No Take Backs (2 page)

I prop myself up on your chest to look at
you. “Anything.”

Your face is so serious, so…wide-eyed and
wistful. “Never leave.”

There’s a fear in your eyes I’ve never seen
before. It worries me. “I won’t. I promise.”

You hold me tight against you and kiss my
temple. With your father trying to take everything you own, all of
the real estate you’ve acquired as CEO of Rocha Enterprises, your
primal need to grasp on tightly to what’s yours is
understandable.

But seeing you, confident-to-a-fault Merrick
Rocha, falter on your axis, leaves me shaken.

Helicopter blades beat against the
humid swamp air.
Whomp. Whomp.
Whomp.
The domestic staff has arrived. Maids, servers,
a chef. The sound of their arrival makes me giddy.

This is really happening. It has actually
come together. Turtle Tear is a fully functioning luxury resort,
and I’ve successfully completed my first project manager job.

The click-clack of heels breaks my revelry.
“Congratulations. You did it.” Joan’s tone tells me she was
skeptical of my ability, but I knew that all along.

She stops beside me on the patio, fiddles
with her blonde hair twisted up in back and crosses her arms. As
usual, she’s wearing her power-hungry, trademark red. Today it’s a
pencil skirt paired with matching platform heels and a filmy,
white, sleeveless blouse.

“Thanks.” I don’t let on that I caught a
hint of her doubt. “Going to usher them in?” Maybe she’ll remember
she’s in a hurry and leave.

She arches a brow and studies her manicured
nails. “That’s Riley’s job now, remember?”

Right. She no longer works as your assistant
because of me, giving her yet another reason to hate me. Like it’s
my fault you slept with her and didn’t realize she’s in love with
you. It’s my fault you’re not in love with her.

It’s my fault I ran when you brought her
into our bed.

No. It was a severe misjudgment on your
part, but I’m not in the mood to place blame. It’s over, and we’ve
gotten past it.

Joan, however, has not.

“Where’s Beck?” She and our foreman have
been involved for a couple months. Shouldn’t he be keeping her mind
from wandering to you? If so, why is she still a bitch to me?

“My new boss is inspecting the two rooms the
crew just finished. Renovation complete.”

Since you gave Joan a lateral move from
being your assistant to being Beck’s, he usually keeps her busy
elsewhere—off the island. Guess there’s no avoiding her for the
grand opening.

“Think I’ll go take a look.” I turn and her
hand lands on my arm.

“Rachael, you’ve done a great job
here.” Her blue eyes meet mine, the creases along the edges
revealing sincerity and regret. “With
everything.”

She means you. I’m too stunned to say
anything, so I take her hand and squeeze it before walking away, in
through the large, wooden hacienda doors standing open to the
lounge.

The tile floor and stone walls keep it cool
inside. Large ceiling fans circulate the air. This once bare room
is now filled with studded, brown leather couches and chairs
settled in front of the fireplace. The rustic wooden tables nestled
beside them will be perfect for our guests to rest their drinks.
Mexican rugs striped yellow, red and teal add a splash of color,
and vases filled with flowers from the island give the room a
heady, sweet scent.

I take in a deep breath and let excitement
and nervousness wash over me. In a couple hours, everyone will
begin to arrive. The crew members’ wives or significant others, my
best friend, Shannon, and her boyfriend, Seth.

Your sister, Heidi, and her husband and
kids.

Your sister.

Those aren’t butterflies in my stomach;
they’re the size of bats with a twelve-inch wingspan fighting to be
set free. If I think about meeting Heidi anymore, I’m certain
whatever’s inside me will claw its way out like that scene from
Alien.

God, what if she hates me? Thinks I’m too
young and naive for you? Too inexperienced?

I have to stop thinking like this.

I need a drink.

I pad down the hall in my flip-flops to the
kitchen. I’m glad we kept the big, farmhouse-style, original sink
and the butcher block island. Unfortunately, all of the crumbling
marble countertops had to go. Since there are only twenty rooms in
the hotel, I wanted the kitchen to feel more homey than industrial,
but with the necessary accommodations for the chef, like subzero
refrigerators and about a hundred stainless steel appliances
sitting under the high, native, Cypress wood cabinets.

Grabbing a sharp knife from the magnetic
strip on the wall, I pluck a lime from the tree outside out of a
large basket of fruit on the counter. I slice it in half and start
scooping out the juicy pulp when Beck strolls in.

“What’s up, Rach?” Standing across the
kitchen island from me, he leans his elbows on the butcher block.
His dirty blond hair is back in a ponytail, and he has the
ever-present shit-eating grin on his face.

I can’t look at Beck without smiling. He has
something about him that’s larger-than-life. “Making a margarita
shot. Want one?”

“You know I do.”

I salt the edges of the hollowed limes and
pour mix and tequila into them. “Here you go,” I say, handing him
one.

“To Turtle Tear,” he says, holding his lime
shot up to mine.

“To Turtle Tear,” I repeat. “Cheers.” We
down the shots. It burns, and I cough. “Another?”

“Sure.” He sets his lime shot glass back
down for a refill. “Looking to get wasted?”

I salt the edges of the limes again. “Just
taking the edge off. Merrick’s sister, husband, niece and nephew
get here this evening.” I roll my eyes, like I know I’m being
ridiculous. “Meeting the fam. Little intimidating.”

Beck waves a hand. “Heidi’s a sweetheart.
Nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t feel that way.

I fill our limes and hand his back over.
“How are things with Joan?” I lift my brows suggesting I mean on a
personal level, not as his assistant.

“
Things are…coming along.” He twists
the side of his mouth and shrugs. “She was in love with him for a
long time, Rach. I’m no miracle worker, but we have a good time
together.”

I smile and hold up my margarita shot to
lighten the mood. I don’t want to put the burden of Joan on his
mind. She’s my burden to bear. “To good times then.”

He chuckles and gently knocks his lime
against mine. “To good times.”

~~~

“Rachael.”

I open my eyes to the sound of your voice in
my ear, your body spooned against mine. The margarita shots did
more than take the edge off, they knocked me out entirely. “I came
up to lay down for a while. Guess I fell asleep.”

“Our bed’s too comfortable to resist taking
a nap.” You push a lock of hair back from my face and kiss my
cheek. Your hair’s wet and smells like your spicy, jasmine
shampoo.

“You took a shower without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. I waited as long
as I could, but we have a hotel full of guests to greet.” You kiss
the tip of my nose. “Time for Sleeping Beauty to wake up and get
dressed.”

I bold upright in bed. “They’re here
already? What time is it?”

My eyes focus on the clock at the same time
you say, “seven.”

“Seven! I slept all afternoon! Why did you
let me do that? There’s so much to get done!” Panicked, I shove our
white, down comforter off and hop out of bed.

You grab my wrist. “Don’t freak out. It’s
all taken care of. Riley and I handled everything.”

I let my shoulders fall on an exhale of
relief. “You did?”

You get to your knees on the bed and stroke
my cheeks with your thumbs. “Of course I did.”

I kiss your soft, warm lips. Once. Twice. I
never want to stop kissing you. I let out an involuntary moan and
graze my tongue over your bottom lip.

“Mmm…” You kiss me firmly, letting your lips
linger on mine for a moment, then pull away and rest your nose
against mine. “You have to get ready.”

“I have to get ready,” I agree, dazed.

“I have to go to the clearing and meet my
sister.” You hold up your phone. “Riley said they landed a few
minutes ago.”

My stomach turns.

“What’s wrong?” You thread your fingers with
mine.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You made a face like you were in pain.”

I turn and make my way across the hardwood
floor to the closet. “Just nervous.”

“Not about Heidi?” I hear you slide off the
bed. “You like me a lot more than she does. She could hate you—she
won’t, but she could—and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

Your arms wrap around my waist, and you kiss
my cheek. “No being nervous. You’re amazing. I have to get down
there.” One more kiss and you unhook your arms from around me and
stride out of the bedroom.

Your words should comfort me, but they
don’t. Everything’s wrong. My outfit—it sucks. My hair—too frizzy.
My smile—crooked. My laugh—too hyena-like. God, I want to close my
eyes and disappear.

To top it off, I have a raging headache.
Margarita shots were a terrible idea.

After a hot shower, I’m a little more
relaxed. Maybe my coral-colored maxi dress isn’t as bad as I
thought.

I slip on my sandals and head down the
stairs holding the twisted mangrove root railing. It’s my favorite
part of the hotel, and one of the few things I demanded be kept.
It’s been polished, and the once-dry wood now shines in brilliant
shades of rich brown. The murals painted on the walls were touched
up by an artist flown in from Spain. She did an excellent job
restoring the bright red flowers, blue birds, and green vines in
with shadows and highlights. They’re so lifelike, it’s as if I were
standing outdoors instead of inside the grand entryway to a resort
hotel.

I imagine this is what it looked like a
hundred years ago, and pride swells in my chest.

At the bottom of the stairs, a man in black
pants and a white oxford shirt hefts two pieces of luggage across
the lobby. I slept right through the arrival of the staff.

The smoky, sweet smell of BBQ wafts through
from the lounge where the back doors stand open. Tonight’s
celebration will be luau style.

Riley buzzes through an archway from the
hall and into the kitchen, halting when he spots me. “Miss De—I
mean, Rachael, can I do anything for you?”

His wide blue eyes take me in, head to toe.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe someone does have a bit of a crush. “Not
right now, thanks. Is everyone getting settled?”

He tucks his hands in his pockets and nods.
“The chef has had the pig roasting most of the afternoon, I have
servers on top of drinks and hors d'oeuvres and Jesse—”he motions
to where the guy with the suitcases is trampling up the stairs—“has
the luggage delivered to the guest rooms.

“Wow. You’re on top of everything. Thank
you.”

An adorable blush creeps up his neck and he
bobs once on his toes before disappearing into the kitchen.

I swipe a hand across my forehead and gather
my strength. “Nothing to worry about,” I tell myself. “Have a good
time.”

“Pep talk?” I startle and spin around. You
must’ve slipped in the front door.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.” I hook my
arm through yours. “What are you doing wandering around?”

“Waiting for you. Believe it or not, I’m
probably way more uncomfortable with everyone here tonight than you
are.”

I step into you and feel the warmth of your
body seeping into me. “Why did we do this? I just want to take you
back to bed. Make them all go home.”

Your hands run down over my lower back.
“We’ll sneak away early. I have the tree house ready for us.”

I trail little kisses from the corner of
your mouth to your ear. “You think of everything.”

“There you are!” a cheerful, feminine voice
calls from the hallway.

Your hands grip my arms and turn me around
in front of you like a human shield. “Rachael, this is Heidi, my
sister.”

She’s a fireball of dark, bouncing curls,
blazing black eyes and curves that would put most Playboy models to
shame. She’s the female version of you. “Hi.” I hold out my hand to
her, hating the hesitant, nervous tinge in my voice. “Nice to meet
you.”

She takes my hand in both of hers and leans
in to kiss my cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you. My brother seems
to have finally found someone worthy of him.”

I glance back at you. I knew you’d talked to
her a few times, a direct result of my badgering, but it sounds
like you call more than I know.

And you talk about me.

That’s good. I think. It sounds good. She
thinks I’m worthy of you.

“Thank you. I’ve heard a lot about you. I ̶
”

“Ra-chael! Where are you?” Shannon’s voice
booms and echoes through the entryway.

“Shannon!”

Heidi steps back from me as Shannon runs
down the hallway, spots me and sprints on her silver heels—the
silver hooker heels she picked out for me to wear when you were in
Cleveland. They were my parting gift. I left them in her closet
when I moved out and came here.

She tackles me in a bear hug, and we both
fall back into you. Luckily, you anticipated what was about to
happen and catch us.

My face is lost in a sea of caramel-colored
hair with platinum tips. Her signature Chanel perfume floods my
mind with a sense of home. The apartment we used to share. The blue
and white striped couch. Bottles of Shannon’s nail polish
cluttering the end table. I hug her tighter, breathing her in.
“I’ve missed you, Shan.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” She pulls her
head back and wipes her eyes, mascara threatening to streak down
her cheeks. Her eyes flick upward, catching sight of you behind me.
“Hi, Merrick.”