Sunburn (8 page)

Apollo bit his lip, clearly stifling a grin. “Not today. I saw them on my way over. They’re already down by the pool. I took the liberty of letting them know you’d be spending the day with me.” He paused for effect. “In fact, they seemed pleased you’d be doing so.”

Her jaw dropped.

He did smile this time and took a step toward her. And another, bringing him dangerously close to her body. “Shall I help you close your mouth, or would you like me to put a cinnamon bun into that gaping hole?”

Patience clapped her jaw shut. God, why did this man make her feel so … naked? Granted, she was half-nude, but even when clothed he had a bizarre ability to see into her. “Well, where are we going?”

His smile widened as his eyes took in her rumpled T-shirt. “Just get dressed. Put on something comfortable: shorts and a T-shirt.
No heels
. I’ll wait outside.”

And even though he’d gone out of the room to give her privacy, Patience still felt exposed to his gaze. Somehow his magnetism would seep right through concrete walls and under wooden doors. With her nose in the air, she closed the door on his annoying, grinning face.

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at one of the many activity booths dotting the resort. The cinnamon bun and coffee were happily sloshing together in her grateful belly. In fact, her impromptu breakfast with Apollo was the most delicious meal she’d had in recent memory. The buns had been decadent and the coffee just right, but the best part of the meal had been getting to watch Apollo lick a couple of globs of icing from his large fingers.

Now she couldn’t get his tongue out of her head.

Stop it, Patience! You’re not here for that. You’re supposed to be reviewing the resort, not pondering how many stars you’d give him for his licking ability.

Dismissing the thoughts, she stared at the intimidating piece of equipment before them. “Am I supposed to get
on
that thing?”

Apollo, still bearing that infernal grin, held a hand out to assist her. “That
thing
is a Segway. Our Segway tours are the most popular tours here at the resort, and the best way to see the place. Give it five minutes and you’ll be a pro, I promise.”

He helped her step to a small platform between two humungous wheels and showed her how to hold on. “I don’t know about this. You’re talking to the girl who other drivers ganged up on in the bumper car circuit at the amusement park. I’m not good with … things that move faster than I do.” As if to prove her point, she gave a frightful lurch, one that almost sent her flying off the vehicle that looked like a unicycle on steroids.

Apollo anticipated her movements and placed himself behind her, steadying her. He put his hands on her waist, making her stiffen, and slid a foot between hers. “Your feet are uneven,” he said quietly, moving her foot with his. “They need to be in line. Then all you do is balance. When you want to move forward, you lean forward. It senses your body movements and is in tune with them. It’ll follow you. Does that make sense?”

She didn’t know. She was too busy concentrating on the feel of his fingers on her midsection. “I guess so.”

He patted her waist, making her stiffen again. “Whoa. You are one jumpy woman.” He vaulted onto his own Segway with the ease of someone who’d burst out of the womb on one, and grinned over at her. “I think, while I’m showing you around the resort, I’m going to teach you how to relax too.”

She couldn’t help grinning back. “If you say so.”

With a dare in his glittering eyes, Apollo nodded toward her. “Now see if you can catch me!” He leaned forward on his machine and was off like a shot of lightning, streaking down the boardwalk.

“Hey, no fair,” Patience called. As she stared at his retreating form, her sense of competition flared. Determined, she looked at her Segway, breathed in, and leaned forward. Then leaned back. Then leaned forward. Then leaned back. Then leaned forward. Moving like a jerky snail, she slowly shuffled her way down the boardwalk, feeling like an utter fool.

Within moments, Apollo was back, laughing and doing circles around her as if he were some crazed NASCAR driver with a death wish. “You seem to be a little stuck there, Patience. Need some help?”

“No, I don’t need your help,” she barked. “We’re supposed to be touring the resort. We can’t do that if I’m not moving. Can’t we use one of those golf-cart thingies?”

“You’re doing great,” he encouraged, making her even more annoyed. “Just let go a little. Stop trying to control every movement. Let your instincts take over.”

She stared at him. She was already sweating buckets, and he looked as refreshed as if he’d just had a nice dip in the pool. Let her instincts take over. Her instincts were telling her to throttle him.

Or to kiss him.

Oh, for the love of Mike!

Another Segway zoomed behind her on her other side, and she braced herself, waiting for a collision. She looked up. It was Claude Lenoir, also riding a Segway so expertly it seemed to be an extension of his skinny, French body.

She teetered between the two whizzing Segways on either side of her, lost her balance, and plummeted back off her machine and off the boardwalk. She fell into the sand, landed flat on her back, and swallowed a huge amount of the gritty stuff.

As both men launched themselves off their Segways and ran over, she tried to spit the sand out of her mouth in as ladylike a fashion as she could achieve. However, she quickly learned it was impossible. Sputtering and hissing, she wiped the golden sand off her tongue and almost retched. It was everywhere. In her eyes. In her ears. In her stomach. She wiped what she suspected was a long string of snot from her nose and looked up.

Only to find the men kneeling in front of her. Claude was biting back a guffaw. And Apollo looked ready to strangle the Frenchman. With a gentle hand, he brushed some of the sand off the delicate skin under her left eye, and then turned to Claude.

“You startled her. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Claude took offense and snorted. “Please, Monsieur Bartender, I could see you from down the beach. You were, as they say, popping wheelies around her yourself. Don’t blame me.”

If there hadn’t been so much grit in her eye, Patience could have sworn Apollo was going to hit Claude. Really punch him in the nose. His eyes flashed, and he took a breath and reined in his anger. Ignoring Claude, he turned to her. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Apollo offered her his hand and she took it, wanting to get rid of the arrogant Claude. He motioned to a staff member, who immediately came over and took the Segways away. Claude zipped off with a frown on his face, and they walked back to where they started. Apollo’s hand always on her back.

The whole time, she cursed herself for being a clod. She felt clumsy. She felt frustrated and uncoordinated and as messy as a sandcastle princess.

But with Apollo’s big hand rubbing her lower back, she was feeling better. It grieved her to realize she was feeling better in a big way.

* * * *

Apollo led Patience to one of the nearby bars, the perfect place to have a quiet drink and grill her for details that might reveal why a demon was after her.

After all, he was sticking close to her to keep her out of the demon’s clutches.
Right?

He gritted his teeth, wishing that were his only motivation. Wishing it had nothing to do with wanting to know her better, or wanting to taste her skin so badly, or wanting to bury his face in her heaven-sent cleavage.

Dismissing the carnal nonsense in his head, he held out a bar stool. As she positioned her beautiful ass on the stool, settling in with a delicious wiggle, his cock hardened.

By the liver of Prometheus! What sort of torture is this?

She coughed again, grimacing at the sand in her throat, and he came back to reality. He said a few words to the bartender who was posted there, jumped behind the bar, and grabbed a couple of clean towels and some ice water. He poured the water into a glass and held it out for her to take a sip.

“I can do it, thanks,” she argued, reaching for the glass.

“Hush,” he countered, not letting her take it. “Just drink.”

She blinked as he put the glass against her lips and opened her lips. She didn’t open wide, just a crack, as if she needed persuading. He nudged her bottom lip with the glass, his gaze glued to her soft lips the whole time. She finally opened enough so he could tip some water into her mouth. She took a few sips, closed her eyes, and sighed.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck
. He’d never been so hard in his entire life! And that was saying something!

What am I doing with this woman? Just see if you can help her and end this insanity!
He pulled the glass away from her moist mouth and set it on the bar. She grabbed one of the towels and wiped sand out of her luscious cleavage, prolonging his misery.

More than anything, Apollo wished he had one of his sister’s famous silver bows … right through his heart so he could end this torment. “Do you feel better?”

She looked up, her expression blank, as if she were completely unaware of the effect she was having. “Yes.” Her face crinkled into a sheepish grin. “Thanks for your help, and for the drink.”

He moved behind the bar again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use something a little stronger than water.” He looked up, remembering Angie making a comment about Patience’s drinking habits. “Can I make you a drink? I’d offer you a Sombrero, but I don’t know if you want one. We’re famous for them here. It’s a good morning cocktail, better than a mimosa.”

“What’s a Sombrero?”

“Oh, the closest thing to the nectar of the gods.” He smiled. “It’s got coffee liqueur and cream. I make a mean one.”

Her weird, little grin disappeared. “It sounds delicious, but no, thanks.” She put the towel on the bar and stared into the distance, frowning.

He leaned on the bar, bringing him into the vicinity of her intoxicating orange blossom perfume, and his head swam. “Tell me about it.”

She stared at him for a long time, her eyes resembling hard candies now, rather than soft butterscotch. “There’s not much to tell.” She breathed in and out and looked at her lap. “I come from a family of alcoholics. Each one worse than the one before. But my mom took the cake. I think she was going for an award or something. You’re a bartender. Do they give out trophies for ‘Best Alcoholic of the Year’?”

He didn’t respond to her sarcastic joke. Rather, he stayed quiet, hoping space would encourage her to tell him more. It did. Within seconds, her story was pouring out.

“In almost every memory I have of my mother, she’s clutching a liquor bottle. At school functions, when she decided to show up at all, she showed up drunk. Half of the time, she didn’t hear a word I said to her. My friends’ mothers took better care of me. I spent most of my time growing up at Angie’s place. Her parents checked my homework. Her folks gave me advice on boys. When I met Doris years later, her parents looked out for me too.”

She stopped talking for a moment, lost in thought. Apollo couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was astounded at how much he wanted to draw her close and give her a much-needed embrace.

She continued, her eyes cold and dry. “I remember this one time when I was fourteen. I decided I was ready to get my ears pierced. I begged my mom to meet me at the mall after school, to be there during the piercing, because I was nervous. She swore up and down she’d be there. When I got to the mall, Angie’s mom was waiting, trying so hard not to look like she pitied me. I got my ears done, went home, and found my mother drunk on the couch. An empty bottle of rum in her hands. She never once noticed my earrings.”

“What about your father?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea who he is. Neither does my mother. He’s probably another alcoholic. Someone she picked up in a bar.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, realizing he was so sorry for her. She deserved better. “What about the rest of your family? Aunts, uncles? Grandparents?”

She made a face. “Yeah, that’s the ridiculous part. Most of them died when I was little. And from what I heard, they were mostly all drunks, too. I didn’t have a lot of support growing up. It was really just me. In a way, it’s good I’m an only child. I’d hate to see any siblings dealing with the same crap.”

“Didn’t anyone call children’s services?”

“Oh, sure. All the time. Polite inquiries were made. Social workers came to visit, but she always managed to clean up her act right before their visits. She’d normally end up back on the wagon a week later.”

He stared at her, in awe of her strength and will to fight. “How did you ever cope?”

“Well, like I said, I had good friends. Luckily, I also had very kind teachers. They all sort of adopted me in an unofficial way. They made sure I had clothes on my back and food in my belly. It was usually hand-me-downs and Hamburger Helper, but I’m thankful for every morsel.”

“Patience, I…”

She brightened. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She patted her belly. “And as you can see, I have no problems eating now. In fact, I need to eat less!”

He frowned. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re stunning.”

Her story of misery hadn’t made her tear up, but his compliment did. Her pretty eyes welled up. She looked away and pretended to wipe sand out of her eye again. Not wanting to embarrass her, he didn’t call attention to it.

“I may have been a little short with you when we first met,” she admitted in a faraway voice. “Fact is, I’ve never really been keen on bartenders as a species. None of the bartenders at my mother’s usual haunts ever cut her off. No one ever said ‘no’ to her. I sometimes think if even one of those bartenders had refused to serve her, she might have had a moment of strength. She might have had the courage to change her life and put her daughter first. But they kept plying her with drinks.” She considered. “Of course, she didn’t really hang out in the most sophisticated of joints.”

“Well, hopefully I can be the one to redeem the species,” he replied, so many strange emotions bubbling inside him. “Okay, so no Sombreros then. Let me make you a Cinderella instead.”