of those unnaturally beautiful models that can be found in almost every fashion magazine but like a goddamn playboy who can set your panties on fire with a single glance.

  And no, I’m not exaggerating. Regrettably.

  “Did you like the show?” he inquires as he – exactly as before – stops next to my lounge chair and looks at me.

  “You’re fit, I have to hand it to you,” I answer honestly, crossing my arms because I suddenly feel oddly naked.

  His gaze follows my movement and stops at my breasts, staring with blatant interest.

  My nipples harden under his intense scrutiny and I’m more than embarrassed, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

  “Searching for something?” I ask provocatively, ignoring his smile.

  “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

  I sigh. Yet again. “It’s not polite to stare at women’s breasts. It has something to do with manners.”

  He finally tears his gaze from my bust and looks at me intently.

  “Well I do.” His tone is serious and leaves no doubt that he actually means what he said.

  “I’m not like other men, Brooke, remember that. I couldn’t care less what people think of me.”

  “Oh, believe me, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I respond with a smile.

  “You don’t say …” His grin tells me he knows more than he is willing to say.

  “Don’t get upset with me, but this here,” I point a finger at him and then me, “can’t we somehow resolve it faster? Tomorrow is my first day at college and since I don’t know when I’ll get another opportunity, today I’d just like to laze around.”

  Although I really wish he’d mean what he just said, I will certainly be cautious of his friendliness. His sudden change of heart is, for my taste, a little too … well, out of the blue.

  He’s up to something. Now I have to stay a step ahead of him and find out what he has planned.

  “Sure, no problem,” he replies calmly, then pulls a lounge chair next to mine and gets comfortable, again breaking my resolve.

  “Um,” I utter perplexed because I’m at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know.”

  “Okaaay?”

  What’s he up to?

  I decide to ignore him and instead, use the remaining time enjoying the beautiful weather.

  He manages to keep his yap shut for a whole 50 seconds before he starts again and rips me out of my reverie.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Let me guess,” I groan, looking at him in frustration. “You won’t quit bugging me until I do you that favor?”

  “Maybe.” The corners of his mouth twitch tellingly as he returns my gaze.

  “Well, then let’s get it over with,” I reply with a dismissive hand gesture and groan in torment.

  What could he possibly want from me?

  That I’m his maid?

  Fan air at him?

  Dab sweat from his body?

  Whatever it might be, I can handle it as long as it results in me finally getting peace and quiet.

  “Grab the sunscreen and apply it to me,” he abruptly demands roughly and looks at me from under luscious eyelashes.

  “Say what?” I ask, freezing my movement.

  “You. Should. Lotion. Me,” he repeats each word. Clearly. Provocatively.

  Fuck. Is he serious?

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I mumble to myself, thinking feverishly how best to get it out of it.

  “Brooke,” he growls quietly.

  “Pick up the damn sunscreen already and touch me. Or do I actually have to force you?”

  “Oh, so that’s it? You know, we can always skip this here altogether, White,” I growl right back.

  “In your place, I would not dare go that far.”

  Shit.

  Yes, I’m fully aware my behavior is quite immature. But we aren’t talking just about anyone.

  This is Blake and we know perfectly well how the situation will inevitably end should I give in and touch him.

  Intimate body contact is taboo, I’ve told myself as much.

  And THIS HERE is too damn intimate, too close, too everything!

  My alarm bells cannot ring any louder as they screamingly advise me with big yellow warning signs it is best to keep my fingers to myself.

  “Why are you so apprehensive? It’s not like I’m asking you for a hand job. Not yet anyway.”

  “I have my reasons,” I curtly explain.

  “Well, either we do it the simple way or my way. That’s entirely up to you.”

  “You know, Blake,” I hiss, slide my sunglasses back over my eyes and stand up in one fluid movement, “your arrogance is really getting on my nerves.”

  And with that, I fish the suntan lotion I had previously stuffed in my bag out and deliberately plop down hard with spread legs across his butt.

  Considering I’m already violating my principles – once again – then I might as well do it properly.

  “Who would have thought you’re such a go-getter.” He laughs arrogantly and almost chokes as I drip cold sunscreen onto his skin without warning.

  “Fuck, Brooke!” he hisses between clenched teeth.

  “The lotion is ice cold! What? Did you keep it in the fridge to get back at me?” he complains and I’m overcome with a sense of vindication.

  Serves him right!

  “I know,” I reply emotionlessly.

  “And no, I didn’t do anything of the kind. For better or for worse, you simply have to put up with it.

  Obviously, you could always ask one of your girlfriends if she wants to take my place,” I sugges
t.

  “Or instead,” he starts and places his head on its side on his arm, “you first warm the lotion in your palms.”

  Yeah, sure!

  “One cannot always have everything,” I reply, shrugging and then start thoroughly rubbing the lotion into his skin.

  He has broad shoulders, his back and arms are muscular, and his skin is flawless and smooth. The guy has to have some kind of blemish!

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little nicer.”

  “And it wouldn’t hurt you to stop forcing your will on others all the time,” I counter, letting my fingers glide over his strong shoulders.

  “Who put a stick up your butt,” he notes.

  “Well, I wonder …” I say suggestively, rolling my eyes, which, of course, he cannot see.

  My hands wander down his back and feel each muscle under his tanned skin while involuntarily memorizing each little bump and mole.

  Fascinated, I run my finger over the impressive sun tattoo surrounded by shark-like teeth.

  I wonder what the tattoo represents to him.

  I don’t like to admit it, but I’m actually enjoying this here a bit.

  “There, all done!” I inform him in a good mood and am about to get off him when he grabs my wrist and quickly turns around.

  “You overlooked something,” he whispers and forces my hands to his muscular chest.

  Wait a minute … Timeout!

  I freeze in my movement, momentarily unable to respond before the awareness of his close proximity hits me full force.

  The muscles under my fingers are so hard, so unyielding, so damn hot, and so very much taboo!

  As if mesmerized, I stare at the intricate tattoo that winds its way from his chest down one entire arm and with my index finger gently trace the outline of the beautiful turtle.

  “What do these symbols mean?” I whisper, peering at him curiously.

  His gaze veiled, he looks up at me from under thick eyelashes, his mouth slightly open, almost as if he might be enjoying my touch.

  “You see this turtle here?” he asks in a rough voice, guiding my fingers to the spot on his chest. “It stands for protection and intimacy.”

  My fingers continued to move to his upper arm. “The sea is a symbol of death and the hereafter,” he explains quietly and presses his lips together.

  It stands for his mother’s death.

  He might not say it in as many words, but his gaze tells me I’m right on the mark.