Clouds Rolling In...

Clouds swirled in a maelstrom of light and dark in the sky above.  The Caribbean was an angry shade of blue clashing with the confederate sky, and a warm breeze carried tidings of a tropical storm.  As if on cue, lightning flashed in the distance, the deep rumble of thunder only a half-step behind.

Jon tipped his head back and exhaled, the acrid cigarette smoke cloaking him with the exotic scent of eau-de-cheap-bar.  His board shorts rustled as he shifted his ass in the unforgiving metal chair to accommodate the left cheek that had gone numb. 

You’d think these damn expensive resorts would have more comfortable balcony furniture.

Absently scratching his bare chest, he noted that there were a few die-hard beach bunnies determined to get their sand time in.  Didn’t seem to matter that it was five in the evening and a storm was rolling in. 

One in particular caught his attention as she rose from her prone position and dusted the sand from her bottom.  Jon stood, ambling over to the balcony wall for a closer look.   

It wasn’t so much her, really, as the swimsuit she was wearing.  The one-piece tank suit reminded him of the eighties with its neon yellow structure, slashed in half by a black belt and covered with silver-dollar sized polka dots.  In the eighties, Richie had worn a shirt for an interview that was remarkably similar, and Dave had been in a jacket that color.

He smiled fondly, flicking ashes over the railing.  He was starting to get the itch again.  It was about time to herd up his band of gypsies.

Enjoy your fucking vacation first.  You know what the doctor said.  You’re too stressed.

Too stressed.

The thunder rumbled again, in agreement, and the tropical breeze that was blowing the storm in carried the smoke away from him and out over the dusky sand. 

He was on vacation alone.  Divorced and the kids were with their mother.  He had nothing to do but think and worry.  How could he not be stressed?

Taking another drag on his cigarette, he allowed lazy eyes to flick over the yellow and black covered curves of the beach bunny.  She was shaking out her towel, and her towel wasn’t the only thing shaking. 

She could help me relieve some stress.

Her facial features were a blur at this distance, but with a body like that?  Well, a man could forgive a lot of homeliness.  Long, toned legs went all the way up to her ass, which was curvy enough to grab onto, but not enough to smother him.  The indentation of her waist was tiny, or at least appeared so in comparison to the feminine hips and generous breasts that were threatening to spill from the modest suit.

Beach Bunny was stacked.

Grinding out the cigarette against the stone barrier of the balcony, Jon laid the butt on the edge of the wall close to the neighboring balcony.  The wind immediately caught the little filter and pushed it over the edge and to the other side.

Dammit.

He would have to climb over and get it, but it could wait until Beach Bunny wrestled her oversized bag onto her shoulder and trudged her way up to the resort hotel.  Jon watched intently, her blonde braid swinging like a pendulum between her lightly bronzed shoulder blades.  They, and her entire back, were left bare by the deep cut of her swimsuit.  He could almost see the dimple above the swell of her ass, it was cut so low.

As she neared, more details came into focus.  There were little wisps of gold that whipped around her face, having escaped their confinement.  A pair of sunglasses, that would dwarf her fragile face, were perched irreverently atop her head.  Blood red nails hiked the obviously heavy bag higher onto her shoulder.

Blood red nails on your fingertips…

She was almost directly beneath him now, and he could see that homely wasn’t a factor.  Not only was the girl – woman – stacked, she was easy on the eyes, too.  From his angle not so far above her, he could make out a dusting of freckles across her chest and shoulders.    And now that she was closer, he could see her golden blonde hair was more of a strawberry blonde, to go with the freckles.

He’d no more made the observation than she disappeared, with another clap of thunder, inside the hotel.

Nice new addition to the spank bank.

Straightening from his hunched position, he stretched his arms out over his head and arced backward to loosen his back muscles.  It was times like this that he regretted swearing off one-night stands.  She would have made his bed a lot nicer place to be tonight. 

❧❧❧

Just my luck, Sheridan King thought.  Last day in Jamaica and it decides to let loose with a tropical storm.

She’d been here only two days, but her vacation getaway was already being cut short.  Todd, whom she left in charge of her chain of independent bookstores, couldn’t seem to get a grip on what he was supposed to do.  He’d called so many times – as had all the assistants – that it was just easier to go back home than continue fielding the crises from the Caribbean.

With a sigh, she dumped the ridiculously huge beach bag onto the ‘penthouse’ unit’s sofa.  Sunglasses were pulled from her head and bounced from the protruding towel to settle on the sofa cushion. 

Penthouse was a subjective term in this case, but it sufficed well enough for this tropical resort.  This and a connecting unit comprised the entire top floor of the building.  So, half of the top of a three-story building was classified as a penthouse.

Squirming uncomfortably she ran a palm over the top of her head in an effort to tame the tendrils blown loose by the wind.  The elastic band was freed from her hair, and she finger-picked the braid loose, making straightaway for the bathroom.

Biggest downfall to the beach:  sand in your crack.

A quick shower took care of the unwanted sand, and Sheridan folded herself in a fluffy towel, allowing her wet hair to hang loosely down her back.  She scooped up wet swimsuit from the counter and padded out to the balcony.  Even when the rain started, the slight overhang would keep it from being in direct rainfall.  It would at least dry out a little more before she had to pack it.

The wind was madly whipping outside, and every palm tree that she could see was leaning to the left.  Sliding the glass door, she peeped her head out to check the neighboring balcony, wet locks of hair slapping against her neck.  There hadn’t been anyone out there since she got here, but earlier in the day there had been noises from the other side of the wall, so she wanted to be sure.

Coast clear of any occupants, she felt safe in just her towel and slid the straps of the suit over the hanger she’d left out here for this specific purpose.  Suit safely flapping from beneath the potted plant on the wall, she ducked back inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

Yes, it was easier to go back home to deal with Todd’s mess, but it made her resentful.  The man who was supposed to be her right hand couldn’t do shit.  It was a chain of bookstores for Pete’s sake, not brain surgery.  Order the books, distribute to the outlets, talk to the managers once a week, collect the money.  How hard could that be?

The whole point of this trip had been to escape reality for a while.  Maybe find a handsome man to scratch an itch.  It had been so long since she had sex, God knew she could use not just a scratch, but a full exfoliation.  

Business consumed Sheridan’s life.  The single, homey bookstore had been her baby and, like a child, it had required nurturing.  Lots of nurturing.  That nurturing was what led to a second store and a third, until she had fifteen in the Northeast, with plans to expand into the Midwest via Chicago.  Unfortunately, that nurturing was what also led to her divorce. 

Ian had complained she never had time for him – time for them.  She couldn’t deny it.  She loved him the best way she knew how, but work was her true soulmate.  It never let her down, and flourished under her love and care.  She owed it everything she was today.

Unfortunately, that left a serious hole in her personal life.  Not even so much her personal life, but her sex life.  At thirty-nine, she was hitting her midlife stride.  It was the only thing she could attribute to the insane amount of batteries she was going through in recent months. 

She’d never been one to crave sex.  It was okay, and on the rare occasion her partner was able to get her off, it was slightly better than okay.  That’s all.

But nowadays – perhaps because she didn’t have access to it on a regular basis – she craved it all the time.  She found herself giving men the once-over, where she wouldn’t have looked at them for more than a polite smile before. 

Mature men, of course.  She may be horny, but didn’t have it in her to be a cougar.  No, men matured into handsome, knowledgeable devils.  Knowledge was good, and she didn’t want to have to be the one to bestow it.

Suitcase packed except for toiletries, yellow swimsuit, night clothes and travel clothes, she zipped the bag with a delicate frown.

Maybe she should head down to the bar.  Grab a cocktail before dinner and see what the crowd looked like.  See if, perchance, there was a handsome man in search of a little company for the night.  After all, this would be her last opportunity for that exfoliation…

What the hell?

She ferreted out the short orange dress she’d just packed away, thankful for its wrinkle-free material and built in bra.  The dress had been an impulse purchase during a shopping spree of sedate black dresses for business dinners.  Its splash of vibrant color had caught her eye and made her smile inside.  She bought it without even trying it on.  When got it home, it was really too short, and the plunging halter neckline too revealing, but she refused to return it.  Wasn’t that the point?  She may never wear it again, but, by God, she was wearing it tonight.

Besides, she still had pretty good legs, if she did say so herself.  A little shimmery lotion would make them look even better in the high-heeled gold sandals.

Tiny, white bikini panties made the dress feel all the more decadent when she slid it over her head and arranged the thin chiffon into place.  A quick look in the mirror confirmed that her full C-cup breasts were presenting a united front and an abundance of cleavage, and that her ass wasn’t hanging out the bottom of the dress.  She had a good six inches of flouncy hemline before that happened.

Nodding with satisfaction, she backtracked to the bathroom for some lotion and the hairdryer.