Layers(69)

“There will be none of that,” he murmurs, composed, impassive to my bothered grimace.

“Are you kidding me?” I frown.

“No, I’m not kidding. Now, sex addict, should I repeat what I said before?” he says, dramatizing disapproval by twisting his mouth and knitting his brows. I gape at him. Is he serious?

Ignoring my glare, he moves to the edge of the bed, shifting the balance of the mattress as he sits next to my hips. He casually bends to peel down my pale pink, lacy thong, and pauses to stare at my exposed lower body with a heated gaze. He then helps each of my feet to the designated part of the bikini bottom, and just before fully adjusting the garment into place he kisses a lengthy kiss on my center, making me squirm with want immediately, causing a serious spark in that area.

“So, what exactly is this?” I ask, scowling.

“A prelude.” He grins, one simple word with such a meaningful promise.

“You’re killing me here.” I sink my head back to the mattress.

He smirks and casually mutters, “When the embargo is over, I will compensate you, baby, I promise.”

“You are so annoying, I’m serious.” He winks at me and I can’t hold the semi-angry stare anymore.

“Oh Hales, good morning.” He kisses my mouth. “And, I love you,” he smiles and puts me back over his shoulder.

And me you, to pieces.

Continuing with his exaggerated nursing he sets me in one of the rattan chaise lounge by the pool, and serves us with cut fruits and coffee for breakfast.

“Seriously, Daniel. You can go ahead and catch some waves. I’ll stay here and work on my tan.” I look up at him from lying between his spread legs, as he leans back on the cushioned frame of the gigantic, wicker lounger.

“Maybe later, too comfortable to move now.” He side smiles at me behind his shades.

“Where’s the music coming from?” I ask, looking around.

“There’s a music center in the bar,” he nods toward the tropical-island style bar by the pool.

“Quite an eclectic playlist, I’d say. I like it.”

“It’s my Baja carols playlist,” he snorts, amused. “Baja exclusive, cannot be found in California.”

“Carols?” I giggle. “This one is really good, it’s so mellow.” I say about the track that’s playing.

“Charlotte O’Connor, if I am not mistaken. It’s ‘Shine On’,” he tells me.

Resting his hand on mine, he slowly rubs his thumb over my knuckles. He slides down to lie next to me and pulls me toward him so my face is resting on his abs, combing my hair with light strokes. I kiss his taut muscles and close my eyes, utterly indulged.

“Do you come here often?” I ask.

“Is that a pick up line?” he laughs. “Cause you had me with that refined ‘f*ck me’ when we first met.”

I laugh and kiss his sun-warmed skin.

“Every chance I get,” he answers, running the tips of his fingers down my spine.

“So usually you surf and …?”

“And I visit my mom. Sometimes I hang out with Rafael and his people.”

I stroke his side, feeling his skin prickle under my touch.

“Are they your friends?”

“Friends.” He sounds mused, as though gauging the word. “I would go with surfing buddies.” He moves to tenderly massage my sore shoulders, gradually releasing the tension.

“You don’t have many friends,” I state.

“No, I don’t,” he answers, casually. I tilt my head up to look at him; even he can’t be indifferent to that.

“How come?” A question begging to be asked.

Looking somewhat impatient, he still answers. “I don’t trust people easily,” he explains. I find his explanation depressing; I can’t imagine what my life would look like without Tasha or Ian.

“Why is that?”

“It’s like dating, Hayley. The more money and publicity you’ve got and the more under the public eye you are, there are more people that try to get closer to you, and most have ulterior motives.” He lets out a forced breath.

“What about friends from the past?”

“Well my best buddy tried to screw me over big time and the rest, you know how it is, everyone is busy … living.”

“How? What happened?” I prop up on my elbows, not able to hide my curiosity.

Daniel’s lips twist; he lifts his shades to rest on his head and briefly runs a hand over his weary, absorbed face. I can feel his body below me stiffen.

“He tried to sue me for the patent on my software, claiming it was fifty percent his.”

I look at him with knitted brows, waiting for him to go on. He cups my cheek, his eyes drinking me in, making my tenseness subside somewhat. Then he smiles and I blink, uncertain where the conversation is going.

“The hilarious part was,” he continues, “he wasn’t even a part of the process. His only connection to evolving the software from an idea to an actual product was that he hung out with me in bars back in college when I needed my breaks.” He smiles to himself, though his tapered eyes reflect pure irritation.

“Meaning?” I demand, my desire to learn more about him piqued.

“We were roommates. We actually came to USF together. I majored in computer science and he in literature.” Daniel pauses for a moment to scratch his temple, looking somewhat pensive, perhaps reminiscing. “When I came up with the idea of securing the net I obviously confided in my best friend. At the time and throughout the process I used to bore him with my doubts in making decisions. Given he was neither a technological person nor had any background whatsoever in programming, he contributed nothing to my problem but being a friend and an attentive listener.”