Free The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) by Adrianne Byrd Page B

women—not to say that Solomon didn’t have his own choice of hotties, it was just none of them were Ophelia.
“Hey, man.” Marcel draped an arm around his good buddy and shouted above the music. “Frank and them are talking about taking a booze cruise to Isla de las Mujeres. You want to tag along?”
“What the hell is a booze cruise?”
“Just what it sounds like—a boat with a lot of liquor. You game?”
Solomon glanced over his shoulder at Ophelia and her dance partner. He stepped forward, ready to fight if the guy didn’t back off a couple of inches.
“Hey, hey.” Marcel laid a restraining hand against Solomon’s shoulders. “Let her have her fun.”
Solomon’s gaze swung in his direction and indicated with a slight nod for him to check their girl out.
A camera crew from something called Girls Gone Wild was headed in her direction.
Marcel blinked and headed toward her as well. “All right. We’ll take her with us.”
Minutes later, the three friends boarded a crowded yacht where the dancing and partying only intensified.
“You look like a great lay,” a girl murmured against Solomon’s ear.
“Excuse me?” He turned toward a stunning blonde.
“I said you look like a great lay.” She danced her way closer. “I’ve never been with a black guy before.”
Surely, Solomon misunderstood her. “Come again?”
“I just might.” She winked and wiggled her assless rump against him.
Very carefully, Solomon detached himself from his crazy dance partner and tried his luck with a group of ebony babes doin’ da butt.
Now he was having fun. After a while, Solomon’s Ophelia radar kicked in and he glanced up to see her perched over a rail.
Was she sick?
He remembered Ophelia’s low tolerance for alcohol, but he’d seen her drink like a fish for the better part of the day and night. Concerned about alcohol poisoning, Solomon moved away from his nest of delectable women and headed toward Ophelia.
She wavered from side to side and occasionally dipped farther over the rail.
“Ophelia,” he shouted, but he could barely hear himself over the loud music. He shouted again, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Marcel turn to see what was happening.
Ophelia held her head up, briefly, and then pitched forward and went over the railing.
“Ophelia!” Solomon and Marcel shouted in unison.
Solomon reached the spot where she had last stood and immediately climbed the rail and dove into the water without any thought to his own safety.
The ice-cold water was a shock to his system, but his arms and hands were already wading through the water in search of Ophelia.
He found her within seconds, and kicked his way up to the surface. As it turned out, their party boat had already docked at Isla de las Mujeres, and they were no more than a few yards from land.
“Ooh, look what my merman gave me,” Ophelia cooed.
Solomon glanced at her and the small seashells she held up.
“What?” he panted.
“My merman. I’m a mermaid, and my merman just gave me these beautiful shells.”
Oh, yeah, she was wasted.
Solomon swam them to shore, where a small crowd applauded his heroics and handed him another drink.
“Marcel, did I show you what my merman gave me?” Ophelia asked, slumping against him.
Marcel laughed as he caught her, and Solomon just rolled his eyes.
It was hours before the three friends returned to the hotel room. Marcel was barely standing, and Solomon was left to carry a knocked-out Ophelia into the room. He prayed the whole week wasn’t going to be like this. He had a sneaking suspicion that, indeed, it would. There were two beds in the room, and one cot. Of course, if Ophelia’s parents ever found out about their sleeping arrangements, there would undoubtedly be hell to pay. Marcel was supposed to take the cot, but he wasn’t in the room a full minute before he’d passed out on one of the beds.
Sighing, Solomon carried Ophelia to the last available bed. As he laid her down, a faint whisper fell from her lips.