Sex on the Beach (Southern Comfort Book 2) Read online

  SEX ON THE BEACH

  by

  MELANIE SHAWN

  Melanie Shawn © 2020

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from Melanie Shawn. Exceptions are limited to reviewers who may use brief quotations in connection with reviews. No part of this book can be transmitted, scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any written or electronic form without written permission from Melanie Shawn.

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, names, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

  Cover Design by Wildcat Dezigns

  Book Design by BB eBooks

  Published by Red Hot Reads Publishing

  Rev. 1.0

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Sex on the Beach

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Excerpt: My First

  Excerpt: Teasing Destiny

  A Note From Melanie Shawn

  Other Titles by Melanie Shawn

  SEX ON THE BEACH

  a. (noun) A fruity mixed drink, popular during summer and especially during spring break.

  b. (verb) Casual sex.

  c. (adverb) To cause great astonishment. Remarkable. Outstanding. Superb.

  SEX ON THE BEACH

  Ingredients:

  2 ounces of vodka

  1 ounce of peach schnapps

  2 ounces of grapefruit juice (or orange juice)

  2 ounces of cranberry juice

  Optional: 1 teaspoon of lemon juice

  Garnish with orange wedge and cherries

  Directions:

  1. Fill a glass with ice and add vodka, peach schnapps, and grapefruit or orange juice. Pour cranberry juice over. *optional add 1 teaspoon lemon juice

  2. Garnish with an orange wedge and cherries to serve.

  PROLOGUE

  Isabella

  When I was a little girl, I believed that my mother died of a broken heart… now I knew that was actually the case.

  My father left when I was four. For the next few years, I watched my mother wilt away in bed. She cried all the time. I didn’t know anything about depression or what that meant. I just thought she missed my father and was sad because he was gone.

  I used to try and cheer her up. I remember painting pictures, singing songs, and picking flowers, all just for her. Sometimes I would get a smile, but sometimes it just seemed to make her sadder to see me.

  At the time, I blamed myself for her being sad because I resembled my father, in that I took after his Italian heritage, his brown hair, and bronzed skin, and high cheekbones.

  The only trace of my mother I saw when I looked in the mirror was her eyes. Mine were identical to hers. Large, almond-shaped, and crystal blue. Sometimes, when I caught my reflection it was eerie how much it looked like she was looking back at me.

  My mother was of French descent with fair skin, and long blonde hair. She was what I imagined when I thought of a princess. I used to dream that my father, the prince in my story, would come home and save her with a kiss.

  That never happened.

  Mrs. B, my nanny, used to tell me, “Your mama just needs to lie down a spell.”

  That “spell” stretched out for years. Three years, to be exact. And then one day, I came home after school, and Mrs. B told me that my mama was gone, that she was an angel now.

  That day my entire world changed. My father arrived at my Savannah, Georgia home and took me to his estate in Connecticut. My life as I knew it was over. My mother was gone. Mrs. B was gone, replaced by a string of nannies whose names I couldn’t even remember as an adult.

  That had been eighteen years ago, almost to the day, but it felt like yesterday. And I was experiencing a sense of déjà vu because ten minutes ago, just like that day so long ago, my entire reality had changed.

  I blinked as I sat in the high-rise medical office building, staring across the large mahogany desk at Dr. Pine, and the wall of floor to ceiling windows behind her.

  I noticed little things. A bird that flew across the twenty-first-floor view. The glare that bounced off of her red-rimmed glasses. Her lipstick shade, which matched her frames. The tiny white hairs that had escaped from the bun on top of her head.

  As I focused on all these insignificant details, a thought floated from the back of my mind, telling me that I might be doing that to try and anchor myself to some sort of reality because I couldn’t process what she was telling me.

  I lifted my hand to one of the diamond stud earrings I’d inherited from my mother and twisted it. It was something I did whenever I was nervous or unsure of myself. Sadly, I employed the gesture more often than I wished.

  Clearing my throat, I interrupted Dr. Pine, who as a cardiologist, was speaking what might as well have been a foreign language. I interrupted before things could spin too far off track. “I’m sorry…I don’t understand…can you…say that again?”

  “Our tests show that you have the same congenital defect that your mother did. It is a rare atrial septal defect. This particular form of ASD is commonly a hereditary condition…”

  I stared at Dr. Pine’s mouth as it continued moving, but I had no idea what words were coming out. All I could hear was a rushing sound. Like waves. My entire body was numb.

  “Why wasn’t I ever told this before?”

  “I can’t answer that for you, Ms. Santini. I can only comment on what I see here in your medical records. And they show that…”

  I swallowed and heard the gulping sound resound inside my head. She was using words I’d never heard before. Medical terms that sounded as if they had far too many consonants in them.

  “Can you please…” I lifted my arm, which felt strangely heavy, raising my hand like I was back in grammar school. “I’m sorry… Can you please explain it to me in layman’s terms?”

  Dr. Pine nodded, her expression softening. “Of course. You have a small hole in your heart. It’s been there since you were born. Normally, with this condition, we’d go in and fix it. Unfortunately, in your case, as with your mother’s, it’s not in a position where surg
ery, even with lasers, is possible. As of now, there is no treatment for the condition, which may have been why you were not told about it before today.”

  “And that hole…that’s why my mother died? She died from the hole?” My voice sounded small, like I was a little girl again, and I wasn’t exactly forming sentences worthy of my MBA from NYU.

  “Yes,” Dr. Pine confirmed.

  “Did it cause her depression, exhaustion? What are the symptoms?”

  “The information in your mother’s medical records and the autopsy report you provided does not address that. Generally though, with this specific condition, there are no symptoms. This differs from some of the other cardiovascular conditions that can cause everything from fatigue, chest pain, numbness, and a variety of other issues. For this rare type of atrial septal defect, one moment everything is fine, the next the hole tears, causing the heart to stop.”

  “So basically, I’m a walking time bomb. At any moment, the hole in my heart could tear and my heart would just stop beating and…” I’ll be dead.

  I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. Out loud anyway.

  “Each day that passes, there are advances being made in cardiology. My hope is that within the next few years we’ll have a different answer for you.”

  “But…” I prodded, needing her to spell it out for me.

  “But right now, yes.”

  “And that’s what my mother died from? At twenty-seven years old?”

  “Yes.”

  I was twenty-five. My age was the only reason I knew about my condition. I’d inherited my trust fund and other assets from my mother’s estate. Included were my mother’s medical records and her autopsy report. I hadn’t understood them, so I’d brought them to Dr. Pine to find out what some of the terminology meant.

  That had been a week ago. She’d advised me to have some tests run, and today I was getting the results of those tests.

  Dr. Pine continued, “Honestly, her age had nothing to do with it. There are people with your condition, and your mother’s, who live well into their nineties. There are also those who pass away as infants. We’ve yet to identify any correlating factors.”

  Was that supposed to be comforting to me? Because if it was, it hadn’t worked.

  “So what… what do I do?”

  “I know this is going to sound trite, but the best advice I can give you is to live your life. Do the best you can to put this out of your mind. Be healthy. Stay positive. Do your best to manage stress, because that can cause other issues, such as high blood pressure, which is detrimental to any heart condition. And honestly, there’s no reason to waste even a second worrying about what-ifs, because they won’t change the outcome.”

  “The outcome” was a polite way of saying that I would die. Suddenly. Without warning.

  The rest of the appointment finished in a blur. I did my best to pay attention, but my mind had sort of shut down. I was operating on autopilot.

  At some point, I must’ve left her office, because the next thing I knew I was stepping onto the elevator. I turned and stared at my reflection as the mirrored doors shut.

  I wasn’t sure that I recognized the woman staring back at me. She didn’t even look familiar. I did not know the person whose reflection I saw.

  Up until today, I had lived a sheltered life.

  Who was I kidding? That was an understatement.

  As a child, and even as a teenager, my father was a controlling man. He’d decided everything in my life. From the time I woke up until I went to bed, my father scheduled my time.

  He wasn’t around a lot. He travelled often. Sometimes for months at a time. I never knew when he was coming home. But it didn’t really matter, because he employed a small army of people to make sure I was doing exactly what he wanted at all times.

  As an adult, things hadn’t changed much. I’d started working for Santini Industries the day I graduated high school. I’d done most of my classes online because of my full-time job.

  My father would only pay for my education if I worked for his company, lived in the corporate housing he provided, and accepted the driver he’d assigned to me.

  Part of me had always secretly wanted to rebel, but the other part of me so badly wanted his approval that I would do anything, conform to anything to get it.

  Miles Santini was a wealthy and distant man. He’d only told me he loved me one time—right after my mother died.

  I’d spent all the years since trying to earn his love, approval, and affection. He was the only family I had, and I’d given up any scrap of identity that I had, trying to be the person he wanted me to be.

  It had even affected my romantic relationships. I’d never had a real boyfriend. I’d dated a few guys, but after a date, or two if I was lucky, they’d lose interest and move on.

  I’d always been so confused about that, but now as I stared in the mirror it made perfect sense. I was a shell of a human being. I was scared of everything because I feared that one wrong move would place me further out of my father’s good graces.

  I’d lived my life vicariously through characters in books, TV shows, and movies. I’d spent hours losing myself in the fantasies that I was the heroines in those stories, but I’d done it all from the comfort of my ivory tower.

  All of that ended today.

  I was a twenty-five-year-old virgin who never spoke up for herself, but from this moment on, I was going to start living. I’d only been existing, and not even for myself, but for my father. All that changed today.

  I was not going to waste one more second worrying about what anyone thought or felt about me.

  If I wanted to do something, I was going to do it.

  If I wanted to say something, I was going to say it.

  If I wanted to go somewhere, I was going to go.

  I had no clue if I was going to have another fifty years on this planet, or another five days, but whatever time I had, I was going to make the most of it.

  CHAPTER 1

  Jimmy

  “Drop the panties!”

  Those definitely weren’t words I ever thought I’d hear myself say when not in the company of a female.

  It wasn’t the underwear I was even worried about, I just didn’t want to have to take another trip to the vet, and I wasn’t sure how Sherlock would be able to digest the material. Over the ten years I’d had my garbage disposal disguised as a bloodhound, he’d eaten a remote control, several iPods (back when those were a thing), batteries, gravel, pennies, and even a light bulb.

  Sherlock’s jowls hung low as he dipped his head. His big brown eyes stared up at me and he gave me his best puppy dog stare, but it wasn’t going to work. I had to get the item of clothing away from him.

  I wondered if my brother Billy would have more luck. After all, his nickname was Panty Dropper.

  In our hometown of Firefly Island, Georgia, we Comfort men were known for three things: fighting, flirting, and fucking. My oldest brother Hank was the fighter. Should be pretty obvious from his nickname which one my middle brother Billy was known for. And then there was me, the youngest of the bunch. I was the flirt.

  It wasn’t somethin’ I tried to do, it just came naturally. From the time I could walk, and maybe even before then, I’d been accused of being a charmer. Half the time I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

  That had been the case with the owner of the red lace underwear that Sherlock currently held in his mouth. Molly was a sales rep in town for a conference, and last month we’d got to chatting at Southern Comfort, the bar that my brothers and I owned. One minute we were discussing local cuisine and the next she was asking if I wanted to get out of there. It had been a while since I’d wet my whistle, so to speak, so I’d obliged her.

  I knew that the undergarment had to belong to her because she was the only woman I’d brought home in the past year or so. I’d become much more discerning about who I hooked up with after an irate husband showed up at my doorstep, sayin’ that I’d been sleep
ing with his wife and he was gonna kill me. Turned out I had been doing what he claimed, but I’d had no clue the lady was married.

  Thankfully, I’d been able to diffuse the situation and had since even become friends with Gerald, the irate husband. But since then, I’d made sure to ask more questions and wasn’t quite as trusting of people as I once was. No one-night or even three-night stand—as was the case with Gerald’s wife—was worth it.

  Since I was gun shy about casual flings, and not interested in anything serious thanks to a dysfunctional as hell family situation, I hadn’t been entertaining much at Casa Comfort. Most nights, it was just me and my ride-or-die Sherlock, and I was fine with that. Even when he frustrated the shit out of me.

  “I’m serious. Drop it.”

  He didn’t.

  Holding my hand out and demanding that Sherlock drop the lacy scrap of fabric was gettin’ me nowhere. Since I didn’t want to spend the first day off I’d had in three months in a standoff with my dog, I decided to say uncle.

  I went to the treat jar and grabbed a biscuit. After watching a Dog Whisperer marathon, I’d promised myself that I was going to stop rewarding his bad behavior with treats, but even in the moment I’d made the promise I knew that I’d never stick to it. I was a big pushover.

  That was just one of the many reasons I didn’t want children. I’d never be able to discipline them. They would have me wrapped around their tiny fingers. I also really enjoyed sleep and freedom, two things I’d seen disappear completely from the lives of each and every one of my friends who had procreated.

  As soon as the dog biscuit neared Sherlock’s nose, he opened his mouth and the underwear fell to the floor. When I picked it up and tossed it in the trash I noticed the time. It was almost eight o’clock in the morning.

  Shit.

  Today was the first day in a long time that I didn’t have a charter scheduled. I loved my job, the endless days of powering the Vitamin Sea out onto the open water and seeing the shoreline I’d known my whole life. Especially, since I got to see it through new eyes, every time I heard the exclamations from those who were seeing it for their first time.