Paradise Tempted: The Beginning (Paradise Stories)

Paradise Tempted: The Beginning

L.B. Dunbar

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

©
2015 Laura Dunbar

Cover Design – Kari Ayasha @ Cover to Cover Design

Cover Photography © L.J. Photography

Cover Model – Lance Jones

Format – Brenda Wright @ Formatting Done Wright

Editing – Karen Hrdlicka @ Barren Acres Editing

In the beginning, there was a snake and a beautiful woman in the garden…

I was pretty sure killing someone meant I wasn't going to get away with murder. Murder means needed to lay low after the incident. I wasn't hiding as much as avoiding: avoiding the media, avoiding the investigation, avoiding my father. Of course, “Daddy Dearest” knew where I was. He had to know. He demanded Kursch, my bodyguard, come with me. Loyal to me, but it was still my father who paid his bills...with my money. I was the breadwinner for the family, at the moment. It was my fight to keep us ahead. A fight. Literally.

All I wanted was the weekend away. I needed some separation. The last thing I needed was to get involved with someone, but it appeared that I had. As I twisted to my side, I noticed the telltale signs of another night drowned by drink and an unknown conquest. I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, before I felt her shift next to me.

"Okay, sweetheart, time to go," I announced to the ceiling. I sensed her motion rather than watched it. When I turned my head on the hotel pillow to face her, she was staring at me. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. The most intense blue eyes were looking at me. No, studying me.

I don't think I blinked for a full minute. I was so ensnared by the deepness of the blue. They were a refreshing lake and I needed to cleanse my soul. I was the devil. The snake.

"Time to go," I said breaking the spell.

She sat up then and looked at me over her shoulder. Dark waves flowed down her back, and that's when I noticed it. She was dressed. Her red t-shirt covered her, exposing slim arms. I scanned her body to notice her ass coved in boy cut briefs of the same color. I also realized she was on the top side of the covers.
What the fuck?

I sat up too abruptly and gripped my forehead. The throbbing was immense. So was the throbbing someplace else. My body had its typical morning reaction. However, I was the only one barely dressed. The sheet slid down my hard abs to expose the full breadth of the snake that covered my upper chest and wound its way down my right arm. Those blue eyes scanned my colorful skin and licked me with their admiration. I suddenly wanted to know what it would feel like to have her tongue on me with those innocent eyes staring up at me.

"You know what? Maybe one more before you go," I said and flopped back on the pillow. I pushed the sheet down with my boxer briefs and let the full length of me out into the warmth of her stare.

I saw her swallow, which only made me harder.

"Well," I said and nodded to myself.

Suddenly, those baptismal blue eyes narrowed and scorched me with an evil I don't think I've ever faced before.

"What exactly do you think happened last night?" she asked. Her voice was both ice and fire at once. It froze me and brought me comfort.

"We fucked, and I'm sure I was fabulous. A cobra is the fiercest snake after all," I grinned. "I want one last thank you, and then you can go," I added. "Taste the fruit."

I saw it happen. It's shit only romance authors write. Her face fell. A mask came down over those eyes, and they suddenly showed her innocence. She averted what I held erect for her pleasure and mine.

"What do you think happened?" she asked softly, the coldness in her tone turned warm syrup.

"We fucked," I responded crassly. She swallowed again. Her eyes were losing the battle to not look at me, and then she closed them. She turned away from me and scooted herself off the end of the bed. I saw her stand then bend to pick up a floral skirt. She tugged up the flowing silky material and straightened her t-shirt. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, sweeping it up into a ponytail.

As she stretched to work her hair in a complicated twist, I took in the full length of her body: flat stomach, shorter legs, larger breasts for a smaller frame. I watched her walk to the side of the bed, opposite mine, and pick up a pair of red-framed glasses that matched her snug t-shirt. She stared down at her left hand for a moment, before pulling something from her finger.

I was still laying there petrified as I held my most precious body part upright. The bed sheet draped over my thighs. I stared at her blue eyes that softened as she spoke.

"It was fun, if just pretend." She smiled weakly and held up the large diamond before placing it on the stand.

I knew instantly something was wrong. She crossed the room to the door before I sat up and covered myself.

"Wait," was crossing my lips, as she opened the door and slipped outside. I had a brief glimpse of Kursch standing in the hall. The large bald man stopped short when he entered the room.

"You idiot. Get the girl!" I yelled.

The towering man, who had known me since childbirth and protected me like his own, crossed his large biceps and stared down at me.

"You fucked up big this time, Cobra," he addressed me with a curved mouth and dark set eyes.

Falling back on the pillow one more time, I blew out a breath and ran a hand down my face.

"What did I do?"

"For someone trying to lay low, you made quite the spectacle last night."

"Does my father know?" I huffed.

"Not yet." Kursch paused. "But he will. I gave you a week, but there was enough picture taking to fill an album last night."

"How much time do you think I have?"

"I'd say twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight, at the most."

The night was too unrealistic to be real, yet I was hopeful. He seemed genuine. He seemed interested. He seemed different. When the night started out with him thinking he could out drink me, I knew it was going to be interesting. I might be small, but I can handle liquor. I'd grown up on it. You can't grow up in Napa Valley and not be able to drink copious amounts of wine or handle home distilled alcohol. I was here for the weekend to help my grandparents. Weekends were busy at The Vineyard Inn. We catered to an exclusive clientele: the rich and famous.

That was another thing I'd grown up on. I'd met enough movie stars having affairs, directors cheating on their wives, and rock stars with weekend women to be immune to them all, so his presence struck me as unusual. That a man of his size and stature would be here alone seemed unbelievable to me. There was another man lingering near him, and at first, I thought this was another type of rendezvous. I quickly learned the larger man was his uncle.

Over time, the bald man seemed more interested in the group of women celebrating the new divorce for one of their own. The First Wives Club, they called themselves. Few were still married and they returned to commemorate that another marriage bit the dust. Of the ten women, eight were now single. Coming here didn't provide the pick-ups and hook-ups they each sought. It offered a sanctuary as they drank too much wine, bashed the men in their lives, and counted the dollars they'd receive for alimony.

Again, he stood out from the romantic coupling and the rousing party members.

"Got anything stronger than this," he said with a nod to the racks of wine behind me. I worked the bar, as I only occasionally had to pour wine, explain flavors then walk away. I had a mid-term in a week to study for: human anatomy. Intriguing stuff as a Friday night read for someone who wanted to be a doctor.

"I'd recommend this robust red made with..."

"Stop."

I was startled at the directness of his voice.

"Be real," he said. "Something harder."

"Be. Real," I mouthed. "Okay. You look like a man who could handle Grandpa's Passion."

"I don't want some damn fruity drink," he squawked, as I crossed behind the wooden bar and reached into the private stock cabinet. Inside was Grandpa's Passion, and it was anything but fruity. Made from some unknown combination of natural herbs, this concoction was produced in an old fashion distillery and aged over time. Tonight seemed like the right time to open a bottle.