Chasing Waves

Exhibit 1(a)

Four months earlier ...

A supermodel was sitting at the bar.

Adam was sure that the woman with long golden curls and a plump mouth coated in crimson gloss was a supermodel, at least. And he should know; he had enough first-hand experience with the majestic beings to go off.

Her slender legs were capped in atrociously high red bottoms and dangled off the barstool, so criminally long that they had to belong to a supermodel. Though her ... assets were a tad more generous than Adam had come to expect from models. Still. Maybe she was a new breed of supermodel. One that said fuck you to the magazines; I'm hot. Deal with it.

As she should. Because she fucking was.

Adam couldn't see her face—she was wearing one of the complimentary masks that the nightclub offered patrons who came to the resort to escape. The other side of the rainforest retreat was reserved for couples, for therapy and bonding and hiking and ... whatever. But this side, the side that Adam volunteered at during Summer break ... Nothing was off-limits here. Nothing was too risqué. The clubs took that notion quite seriously. None so much as The Lost Temple.

The masks on offer ranged from plain silk slips to extravagant costume masks adorned with sequins threaded in ornate designs to match the club's adventure theme. The ancient, crumbling temple decor was studded with shot girls wearing mermaid costumes and bartenders clad in khaki. But the supermodel at the bar had opted for one of the simple black masks that only covered her eyes.

There was nothing simple about her slinky red dress.

The garment was tight, doing little to conceal her blossoming chest and perky ass. By the way she kept tugging at it, even while sitting, Adam knew that she wasn't used to wearing something so plunging, so indecent. It was cause for intrigue if her very aura wasn't.

Leaning against a stone wall that was home to sweet-smelling vines, Adam wore the shadows of the nightclub like a cloak. Neon lights strobed on the dancefloor in front of him. Women glanced his way. Some of them whispered his name. He didn't regard them twice as he sipped from his beer. Arona, lest he was papped drinking anything else and pissed off his sponsor. His gaze was tied to the supermodel at the bar as he took a healthy swig. Who was she, and what was she running from? He knew that she was running from something, because Adam knew what running away looked like.

She lifted her martini to her mouth. Took a little sip. Her shoulders tensed as she swallowed, like she was going on high alert. For a second, he thought that she might have felt the weight of his gaze. Might turn and capture it. Might beckon him over, or maybe march over and pour her drink all over his outfit. Might call him a no-good perv.

He really was being a bit of a perv.

But the supermodel relaxed after a moment. The tension seeped from her limbs like melted chocolate from a berry. She plucked the toothpick from her drink, opened her mouth, and tucked all three olives inside. She slid the stick out clean. Lifted her hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck to him as she chewed, then swallowed. It was a gesture full of intent.

Yeah.

She knew that he was watching her.

Adam took his chances.

He stepped out of the shadows, abandoning his beer, and didn't stop walking until he was at the bar. He ordered a drink.

"Martini?" he asked her by way of greeting. There was no use trying to think up small talk, and little point pretending he hadn't come here just to talk to her. They both knew he had.