Last Call for Love (5 page)

*

The flames leapt into the night sky and the reflection of the bonfire danced across the black waters of the Pacific. A full moon hovered above the water, and stars dotted the sky. South beach, or the staff beach, as it was known by employees, was around an outcropping of palm trees and brush. Every bit as beautiful as any beach of Mesquale, this spot offered privacy for the staff because it was undeveloped and farthest from the resort and Mesquale’s bungalows.

“Yo, dude!” Trevor called from his spot beside the bonfire. He raised his now-half-full bottle of dark rum. Ryan waved at his roommate. Trevor was all drunken smiles, his gaze loose with a semi-stoned and glazed expression. After Ryan’s greeting, Trevor returned to staring into the flames of the fire.

“Mate, you made it.” Liam stopped beside Ryan. In jeans and a T-shirt, he looked beach casual. Liam handed him a Foster’s and tapped his own can to Ryan’s. “How was your first day at The Banana?” Liam asked, and took a slug of his beer.

“Eventful.” Ryan couldn’t erase the vision of Charla’s red handprint on Josh Hughes’s cheek. He’d mentioned the events of the day to Antoine at their evening meeting. Antoine said he’d yet to receive an incident report from Orso or hear from Mr. Hughes, but he’d ask security if they’d received any reports or complaints.

Ryan wanted Mr. Hughes removed from Mesquale. He also wanted Antoine to ask Charla if she wished to press charges. Every employee needed to know when something like today happened, the resort would support them.

“That A-hole? We get them all the time. Hate to blame it on their wealth because I’ve had my share of wealthy friends, but the lot we get at Mesquale seem to think they can do whatever the hell they want with their hands. At least when it comes to women.”

No. Not right. He wouldn’t stand for the employees of Mesquale feeling as though they could be treated in such a way.

“Lucky for you that you didn’t swing at the guy. Seems Mr. Hughes was in the mood to get people fired.”

“Who got fired?”

“Charla.” Liam nodded toward a piece of driftwood pulled up beside the fire. Charla’s face was hidden by her golden hair. She leaned forward with her hands pressed to her face. A woman had her arm over her shoulder. The girl’s name was … Poppy. The same girl that Trevor, Ryan’s roommate, had been spending time with.

“Who the hell fired her?” Anger flashed in Ryan’s voice.

“Orso. The pig. First he propositioned her, and then he fired her.” Liam took a long drink from his beer. “She’s out on the first plane in the morning.”

“What? That can’t be right. Orso can’t fire her … He propositioned her?”

Liam nodded. “Happens every time there’s a guest complaint. He’s a letch. No way management doesn’t know. Is there? I mean, how could they not?” Liam shook his head. “Another reason I’m happy not to be a woman.”

Charla raised her head and wiped beneath her eyes. Poppy leaned closer. They were on the other side of the bonfire, and Ryan could not hear their words, but there was pain in Charla’s face. Her lips were swollen, and her skin was red and splotchy.

Pain slid through Ryan, seeing Charla cry. She was too kind, too beautiful, too good to have this happen to her. First an abusive guest and then an abusive manager? He’d take care of this. He’d take care of the whole damn thing.

“Hey, you’re just here from L.A.,” Liam said. “Charla’s looking for friends who have friends that might let her have a piece of their couch until she gets on her feet. You know anyone?”

“What?” Ryan pulled his gaze from Charla.

“A place. Friends with a place where Charla can stay when she gets to L.A.” Liam turned toward Poppy and Charla. “Hey, Pop, Charla, Ryan just moved here from Los Angeles. He’s got to have some friends there.” He turned back to Ryan. “Don’t you?”

Ryan nodded. He couldn’t tell Liam that this conversation was unnecessary. He couldn’t tell Liam or Poppy or Charla, who was now standing beside him with her tear-stained face and reddened eyes, who even with the tears and the uncertainty managed to smile at him.

“Hi, Ryan.” She pressed her lips together. “I guess you heard?”

Ryan nodded. No he couldn’t tell her what he planned to do once he got away from this party and these people, and how not only was Josh Hughes leaving Mesquale, but so was Orso. She had a job at Mesquale if she wanted it. He’d personally see that she could press charges against Josh and even Orso if she desired.

“Don’t worry, Charla.” He pushed a strand of that lovely golden hair behind her ear. She looked so sad, so vulnerable.

In this moment, for the first time in a very long and painful time, Ryan wanted. He wanted to scoop Charla into his arms and pull her close, and tell her everything in her world would be fine. He wanted to kiss those impossibly full lips and make her know that she didn’t have anything of which to be fearful. He would take care of everything. Get rid of those obscene men, and make certain that no other female employee of Mesquale would suffer as she had suffered.

But he could say none of those things now.

He tried to tell her with his eyes.

“Do you have a friend in Los Angeles who would maybe let me stay with them?”

She smelled of surf and citrus and sunshine. The light of the flames flickered in her eyes. He nodded.

“I …” he started and then he stopped. “I do. If it comes to you leaving, then yes, of course, I have a couple friends you could stay with.”

Her eyes brightened with his words. “Oh thank you. I seriously thought I might be homeless in Los Angeles.”

They walked toward another piece of driftwood, this one a bit farther from the fire and the group. Quieter. More secluded. More private.

“And this
is
happening.” Charla sat. “Orso fired me tonight.”

Ryan looked past her toward the blackness of the ocean that reflected the fire and the moon. “Did he do an investigation? Did he speak with security?”

“No,” She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “I don’t think so. I mean, did he come to you or to Liam?”

Ryan shook his head. Not only had Orso not inquired anything of Ryan, as an employee on the scene, but Orso had failed to report the incident to Antigua. 

“Orso did insinuate that if I slept with him, I could keep my job.”

Ryan leaned back. His brow rose. “That’s illegal and unethical and—”

“And that’s the way it is at Mesquale.”

“Are you saying that Antigua knows about Orso, that—”

“I don’t know who knows.” Charla crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t care. It’s kind of hard for me to believe that Antigua and management don’t know something. How could they not? Orso’s done this before. Gotten a guest complaint because a female bartender or server refused a drunk guest’s overtures, and then he tells them
You can sleep with me or you’re fired
.”

“I …” Ryan searched for the words. “I can’t believe it.”

“I couldn’t either. Until it happened to me. I should go pack. I’m scheduled for the first flight off the island in the morning. Will you write down the number of your friend? My cell should work once I get to the airport.”

Charla wouldn’t get that far. He’d see to it that at the very least, if she chose to leave Mesquale after what had happened, that she’d have an apartment in Los Angeles. Paid for. Until she could find a job and her own place.

Ryan stood. “I’ll walk you back. It’s dark, and after today …” His words drifted away. He’d walk her back and call Antoine and sort this mess out, before the morning, before she got on the plane, before any more damage was done to her or to anyone else.

“Thank you. I know there are good men around. I haven’t lost my faith in them. They’re the hard workers. The ones who understand what it’s like to work for the things you want, like I do.” She smiled at Ryan. “Let me go tell Poppy.”

Ryan’s eyes trailed after Charla. Poppy now sat on Trevor’s lap and listened to Liam tell a story. Good. He’d get back and could use the phone in his and Trevor’s room to contact Antoine, tell him that he needed to sack Orso immediately.

Charla walked back to him. “Ready?” She pressed a smile to her face in a valiant attempt, but happiness didn’t reach into her eyes. How could it? She thought she’d be homeless in the morning. Homeless and unemployed, but Ryan would make certain that neither one of those fears came true.

There were still good guys in the world. Ryan was proof of that. He pulled back the giant banana leaves and she walked over the path toward the staff apartments. There were no lights and it seemed darker and the path more uneven.

“Careful,” Ryan called. He’d just stepped in front of her and grabbed another giant leaf. “There’s a dip there, and you might—”

Too late. Charla placed her foot, expecting the ground, and instead got air. She pitched forward, and Ryan grabbed her.

“You okay?”

She gasped. His arms were around her. Heat thrilled through her body. She looked up. Her breath shortened. Her heart raced. He was …  He was … He was all the things the past men in her life lacked. He was kind and generous and hardworking and had a strong moral compass. She felt that. She knew that Ryan was good, based on how he’d reacted this afternoon and then tonight. Most importantly, he was honest and transparent and didn’t have some secret agenda like Orso or Bertram’s father.

The warm breeze ruffled Ryan’s black hair. She smelled the scent of mint from his breath. The hard nudge of his maleness pressed against her hip, and he wasn’t letting her go. She wanted his arms around her.

“I’m … I’m okay,” she whispered, and she was okay in a sense, but in another way she was absolutely not okay because she’d been fired and unfairly judged and propositioned. Yet right this very moment, all she wanted was Ryan’s lips on hers. What would his mouth feel like pressed to hers? Her tongue flicked out over her lower lip, and she moved forward the tiniest bit.

She couldn’t say who kissed whom, but his lips were on hers, and a heat—a deep unsettling heat—pulsed between her legs and up through her body. He clasped her upper arms, and pulled her closer. Ryan’s lips opened, and he slid his tongue into her mouth. A tiny moan escaped her throat. Her nipples tightened into buds that tingled and pressed against the silken fabric of her bra. Yes, God, yes. He felt so right.

Her hands were on his chest and fluttered down the front of his shirt. His skin. She wanted the heat of his skin against her fingertips. He tilted his head. His tongue slid deeper into her mouth. A deep rumble, a growl, a strong masculine sound, came from Ryan.

Her sex tightened. Her body flamed. She thrust her hips forward in response to the sound, to his touch, to this moment. Ryan’s tongue stroked her mouth in long licks. He held her hip, and his fingers trailed over her shirt, her breast, her side to the top of her shorts.

Ryan pulled away, and his eyes widened. His breath was short. His gaze searched her face. The air around them was charged with desire and want and need.

“I’m … Charla, I’m sorry. This isn’t …” His gaze swept over her. She wanted him to not apologize and not feel bad and not say any more words but to instead kiss her and make all her fears and problems and worries disappear with the heat of his lips on hers.

“Don’t apologize,” she whispered. “Kiss me again.”

Desire lit his eyes and his lips pressed to hers. This kiss harder and more demanding than the first. She grasped the edge of his T-shirt, and her fingertips tingled against his flesh. She trailed along the edge of his jeans to the spot just above his hard cock. His body tightened and tensed.

His thumb pressed along the material between him and her nipple. His mouth, damn that lush mouth, worked hers with long, languid kisses. Her hips rolled forward and his breath rushed from him.

“My God, I want you,” he whispered. “Let’s go.” He pulled back and grasped her hand. “Be careful. No more falling.” He walked her along the path, his arm securely around her waist. They stopped at her doorway, and she slid her keycard into the lock and opened the door.

A hungry look inhabited his eyes, but he paused. He heat remained between them but an uncertainty clung to his face.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked. Heat thrummed through her. She wanted more of him, but perhaps he—

“Of course I do, but—”

She stood on her toes and nibbled his lip. His hand wrapped around her waist and cupped her ass with a firm grip.  “Poppy will stay with Trevor, and you can stay here.”

He swallowed. For an instant he hesitated, as though there were words he wanted to say. Didn’t he want to be with her as she wanted to be with him? Perhaps she’d misread the signals, the vibe, the—

His lips captured hers. The heat throbbed through her.

He lifted her and carried her through the darkness of her room with only the light of the moon to guide him forward. “Which bed?”

“Closest one.” She kissed him deep and hard and pressed her hips against him. She wanted him to take her and erase her fears with the pleasure their coupling would provide.

He stopped beside her bed and she slid down his body. His gaze locked to hers, a nearly haunted look behind his eyes. As though he was uncertain, he brushed the hair away from her face. Slowly, with great determination and what she could only call reverence, he pulled her shirt over her head. His gaze swept up over her belly and her breasts. He leaned forward and kissed her. His teeth captured her bottom lip with a gentle tug.

Her sex clenched. His finger stroked along the edge of her bra where her sensitive flesh met the fabric. Her breathing was short. His lips moved down her neck, and her head fell back. He reached around her and unsnapped her bra. His lips kissed the curve of her neck as he slipped the strap of her lace bra over her shoulder. The silk dropped to the floor.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice was deep. His eyes held a certainty, a confidence she’d not noticed before this moment. He cupped her breast and the pad of his thumb caressed her erect nipple. All the while his gaze locked to hers. His other hand dropped to the top of her shorts. He unbuttoned them, and they fell from her hips.