Chapter 18 Gus

"Lo siento."

I don't speak Spanish, but apparently it's how you apologize in the language.

For the third or fourth time, the owner of the Sofitel Legend mutters the words while he escorts me through the hotel's hallways. Lo siento, lo siento—in between promises of chefs, women, alcohol—anything I want.

What I want is for him to take me to the Presidential Suite, which I know is currently occupied by none other than Julia herself. What I want is to screw her brains out and make her regret sneaking out again. But even a billionaire can't get everything he wants.

I'm certainly going to try though.

The manager is steadfast, however, and I can't fault him for refusing to bring me to the suite. I get it. If any other man were trying to track down Julia, I would want the hotel to put up a fight.

Once the manager is gone and I've sent away the complimentary butler, I shower and set out to find the room myself. After fifteen minutes, I've made it to the door, which makes my blood boil.

It was that fucking easy for me to get to her suite.

I tamp down my haughty, searing temptation to buy the damn hotel outright and fire the management and security teams. Luckily, the urge immediately subsides when sounds come from the other side of the door.

I knock loudly. When nobody answers, I knock again even harder.

"Jesus, I'm here," Julia exclaims before she wrenches open the door. Her eyes widen when she sees me, taking me in from head to toe with surprise painted across her face.

Somehow, in the past month, I've made the grave error of forgetting how gorgeous she is in real life.

"You came." A smile unfolds on her lips.

Normally, I wouldn't mind a gleeful, almost warm reaction from the ice princess herself, but I'm too busy furrowing my brow at the scant, cherry red bikini she's wearing.

"What the fuck are you doing," I grit out. I push my way into the suite and slam the door behind me. "Are you crazy, answering the door wearing only that?"

Unbothered as usual, she glances down at her body and then at me. "We're in Cartagena, August. It's literally eighty-five degrees outside."

The bikini skims her body, leaving so little to the imagination. If I hadn't already painstakingly memorized the exact position of her nipples on her breasts, I would be able to point them out now. My mouth waters at the mere thought of suckling them, teasing them into swollen, hard peaks. She looks phenomenal—and that continues to grate at me.

"You didn't know who was at the door."

"I don't give a shit." She turns on her heel and heads into the suite, giving me a mind-boggling view of her backside, which has somehow gotten curvier and tanner since I saw her a month ago. "And I thought you liked it when I showed myself off. Didn't you tell me to post more pictures so people could see what they could never fuck?" She casts a glance over her shoulder. Baiting me. Provoking me.

When I exhale out through my nostrils, I feel like my breath has heated to steam. But then my eyes lock on her mesmerizing ass once more when she saunters over to the bar, and everything gets pushed to the wayside.

Well she's certainly talented.

"I'm glad you're here." She pours two tumblers and motions for me to approach her before she hops up onto the counter and crosses her legs, which is so goddamn sexy it should only be permitted in international waters.

Once I'm standing in front of her, she hands me one of the tumblers and clinks her own against mine.

"Salud," she says before she downs the shot.

I do the same. Aguardiente.

"I shouldn't be here," I go on, studying her cautiously.

Julia takes my empty tumbler and places it on the counter next to her. She rests her delicate hands on my shoulders and draws me towards her. "Sure you should," she murmurs, her attention locked on my mouth.

I somehow have the wherewithal to shake my head. "I was done with you. Done with the games."

"Obviously not," she whispers before she brings her lips to mine.

Ah, fuck it.

I kiss her, not bothering to be gentle. I take her mouth hard, letting all the pent-up frustration and want I've amassed in the last month spill out into the kiss. Her tongue tastes sweet like mint, but with a tinge of sting from the aguardiente. So like Julia, in a nutshell.

"You left me," I growl into her mouth before I grab a messy handful of her hair and tug on it.

Surprised, Julia gasps and then arches into my hold. "I figured you'd get over it."

"Do I look like I'm over you?" I demand.

Her eyes stay on my mouth and she won't wipe the sick, satisfied grin from her face. She groans and loops her shapely, bare legs around my waist, bringing me even closer.

"I'm not going to just get over you," I go on before I kiss her more fiercely, staking my claim on her mouth. "Not until I've had my fill."

"When will that be?" she gasps, barely able to speak through frantic kisses.

"Never."

I've only been in her presence for a couple minutes now, but I'm already hard and desperate to shove her little triangle swimsuit bottoms to the side to get to her cunt. My hard cock prods her, just a few layers of clothing between us, and I'm about to undo my pants when a voice shouts out, "Julia, what the fuck?"

I wrench myself out of the kiss and turn to my left, where I find another man staring at us. No, not staring—gaping in horror. He's young, around Julia's age, and the expression on his face isn't hard to read: He's not pleased to see me at all.

"Who the hell is he?" I demand, raising my chin in his direction. My body tenses, eager to bound forward in his direction, but Julia keeps her tight hold on me.

"Are you making out with the help?" the kid presses, not budging from his spot.

From the look of him—the designer swim trunks, the freshly-pressed white shirt, and the expensive sunglasses, I figure this guy is one of her friends. But the way he stares at her is so much more than friendly—it's practically proprietary.

"I'm Gus Winter." Reluctantly, I peel myself off of Julia. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Oh," the guy replies, lifting both eyebrows in recognition.

Now, the question is, does he know me because I'm world-famous, or does he know me because Julia told him about me?

He clears his throat. "I'm Jay Raymond."

"And?" I snip before swiveling my gaze back to Julia. "Who is he? What's he doing here?"

"Jay's an old friend. We travel together." She slides off the counter, her affect far too casual for the situation. "Jay, this is Gus Winter. He's…" She looks in my direction and cants her head like she's trying to figure out who I am to her.

Tell him I'm your Daddy.

"He's doing work with Davis," she decides. "We met recently. I told Gus to meet me here."

Jay's glare is impressive, I'll give him that. But that's the only credit I'll offer. He makes my instincts ring in the worst way, even when he's standing a few yards away from me.

"What for?" Jay asks, still eyeing me skeptically, taking in every bit of me—trying to find some flaw, I'm guessing.

Good luck with that.

Julia raises a shoulder. "He's coming with us to the pool," she declares without asking me first. "Right, August? We're meeting up with some people. Come have drinks."

I don't want a drink. I want to bury myself in her tight body until she's sobbing for release and apologizing for sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I'm not doing that, I'd rather be sleeping off the flight from London. But there's no way in hell I'm letting her out of my sight with this guy around.

When I don't answer immediately, Jay motions at the door and says, "Well, I guess he's not int—"

"Of course," I reply, not backing out of the stare down. Never. "Anything you want, Julia."

The three of us leave the suite and make our way to the Sofitel's pool, where there's a small group of people already seated at two of the cabana tables.

When we're close, Jay calls out, "Hey everyone, great news. Julia invited this old dude to absolutely obliterate the vibe," and he gestures at me. Luckily, nobody reacts to Jay's performance.

I recognize one of Julia's friends. He's a Davenport, I believe—Gregory's younger son. When he sees me, he lowers his sunglasses and peers at me over the tops with his mouth agape. "This just became the greatest vacation ever," he murmurs—and I have no idea what the hell he's talking about.

The other four people at the table are all hot women in bikinis, who I can't imagine are there at Julia's request. No wonder she summoned me. Otherwise, she would be stuck here with these two rich fuckboys, surrounded by woman vying for their attention.

Everyone introduces themselves to me, and once they realize who I am, the mood changes entirely. Those women, like they can sniff out net worth, immediately begin to focus on me rather than Jay or Peter. Hair tossing and giggling and chewing on cocktail straws while they watch me—the works. Luckily, Julia doesn't seem to think any of them are serious threats, so I don't mind the attention. Plus, the resulting grimace on Jay's face is so satisfying, I feel like I've added ten years to my life.

Peter Davenport adores Julia, which immediately makes me like him. He hangs on her every word, and doesn't seem to care that the women are suddenly more interested in me. He's much more preoccupied with making fun of the startup his older brother, Gray—Davenport-Ridgeway's future CEO—is apparently working for. We end up having an interesting conversation about startups, and Peter and Julia ask me a lot of questions. Jay, naturally, looks like he couldn't be more bored with the conversation.

"Well, if you ask me," Julia comments while she absentmindedly squeezes the lime on the rim of her cocktail, "all these companies are just working towards IPO, but haven't thought much further beyond that. It's like they want to get the valuation out into the world, and then start pushing towards long-term strategic planning—but then what? Like Snapchat, for example."

It's official: I've never seen or heard anything sexier than a stacked blond in a ridiculously small bikini criticizing startup culture.

"When did you learn about IPOs?" I ask, trying to mask the admiration from my voice.

"The other day," she admits, clearly hiding a smile. "I listened to a couple podcasts, and then Davis recommended a book to me by Reeves Wiederman on—"

"WeWork. Yep. I've read it," I fill in, beaming. "Did you like it?"

She nods too.

"Good for you, Julia," I murmur, unable to take my eyes off her. A month has passed since the last time I witnessed her gift for magically revealing in-depth knowledge of business news. Every time she does it, I want her to ride my face while she tells me more.

I'm now worked up and dying to get her alone. By some miracle, the cabana attendant comes over at that precise moment with the bill. Immediately, Jay nods at Julia, who is ready to take it—but Peter and I both grab for it. I'm faster.

"You don't have to pay," she protests.

"It's no big deal. I've had a good year," I tell her, winking before I write my room number on the check.

She scoffs. "It's January."

"Yeah, and my net worth has already increased by eleven billion."

She pretends to hate those comments, but her eyes flick to my lips after I say anything cocky.

I can't take another minute of this. I just want her so much.

"So, what's our next move?" Jay asks a little too loudly, a little too abruptly.

To my chagrin, Julia turns away from me to say, "Dancing, obviously."

Shit. I hate dancing. I want to tell her I'm going to crash in my room—maybe give her the spare key. But I meant what I said: I'm not letting her out of my sight with this guy around.

And that's how I end up in the VIP section of a beach club, actively questioning every decision I've made today.

Julia is seated next to me, wearing a shimmery white coverup over her bikini. It catches the club lights in the Cartagena evening, making her look like a fucking angel. Her hair is in loose waves over her shoulders, and she's drinking from a bottle of beer. In the five months since I met her, she's never had a beer. Now, I know why. Watching her drink a beer on the beach, laughing underneath the night sky, is enough to make any man lose his head. Shit's dangerous.

Jay, seated on her other side, notices as well. He tracks the motion of her hand as she tucks a length of her hair behind her ear. It's obvious he wants her.

But he doesn't just want her for her body, I decide. He wants all of her. When she pays attention to anyone but him, a minute flash of panic passes over his face. Whenever he makes an idiotic joke, he glances in her direction to make sure she's laughing. If she's not, he pouts until she focuses on him again. It's borderline infantile, and yet she keeps him by her side like one of those chihuahuas women carry around in a shoulder bag.

I scan the crowd in the VIP section, which is packed with people who I assume are, objectively, not very important. It takes me a minute to locate Peter, who is making out unabashedly with a woman—sorry, two women—by the bar. Frustrating. If he had stuck around, I could have asked him to help me understand what Jay's deal is. Without the intel, I'm stuck talking to Jay—and frankly, I'd rather have my wisdom teeth reinserted and removed again.

"…Gus," a voice says.

I snap back to attention. Jay is staring at me over Julia, eyes narrowed.

"Were you talking to me?" I question. "What the hell do you want?"

Julia snorts into her hand. "You're such an asshole," she murmurs lightly, before reaching over and squeezing my hand.

Yeah, she has a point.

Jay's eyes nearly bug out at the sight of our linked hands. He raises his chin and says, "So, how exactly did you two meet?"

"We met at her father's birthday party," I reply, taking up a small caress on the back of Julia's hand with my thumb. "You weren't there, were you?"

He clenches his jaw, but doesn't react immediately. He shifts instead and places his drink on the nearby table. "Julia and I went to boarding school together," he explains. "We've known each other since we were fifteen."

Perfect. That small insight is all I need to put two and two together. Jay has played the long game, trying to stay in Julia's orbit all these years. I don't blame him—but I don't know his angle. Sex? Career? Money?

"So, what do you do?" I ask him, not bothering to mask my condescension. "You know, for a living?"

He doesn't respond at first. He raises his drink and takes a long, indulgent sip while he stares at me through the hair over his eyes. "Pretty much this," he finally says.

"Must be nice," I continue, "traveling around the world with no real job or purpose. You can brag to your kids about it one day."

Both of Jay's eyebrows shoot up and I'm satisfied with myself for reading him like a book until I realize Julia's face has twisted into a frown—and she's looking at me.

Fuck. Somehow, in my quest to figure Jay out, I managed to forget that Julia is a perpetual nomad herself.

A devious smile breaks out on Jay's face while Julia slowly wets her lips and glares at me.

"Fun night," Jay murmurs. "I'll catch you both later." Triumphantly, he heads to the dancefloor, leaving Julia and me alone for the first time. His decision reads plainly: You screwed up, he's implying. No need for me to stick around anymore.

Julia wrenches her hand away from mine. "Fuck you," she mutters.

"I'm sorry," I reply, fighting back the temptation to grab her hand again because I know she would hate that. "I didn't mean you. You know I—"

"What do I know?" She shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just some meaningless fuck. Yet another thing you can buy with all the limitless money you earned all on your own."

"Four," I correct.

Julia's frown somehow deepens. She blinks past her confusion before she shakes her head. "Four what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're not just some meaningless fuck. You were four meaningless fucks."

It's such a risky thing to say, but it pays off in spades when she bursts out laughing. "I hate you," she murmurs, still chuckling.

"Although," I go on, leaning closer to her, "I'm not sure what to call the last time we were together. We didn't even speak to each other. We hardly looked at each other. You just crawled into my bed and let me in your pussy."

The heat of the comment strikes her. I can see the flush steadily rise on her cheeks even though she's trying so hard to be angry with me.

"And so we're clear," I go on, "sleeping with you did mean a lot to me. I would have told you if you hadn't disappeared from my bed in the night without a word."

"I left because you don't do love, Gus," she answers simply.

The admission makes the entire world freeze. I stop hearing the shitty cumbia remix and the flashing lights fade out. I blink a few times, wondering if I heard her correctly. Did she…did she just outright tell me why she left? I spent an entire month wondering what the hell I did to make her leave, even after all those hints she dropped about wanting to stay. And now she just said it?

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," I confirm, daring another glance at her. "I'm…processing."

"Take your time, but know that I'm done being coy. We're both adults and we're both smart, so let's speak plainly: I left Montana even though I wanted to stay because I didn't want to fall for you. And I think I could, August, because no man has ever fucked me the way you do. Not even close."

I'm stunned into silence, possibly for the first time in my life. She hasn't said much, but there's so much to unpack. I'm not sure where to begin, and I end up furrowing my brow and saying, "You wanted to stay?"

When she nods, relief hits me from every direction. In my month of agony, I wondered how our time together could mean so little to her when it was so inexplicably gratifying to me.

"I know you think I'm an insatiable, party girl, but I'm not that person anymore," Julia explains, her eyes fixed on mine, willing me to understand. "I want more. I deserve more."

"You do," I agree. "You deserve whatever you want, Julia."

"Well, I want what I described that last night at the cabin. A man who can satisfy me in every filthy, unthinkable way I desire, but can also connect with me. Talk to me. Love me." She glances to her side at the buzzing dancefloor packed with people, momentarily lost in thought. "I'm still trying to find him. You fuck me exactly the way I like, August. But it's not enough without a connection."

I'm surprised her comment stings me as much as it does. "You don't think we have a connection?"

"We could, I think, but you're a mystery," she replies, using words I've heard countless times before from awestruck employees, analysts, fans—whatever. Gus Winter—reclusive, mysterious billionaire. I loved that shit. But hearing Julia call it a dealbreaker practically makes me sick to my stomach.

"It's hard for me," I admit. Even that small, almost negligible admission makes me uneasy.

"Loving someone or opening up about why you can't? I'm not asking you to love me, but I am asking you to open up to me." She raises a shoulder. "If you don't want to, you and I have no future together and we should call it now before someone gets hurt."

She means it. She wants it all. She wants to know more about my childhood and my parents and how Constance left me after I gave up everything for her. My chest tightens at the prospect, like the crowd around us is closing in.

But then I look at her, at this incredible woman, and the thought of never seeing her again aches even worse than a tight chest.

"Can I try?" I find myself asking.

Her expression brightens and I shouldn't be so damn satisfied when I see a smile on her face. "You mean it?"

I nod. "I have to try for your sake. If I don't, it sounds like you're never getting fucked well ever again. We certainly can't have that."

She lowers her jaw in surprise and bats my shoulder. "I'm serious though. If you're just agreeing as a ploy to get me to sleep with you—"

"Let's be real. Even if I'm lying, you'll fuck me anyway."

Only Julia Ridgeway would hear that response and recognize I'm making a joke—one she absolutely loves.

"I'm serious," I assure her, placing my hand on her cheek. "I'm all in. I'm going to try for you, Julia."

She presses her lips against mine, kissing me hard like she wasn't just on the verge of throwing her drink in my face.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

I get another kiss. "We're dancing," Julia declares when she pulls away.

Adamantly, I shake my head. "I don't dance."

"The fuck you don't," she mutters—the confident woman's code for I don't take no for an answer.

Despite my protests, it's no surprise to either of us when I follow her to the dancefloor. My girl asked me to dance with her, so I'm going to suck it up and dance with her. I trail behind her, my hand fixed in hers. She radiates carefree energy and the crowd seems to part when she weaves her way to the center. Lights bounce off her, catching the shine of her hair and the dewiness of her skin.

Effervescent. She's effervescent.

When we're in the middle of the dancefloor, set amid the sea of moving bodies, I pull her close enough to imagine her heartbeat pattering against my ribs. She positions my hands on her waist before she hooks her arms around my neck, bringing us even closer. Her breasts rub against my chest through the thin fabric of my shirt and her coverup. Her hair tickles my chin. Her hips collide softly against my thighs, and the entire world melts into just me and her.

I've never danced so close with anyone wearing so little. Not even in college or with Constance. Julia and I are in public, two people notable enough that we should worry about being watched. Photographed. Filmed, even. This is so beyond the realm of what I do, and yet I'm so content in her arms.

I wonder how we look together. I'm so much older than her and she's so pretty. I've gotten enough validation over the years that I never question my looks or my physique, but Julia Ridgeway is in a class all her own.

This is strange and different…and it's still wonderful.

A few feet away, Jay watches us, glowering. At first, his patent jealousy leaves me smug. But when he doesn't stop glaring outright, I grow uneasy. After all, he looks like a weaselly bitch who might have something up his sleeve.

I stare at Julia's face, assessing if she engineered this public dry-fuck knowing Jay would be watching. But when I pull back, she kisses me firmly. She's clearly oblivious to Jay, which makes me want to murder him right here and now.

He moves closer through the sea of people, eyeing me. He comes up right behind her and puts his goddamn hands on her. The simper on his face is undeniable: I'm being taunted.

I'm half-furious because nobody touches what's mine unless I say they can, and I'm half-furious because he's using her as a pawn. Julia can sleep with whoever she wants, but they better give a damn about her.

I pull her towards me—but I'm not fast enough.

He raises his hand, places it on Julia's cheek, turns her face, and fucking kisses her.

I'm going to kill him.