Page 24

Fourteen

J ulia stared, unblinking, into the dark.

Of course she’d thought prom was a joke. By then, she’d learned the secret formula for being popular—be beautiful, plus a little mean. Wealth was a bonus, but not required. If you were attractive and sweetly stung the less fortunate, there was no stopping a meteoric rise in popularity.

To avoid the sting, she’d stayed in the background, kept her head down, and worked.

It was what she was still doing.

Back then, Carson made her uncomfortable because he’d noticed her.

Is that Blondie T-shirt your favorite? You wear it, like, every third day.

Mortification. It had been her favorite shirt among her limited wardrobe.

Hand-me-downs and thrifting had been her main supply, and new new clothes were gifted on birthdays and Christmas.

Back-to-school shopping? Never heard of her.

She’d never worn Blondie to school again lest he make a comment.

Hilarious that she’d packed it for this trip. Like a subconscious fuck you .

Bet you’d be hot if you wore your hair down and got contacts.

Not much she could’ve done about either of those.

Her hair was up because her last period of the day before tutoring was Phys.

Ed. Across campus, so she was a sweaty mess on a good day.

She couldn’t afford contacts in high school, but her frames were stylish.

Honestly, she was mad she’d ever listened to him, because pictures showed she was fucking adorable in high school.

You’re good at writing essays. I’d pay you to write mine, but you’d use words no one would believe came from me. I don’t know anyone who talks like you. Starting that day, she’d weeded fifty-cent words from her day-to-day conversation.

Need a ride? I see you walking after school, figured you don’t have a car. She’d declined. Rumors swirled any time a girl spent time alone with Carson Miller. Hence the reason she’d scheduled their tutoring lessons in the school library.

So of course she’d turned down his insulting prom invitation.

That was the moment his comments shifted from backhanded compliments to downright mean. You’re saving it until marriage, aren’t you? What, I didn’t say anything obnoxious. You must be on your period.

Back then, she’d soothed her hurt by hollowly celebrating being right about him.

She punched her pillow and faced the wall.

Try as she might, though, she couldn’t ignore her attraction to Carson.

She’d shied away from it when they were younger out of self-preservation.

The popular kids never would have tolerated her.

And with college on the horizon, she didn’t see the point in entertaining the idea of him.

She’d done everything she could to leave home, not drop anchors.

Carson Miller, Mr. LA, was a Titanic -sized anchor.

A handsome, fit anchor with a sparkling personality and a surprisingly large dick.

The flush that started in her cheeks drifted and swirled around her until she was in a giant sweaty cocoon of heat and regret about her reasoned, rational choices, past and present. Despite the blast of cold air from the air conditioner, her bed was too hot.

Julia quietly flipped back the comforter.

She had options. She could crawl into bed with him. Or murmur an invitation for him to cross the line and come to her bed.

She swallowed. God, she wanted him. Here, in the dark, she could shove away the worries about other people’s opinions and their gossip.

In the dark, she didn’t have to be perfect or helpful or compliant.

For once in her life, she’d give voice to what she wanted, let herself have no-regrets fun.

Deep breath. Here goes nothing. One, two—

Carson’s gentle snoring told her she was too late.

* * *

“Rise and shine!” Julia snapped open the curtain. Painfully bright sunshine bounced into the room.

A growl erupted from the pile of twisted sheets. Carson’s low rumble was sexy, even if it was mostly directed into his pillow. However, he neither rose nor shone. Nope, he burrowed deeper into the blankets.

She set the large paper coffee cup she’d gotten at the Rum & Bean next on the nightstand.

“Carson?” she asked.

No response.

With uneasy hands, she reached for his shoulder. Whew, what a shoulder it was, too. Thick, tanned, and scarred. She trailed her fingers on the pale white lines radiating from his shoulder blade.

“That tickles.” His voice was gravel.

“Sorry.” She yanked her hand back.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He flipped over in bed, and whew again. His neck sloped into his broad chest. His light dusting of chest hair was enough to gently scour her skin—

Stop that.

“You all right?” Carson Miller’s hooded sleepy eyes resembled his sexy eyes, which she’d glimpsed last night while he ground his hard cock against her hip.

Holy shit, she was not all right.

“Fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Great.” For an hour before dawn.

Then she’d woken with a brilliant idea. He wanted to see the Belize she loved? He’d have to work for it. After dressing in sturdy synthetic hiking shorts, moisture-wicking socks, and waterproof hiking boots, she’d slipped from the room to call Alex, who’d helped her plan a bespoke tour for today.

“We’re making this a working tourism day and choosing a Plan B wedding spot. You should dress appropriately.”

Carson sipped at the coffee. “How’d you know how like my coffee?”

“You’re not the only one who pays attention.” She sat on her bed with her hands shoved under her thighs. “Do you mind getting wet?”

“Almost never.” He tapped the coffee cup against his head in a salute. “Especially not with you.”

A thrill fluttered behind her belly.

“ Not what I meant. Wear swim trunks, and a rash guard or a T-shirt, and thick socks.”

“Thick socks?”

“You’ll thank me. And bring a change of clothes. We’re checking out a lagoon, caves, a jungle hike, and a waterfall. I packed a picnic, too.”

“Sounds like I need this coffee. And bug spray.”

She loved that he was game for this. No questions, just acceptance.

“Already packed it. Hurry—the group we’re glomming onto leaves in twenty minutes.”

He saluted again, this time with a wink and a devilish smile. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not a ma’am , I’m a miss .” She thumbed her backpack onto her shoulder. “Meet me downstairs in ten.”

“Yes, miss.” The smile Carson shot her sent sparkles rocketing through her.

She did not acknowledge them. She wasn’t as brave in the daylight as she was in the dark. With one exception, which was why she’d saved that place for their final destination.

* * *

“You can’t be serious about this as a Plan B. They’re in their sixties.” Carson slipped his headlamp onto his helmet. As much as he’d enjoyed staring at Julia’s ass in her shorts during the forty-minute jungle hike, this would kill their parents.

“It’s an aggressive stroll.” Julia snapped her life vest’s belts together. “And they’re only fifty-eight.”

“Close enough,” he said. “Some guests are older, though.”

“Just my aunt Mary, and she’s in better shape than I am.”

He doubted that. “The guide’s poisonous-plant-and-pit-viper prep talk puts a dent in the romantic vibe. And the river crossings were a challenge, even with a guideline. Your sister might be into a mud-caked wedding party, but your mom won’t.”

“Ooh, you’re right. I’ll suggest this to Alex for her wedding.” Julia bounced on her toes as she gestured toward the cave’s hourglass-shaped mouth. “Wouldn’t it make a beautiful backdrop?”

The speckled limestone gleamed in the mid-morning sunshine, contrasting with the dark mysterious entrance. Lush green trees and ferns surrounded them, and a translucent aquamarine river flowed at their feet before disappearing into the cave.

“It’s gorgeous but logistically challenging.”

“Atención, por favor.” Pedro, the older guide, waved their group toward the wooden stairs.

“Here we begin. National Geographic has named Actun Tunichil Muknal, also known as the ATM, the most sacred cave in the world. The Maya believed there were three layers to the cosmos. Skies were the upper world, Earth the middle world, and now we enter the underworld, Xibalba, which literally translates to place of fright .”

Carson snorted. “Yep, real romantic vibes.”

“Shut up,” Julia said.

“We’ll tread against the current as we enter the cave and squeeze past boulders. Once inside, I’ll lead and Jorge will be the caboose. Follow our lamplight, and all will be well.”

“In the place of fright,” Carson muttered, and Julia elbowed him.

“Off we go.” The guide waded into the water.

Carson gasped as the brisk water cupped his balls. Sunlight danced on the ripples inside the cave, but as they shimmied past the boulders, the caves dimmed until their headlamps were the loan light source.

If he were claustrophobic, this would be nightmare fuel.

Julia scrambled up a wall, leaving him behind with Jorge. He was impressed and confused. There were no obvious hand or footholds.

“Where do I put my feet?” he shouted.

“Lower right, then left,” Julia called back to him.

Jorge clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this, man.”

After a deep breath, he placed his foot on a stable hold under the water. Now straddling the rushing water, he positioned his left foot on a study surface on the other side. He shifted his weight to the left, then stretched his right leg up and across to catch the right foothold.

“That’s it!” Julia cheered.

With a grunt, he grabbed the right hand hold to hoist himself up and onto the ledge.

“Didn’t realize you were a professional rock climber,” he said.

“There’s a climbing wall at my gym. It’s fun.”

Her wet shirt clung to her toned arms and shoulders. She was feeling the cold, too, based on her pebbled nipples. This fucking headlamp would rat him out if he focused on anything but her eyes.

“Gather round.” Pedro’s voice echoed in the chamber.