Fields' Guide to Abduction, - [famous ebook reader TXT] 📗

“I’ll be sure and tell Chariss I met you.”

“You look just like her.” Irene studied my face. “Such a beautiful girl she was, and so lost on the set that first year. I helped her—told her the men to avoid and practiced her lines with her.”

Chariss? Lost? Never. I swallowed a snort. “That was very kind of you.”

Her gaze travelled to a table where a man sat waiting. He caught her eye, grinned, and tapped his watch. “My husband,” she explained. “He says I talk too much.” She shifted her gaze to the ocean. “You are here for a while?”

“A week.”

“Then we’ll see each other again.”

I stood and extended my hand. “I hope so.”

“We’ll have dinner. I’ll introduce you to my granddaughter. She’s here too.”

“That sounds good.” Maybe not good, but a sight better than meeting Javier at a party I didn’t even want to attend.

Irene returned to her husband and I devoured the rest of the shrimp, drank my mineral water, and reported for a session with the resort’s personal trainer.

The trainer, whose smile was as sweet and melting as fried ice cream, possessed a sadistic streak as wide as Baja was long. I would do that one-thousand-two-hundred-thirty-eighth squat—or else.

When she was through with me, I showered and dragged myself down a sunlit hallway to the spa.

A masseuse led me to a dimly lit room. Somehow, I crawled up onto the table. With soft music playing in the background, she worked every kink out of my body.

Next a woman in a white lab coat came in, slathered me with algae, made me cross my arms over my chest, and wrapped me in seaweed. Like a smelly mummy. God help me if I needed to use the bathroom.

She fiddled with the dials on the wall and steam poured into the room.

“Fifteen minutes of steam,” she said. “Then you relax for thirty minutes more. The seaweed will draw out all the toxins and your skin will be baby smooth.”

Was there ever, in the history of the world, an aesthetician who didn’t promise complete detoxification and rejuvenated skin? Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe being wrapped like a California roll would do that for me.

Probably not.

Forty-five minutes later, she returned and unwrapped me.

She put a large bottle of water down next to me. “Drink plenty of water.” After promising detox and younger skin, “drink water,” was every aesthetician’s favorite line.

I drank.

My lips left a black ring on the bottle. Blech.

I was undecided about my toxin level or the softness of my skin but the combination of personal trainer, massage, and seaweed wrap had replaced my spine with a noodle—a very limp noodle. Looking (and feeling and smelling) like the creature from the black lagoon, I oozed off the table and into the shower. I stood under the warm jets until the water ran clear.

I dried off and somehow jammed my jellied arms into a robe. Then I found a bit of strength and opened the door. One foot in front of another, that all that was needed to get me back to my villa.

I clutched at the wall and shambled down the hallway, my gaze focused on my feet.

I walked right into someone. “Oomph.” I looked up. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Honey hued eyes returned my gaze. Marta.

“I should have been watching where I was going. I apologize.”

She didn’t react. Maybe she didn’t speak English.

I tried a second time. “Lo siento.”

Nothing. She pushed past me and swished down the hallway with even more force in her step than when she was storming away from the pool.

Well, then.

I shuffled back to my villa, stopping to rest often, wishing I still possessed a spine.

I fell into bed, slept for three hours, and woke to a mouth so dry it made the Sahara look like a rainforest. I should have heeded the aesthetician’s advice. I stumbled to the mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and glugged down the whole thing.

The bed with its crisp sheets and luxurious pillows beckoned—tempting me back to its comforts.

But—that damned party.

I sighed and headed for the bathroom.

My hair looked like someone had painted it with algae, steamed said algae, done a half-assed job shampooing (lifting my arms had hurt), skipped the conditioner entirely, then slept on it funny.

I took my third shower of the day, shampooed, conditioned, picked out the snarls, and dried my hair. Then I swept bronzer on my cheeks, mascara on my lashes, and gloss on my lips.

My feet (quite possibly the only part of my body that didn’t ache) I slipped into a pair of gold Louboutin sandals and pulled a silk slip dress the color of a tequila sunrise over my head.

Ready.

I strolled from my villa toward the main hotel and its pool decks frosted in fairy lights.

The scent of jasmine sweetened the air.

A crowd had already gathered and the clinking of glasses and the tinkling of women’s laughter cascaded over the edges of the decks like bougainvillea.

A Flamenco guitarist played and, like the other sounds, his notes spilled toward the beach. Later in the evening, long after I’d returned to my villa, he’d be replaced by a club band—one that would have people dancing till early morning.

I climbed the nearest set of stairs, ignoring the way my hamstrings shook with each step. One drink. A plate of food. A few pictures. And then I’d be done. I reached a pool deck, swiped a margarita off a waiter’s tray, and sipped.

The crowd swirled around me. Smiling. Laughing. Eating. And most of all, drinking.

Another waiter passed by and I snagged a bite of ceviche topped with avocado on a tortilla chip. Heaven.

I followed the food.

“You are here.” Javier’s hand closed around my wrist.

Damn. If I hadn’t been paying so much attention to the ceviche, I could have avoided him. “I am. Quite a party.”

He shrugged slightly, clearly unimpressed. “You need another drink.”

My margarita was half-empty. How had that happened?

He took the drink from my hand and signaled to a waiter. “Another drink for the lady.”

The waiter returned faster than I could translate por favor.

Javier took the margarita from the waiter’s tray and handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

Javier claimed a glass for himself. “To the most beautiful woman here tonight.”

Men who said things like that made my skin crawl.

He smiled at me but his smile did not reach his eyes. “Tell me more about yourself.”

I took a tiny sip of my new drink. “I should probably find the resort’s publicity people. I promised to do a few pictures for them.”

Javier’s smile disappeared, replaced by an expression I couldn’t read. Furrowed brow. Pursed lips. Was he pouting? Was he angry?

Maybe having Mia come down here wasn’t such a bad idea. At least I’d have someone to run interference for me.

“Excuse me.” I retreated a step.

“I will find you later.” The coldness in his voice made it sound like a threat.

I merely smiled and slipped farther away from him.

I let the crowd carry me along like a skiff on the ocean. The tide of people deposited me near a railing overlooking the Pacific. The sun was setting in a blaze of reds and pinks and bronze. A golden pathway burned across the rose-tinged water.

“Beautiful,” someone nearby whispered.

I looked away and took a deep drink of margarita.

The sunset, the party, the smell of the ocean, the way the warm breeze ruffled against my skin—it was all too damned romantic. My heart hurt from all that romance—hurt far worse than my aching muscles. Missing Jake was as tangible as the railing beneath my fingers or the glass in my hands, as painful as anything I’d ever experienced.

I would not cry. Would. Not. Deep breaths. Slow deep breaths.

“Miss Fields, may we grab you for a few pictures?”

A young woman clutching a clipboard stood in front of me. I’d never before felt gratitude to a publicity girl but I did then. I needed a distraction. Desperately. And when the pictures were done, I could leave. I smiled at her. “Of course. Anything you want.”

She blinked as if my being easy to deal with was a surprise.

“Just tell me where to go.”

“Right this way.” She pointed to a grouping that include a rising Hollywood actor, a reality star who was rumored to make millions of her Instagram posts, and the woman from the pool and spa.

I followed the girl with the clipboard to the little group. She took my empty glass and told all of us where to stand. We huddled together as if we’d been friends since birth. We admired the last rays of the sunset. A fresh tray of drinks arrived and we toasted the fabulousness of the resort.

Marta, the woman from the pool, actually gifted me a smile.