More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

Keeley follows me up the stairs with a grateful nod and stands quietly while I unlock the door at the end of the breezeway. It’s a pretty standard layout: short hall, closet on the right, kitchen with a bar top overlooking the living room on the left. Hardwoods, granite. It’s neutral. I wonder what she thinks.

Keeley barely looks at it. She heads straight for my balcony, which overlooks a portion of the pools and a nice slice of the ocean. It tends to be quieter on this side of the complex. All that will totally help with resale someday.

“Wow, this is amazing.” She sinks down

into a patio chair, looking mesmerized, and stares at the moonlight beading over the quiet grounds and the waves crashing with a dull thud in the distance. “You must spend all your time out here.”

“No.” I can’t remember the last time I even opened the lanai door. Sure, I look at the view through my window, but to just sit out there? “I’m not home that much.”

“Seriously? I’d find reasons to be home. I’d live out here. I could clear a spot for meditation. Studying with this view would be fantastic. The sound of waves helps me concentrate. I’d eat out here…” She turns to me. “And you never use it?”

Her words feel like an indictment, and my knee-jerk reaction is to defend myself. “I don’t really have time. Drink?”

“Sure. I’ll take a glass of wine.” She turns to me as I head back to the kitchen. “But when you’re home, you don’t come out here just to enjoy it?”

“No.” I’m getting a little irritated, mostly because I know she’s right. Why don’t I look at the natural beauty I paid a fortune for? “I don’t. Inside is nice, too. All my creature comforts are here. Honestly, I just don’t think of it much.”

I pour her a glass of red and myself a brandy before heading back outside and sinking into the chair opposite Keeley. As she sips her vino, I watch her. Every move has a quiet female sexuality I don’t think I’ve seen—or noticed before. It’s fascinating, her fingers holding the glass with unconscious elegance, the delicate pursing of her lips as she imbibes. Her chest rises and falls, and a pink curl tumbles over one shoulder, then dives between her breasts. They’re a nice handful—just right for her body—and obviously natural. I like that she’s real. Grabbing fake boobs can be like caressing rocks.

She sets her glass down. “Why would you spend your time inside when the place was clearly the hotel decorating staff’s attempt to appeal to the unimaginative? It’s not you at all.”

I sit back and sip. I’ve never really thought of all the browns, tans, and creams as being dull, but to Keeley, they would be. “I have some blue throw pillows on the couch.”

“They’re aqua,” she corrects. “And I didn’t see a single personal knickknack or photo anywhere in the living room.”

“You hardly looked at it.”

“There wasn’t much to see after the sectional, coffee table, and big-ass TV. Sorry. I’m not criticizing. I’m just surprised. Your car is so…you. This place isn’t.”

“You think you know me?”

She shrugs. “You have a certain vibe. It’s way more bold and masculine than this Tommy Bahama pad. Why haven’t you made it your own? Or do you have that male inability-to-decorate gene?”

I don’t know how to answer her. I’ve never tried to decorate. “Probably.”

“Describe your first place.”

I picture it in my head. Early macho dorm room. Two monster truck tires and a sheet of glass made my first coffee table. Posters of hot chicks straddling hot cars… I frown. Come to think of it, that was all Griff’s doing. But I didn’t object.

“Okay, you win,” I concede with a self-deprecating smile. “I can’t decorate.”

She laughs. “Take me down to the beach?”

I start to balk. I haven’t even kissed her. The conversation has been nice. Okay, it’s actually been enjoyable. She’s got an interesting perspective. Strange that she’s making me look at myself with a critical eye…but not terrible. According to Britta, I need it. I was hoping we’d finish our drinks, then get naked for some mattress tango. But she’s looking at me with big blue eyes, and there’s a little pout to her lower lip. On anyone else, it would seem childish or petulant, but she looks damn sexy begging.

In fact, I don’t hate that idea. But we’ll come back to that…

“Sure.” It’s nearing ten o’clock, so most of the tourists who have kids should be tucking them in their rooms. Honeymooners are done with dinner and drinks and probably boinking the night away. All the grandparents were in bed by nine. We should be alone at the shoreline.

The big smile on her face is worth the twenty minutes it will take me to give her a tour of the Ritz’s semi-private beach. She tosses back her wine and leaps to her feet with a wink. “Thanks. If you’re not careful, I’ll think you’re Prince Charming.”

“Once you get to know me, you’ll know better. Let’s go.”

As we walk back through my unit, I swap out my loafers for sandals and slip a condom in my pocket because…well, hope springs eternal. I grab the bottle of wine, tuck my keys away, and take her hand. We head for the big, luminous moon hanging over Honokahua Bay. She’s quiet beside me, holding tightly to my hand, but the rest of her is fixated by the endless stretch of ocean before us. Absently, she kicks off her heels at the bottom of the stairs. I realize she’s more petite than I thought, a couple inches over five feet. Her childlike glee as she darts toward the water and wiggles her toes in the sand makes me smile.

The lazy, back-and-forth breeze makes the trees lining the beach look as if they’re doing a sensual hula to the rhythm of the leaves rustling. The inky sky shines brilliant with infinite stars. The whitecaps glitter like diamonds. Best of all, we’re alone.

It’s perfect.

“Wow,” she breathes, standing inches from the surge of the water as it breaks along the beach. “Every time I see something this beautiful, I’m in awe. The vastness of the ocean humbles me. I’m one speck of a human, but look at the sleek power of all that water. It hosts life. It balances the planet. It’s…” She turns to me, wincing. “I’m babbling.”

Kind of, but not the point. “It’s interesting to hear your thoughts. I never considered it that way.”

“Hmm.” She grabs the wine and takes a long swig from the bottle.

There’s more in her head than she’s sharing with me, but I can be patient. I can coax. I’m not sure why I want to know but I do. “You were being philosophical. Don’t let me stop you.”

Her flirty glance lightens the moment. “I was just thinking. A sight like this reminds me of Victor Hugo’s “The Ocean’s Song.” I don’t remember every word, but part of it goes something like this:

We saw the boundless waters stretch in glory

And heave in power.

O Ocean vast! We heard thy song with wonder,

Whilst waves marked time.

‘Appear, O Truth!’ thou sang’st with tone of thunder,

‘And shine sublime!’”

I mull her words over, then look at the bay again, trying to see it through her eyes. She’s right. It’s majestic. It’s a fucking natural wonder. I’ll have to look at it more often.

“This is the perfect place for me to finally kiss you,” I murmur, bringing her in closer.

Keeley braces her hand against my chest and looks into my eyes. “I don’t have to know everything about you in order to spend the night with you. But I want to understand you. I need to. Help me?”

In most instances, I’d mentally roll my eyes. This is a lot of effort for a piece of ass. But I’m studying her face. I don’t understand why she feels this way, yet I see clearly that she does. Britta’s earlier words ring through my head, and I wonder what I have to lose by getting to know this multi-faceted woman a bit. Besides, if I’m going to convince her to help me with my Griff problem tomorrow, it behooves me to know her in return.

“How can I do that?” I caress her face, startled again by how soft she feels.

“Tell me something about you, something most people don’t know.” She shrugs. “What’s your most prized possession?”

“My professional reputation.”

“That’s not a possession.” The little frown between her brows disturbs me. “The thing you hoard and keep safe above everything else.”

No one has ever asked me that. This girl has unexpected depth. She might be wearing a cheetah dress I would have sworn only a refugee from a ’90s music video would sport, but Keeley is full of surprises. The first is how much she’s making me think.

“My grand

father’s watch. He was an amazing man, served in World War II. He was part of the Normandy Invasion.” And what kind of guts had it taken to storm the beach that day, knowing he might not live to see the next? I can’t imagine. “He rarely talked about it. But Miles Ambrose had grit and honor and…” I get choked up, which is crazy. He died almost ten years ago. But I miss the old guy. “His grandfather gave him a Cartier watch just before he went into the service. Black leather band, white face, roman numerals. Very classic. Growing up, I always thought Granddad preferred my younger brother, despite the fact that my middle name is his first. So I assumed he’d leave the timepiece to Griff. But no. The bastard left it to me, along with a note that said he’d chosen me