Chapter Twelve

Ben

One smooth landing in Montego Bay and a two-hour limo ride to Ocho Rios later, we arrive at the beachside resort. The three luxury suites have been divided among Braden and Skye, Tessa, and me, as best man and maid of honor.

My suite has a masculine vibe. The living area is decorated in black lacquer and burgundy leather furniture. The kitchenette includes a small dining table, and the bedroom sports a king-size bed covered in royal-blue silk. Even the bathroom is decadent, with a tub and separate walk-in shower and a double vanity in blue-and-white marble.

For a moment I think about how wonderful it would be to share this with someone. Apple Ames would hate this place. It’s too done up for her hipster tastes. Most of the women I’ve dated recently would love it, of course. But none of them were born for this.

Tessa Logan, though?

She was born for a place like this.

My baggage has already been delivered, and the housekeeper has unpacked for me. No formalwear this time. That’s for the wedding itself. Mostly nice jeans with button-down shirts and flip-flops for dinner. All other activities? Trunks and—hopefully—bikinis.

I’ll bet Tessa looks luscious in a bikini. A white string bikini would perfectly accent her tan skin.

And all that beautiful dark brown hair.

I should check on her.

Her suite is right across the hall from mine, so I leave, making sure I have my key card, and I knock on her door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Tessa. Ben.”

“Just a moment, please.”

She opens the door, her hair piled on top of her head.

“Getting ready to go down to the pool or the beach?”

“I was planning a quiet night inside,” she says.

“How about a quiet walk on the beach instead?”

“Well…”

I gesture toward her window. “We’re in Jamaica, Tessa. Let’s make the most of it.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re certainly welcome to make the most of it without me.”

“What did you promise me on the plane?”

“That I would make sure this is a wonderful weekend for Braden and Skye. But we don’t have any plans with them tonight, and I’m sure they would prefer to be alone.”

“Maybe… But whether they want to be alone or not, I don’t want to be alone.”

“There are many young women here who I’m sure would be happy to spend the evening with you.”

She’s no doubt right. But I want to spend the evening with her. Something about her has gotten under my skin. I’m attracted to her, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But there’s something more.

In fact, I’m not sure I would’ve gone for the old Tessa. From what I understand from Skye, she was wild and flamboyant, always living in the moment.

Sounds a lot like me. The few times I’ve tried to date women who are exactly like me, it’s never worked out.

I can’t force her to walk on the beach with me.

So I decide to ask her nicely.

“Would you please accompany me to the beach?” I say with a smile.

She sighs and then holds the door open. “All right. Let me get my suit and my coverup on. Wait here.”

“I’m right across the hall from you. Just knock on my door when you’re ready. I need to get my trunks.”

She nods.

I return to my suite and hurriedly put on a pair of navy board shorts. I throw a light-blue T-shirt over my head, grab a towel, and slide my feet into my flip-flops.

Then I wait outside my door.

A moment later, Tessa emerges—

And I nearly lose my breath.

Her hair is now in a sleek high ponytail that falls down her back, and she’s not wearing a white bikini. No. It’s royal blue, and she looks like a fucking model. Her coverup is simple black mesh, and she holds a white towel from her bathroom.

I can’t gawk at her. That will make her uncomfortable.

“You look amazing.” I hold out my arm. “Shall we?”

I don’t expect her to take my arm, so I’m surprised when she does.

We say nothing as we walk to the elevator, descend, and then walk out the resort the few steps to the beach.

The sun is going down, and we pass Betsy and others. They’re having a drink at the beachside bar.

“Tessa!” Betsy waves us over.

Tessa and I head to the bar.

“Hey, you guys,” Betsy says. “Frankie makes a mean margarita, Tessa.”

“I’m sure he does, but I think I’ll stick to water.”

Betsy frowns a bit but then says, “Of course.”

“I’ll try a margarita,” I tell the bartender. “And I’d like an ice water for the lady, please.”

“Coming up, Mr. Black.”

Frankie pours a glass of water and mixes my drink quickly. I hand the water to Tessa and hold up my margarita. “To an amazing evening.”

Betsy and the other girls join in, giggling.

I take a sip of the margarita. The combination of salt, lime, and tequila is a little too much for me.

Margaritas are okay, but I may as well be drinking limeade with some salt. I’d much prefer a Wild Turkey.

“Shall we?” I say to Tessa again.

I hold up my arm, but this time she doesn’t take it. She does, however, follow me away from the others.

Tessa and I dump our towels and then walk along the shoreline, away from the commotion.

The sun is setting, and its tangerine-and-purple hues over the horizon are mesmerizing. The rays cascade over the rippling blue of the ocean.

I gaze outward, and then I gaze at Tessa.

And I think I may have found something more beautiful than this breathtaking Jamaican sunset.