Magnificent Ruin (Everlasting Series Book 2) (3 page)

“Your interest in my love life is cute,” I say. “It really is. Why don’t we talk about yours for a moment?”

“I don’t talk about things I’d rather be doing.”

I sit up and open my eyes. “Let’s talk about Sophia. She likes you,” I say, staring down at the phone in my hands.

“Whatever,” he says, taking a sip from my tea cup.

“You might like her if you gave her a chance,” I insist.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Taylor? Sophia wants a relationship. I don’t do relationships.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

I started this conversation just to get attention off myself but now I want to give him a piece of my mind. “Don’t you want to know what it would be like to be in love? Aren’t you even curious what it would feel like to love another person more than you love yourself?”

He puts down the cup of tea to look at me, a sarcastic pout growing on his handsome face. “Like Nathan loves Grace? No, I’m not curious at all.”

“Why? Because it’s beneath you?”

His features harden in the fading light. “Because I’ve been there and it sucked the life out of me. Do you want to watch a movie?”

I nod but I stay in my chair long after he’s gone inside the house to set the DVD player. I’m fighting the urge to ask him if he truly meant that, if there was a time when Tomas Keller was actually in love.

Chapter 4

G
race’s sweet face brightens my iPad as I switch Skype to full screen mode. It’s been two weeks since we last chatted and I’ve missed like crazy her musical voice and the way she constantly scolds me. Talking to her is like landing my feet back down on familiar ground.

“You’ll be pleased to know all five of the little aromatherapy shops are showing profit already,” Grace informs me with a wide smile on her glossy lips. “Not much, but things look very promising.”

I can’t help but give her a smile, too. “You sound so matter-of-fact. Not becoming, Grace Marie.”

“So, you prefer me when I’m insecure and asking for permission before I say anything?”

“Yes,” I say, scratching my temples. “Definitely. Go back to that.”

Grace doesn’t even roll her eyes at me. She knows me too well and I should never forget that.

“How’s Tomas?” she says. “Is he giving you any trouble?”

Where to begin, Grace?
“Tomas has an affinity for trouble, you know that,” I say with a sigh. “But he hasn’t been more trouble than is to be expected, no—which is a lot of trouble to begin with.”

“Wow.” Grace’s eyes almost double in size.

“What?”

“You make even less sense than usual. Is everything okay in paradise?”

Yep, she knows me too well
. “Busted,” I say. “I do get restless lately. I don’t know what that says about me. Can I really be happy anywhere if this little piece of paradise bores me?”

Grace straightens her beautiful, brown hair but says nothing for a while. I can tell that whatever it is she’s pondering over is not all about me. “What about the screenplay that Tomas is writing?” she says in the end. “How’s that coming along?”

The screenplay. I almost forgot about that even though it’s supposed to be the main reason why he was offered the keys to the house: he needed a writing retreat to get his creative juices going and he somehow managed to convince someone of that. Someone whose name he’s not willing to reveal; some rich woman no doubt.

“I haven’t seen him type a word in weeks” I say. “He says he’s doing research.”

“What kind of research?”

“Beats me. I have my suspicions, of course. Why exactly are you asking?”

“Nathan asks every time he knows we talked. He seems to think that Tomas was serious about the writing.”

“And why doesn’t Nathan ask Tomas himself?”

Grace gives me a condescending grin. “Guys don’t really pick up the phone to talk to each other when they’re not in the same town.”

“Don’t you hate all that tough guy stuff?” I say, taking a big bite off a ripe banana I set on the desk last night.

“Well, these particular guys are actually tough, Taylor.”

“Tough like nuts.”

“They’re a couple of macadamias,” Grace quips. “And so, do you still salivate over Tomas’s hard body?”

Her question catches me unawares. I’ve told Grace that Tomas is hot more than once but it was only a joke then. Now… I don’t know what it is now. The thing I do know is that if I don’t respond, she will pick up on something, just like she picked up on my weird fascination with my high school crush, Cody, at the end of last year.

Come to think of it, this is the one good thing that has come out of my proximity to Tomas: I haven’t given Cody a second thought the whole time I’ve been on the island.

I clear my throat. “Do you know anything about Tomas ever being in love?” Okay, that came out as stupidly as it sounds.

“What do you mean? The Tomas we both know?” Grace says, truly confused. For those who’ve met him, putting the word
Tomas
in a sentence with the word
love
doesn’t hit the ears right.

“Has Nate ever mentioned anything?” I go on, too stubborn to give up even though I know what the answer will be.

“Tomas in love? That would be something,” Grace says with a chuckle.

“I take it the answer is
no
?”

Grace furrows her brow as she moves closer to the camera. “What is it with you today?”

“Oh, you know me, I’m a superficial bitch. How’s Google boy?”

“Don’t call him that. And you’re not superficial.”

“Ha! Was that a joke? You take all fun out of life, Gracie.”

“Let’s go back to you. How many Greek lovers so far? Or was it a roaming Sudanese you were after? I forget.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” I say, looking back at that evening in Pasadena when I was introduced to Tomas for the first time and tried my best to sound witty, bringing up absurd images like roaming Sudanese men in the land of Greece.

“I’m waiting,” Grace says, sternly.

Should I live up to my reputation and make up an arbitrary number of lovers? Will Grace even believe me if I say
none
? But then how could she not know that something fundamental changed in me the day we were attacked at the aromatherapy shop? The day I got beaten within an inch of my life by the two goons that were after my father.

All my choices and actions of the past two years ring so hollow to my ears right now. My involvement with Cody, to begin with, when I knew he was engaged to be married to another woman. I’m not the same person but I don’t know how to tell Grace that without giving her the wrong impression. She’ll think I need therapy to find myself again but I don’t know who I am anymore. More important, I don’t know who I want to be.

Tomas is a temptation and a trial for me at this point, helping me see how strong I am in my determination to be a new person but there’s no way I’m telling Grace that. I could never explain it as well as I feel it and she’d end up thinking I’m falling in love.

“Of course I think Tomas is hot,” I manage to say. “So does every woman we’ve met on the island. He’s got a gaggle of admirers.”

“Has he told you that his birthday is coming up? He turns twenty-seven in a week, June twenty-third.”

“That frustrating man. He didn’t tell me, but he did say we’re going somewhere on the twenty-third. I just can’t remember where or why.”

“Were you drunk at the time?”

“Hello!”

Grace laughs and I instantly know she doesn’t think anything of my weird thoughts and moods of late. If she were here, I’d probably tell her everything and let her guide me through the mess I’ve created but I can’t confide in her while she’s years of light away.

“You’d better ask him where he plans to take you on his birthday. Have him sign a contract that it’ll be safe for you.”

“Who’s taking whom where on his birthday?” Nathan says as he pops up on my screen behind Grace, taking her by surprise.

He’s dressed in a workout T-shirt and shorts, his biceps and neck glistening with sweat. It’s not surprising – it takes a lot of work to look as fucking hot and fit as he does. Watching Tomas work out on a daily basis has taught me a thing or two about those abs of theirs. They don’t come easy.

Grace protests with a short squeal when Nathan starts nibbling on her ear. “I’m talking to Taylor, silly head,” she says, pushing him away.

Nathan stares straight into the camera, his blue eyes matching the lavish ocean outside my window. “Hi, Taylor,” he says, winking at me.

“Hi, Nathan.”

“Where’s Tomas taking you on his birthday?”

“That’s the thing,” Grace says. “She doesn’t know.”

“That’s not good,” Nathan says, shaking his head. “You’d better ask him, Taylor. Last time I forgot to ask where we were going, we ended up at a tea house where some wild-eyed hippie chick dressed in scarves and bracelets tried to read my fate on the tea leaves.”

“The horror,” I say, trying to hide my amusement. “And what did she say?”

Nathan shrugs. “I couldn’t get a word. She was French.”

“You’re so dumb,” Grace says, punching his shoulder tenderly. When their lips touch, I decide it’s time for me to exit their living room and let them enjoy their time together.

“I’m so out of here,” I tease, but not really.

“We’ll talk soon,” Grace says, blowing a kiss at me. “I need to know where Tomas is taking you.”

“You and me both,” I say and blow a kiss back as I log off.

I remain seated at the desk staring at my dark reflection on the gray screen of the iPad. Seeing Grace with Nathan took me back to late April, a few days before I left with Tomas on the trip to Greece, when he came to the aromatherapy shop with Nathan.

Nathan lifted Grace off her feet and planted a kiss on her lips. It felt as if the world had come to a halt for the two of them for a few seconds, being so invested in each other that nothing else mattered.

I stared at them enviously for a moment before my eyes landed on Tomas. There was an expression on his face I had never seen before, almost as if he had just experienced a real, profound human emotion. It was only a fleeting moment before he put his usual blasé act back on but I know he felt then exactly what I felt just now watching Nathan and Grace on my screen: loneliness mixed with envy and just a single sprinkle of hope.

Though I run from the thought, I’d have to confess that I have many more things in common with Tomas than I’d like to admit. Neither of us have ever been in a real, honest, completely committed relationship.

Or, perhaps, he has with this mystery woman of his and maybe I’m the last miserable soul on Earth who has never had one proper relationship.

Chapter 5

T
he Rumba South night club is like no other on the island of Lesbos. Tomas pulls me gently by the hand every time I stop in front of some piece of impressive Caribbean décor, confused by the unlikelihood of finding such a location on one of Greece’s most picturesque islands where the vast majority of things are infused with local color and tradition.

Tomas has visited the club before but it’s the first time for me so every little detail is worthy of my special attention. “Seriously?” I shout out in an effort to be heard above the groovy salsa beat. “Who decided to bring the Caribbean to Greece?”

Tomas smiles as he shrugs. “I haven’t met the owner,” he says. “Not yet.”

Of course, Tomas becomes acquainted with everyone of any importance eventually and they all do their best to please him. I’m beginning to think Grace was the first person to ever stand up to him. Maybe that’s why he always speaks so highly of her.

Tomas leads me to a tall table with two wooden stools under a roof of straw, palm tree leaves and hanging lanterns. This side of the club is completely open to the ocean with some of the smaller tables standing right on the edge of the water, the silent waves licking the feet of the guests every time they roll in.

“There’s a full menu if you’re hungry,” Tomas says before he walks away, swaying his hips to the Latin rhythm that comes from the hidden speakers. Within seconds he’s out of sight and I’m left staring at the quiet, dark waters outside.

The club is not packed yet but that will change fast. Molyvos bars attract tourists and locals alike from all around the island, especially on a hot June Friday night.

I take a deep breath in and turn to the menu looking for a drink, preferably something strong and sweet at the same time. My finger lands on a Margarita when Tomas shows up, setting a cocktail glass with a pink icy concoction on the table as he sits next to me.

“What’s that?” I say.

“A strawberry Daiquiri,” he says, bringing his own glass to his lips. “Sweet, cold and tart-ish.”

It takes me a second before I get it. “Oh, like me? Is that what you’re implying?”

“Didn’t cross my mind but perhaps it should have.”

I’d love to spar with him but the music is too loud to allow any meaningful exchange. “What are you drinking?” I say.

“Rum and coke,” he says, staring at his glass pensively. “Nothing too imaginative, I’m afraid.”

“So, you get the pirate drink and I get the girlie drink, is that it?”

He slams back his drink of rum and coke, his eyes straying over to a small, loud group of Americans who have just entered the club. “What? Don’t you like strawberries? They’re low in sugar and packed with antioxidants. I thought you were a health guru.”

“It’s booze, Tomas. It’s the one time I don’t have to worry about potential health benefits.”

“All right, you can have a pirate drink, sweetheart,” he says lazily. “And I will have the girlie drink.”

With that, he grabs the Daiquiri and gulps it down before I can even blink.

“You’re such an ass,” I say as he hands me the empty glass.

“And you have a lovely ass.”

What?
Did I hear that right? “Are you drunk already?” I say, following his gaze all the way to a young American petite brunette who has gotten his attention. Yeah, the ass comment didn’t mean shit to him, just a usual part of his routine. “You know her?” I say, arching my eyebrows.

“Who?”

“Don’t act daft. The girl you’ve been eyeing.”

“No, I don’t,” he says, springing up to his feet. “That’s the beauty of it. I’ll get you your pirate drink.”

“No, wait,” I say, grabbing his wrist. “Make that a Margarita.”

“Right,” he says, slapping his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? Chicks dig tequila.”

When he’s gone, I can’t help but observe the young girl that sparked his interest as discreetly as I can. After a while, I realize that if I move my seat to the right, the girl’s back will be in full view and I’ll be able to watch without her noticing.

She’s scantily clad in a red tank top and a skirt so short it might as well not be there at all. She keeps turning her head left and right, pulling her long bangs away from her eyes and bringing her fingers to her mouth as if she’s constantly apologizing for something. She’s drop dead gorgeous, too, with a perfect tight body and symmetrical features.

I’ve never felt threatened by or concerned myself with other women’s looks or clothing. I’ve been lucky myself in that department and most people find me attractive even if I don’t dress in tight clothes or uncover too much skin. I don’t understand then why it is that I can’t stop staring at this girl with a certain degree of contempt. I’m not one to slut-shame or judge other women. Maybe I’m just trying to figure out what it is about her, or any woman really, that attracts an experienced, cynical, sexy man like Tomas.

I jump out of my skin when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, you’re all jittery and jumpy lately,” Tomas says. “Have you involved yourself in anything illicit?”

Coming from him, it’s rich at least. He’s been scamming people since the day he was born by his own admission. But tonight he’s incredibly handsome in his blue shirt and black jeans with his short, blond hair all spiky and delicious. It’s next to impossible to be mad at him.

He’s holding two margaritas, one in each hand, and as he offers me one without meeting my eyes, it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.

“Are you having a margarita, too?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“No. Listen, Taylor, the place is getting full fast. All kinds of cool, dashing dudes with a flair for Latin music will be hitting on you soon. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Yeah, right
. As he’s pronouncing the last words, he’s already gone, off to offer the second margarita and start a conversation with the object of his newly-found affection.

I’m more than a little curious to see how his plan will play out. It’s not often that Tomas allows me to witness his conquest methods as they happen. Never really. It’s all been hearsay.

From where I’m sitting, I have a clear view of the girl’s back, seated as she is on a stool between two of her girlfriends.

Tomas approaches them from the side, ducking his head to avoid some hanging wind chimes. The girls stop their conversation while turning their faces to take a look at him. As soon as he opens his mouth, all three start giggling. I’d give anything to know what it is he has told them that has caused such mirth.

Conversations and music slip around me and wash over me as my brain gets startled by a sudden feeling of distaste for their gaiety. Why on earth would it matter to me what Tomas does with a bunch of mindless girls?

It does matter though; somehow I know that it does and it makes me feel uncomfortable and unsure about my relation to him. I can deny it all I want but it’s crystal clear I’ve started thinking about him in ways that go well beyond friendship. Grace warned me about it, reminding me that Tomas doesn’t get really close to anyone. The wise thing would be that I leave the island, that I go back home to LA and resume my life or rather, start all over, putting all those mixed feelings about Tomas to rest.

The more alcohol is consumed, the more people decide to hit the dance floor. Before I know it, I’m accosted by an exceptionally tall, young man who says something in a language I don’t understand. I know it’s not Greek, rather some Scandinavian language or other.

“Do you speak English?” I ask, totally disinterested in what he’s trying to tell me.

“No matter,” he says, pointing at the dance floor.

Ah, so he wants to dance. My eyes follow his fingertips to discover Tomas and his new friend on the dance floor. How fast was that? He certainly doesn’t waste any time.

He moves expertly to the beat, his lower body swaying sensually as he bends over to touch his partner’s face and whisper in her ear. Her eyes flash with excitement at what she has just heard and my heart skips a beat.

“Well?” the man in front of me says.

“Why the hell not?” I say, climbing off the stool to follow him to the dance floor. I’m doomed either way. I’ve managed to put myself in an impossible situation and I need to snap out of it.

As we hit the dance floor, I realize I haven’t asked the man I’m dancing with his name, nor he mine. It’s probably for the best as I already want to escape his company. He’s not bad looking for a giant but that’s about all I can say about him.

I do my best to keep myself from staring at Tomas but find it next to impossible. I’m consumed by curiosity and a prickling feeling that resembles jealousy.

Jealousy? Is that really the word that just popped in my head? Fuck me, it must be true.

My head starts spinning and my eyes hurt from the interplay of shadow and light that keep alternating in the club. I’ve only had the one Margarita. I blame my empty stomach for the quick effect.

I realize too late that Tomas is moving in my direction, dragging his new conquest behind him by the hand.

“Taylor, sweet angel of mine,” he says, hugging me. “This is Jeanine from New York.”

“Another sweet angel of yours,” I say with a dead-fish grin on my face.

“You, go away!” my tall dance partner says to Tomas.

The words startle me until I remember who I’ve been dancing with. Holy shit, this whole situation is beyond ridiculous.

“Oh, look, it talks,” Tomas says, gently pinching my dancing partner’s cheek.

“We dance,” the drunk Viking insists.

“No, Sven, you go away and we dance,” Tomas says with an overtly satisfied grin on his face as he takes my hand.

Sven? Is that really his name? Does Tomas know the guy?

“You no call me that,” my giant says, getting angry for good now.

Nope, not his name. Definitely not one of Tomas’s acquaintances.

“Sven,” is all that Tomas says.

Why on Earth is he provoking a drunk stranger who happens to be a full head taller than him? The real question is, why does Tomas do any of the things he does? There’s no answer really and the only thing I can do is drag him away from
Sven
. I’m not fast enough though. Sven raises a fist to punch Tomas. Tomas grabs his wrist fast as lightning and spins
Sven
around to get his arm behind his back while pushing his head until he has him pinned down with his face on a table.

Jeanine’s face gets all flustered and excited as Tomas easily overpowers
Sven
. She starts clapping and laughing like a toddler drooling at the sight of a slide in a park.

I’m not much better. My jaw has dropped during this whole exhibition of brute manliness.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell at Tomas. “Let him go.”

Tomas obeys reluctantly. The moment he releases him, Sven the Giant takes off without looking back.
I’m not worth all that, Sven, you’re absolutely right.

“Oops, my bad,” Tomas says. “I didn’t mean to drive your date away.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tomas. Did you get it out of your system already?”

He narrows his eyes in a question while Jeanine wraps a protective arm around him. Oh, the irony.

“Your machismo exhibition,” I explain. “Is it done yet?”

“You can do better,” is all he says.

“Do better at what? We were just dancing.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry. I can find you another dancing buddy. You see that guy over there?” He points at a ripped god of a man with tattoos around his neck and half his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“You don’t like him? Okay, how about–?”

“Give it a rest, okay?”

“She’s right,” beautiful Jeanine cuts in. “Let’s dance some more.”

“Screw dancing,” Tomas says, grabbing her ass with both hands. “Wow, what an exquisite booty. It makes me want to do bad things.”

“What bad things?” Jeanine says, giggling.

“Your ears are too sweet to hear such words,” he says, hungrily regarding her like his next meal.

I really don’t need to hear any more of this. I want to excuse myself but realize there’s no need as they have stopped paying attention to me. Jeanine has leaned in for a kiss, her hands on Tomas’s hair as he keeps rubbing her ass. I have no idea then how it is that he notices me walking away but he does. He comes after me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I spoiled the night for you.”

“No worries,” I say.

There’s a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “You can join us if you want.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Jeanette and me.”

“Jeanette? You mean Jeanine?”

“That beautiful piece of flesh, yes. Nowhere near as beautiful as you though.”

“You’ve finally lost your mind, haven’t you?”

“You could just watch.”

Arrogant son of a bitch. I know that he’s drunk. He gulped down two drinks in front of me within the span of thirty seconds and I’m sure he didn’t stop there. I still feel like slapping him. The next best thing is to get as far away from him as possible. Why is he torturing me like that? Is he really that blind?