Page 8 of Love Off Course

Camilo

I manage to avoid Ramona through dinner.

I’d been oddly thankful for Damian rescuing me from her, even if he did make me dance and rubbed his spandex body on me.

Still better than having to talk to Ramona.

There’s nothing particularly wrong with the girl, but there’s nothing right, either.

She’s a local who sometimes helps out at the hotel during our busy seasons.

A local I’ve taken to bed a few times while in town.

The last time, she got clingy and I decided to cut ties. Mediocre sex isn’t worth having some girl obsess over you and start hinting at shit like a relationship. I don’t have time for relationships. I fuck and fly. The end.

I’d love nothing more than to take Sheridan to bed with me, though. She puts up this hard-ass front, but I bet I could get her to melt under my touch. I’d wipe that sour look off her face while I licked the sweetness between her thighs…

“Rodrigo has been upgraded to a category two hurricane,” Carson says, gripping my shoulder and ending my fantasy.

He motions for Eduardo’s office just beyond the kitchen. Now that everyone’s eaten and resumed drinking, I slip away with Carson. Mamá sits at Eduardo’s desk, her brows furrowed as we listen to the man on the radio warn of the winds that could reach up to one-hundred-ten miles per hour.

“When?” I ask, coming to stand behind Mamá .

“Tomorrow night.” She looks up at me and frowns. “Will it get worse?”

I hope not.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assure her.

“What’s happening? What is he saying?” Sheridan asks from the doorway. “Answer me, dammit.”

Her brown hair has been swept over one shoulder now that I’ve stolen the hair tie. It exposes the long, delicious column of her neck. I’d love to run my tongue along her skin to see if she tastes salty like her fucking attitude.

Before Carson can open his mouth to play peacemaker, I push past him over to her. She’s slightly swaying, which is no wonder with all the tequila she’s been sucking down.

“Looks like a category two hurricane now.” I resist the urge to kiss her supple lips. “Don’t worry?—”

“Don’t worry?” she hisses, her face turning red with sudden anger. “You kept me from going to my destination only to trap me in this shithole and now we’re all going to die!”

I wince at the shithole comment, knowing it’ll upset Mamá . This place is her baby. Her life’s work. To have someone speak so lowly of it to her is aggravating.

“We’re not going to die,” Carson placates.

“It’s not a shithole.” My fiery glare burns into her. “You should apologize.”

Her lip curls up. “I won’t ever apologize for telling the truth.” She shoves at me, but it only ends up making her bounce back because I’m unmovable. “You’re an asshole kidnapper and now you can add murderer to the list!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Carson groans.

“Get this woman back to her room, mijo ,” Mamá snaps. “She’s drunk and disorderly. She’ll upset the other guests.”

Forgot to mention, I’m conveniently security, too.

“I can take her back,” Carson offers, trying to dismantle the bomb that’s about to go off in three, two, one?—

“Excuse me!” Sheridan screeches. “I am not drunk! I am not disorderly! I will stay right here and listen to the radio!”

“Enough, little bee. You don’t even know Spanish, so you can’t understand a word of what he’s saying anyway.”

She continues to argue, but Mamá is pissed and I need to get her out of here.

I sigh before grabbing her and hoisting her over my shoulder, which is beginning to feel like a pattern for us.

She kicks and screams for me to put her down.

Rather than upset the guests, I take her down the back hallway and out the door.

It’s raining now, hard and promising worse weather headed our way.

It’s a short walk back to her room, but we manage to get soaked to the bone.

I’m wearing my trunks, so it’s not a big deal.

The door is unlocked and we step inside.

One half of the room is neat and orderly while the other side has Estefania’s belongings strewn everywhere.

I take Sheridan to her clean side of the room and set her to her feet.

“I don’t feel well,” she whispers.

Gripping her chin, I tilt her head to look at her. Big brown eyes are filled with tears and her mascara is smeared. Her smooth hair is a soaked, frizzy mess. She’s pale as fuck too.

“Why don’t you change out of your clothes and lie down?” I offer. “You’ll feel better soon.” I start for the door, but her whimper stops me.

“Is a category two bad if it hits us?”

Fear.

Her voice drips with it.

I’m shocked that she’s afraid of anything. She hides it well if she is. Right now, the tequila has dropped her defenses and a terrified young woman stares back at me.

“The locals are used to hurricanes. We’ll board everything up, stick together, and ride out the storm when it hits.” I walk back over to her and kiss her forehead. “You’ll be safe, Sher.”

She doesn’t correct me for not using her full name.

“Can you help me?” Her brown eyes bore into mine, filled with heat.

Fuck.

I’d love nothing more than to strip this hellion and drive into her just so I can feel her claws and listen to her screams.

But not like this.

Not when she’s at an apparent low.

I’m an arrogant pilot, not an asshole.

“Yeah, abejita , I can help you. Where are your clothes?”

She points to Estefania’s side of the room and not her expensive bag at her feet. I shrug and go over to one of Estefania’s messy bags and pull out some silky orange number that most definitely is something Sheridan would never choose for herself. When I turn around, I nearly swallow my tongue.

Sheridan has pulled off the linen skirt and matching top she was wearing and stands in nothing but a white lacy underwear set.

It looks fancy as fuck. I want to rip it to shreds with my teeth, and then give one of her perfect tits a bite.

As soon as the bra loosens as she unhooks it, I get a hold of myself and stalk over to her.

I’m trying to keep my eyes averted as I slip the transparent gown over her head.

“My panties,” she breathes, making my dick incredibly hard.

“Are staying on,” I growl. “When you wake up tomorrow, if you still want to take them off in my presence, come see me. Otherwise, let’s keep them on.”

She pouts and it’s pretty damn cute. “Will you stay with me?”

“I better not.”

Her fingertips dance along my abs and up my pectorals. “I’m worried about the hurricane.”

“It’s just rain for now,” I assure her.

She forces a smile and nods, unable to keep the quiver out of her chin. Well, fuck.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’ve had a helluva long day and would like to rest. I’m going to grab a quick shower first.”

I pull back the covers and help her into bed, trying and failing at not looking at the way her perky nipples strain against the orange, sheer fabric.

Once she’s covered, I take the coldest shower known to man to make my hard-on go away.

The idea of putting my wet swim trunks back on is annoying, so I opt to stay in the towel instead.

I step into the room to find her already fast asleep. Maybe I should just go.

Something hard hits the window and she sits up, her eyes wild. “What was that?”

“Just the storm,” I assure her. “It’s fine.”

Her entire body trembles as she stares at the window like a monster is going to bust through. I walk over to the bed and climb in it beside her. She relaxes when I guide her back down onto the pillows. Then, in a surprising move, she turns toward me and buries her face against my chest.

I’ve never been one to cuddle. Frankly, I haven’t ever been able to sit still long enough. But with Sheridan—fierce yet vulnerable Sheridan—pressed against me, I can’t help but hold her close and inhale her hair. She molds to me in all the right ways like she was made for me.

Dangerous thoughts.

In a few days, the storm will be gone, and so will she.

On that note, I close my eyes.