Where the hell are we?
Less than five minutes later, he slows at a black metal gate connecting two white concrete walls. There’s a keypad, and he inputs a long combination before the gate slides to one side.
“I’m Juan, the caretaker here.” He gestures to a small cottage that sits close to the cement wall and gate. “I’ll be available if you need me. My wife, Rea, cooks and cleans. So if you have any special requests, just let her know.” He pats his belly. “She’s one of the best cooks on the island, so you’re in for a treat.”
“Island? I thought we were in Belize?” Greer asks.
Juan’s hearty laugh shakes his belly, and he’s probably putting us in the category of stupid American tourists. “You are in Belize. Welcome to Caye Caulker. We’re the second largest island in the country, but don’t be fooled, there’s not far to go. You’re at the south end now; the village is at the north end of this section, before the Split.”
“The Split?” I ask, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“A channel where Hurricane Hattie ripped the island in half back in ’61. You’ll see it. There are more houses on the other side, but you need a boat to get there. We have one, and I can take you wherever you want to go. I don’t recommend taking it yourself because navigating the reef is tricky unless you’ve been doing it for years. But anything you want—snorkel, scuba, fishing, exploring the cays, I’ll take you.”
Greer and I both thank him as he leads us toward the large white concrete house on concrete pilings. Ornate yellow tiled stairs lead us to a wide porch that looks like it wraps around the place. Juan removes keys from his pocket, unlocks the door, and hands them to me.
“I’ll leave you to explore. You’ll see Rea in the morning. What time would you like breakfast?”
I glance at Greer and raise an eyebrow, indicating it’s her call.
“Eight o’clock would be fine. Thank you, Juan. Have a good night.”
I shut and lock the white wood door behind us and watch Greer as she spins in a circle in the large entryway. High ceilings are lined in dark wood with exposed beams, and the walls are painted a vivid yellow that matches the blue, green, red, and yellow mosaic tiles patterned across the floor.
It’s everything you’d expect from a tropical beach house. A round wood table sits in the middle of the entryway with a huge vase of vibrant, fresh flowers. From this vantage, I can see a large sectional in the living room, a matching wood coffee table, and a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Bright canvases line the walls, adding color beyond the yellow. Thin white curtains blow in the breeze along the entire wall of windows facing the ocean. Waves crash just outside in the darkness.
Greer completes her circle, and I wait for her reaction. She’s probably been on countless luxury vacations, making this place nothing special. Hell, maybe even quaint. By my standards, and from what I’ve seen so far, it’s a pretty sweet pad, one I’d be happy to call my own.
“I love it,” Greer says, her voice quiet. “It’s so perfect.”
“Let’s check it out.”
With a grin, I follow her from the entryway into the living room, and then the dining room and kitchen. The kitchen has dark wood cabinets, black-and-gray granite countertops, and stainless appliances. It’s just as nice as the setup at my place in LA, but the vibrant colors of the walls, art, and backsplash give it a strong island vibe.
We venture back through the living room and find three bedrooms, the largest of which is clearly the master. A large wood four-poster sits at one end, facing a wall of windows with billowing curtains. The east side of the room is also lined with windows, leading me to believe we’re going to see a hell of a sunrise.
I gotta hand it to Creighton Karas, this place is perfect. Fuck, it feels like a place you’d carry a bride across a threshold on a honeymoon.
I shut that thought down. Greer isn’t ready, and I’m not going to freak her out by talking about serious shit. In fact, my mission with this trip? Get her so fucking addicted to my body and my cock that she never wants another man again. Once I’ve accomplished that goal, I’ll move on to the next phase of my plan.
I stop at the doorway of the bathroom as Greer steps inside. “Damn, this place is perfect.” I take in the giant tiled shower and mammoth tub. They’re going to get plenty of use.
“Totally perfect.”
As Greer turns back to me, I take in her appearance. She’s as beautiful as ever, but dark circles are making an appearance under her eyes. She’s dead on her feet. Neither of us slept on the six-hour flight; instead, we checked out most of the gossip sites that had posted our pictures. We left each other to our thoughts after that.
Right now, all I want is a shower and then to curl up in that huge bed with Greer in my arms. Simple man, simple needs.