The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

five

Dillon

I jump back at the sound of his deep voice and fall off the bed.

“Argh!” I cry out, my back and butt hitting the hard floor.

“Um, should I ask if you’re okay?” His deep, gravelly voice travels over the bed, to where I’m laid out on the floor.

“No,” I grump.

“You need help getting up?”

“Again, no.” I push myself up to a sitting position, and using the bed, I pull myself up to standing.

He’s still lying there on the chaise, all that glorious bare chest on show.

“You really shouldn’t watch people while they’re sleeping, you know. It’s creepy.”

“I wasn’t watching you sleep!” My hands go to my hips. Which I realize are bare. As is most of my body, except for the parts covered by my underwear.

A quick glance tells me that, yes, I’m still wearing my comfy, ugly-as-fuck white bra and panties, which I put on to travel here in. I still haven’t changed.

It’s official. I’m gross.

And I’m standing in front of the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life in fugly underwear. And I have no clue what state my hair is in.

Fuck my life.

I quickly fold my arms over my chest, like that’s going to fix anything about this situation.

His brow lifts, and it makes him look even sexier if possible. “If you weren’t watching me sleep, then what were you doing?”

“Well, I was wondering, why in the bloody fuck are you in my villa?”

“Bloody fuck?” He smirks.

“Don’t change the subject. Why are you in my villa?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“As much as I’d love to debate the fact with you—because I have a feeling arguing with you would be fun—I can’t be bothered because I’m deadass tired. I had a shitty night’s sleep on a child-sized sofa. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He stretches his big arms above his head, and I’m momentarily mesmerized by them. They really are big. I bet he could pick me up and not even break a sweat.

“You’re staring again.”

“No, I’m not,” I bite.

Although I should have no problem with objectifying him. If he doesn’t want me to, then he shouldn’t go around shirtless. Or have abs like that. Even if he did just wake up. He should put a shirt on.

Says the woman who’s still standing in her day-old underwear.

“I thought I saw a mosquito on your arm.”

“Sure you did, Double D.”

“What did you just call me?” I’m wide-eyed, ready to smack him down. And I’m not even a double-D cup. I’m a D cup. Okay, there’s not much difference, but it’s so not the point.

“Double D,” he repeats.

“And you don’t think that’s, uh, a tad inappropriate?”

“Your name is Dillon Dawson, right?”

“Yes …”

“So, you’re Double D. Dillon Dawson.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Hilarious. But Dillon will do just fine.”

“Whatever you say, Double D.” He gets to his feet and stretches his body out, and I’m too mesmerized to tell him off for the second time.

I mean … fuck me.

With a dildo.

Repeatedly.

He’s huge. Like really bloody tall. Six-three, minimum. And he’s built. Muscles as far as the eye can see, and trust me, I’m looking. Really looking.

He has a jaw that looks like it was carved by the gods themselves. Roman nose that’s definitely been broken in his lifetime. Intense gray eyes. Kissable full lips. Basically, he’s gorgeous. And his hair … damn. It’s surfer, sun-kissed dirty-blond hair that grazes those massive shoulders of his. It’s hair that you want to reach out and grab hold of during sex or when his head is situated between your legs. Either way, I’m not fussy.

He looks like a movie star. He’s that kind of good-looking. Like he should be on TV or in a magazine or up on a billboard somewhere.

I wish I were exaggerating because without even looking in the mirror, I’m guessing that I currently look like a troll that just crawled out from under her bridge.

Trust me to meet the hottest of the fucking hot when I look like this. And also smell like a stale brewery.

As he turns and lowers his arms, I notice that he has another tattoo on the inside of his bicep on his right arm, but I don’t get a good look at it.

He walks away from me and over to the coffee machine. “You want a coffee?” he asks.

I can’t stop staring at the muscles in his back, and they move underneath his tattoo. It’s mesmerizing.

Realizing I haven’t answered him, I snap myself out of my stupor. “Pretty sure I can make myself a coffee. And I’m sure you can make one in your own villa.”

He turns, coffee pod in his hand, that damn smirk back on his handsome face. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

“Um … a little.”

Another husky laugh. “I brought you back to your villa, which happens to be right next to mine, and you realized that you’d locked your key inside it, which you thought was funny as fuck. It was too late to go back to reception to get you a replacement key, and honestly, I didn’t want to carry you to reception and then back here again. So, I brought you to my villa.” He waves a hand around.

I follow his hand around and spot an iPad and laptop on the coffee table, which definitely don’t belong to me. I know I left my suitcase in the doorway, where concierge had left it. I decided to get wasted instead of unpacking. I lean back and look at the front door. Empty.

I got wasted, had to be carried back to my villa, which I’d locked myself out of, and ended up sleeping in his.

Which was actually really decent of him.

I wince. “So, when you say, carried me …”

“You just jumped up on me. Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Oh.” I wince again. “I’m so sorry. I can be … a bit overfriendly when I’m drunk.”

He chuckles, and the sound is really nice. “Figured that when you were telling me how hot you thought I was.”

No.

Please.

No.

Kill me now.

My whole body is on fire. Pretty sure I’m the color of a tomato.

Why, God, why?! Haven’t I suffered enough?!

Not that having a gorgeous man carry me and put me to bed is suffering, but knowing that I was drunk as a skunk and saying the most embarrassing things to him is beyond suffering. And he’s staying in the villa across from mine, and we’re on a tiny island, meaning I will most definitely have to face him again.

Not that I can get any lower than I am.

Fuuuuck.

I swallow past the rocks of embarrassment in my throat. I’m such an overconfident fucking twat when I’m drunk. “Uh … can I ask … did you and I … well, did we have sex?”

He presses the button on the coffee machine and turns to face me. He leans back against the table and folds his arms across that magnificent chest of his. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like a woman to be sober and conscious when I fuck her.”

The way he says fuck in that sexy American accent sends shivers all the way down to my toes.

“Okay, well, that’s good then.” It is because, damn, I would have hated to forget having sex with him. “So, I’ll just get my clothes and be out of your way. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“No problem at all.”

“Um, you don’t happen to know where my clothes are?” I ask, looking around for them.

“Should be down near the side of the bed. That’s where you threw them when you stripped.” He points to the side of the bed I’m not at.

And the hits just keep coming.

I stripped my clothes off? I figured I’d just undressed for bed. But stripped off? For fuck’s sake, Dillon.

Cringing, I ask, “Please tell me that I didn’t do an actual striptease for you.”

He turns back to me, coffee in his hand now, brow raised. “You do that when you’re drunk? Damn, if I’d known, I’d have put in a request.”

His lips lift at the corner. It’s sexy as hell. Well, all of him is.

“Not usually. But I wouldn’t put anything past drunk me.”

“Noted,” he says, a twinkle in his eye before he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Right, well, I’ll just grab my clothes then …” I skirt around the bed, and because I don’t want to have to walk past him, I go the long way around, meaning I have to walk around the dividing wall that the head of the bed is pushed up against. Grabbing my clothes and shoes, I all but run into the bathroom.

Locking the door, I drop my forehead against it.

Great.

Just bloody great.

First night here, and I make a total knob of myself.

I embarrassed myself in front of West, told him how hot I thought he was, made him carry me back, stripped my clothes off, and took over his bed.

I suppose it can’t get any worse than this.

Unless I made a total arse of myself in front of others in the bar as well. I should ask him, but I don’t know if I want to know the answer.

Then, a thought hits me. Is he here alone? I mean, everyone on this island is here with a significant other. I should have been.

I mean, from the fact that I spent the night in his villa, in his bed, I’m taking it that he doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend here with him.

Maybe he’s here with friends.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have someone back home.

Although, when I asked him if we had sex, he said, “Call me old-fashioned, but I like a woman to be sober and conscious when I fuck her.”

If he had a girlfriend or wife, then that would have been the time to say it, right? Unless he’s a lying, cheating arsehole, of course.

Although I do have this itch in my brain that I might have already had that conversation with him last night. When I was drunk. And I have no frigging recollection of said conversation or whether it actually happened.

Ugh.

So, I should knock off the lusty thoughts about him until I actually know for sure what his relationship status is. Not that I would ever actually consider doing anything with him.

But he is really frigging nice to look at.

Pushing off the door, I use the toilet and wash my hands. I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and want to cry.

For fuck’s sake.I look awful. My skin is pasty. My lips are dry and cracked. My hair looks like that bird tattooed on West’s back made a nest out of it for the night. And my breath is rancid.

Spying some mouthwash, I pick it up and pour some into my mouth, making sure the bottle doesn’t touch my lips. I don’t want to leave bad morning breath on his bottle of mouthwash as well.

I gargle it for a solid two minutes before I spit.

A little better, but I need to scrub my teeth clean when I get back to my villa.

Which I have no key for.

Christ almighty.

I’m going to have to go to reception in yesterday’s clothes and get a new key. Unless … I left the back door open when I went out. I was drunk enough to forget my key, so more than likely, I’d left it open. I had been drinking out on the deck after all.

I could hop into the water off the jetty and wade around to the steps to my villa, and bingo, I’d be in without having to walk all the way to reception.

Cool. I have a plan. Now, to get dressed and put that plan into action.

I pull on my leggings and top, feeling gross and counting down the seconds until I can get a shower. I push my feet into my Converse. Run my fingers through my tangles, smoothing it down the best I can.

Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and step out.

Looking right, I see West standing out on his deck, back to me.

For a moment, I consider just sneaking out to save myself more embarrassment that will inevitably come because, you know, it’s me. But sneaking out would be a dick move. I just need to thank him for his hospitality and get the heck out of here.

I walk over, stopping where the sliding doors are open—like I’m hoping mine are—and clear my throat. “So, I’m gonna head off … back to my villa. Well, to reception to get a key for it and then to my villa.”

Why do I have to ramble? Why can’t I just be normal?

West turns around and leans back against the railing. He crosses his legs at the ankles and brings his coffee cup to his mouth, drinking it.

I watch, once again mesmerized by the movement of the muscles in his arms and chest. I’ll be shocked if there isn’t drool dripping from the corner of my mouth.

When he lowers the cup, there’s a smirk on his lips that tells me he’s well aware that I’m ogling him. Again.

Shit. I’m not supposed to be lusting over him, remember? Funny how quickly I forget when faced with those abs.

I blink myself free and look past him to the gorgeous Maldivian morning view of ocean and skyline.

“Can I ask, did I do anything—aside from the stuff I already know—to embarrass myself?”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. In the bar or anything? I didn’t say stupid shit to anyone other than you?”

He smiles, and it’s fucking delightful. “No. Just me.”

“Did I puke?” It’s been known in the past when I drank too much.

“Nope. You held your liquor like a champ.”

“Um, good. So, yeah, thanks again for taking care of me. And I’m sorry I was such a prat.”

“Prat?” He lifts a brow.

“Yeah, prat. You know, like idiot.”

“Nope.” Another drink of coffee. “Never heard of the word before.”

“It’s a Brit word. And you’re American … so, yeah, of course you wouldn’t have heard of it. Unless you’ve watched British TV shows, that is. But you probably haven’t.” Oh my God, stop rambling and get the fuck out of here. “So, yeah, sorry for being an idiot with the whole me getting wasted, making you carry me back, stripping my clothes off, and telling you I thought you were hot.”

“Were hot?”

“Is. Are. Oh, for fuck’s sake, whatever.”

He chuckles. “It wasn’t all a hardship. Especially not the striptease.”

Is he flirting with me?

Holy fucking fuck.I think he might be.

Well, hell, he’s flirting with me after seeing all of that and seeing hungover me.

Now, this is interesting.

Probably a bad idea, following it up. Because, you know, I’m still heartbroken and also shit at flirting. Case in point, last night. But definitely interesting that a guy who looks like that might have an interest in me.

“Okay, well, next time I decide to do another striptease, I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure you do.”

Yep, definitely flirting, and I’ve got shivers in places that I haven’t had in a long time.

“Okay.” I bite down on my bottom lip. I really have nothing else to say. So, I should get the fuck out of here before I mess this flirting business up. “I’ll see you later, West.”

I turn and walk away, and as I’m nearing the door, I hear him say, “You definitely will.”

I let myself out his villa, the door clicking closed behind me.

“You definitely will.”

Oh, hot mama.

Part of me dreads seeing him because I’m still embarrassed about last night and this morning’s behavior. But I’m also looking forward to seeing him again because, hell, he’s the hottest man alive and the flirty comments are absolutely good for my ego.

I’ll just have to make sure that I look a lot better than I do right now or last night when I was still dressed in my traveling clothes.

Speaking of, I really need to get them off because it’s hot as balls already and it’s early and I’m starting to sweat.

I step onto the jetty and immediately see my villa across from me. I’m tempted to try the front door, but I already know it’s locked. It has an auto-lock that engages as soon as you close the door. I walk over to the edge of the jetty and peer down. It’s not too far. I sit on the edge and take off my Converse. Holding them in one hand, I lower myself into the water.

It’s warm, but it still cools me down.

I’m just wading down the side of my villa when I hear that deep, husky voice that I’ve very quickly become familiar with, and it sends shivers skating up my spine. Along with the embarrassment filling my chest. I seem to feel that particular emotion around him a lot.

“Should I ask why you’re in the lagoon, fully clothed?”

Of course he’d catch me doing something weird right after our little flirty moment. Because, you know, life hates me.

I turn to look at him. The sun beating down has me shading my eyes. He’s wearing shorts but different ones. These look like running shorts, and he has running shoes on his feet. But the chest is still bare. Yay for me.

“Thought I would check and see if I’d left the door to the deck open. Save me going all the way to reception to get a key.”

He nods. “Good idea.”

“I thought so.” I grin, and he smiles back at me.

“Well, I’m going for a run. You want me to stick around while you check the door?”

“Nope, I’m good. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay. Later then.” He waves a hand and takes off jogging down the jetty.

Yes, I stand there in the water and watch until he disappears from my sight. I wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to watch him running. All those muscles flexing.

I turn back around and wade my way around my villa until I reach the steps. Grabbing the handrail, I hoist myself up and climb the stairs.

Reaching the top, I see the sliding door is wide open. Bingo!

Finally, something has gone right for me. Unless I’ve been robbed, that is.

Not that I have much to steal. I didn’t bring a lot of money, as it’s all-inclusive here, and my iPhone isn’t the latest one. It’s actually a couple of numbers back.

I walk inside, dropping my shoes onto the floor, and see the champagne bottle I emptied last night, discarded on the bed. At least one of us got to sleep on it.

I check my bag and find everything still in there, including my phone, of which the battery is dead and needs charging. Pretty sure I forgot to ring Aunt Jenny—unless that’s one of the things I did remember to do.

I’ll charge it up later. First, shower.