She thought the life of a trophy wife would be heavenly. Clothes and jewelry. Lavish dinners. Beautiful houses. Fancy cars. Travel the world. She never could have imagined how boring life on Fifth Avenue can be, only brought out when her husband needs her beauty as an accessory to show off for business clients. Her only fun comes four times a year when he lets her jet off to Cozumel and stay by herself at a penthouse on the beach. He wants her tanned year round, but she figures working on her natural tan is also his opportunity to bring his mistress to town. In Cozumel, she spends her days on the beach, sipping margaritas and scoping out her play toy for that evening. Exotic foreigners. College boys. Business executives who leave their own trophy wives at home.
Jake's world is much different. He owns a construction company in Montana and saves up all year for a week or two to let loose in Mexico. He strolls up and down the beach, showing off his buff blue-collar body as he searches for the most beautiful women. That's where he first sees her, leaning back on a chaise in her red bikini, her top barely holding in her luscious breasts, her bottom cut high on the sides to reveal her entire thighs. Beautiful face. Thick auburn hair tied back. She is aloof to everyone around her as she spritzes oil over her body. Sitting there with her designer beach bag and designer sunglasses, which probably costs more than his pickup, everything about her screams unapproachable. So, he chooses her.
He walks right up to her and says, "Hi, I'm Jake." He doesn't wait for an invitation as he takes a seat on the edge of her chaise. "I'm all out of lotion," he says. "Do you mind if I borrow yours?" He reaches for her spritzer bottle without waiting for a reply. He sprays his chiseled chest, muscular arms and toned legs and returns the lotion. "Would you mind getting my back?" he asks.
Vanessa is baffled by the man now sitting in front of her, so arrogantly bold in the way he approaches a woman who, for all he knows, could be there with someone. But he does have the bronzed body of a Greek Adonis, so there is that. He could have any woman on the beach, and he wants her. She sprays his back and rubs oil over his skin. "Turn around," she says. "You missed a spot. He obliges and she spritzes his ripped chest, slowly rubbing with both hands. "There, all better."
Knowing the answer already, she asks if she knows him from somewhere just to start the conversation. He repeats that his name is Jake and that he is there for a well-earned vacation. Then he finally gets around to asking her name.
"I'm Vanessa," she says. "Of all the beautiful women on this beach this morning, why did you choose to come up to me?"
He sits up and squares his shoulders. "Who said I chose you for your beauty?"
"So what is it?"
"Your spritzer bottle." He holds it up, admiring the design. "I've never seen anything so attractive. Did you get it here or is it imported from Europe?"
"All my lotions are flown in from Europe," she says, laughing more than she has in such a long time. As the conversation goes on, he forgets that he is a lowly laborer and asks if she would join him for dinner that night.
They meet at the hotel restaurant and share a wonderful, flirtatious conversation over their meal of lobster, roasted potatoes, steamed artichokes, and champagne. Afterward, they walk along the beach. Jake tells her a little about his life, the construction company he owns somewhere in Montana, the wife who divorced him a few years back. Vanessa shares some of hers, telling him about her horrible marriage to a narcissist. Jake stays interested in what she has to say. After their long walk, they end the night -- or so she thinks -- with him walking her to her room.
They make arrangements to do something together the next day and just as she is about to stick her key card in the door slot, he turns her around and kisses her. Her lips are so sweet and inviting; he takes the key card from her hand and slides it in the door slot, never breaking the kiss. He glides one hand around her back, drawing her close, and with the other he opens the door. He guides them into the room, like they are slow dancing, stepping softly, even swaying. She wraps her arms around his neck as they kiss in the dark. They pull themselves into each other, the kiss deeper and deeper, his tongue dancing with hers, their legs nearly intertwined. After she breaks off the long kiss, she flips a switch to turn on some mood lighting.
"Make yourself comfortable," she says.
He steps out on the enormous balcony and hears her dialing room service for champagne and a shrimp platter. A warm evening breeze blows in from the gulf, and from her spacious penthouse balcony -- larger than his entire room at the motel up the street -- there is only moonlight and water for as far as he can see. She steps out and snuggles up to him, rubbing his back and nuzzling his shoulder with her face. He turns and wraps an arm around her.
"Moonlight in Cozumel," she says. "It's my favorite view in the world."
He savors the moment, the beautiful view with a sexy woman, a soft breeze making her hair dance across her shoulders, champagne on the way. A minute later, room service arrives and they set up on the balcony, in front of a loveseat, so they can feel the salty breeze. He pours a single glass of champagne, takes a sip, and offers the glass to her. She takes it from him, sips, and hands it back. She has never shared a full glass of champagne like this, but she likes it, the way their faces get closer together with each sip.
He sips again and dips a shrimp in cocktail sauce and feeds her, then gives her a sip from their shared glass. She feeds him a shrimp and a sip. They kiss. They sip. They eat. And then the guilt gets to him.
"I have a confession," he whispers in her ear. "I'm not all that enamored with your spritzer bottle."
She gasps in mock shock. "What is it then?"
"In case you are not aware, you have the most magnificent breasts in the world. I can't live a full and complete life unless one day I get my hands and mouth on them."
"Maybe someday," she replies with a devilish smile.
She plants a soft, firm kiss on his lips, sliding her tongue in his mouth and settling in for a good, long kiss as they press their bodies together.
Their kiss is magical in the moonlight breeze, his lips full on hers, their tongues swimming in unison. He peels off his shirt, but what he wants is to lay her back on the love seat, pull down her sundress, and pour champagne the length of her body so he can lap up every drop.
