Stripped

I will him to say he does want it, that, despite our logical agreement to forget that kiss, he isn’t averse to doing it again and a whole lot more.

I brace for him to fob me off and put an end to our verbal sparring.

‘I thought we agreed not to do this,’ he says, sounding gruff.

‘We’re just flirting. It’s healthy.’

‘The thing is, if you push me too far, it won’t stop there.’

I resist doing a fist pump again. ‘Promises, promises.’

He swipes a hand over his face, like he wants to eradicate my presence altogether. ‘This is a dumb idea.’

‘There are dumber.’ I hold up my hand and start ticking off a list by lowering my fingers. ‘Leg warmers. Crimped hair. Scrunchies. Acid-wash jeans—’

‘As much as I like hearing that you’re an eighties aficionado, can you be serious for one damn second?’

Okay, maybe I’ve pushed him too far because now he looks plain tortured. ‘I don’t like mixing business with pleasure.’

I shrug. ‘Me either. But we’re both adults. I’m pretty sure we can separate what happens out here from what could happen in there.’

I point over his shoulder towards the luxurious villas scattered among the lush tropical gardens. ‘Or do you prefer it on the beach only?’

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, ensuring I’ll have to smooth it before the next batch of photos is taken.

He’s conflicted. I see it in the shadows scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, in the wry twist of his mouth. He wants me but doesn’t want to relinquish control.

So I take pity on him. ‘The photographer’s ready to start shooting again, so why don’t you head to the bar?’

He locks eyes with me and I glimpse something that gives me hope: indecision. ‘This isn’t over.’

‘I’m counting on it.’ I wave him away with a dazzling smile. I hope it hides how damn uncertain I am about this too.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u20777631-807f-5804-a7e4-ab1be2ad9967)

Hart

IT’S BEEN TOO long since I got laid. I need to remedy that pronto if all I can think about is taking my PR rep up against the nearest wall.

She’s driving me insane.

I know it’s wrong. It will muddy our working relationship. Then again, she won’t be on the island for long. Four weeks max. Why can’t we indulge this thing between us, and walk away unscathed at the end?

Because I’m a realist and know that the clean break-up after casual sex is a myth. A fucking fairytale.

I’ve never been involved with a woman, even physically, for longer than a week. It doesn’t make me a man-whore. It makes me smart. Women I screw know the score. We’re in it for a short time not a long time. Pure physical release. Fun.

Yet I have a feeling that even if I spell it out for Daisy she’s the kind of girl to get under a guy’s skin. I like the way she doesn’t back down, the way she fires back quips, the way she fills out a dress. Yeah, I’m a shallow, narcissistic prick but I can’t stop thinking about her and I have a feeling I’ll be a mess until I slake my thirst for her.

Kevin bollocked me after the shoot because I hadn’t looked over the next quarter’s projections and bookings are still falling. I wish I could shoulder the blame. I’d happily announce to the hotelier world I’m a nomadic hippy destined to run Pa’s empire into the ground. I’d do anything to stop the muckraking press from besmirching Pa any more than they already have. And that means I’ll take the Rochester hotels back to the top. I’ll show them.

One thing not many people know about me: I never give up. I may not want this role thrust upon me but I’ll be damned if I screw it up and let Pa down—more than I already have over the years. I have a plan: regain consumer confidence in the Rochester brand, install quality management hierarchy, then leave.

I can’t be tied to a desk. It’ll kill me. I’ve tried it before, after Pa invested in me. Back then I worked alongside him for two years after earning my degree, putting on a game face, as if running hotels was what I was born to do.

Pa saw straight through me. He invented a meaningless job for me, ensuring I could travel as much as I wanted but still be semi-attached to the company. I mucked that up, focussing more on the foster kids outreach stuff than my bogus hotel job. It makes me feel even guiltier that I let him down, that the one job he entrusted me with I didn’t do properly. I felt like a fraud; still do.

I’ll never understand how the gruff tycoon welcomed me into his life and gave me what I craved most: a family. He’s been my emotional touchstone for so long—my only one—that since he passed away I’m dead inside.

Until Daisy.

She’s the first person to make me feel anything other than repressed and shut off, even if it is only lust. I’d be a fool not to capitalise on it. She’s joining me shortly, on the pretext of scouting more locations for her bloody photo shoots to make the hotel brand more likeable in some media blitz. She’s insistent I need to be seen as part of the new brand to instil confidence in consumers and restore faith.

What a crock of shit. She’s wasting her time. I have one of those faces that tends to scare off everyone. But I need this campaign to work if I want to escape the desk and return to what I like doing best: helping kids like me. Wary, resentful, terrified kids abandoned to foster systems around the world. They need me even if they don’t know it, like I needed someone way back when.

Pa was my saviour, but at sixteen I’d already seen too much and endured too much, way more than any child should. Some people say I have a god complex. I don’t. I’m not narcissistic enough to think I can control everything around me, but when it comes to those kids I’ll do my damnedest to make sure they have a better life than I did for the first sixteen years of mine.

I hear humming and something akin to lightness makes the tension in my chest ease. Daisy definitely has a thing for the eighties because as she nears the caves she breaks into a Rolling Stones classic, off-tune yet endearing.

I smile. It feels foreign because I don’t do it a lot. Yeah, a sizzling sexual encounter with this bold, quirky woman is just what I need to take the edge off and get me refocussed on the job at hand.

She pauses at the entrance, shielding her eyes to peer into the gloom.

‘Over here.’ I wave, knowing the exact moment she sees me, because her face lights up. It shouldn’t. I’m no good for her. Not in the way a girl like her expects. But I wouldn’t have asked her to meet me here if I didn’t have more than work on my mind and I’m done lying to myself.

I want Daisy.

‘You’re not going to leave me here at high tide, hoping I’ll wash out to sea?’ She steps into the cave and lowers her hand, her head swivelling as she turns a full three-sixty. ‘Wow, this is spectacular.’

‘I thought you might like it. For the shoot,’ I add, hating how clipped I sound, like I’d rather be doing anything other than this. I’m not a people person, never have been, and it irks that I’m so fucking horny for this woman I sound gruffer than usual. ‘In another few hours when the sun sets the light in here is fantastic.’

‘It’s like something out of a fairytale.’ She stops spinning and her eyes are wide and bright. Fuck. I’m not the knight in shining armour someone like her deserves. I should get the fuck out of here now. But my cock has other ideas. ‘How did you find this place?’

‘It was my go-to place when Pa first brought me to the island.’

Why the hell did I blurt out something so honest? Some of the light in her gaze fades at my terse response and I hope she’ll gloss over it.

‘When was that?’

No such luck. ‘He discovered I existed when I was sixteen, so around my seventeenth birthday.’

She wants to ask more. I can see the blatant curiosity all over her face. But she surprises me. ‘This would’ve been a perfect hideaway for a teen.’

I nod, characteristically uncomfortable discussing anything regarding my past. ‘I’d bring a book, some snacks, and hang out. I liked the peace.’

After growing up in foster homes where yelling was often the main method of communication, I thought I’d discovered paradise in this cave. I haven’t been back here for a decade and now I regret asking her to meet me here. It means too much and I’m overwhelmed. My throat tightens and there’s a constricted band around my head, squeezing until it aches.

‘What’s wrong?’