Fields' Guide to Abduction - - (best sales books of all time txt) 📗

The resort’s pool deck was spectacular. Tiered infinity pools spilled down the hillside toward the beach. The water in the pools matched the turquoise of the ocean.

I descended the stairs, pausing on each level until I reached the level with a bar. I approached the bartender. “A bottle of Perrier, please.”

His eyes widened slightly. Even here at the tip of Baja, Chariss’ face was still recognizable.

He handed me the bottle and I signed a room chit.

Then I made my way to the pool closest to the beach.

A row of chaise longues topped with bleached linen cushions and carefully folded beach towels the color of a January sky faced the pool and the waves below.

I picked a chaise and unpacked my pool bag. Sunscreen, earbuds, and a novel. What more could I need?

It was only when I was hidden behind the cover of my book that I looked around.

Down the length of the pool deck, a large group was celebrating the arrival of morning with tequila shots. Men with bellies or mustaches or large tattoos (or a combination of all three) were surrounded by beautiful women who hung on their every word. Their laughter and the clink of their glasses competed with sounds of the waves.

I nodded once at one man (no belly, no mustache, no visible tattoo) who stared at me with a speculative tilt to his head. Not happening, buddy. I plugged the earbuds into my phone and drowned the group’s noise out with Lorde.

The sun was warm—not too hot. The cushion was comfortable. I put down my book, closed my eyes, and let my mind wander.

It wandered right back to Jake. To the night we met.

He’d sent a drink.

I’d sent it back.

For most men, that rejection would have been enough. Not for Jake. I’d made myself a challenge.

He sauntered over to the table I shared with Mia, offered me a vague nod, then directed his sun-god smile at my friend. “I’m Jake.”

The old hit-on-her-friend ploy. Been there. Done that. Boring the first time.

I’d yawned and said to Mia, “You ready?”

Mia, who was also no stranger to the games people played, had ignored him too. “Let’s go.”

We left him at the table and went outside where Donny, Mia’s father’s driver, waited at the curb in a Bentley.

Donny opened the door and we climbed inside.

“It’s just as well that guy hit on you.” Mia yawned. “We needed a reason to leave. Do you want to go home?”

I made a sound that could have been yes or no.

“I’d like to swing by Terra.” One of the men pursuing her owned the club. Whenever she sensed he might be losing interest, she showed up.

“Fine.” I made going to the hottest club in L.A. sound like an imposition. “But if you decide to stay, can Donny run me home?”

“Of course.”

Talk about impositions. The sudden stiffness in Donny’s shoulders and the audible sigh from the front seat said the prospect of a drive to Malibu didn’t fill him with joy.

Either Mia didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Of course.”

Terra was packed, but Thor (I kid you not) led us straight to a table in the VIP section.

We sat.

Mia looked around, tapped her fingers against the table, squirmed in her chair, and stood. “Back in five.”

Yeah, right.

One glass of Champagne and I was out of there.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

I looked up and there he was, offering me another sun-god smile.

“How did you get in here?” The VIP section at Terra wasn’t easy to crash.

“I know people.”

“A couple of guys named Benjamin?”

He had the good grace to flush.

“You know, this borders on stalker-ish.”

“Me?” He sounded deeply offended. “Stalker-ish?” Then he broke into song. Stay with Me. And he sounded exactly like Sam Smith. Exactly.

When he sang the last note, there were fifteen women with their tongues hanging out. I wasn’t one of them.

I waved in their direction. “Pick from your new fan club.”

His eyes sparkled and he gave the sun-god smile another try. He was—dazzling. “Not interested.”

“Neither am I.”

He held his hands over his heart as I’d somehow wounded him. “I serenaded you.”

“Nice trick. Does it work often?”

“Never fails.” He did have a nice smile.

“I’m not a groupie.”

“What if I told you I was the lead singer in a high school band?”

“High school bands don’t impress me.”

There was that smile again. He pulled out Mia’s chair.

“And I’m still not interested.”

“I’m—”

I tapped my chest. “Not. Interested.”

“One drink? Please?” There was something in the way he said please—as if having a drink with me mattered. “One drink then, if you’re still not interested, I’ll leave you alone.”

He had sounded like Sting. “One drink.”

Three tequinis later, I had Donny take me to the house in Malibu. Alone.

Jake and I met for coffee the next morning.

We met for dinner that night.

He took me sailing.

I took him shopping.

We went to movies. And plays. And concerts.

He spent the night at my place.

I spent the night at his.

He brought over a razor and toothbrush.

I took over a bottle of conditioner and a WaterPik.

He stood me up.

We argued.

He disappeared for a week.

I broke things off.

He begged for forgiveness.

I forgave him.

He disappeared again.

I didn’t forgive him.

None of it was even original. Not until the morning, after a night I still couldn’t remember, I woke up and he didn’t.

“You are too lovely to look so sad.” A shadow pulled me from my memories.

For one joyous second, I imagined it was Jake blocking my sun and my heart leapt. But Jake was dead. My heart slammed back into my chest.

I looked up. How I could have made such a mistake? The man in front of me was tall enough, but he was dark. Jake had been golden and sun-kissed. Their auras were different.

Despite the warmth of the sun I shivered

The tall stranger from down the length of the pool (the one with no belly, no mustache, and no tattoos) stared down at me. “I hope we’re not disturbing you.” He waved at the group at the opposite end of the pool deck.

Not till now. “Not at all.”

“I am Javier.”

“Nice to meet you.” I lowered my sunglasses and looked up at him. “Poppy.”

“Poppy?” His lips flirted with a smile.

My lips did no flirting. “Mhmm.”

“An unusual name.”

“Is it?”

He nodded. A definitive nod—as if he was accustomed to having the final