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“Why?” She is still smiling but her eyes broadcast her irritation.
“For you,” I say, biting Captain Obvious on the tip of my tongue back.
“Don’t bother, you’re not interested in dancing and that’s all I want to do. I’ll see you at the tent.”
She dismisses me with a shout of “Muevolo!” before she twirls away from me. A loud cheer erupts from the gaggle of men she’s got in her thrall and the sound grates on my nerves like sandpaper. I don’t give a shit if they’re all old enough to be her father, I want to break every single one of their jaws.
I debate throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to the tent, and using my mouth on her until she’s begging me to fuck her
But I’m not going to make a fool of myself for her again. Each step costs me a sliver of sanity, but I leave walk away without looking back.
I follow the girl, who introduces herself as Riley, to her private campground, which happens to be the one right before ours. She talks the whole way, she and her sister flew to Cabo from Silver Spring, Maryland and are on a road trip that’ll take them all the way back home.
It takes less than five minutes to help them fix their tent flap and when Riley invites me to stay for a shot of the tequila she and her sister bought from some place that’s supposed to be legendary, I don’t say no.
Her sister is starting medical school in the fall and when I tell her I’m in the middle of my fellowship, she peppers me with questions I’m happy to answer.
By the time I leave their tent to make the short walk to our tent., it’s almost midnight. I’ve had enough tequila that I’m in a good mood again.
The light glow from inside alerts me to Regan’s presence. A flash of memory from the glimpse I had of her - teeth flashing, hair flying like a flock of ribbons, her hands in someone else’s - eviscerates my tequila induced enthusiasm. Nerves and uncertainty send my skittering, and I hold my breath as I pull back the flap and peek inside.
She’s laying on one of the plushily dressed twin sized beds in our tent. Her legs are crossed at the ankles and propped on a stack of the blue throw pillows. I stare at the bare soles of her slim feet. They’re the only part of her body I’ve never seen and just like the rest of her, I find them remarkably well formed. A dusting of white sand clings to her heels and toes, but her high delicate arches are clean and smooth.
I walk to stand next to her. My eyes trace the outline of her long legs under the clinging floral patterned fabric of her dress, the curve of her hips, the delicate, ringless hands that rest on her flat stomach, the swell of her breasts, the small dark mole that sits in the hollow of her left collarbone calls me name.
I bite my lip to hold back a groan and reach down to turn off the small solar lamp on the table beside her bed.
“Don’t.” Her hand covers mine, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Shit. I thought you were asleep.” I say, dumbly.
“I bet you did.” Her voice is flat, and she studiously avoids meeting my eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking a step back to avoid being whacked by her legs as she swings them over the side of the bed.
“I’m going to take shower,” she announces. Without any warning, she pulls her dress straps down and tugs it off her body. She’s completely naked underneath it.
I think about all of those old men who touched her tonight, and see red.
“Were you like this… all night?” I ask, my voice tight with irritation.
“Yup,” she chirps and then bends over to rifle in her bag giving me a full view of her naked ass and the lush dusky flesh between her legs.
“Regan, what are you doing?” I growl.
She stands with her light pink silk robe in one hand a bemused frown on her face. “Oh, I figured since you’d seen it all before you wouldn’t mind. Sorry.” Her voice is clipped with irritation. She slips the robe on strides toward the front of the tent.
“Regan--”
“Don’t wait up,” she calls just before she disappears through the flaps.
I sit on my bed, feeling like I just got hit in the head with a two by four. What the hell just happened and why the hell is she mad at me?
A few seconds later, the sun shower that’s right to our tent comes on. For five torturous minutes, I listen to the sounds of water splashing and imagine her hands moving over all the places I want to touch.
When the shower cuts off, I pick up my book and pretend to read. When she walks back into the tent, I manage a casual, “How was the water?”
“Hot,” she sighs with deep satisfaction and it takes all my willpower not to look at her. The flutter of fabric my periphery draws my gaze to her. But I keep my eyes on the floor where her discarded towel lies in a sodden heap at her feet.
