He seems interested, so I try to find the words to explain.
“I was an only child,” I tell him. “And my parents were always busy. Vacations were the one time we were together as a family, eating dinner, having fun. Other kids had parents who were home for dinner, but that wasn’t the case at my house. We went on vacation twice a year, and I guess I told myself that was what I wanted for my real life. A never-ending vacation.”
“Working in a resort isn’t the same as visiting one,” Cruise observes.
“No, but sometimes you can re-create a little of the magic.”
He looks up at this, and my face flushes.
“I hope so,” he says softly. “I hope—” he breaks off, cursing as paint splashes across his hand. He wipes it away, and the soft tone in his voice is gone, replaced with his usual gruff shortness. “What did your parents do?”
“My mom was a counselor, so she was getting calls at all times of the day and night. My dad is a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?”
Is it my imagination or did he just get very intent on his sanding job.
“Yeah, he’s a prosecutor. It isn’t as glamorous as on TV, but he’s good at his job.”
“Doesn’t let the bad guys get off with their crimes?” He says it casually, but I sense the undercurrent of anger, even though I can’t imagine why he’s upset.
“He’s lost plenty of cases, if that’s what you mean. But he’s also won some pretty difficult ones.”
“And he comes home to his perfect wife and daughter, even when they don’t have time for dinner together, hating criminals, huh?”
“I don’t know that my dad hates criminals. He hates the system, sometimes. He, obviously, doesn’t approve of people who break the law.”
“You weren’t on the beach this morning.” He’s changing the subject. I let him change it.
“No. There was an issue in the kitchen. The cook didn’t get an order, and we had to send someone to the nearest grocery store for some staples. A near emergency, but luckily the hotel isn’t exactly brimming with guests.”
“Yeah. It’s been that way for a few years. These old places are closing up, all along the coast.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want to happen to this hotel.”
He’s stopped sanding, and as I move up a step, I realize he hasn’t moved, and that I’ve placed myself directly next to the heat coming off his body.
“You care so much,” he murmurs. “I wish I could understand it.”
“This place is magic,” I tell him. “So many memories here, so much laughter, so many good times. It would be a shame for the doors to close.”
“That would be a shame,” he says, and he leans in, but instead of kissing me, his strong arms wrap around me, and he just nuzzles me neck. An affectionate gesture that completely melts me.
There’s a moment where I wonder if there’s going to be more, and then I feel his body stiffen and he pulls away.
Finished with his sanding, Cruise dips a brush into the paint, and picks the wooden stairway spindle right next to the one I’m painting. His breath is hot on my neck, and he smells of everything good about the ocean, coconut, and pineapple, and something that’s just Cruise.
His arm brushes mine, but he isn’t painting. He puts the brush down, and then takes my brush from my hand, placing both carefully on the cloth, and pulls me into his lap.
I lean back into him, enjoying the feel of him against my back, his arms, wrapped around me. He nuzzles my neck, again, making me gasp.
“This won’t be like the last time,” he says. “No drinking. No regrets.”
“I didn’t regret anything,” I tell him.
His expression goes very serious.
“I don’t believe that.”
He wraps me up in his arms. I yelp as paint splatters my shorts, and set my paintbrush carefully on the plastic I’ve been using to protect the carpet.
“That’s right, put the paintbrush down. You won’t be needing it for awhile.” He scoops me up and carries me to a room, kicks the door open, surveys the room, and places me on the bed.
“How do you know someone won’t come in here?” How I’m able to ask such a question over the pounding of my heart, I’m not sure.
“They don’t assign guests to the rooms in this corridor. It hasn’t been renovated.”
And yet, the bed is newly made with fresh linen. I feel a sinking sensation that this is a room Cruise has used in the past, for meetings with other women. Why that should matter to me more than being with him in the bed in his villa, where he’s definitely entertained other women, is a mystery. Where my summer encounter is concerned, it’s best not to over analyze.
“But what if someone comes in, to clean or to—”
The middle of the day feels so much more sinful than being with him in his villa long after the rest of the hotel is asleep.
Cruise pulls himself away from me long enough to walk over to the door. With exaggerated care, he places a ‘do not disturb’ sign over the doorknob.
“There. Does that make you happy?”