Then he does something I’ll remember on my deathbed.

He raises his right hand and strokes my hair. Gently. Fires of desire light and dance all around me at his touch, even though it’s not even my skin. But I swear I can feel his soul.

I inhale, drinking in the scent that embedded itself deep into my sensory memory way up in the air. I take a deep breath, attempting to ingest a lifetime’s supply of him, just in case.

His expression changes. The almost-cruel condescension is gone. He looks at me with . . . is that recognition? Then, it appears like he’s figured something out. I recognize the assurance of solving a puzzle.

“No,” he says with a little laugh. “You’re not my enemy.”

“No, I’m not.”

He glances down at my feet, then all over me, but this time differently. More admiringly. “You are truly stunning.”

My brain replays that a thousand and one times. You are stunning. He said you are stunning.

I think I can die now.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. At least I think I’m smiling. I’m not sure if I’m sensing any muscle control.

“Hey,” he says, “I didn’t realize you’re a friend of Lorena’s.”

“I didn’t realize that either.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I met her at my job. Just recently.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“Oh, um, I’m a, um, waitress.”

“Really? Where?”

“Our place. I mean . . . ha . . . where we were. You and I. Bogart. The restaurant on Ocean Drive.” Oh God, this is embarrassing. I sound like a star-struck schoolgirl. Knock it off, Abigail! “I waitress there . . . where I met Lorena, too. Same place.”

“Got it,” he says. “You got a job there. You’re a waitress.”

“Yes. Sorry. I’ve had an adult beverage.” I’m using that as an excuse, but it’s not the drink that’s made me intoxicated. It’s him and his feral masculine presence that the port of Miami . . . not to mention the Earth . . . seems to revolve around.

He stares at me for another one of those thousand years in which we melt into each other’s eyes. I swear the damned things glow from within. They pick up the light all around and reflect it back to me like some kind of hypnotic power that even seems to have its own throbbing beat.

Is this man real, seriously?

“Well,” he says, “it was nice to meet you . . . what was it again?”

“Jayd.”

“Jayd?”

“Yes, short for Jayden,” I say. “Jayden Raye.”

His eyebrows go up. “Really? That’s a very . . . porn star-ish name.”

I feel the heat on my face. “Um, well . . .”

“You’re not a porn star, are you?”

Do I look like a fucking porn star, buddy? “No.” I giggle.

He looks like he’s about to walk away, but then he turns and then turns back, then turns and turns back again, like he’s having an argument with himself. One side wins and he says, “Come over here.”

Without thinking, I follow. He leads me several feet to a spot between two low walls made of cascading purple glowing water.

Oh my god, we’re in one of the Play Pens!

I hadn’t noticed the water from the distance of the balcony when I looked over before. Each wall of the Play Pen is not beveled glass as it seems from a distance, but a steady flow of cascading water lit with purple light from somewhere. It creates a translucent sheen that transforms shapes into shadows.

I feel immediately vulnerable. Nobody can see us below the waist while we’re standing here. Nobody seems to pay attention to what anyone is doing, but Lorena did say that these are for . . .

Oh my God!

I gasp as his right hand slips under the front of my dress and brushes his fingers over my panty-covered pussy.

My mouth falls open and I make some sort of grunting sound. He just continues to look at me with no emotion, just a slight amusement in his cocky smile. He strokes over the panties.

Shit, I don’t know what to do. This is incredibly improper. Or is it? I don’t know. I’m in some sort of alternate universe here. I want to look around to see if anyone is watching us, but I can’t. I’m transfixed on his eyes.

After all, this is the man I orgasmed to three times while masturbating before coming here.

I suppose it’s okay if I let that man touch me then, right? Fuck, I suppose it’s okay if I let that man do whatever the fuck he wants to do with me.

Right?

Yeah, that would be super okay.

Oh God, he slips a finger under my wet panties and strokes my naked slippery folds.

My breathing becomes shallow. I can’t stop looking into his eyes. Shit, I imagined this just two hours ago, and here it is happening in real life. Is this real life?

A finger wiggles up inside me.

Oh God!

Yep, real life. Oh God, real fucking life!

He knows right where to go. He does this amazing thing inside me that I can’t even describe while something else draws little circles on my clit. Finger and thumb working together. I grab the tops of the two walls with clenched fingers and gritting teeth.

And I come.

Right there in the middle of the room. A little shake and a squirt. With little tiny squeals that I bite my upper lip to muffle.

He laughs, then removes his hand and slaps my pussy over my panties. It’s not a fun laugh. It’s a condescending downright evil fucking laugh. He turns as if he’s about to walk away, but then turns back.

“One more,” he says, cocking his head.

Then he reaches down and his finger is up inside me again doing its thing.

I come harder, this time with a little squeal. He laughs like it was too easy, then removes his hand, pats my pussy as if reassuring that it did a good job, takes a sip of his own drink, and turns to walk away.

“I have to go,” he says. “It was nice to meet you . . . Jayd.”

He turns and walks away, leaving me standing there.

Oh my God, did that really just happen? That’s twice he’s gotten me off within seconds in front of other people. Three times, actually. Playing me like a goddamned musical instrument.

And he was such a jerk about it!

Again!

I look around. Nobody seems to notice or care.

Something within me fires up. I shake the last remnants of orgasm off, and try to walk. One foot, second foot. Yep, I’m shaky but okay.

“Hey!” I say, as I catch up with him halfway across the room.

He turns to face me, saying nothing.

I freeze, hypnotized by him again. I had a whole diatribe in mind, but his beautiful eyes dissolve it completely.

“What?” I say.

“What what?”

“What . . . was that?”

He looks around like I just asked the dumbest question anyone could have ever asked. “What was what?”

“That. Back there. You did . . . stuff.”

He laughs again, a laugh that makes me want to punch him in the face. “That wasn’t stuff. Trust me, you’d know if I really did stuff.” Then his expression softens. The panty-dropping smile returns as he moves a little closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re cute. You really are. Don’t take this the wrong way, because you’re a very nice girl, but you’re not ready for me yet.”

Did he just say what I think he just said?

“Um, huh?” I say in my new limited vocabulary.

“Look, I took you somewhere I shouldn’t have. Not just here, but on the plane too. I took some liberties and crossed some lines. But please forget it. You’re not right for me.”

My brain kicks into super-overdrive, attempting to process this. “Wait. So I can’t get to know you because I’m not . . . what? . . . experienced enough yet?”

“No, Jayd, no. It’s just . . . I’m just . . . not normal.”

“Oh my God, that’s my phrase! Neither am I! I say that all the time.”

Shit, that sounded try-hard, didn’t it?

His look becomes sullen and distant. “No, I don’t think you understand. I’m not normal. Nowhere near normal. You’re a lot more normal than you think you are. And we would be a bad combination. Good night. It was a pleasure to meet you . . . um . . . Jayd.”