* * *
“You certainly know how to throw a party,” Angel said when she floated towards me across the pool deck of the villa. The music was loud and the partygoers louder.
She wore a gossamer kimono over a mint green bikini. Her hair was up in a bun–I couldn’t help remembering how silky her neck had felt under my tongue.
“The first night is usually the craziest. Tomorrow the hangovers will tone it down a bit. You look stunning.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Was Angel blushing?
Someone bumped into her, knocking her drink out of her hand.
“Shit! Sorry, Angelica.”
“It’s okay, Tom,” she said graciously and wiped the alcohol from her arm.
“The kids are misbehaving. Come with me. I have an idea,” I said.
I turned and she followed. I kept walking until we were out of the villa and on the beach.
“That’s better,” I sighed. “Now I can hear myself think. I’m sorry about that.”
“Hey, what girl doesn’t yearn to smell of barbeque fire and rum?” she smirked.
“You wear it well,” I laughed.
“Thanks,” she chuckled.
I lifted my hand into the air and signaled.
“Are you kidnapping me?” Angel asked when a dinghy approached.
“Absolutely.”
We walked into the shallows and climbed onto the craft.
“Good evening, Mr. Mikhailov.”
“Hi, Roger.”
“Hello,” Angel greeted the skipper.
“Ma’am.”
Roger turned the dinghy around and headed to my yacht. Angel held onto the ropes on the pontoon as we glided over the surface of the water. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to meet the spray. Her beauty was serene. I stared at her–utterly captivated.
“Yours?” she asked.
“The yacht? Yes. She’s my pride and joy. Do you sail?”
“No. But, I reckon I’ll make a great tanning hood ornament,” she grinned.
“I bet you would.”
Roger tied the dinghy to the yacht with a rope and helped Angel onto the deck.
“What do you say to a refreshing shower and a clean set of clothes?” I asked.