Chapter 5
I wake to the gentle lull of waves breaking beyond the open terrace doors. For a moment, it’s a battle to remember where I am. The bed beneath me is enormous, the mattress so soft, it feels like I’ve slept on a giant fluffy cloud. I can’t remember the last time I felt this rested. Before I started the business, that’s for sure.
The Egyptian cotton sheets are cool and smooth against my skin as the faint scent of coconut and salt drifts through the half-open doors. I blink open my eyes, stretching lazily, limbs heavy and loose. A satisfied sigh slips past my lips. Away from my family, from Ireland, and from the pressure of my business, I feel utterly relaxed.
And yet.
The second my eyelids flutter closed again—I see him.
California.
That tempting grin.
The silent invitation in those impossible blue eyes.
The low, teasing rasp of his voice. “Lose your bionic boyfriend for the night and I’ll show you p>
I groan and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. This is ridiculous. I met the man once. Twice, technically. And yet his face is branded onto the backs of my eyelids like some kind of sunspot. He’s the reason my body is tingling this morning, and every nerve I own is demanding attention.
Not helpful.
I’m supposed to be reeling him in, and yet I’m the one pining like a kid with a crush.
I sit up, shove my hair into a messy knot, and swing my legs out of bed. The ocean view hits me full in the face—a brilliant, endless sweep of turquoise and gold. Maybe a cool dip will distract me from this inappropriate infatuation I seem to have developed since stepping off the jet. Though if last night was anything to go by, I’m not the only one feeling a little hot under the collar.
That deep masculine American accent continues replaying on a loop through my mind like fucking audio porn. ‘There’s always more than one choice, Irish p>
Last night, I wasn’t willing to explore what that other choice entailed.
This morning—my body is brutally berating me for it.
I grab a hot pink bikini from the suitcase I haven’t yet unpacked. It’s simple, sleek and looks understated until it’s actually on, then it hugs all the right places to the point of indecency. I’m not going to lie. I’m hoping to run into a certain hot, flirtatious American by the pool. And then we’ll see what type of choice he offers me.
I tug on the oversized loose linen shirt from yesterday, and my sunglasses, then throw some sunscreen and my Kindle into my Marc Jacobs beach bag. Breakfast can wait.
I fire off a quick text to Tate.
Awake. Heading to the beach. Don’t panic, I’m not running away with any Yanks. Yet.
His reply pings back before I’ve even left the suite.
TATE: Copy that. I’m right behind you. Just finishing breakfast. Don’t forget the sunscreen.
Typical Tate. He’s worse than my mother. Probably because Killian will likely kill him if I go home with so much as a scratch on me, let alone sunburn.
For me or you?; ) See you shortly.
I toss my phone into the beach bag, slip into my sandals and step out into the sun-drenched morning. The air is already balmy, heavy with heat. The scent of hibiscus and happiness wraps around me like a hug as I make my way down the short wooden boardwalk toward the private beach.
As the sand seeps between my toes, I kick off my sandals, letting the warmth soak into the soles of my feet. A row of pristine white loungers stretches out along the shoreline, each shaded by a swaying linen parasol. I pick one at the far end, close enough to hear the gentle lap of waves but far enough from the honeymooners feeding each other fruit like they’re in a Club Med advert.
I drop my bag, shrug off my shirt, and sink onto the lounger with a sigh of utter contentment.
Heaven.
My phone rings from the beach bag beside me. It better be Tate. I told everyone else I categorically did not want to hear from them. I love my brothers. I love my sisters-in-law more probably, but all this wedding talk can wait until I get home.
Unless it’s Layla, of course. I have a super soft spot for Sean’s fiancée, and not just because she used to be a British princess, but because she’s one of the most beautiful souls to bless this earth. And she actually understands what it’s like to be suffocated by family.
I hold my bikini top in place as I arch over the daybed to reach into my bag. The sun is blinding; even with my sunglasses on, it’s impossible to make out the name on the screen. With a reluctant sigh, I swipe to answer it blindly.
‘Hello p>
Chaos ensues as multiple voices compete for my attention.
‘Aunty Zara, where are you?’ My niece, Orla, wails. ‘It’s Sunday lunch, you’re supposed to be here p>
‘Are you wearing sunscreen?’ My mother worries.
‘Are you wearing clothes, more importantly?’ My brother James growls.
‘Oh, leave her alone, she’s on holiday,’ Scarlett, my sister-in-law, scolds her husband.
‘Get the girls out! Tits need a tan too!’ Killian’s fiancée, Avery, whoops, then catches herself. ‘Oh, sorry, Mrs B, you know I was only joking p>
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the intrusion of my peaceful morning.
‘Where’s Tate?’ Killian demands. ‘Are you safe p>
Thankfully Tate chooses this exact moment to arrive. ‘All is well, boss,’ he assures him.
‘Good. Make sure it stays that way,’ Killian commands. ‘Don’t let her out of your sight p>
I roll my eyes. ‘Where’s Rian?’ Out of all my brothers, he’s the one I’m closest to. He’s the closet to me in age and in mindset. He’s not as serious or as bossy as my other brothers. If he was, there’s no way we could live in the same apartment block.
‘He and Rebekka are running late, apparently,’ Scarlett squeals. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work out what delayed them! I’d put money on there being more Beckett babies this year p>
A pang of envy strikes my stomach. Not at the thought of babies. My business is my baby. I have zero maternal instincts. It just seems like everyone is getting laid except me.
I don’t have time for a relationship. I barely have time for myself, let alone another person, but sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone of my own… one day.
‘Are you having fun?’ my mother asks, her voice is etched with concern. ‘You’re not lonely p>
‘I’ve barely been gone twenty-four hours. I haven’t even had time to start reading my new book yet, let alone feel anything remotely like lonely.’ A waiter approaches with a tray of freshly sliced fruit. I help myself to a giant slice of juicy mango. ‘I’ll call you next week. Enjoy dinner. Love you, bye.’ The sound of several screeched goodbyes echo in my ear as I hit the end call button.
‘It must be nice to feel so loved,’ Tate remarks, dropping into the sunlounger next to me.
‘Sometimes. Other times it’s stifling.’ I readjust myself back against the thick, plush cushion and take a bite of the mango. It is mouthwatering. ‘Did your entire family ring you to ask if you were wearing sunscreen? Or if you’re lonely p>
He inclines his head, his thick auburn eyebrows pulling together in a frown. ‘No, but you know I was raised differently to you.’ Tate was raised by his grandparents after his parents died in a freak boating accident when he was six. His grandparents both passed when he was nineteen, which was when he signed up to the military.
A sliver of guilt trickles over my spine. I love my family so much. I know how lucky I am to have them. How lucky I am to be a Beckett. But being a Beckett comes with certain stipulations. Family first. Which is why half of me is hoping the Yank won’t wait six months for my services—that maybe he’ll get someone else in to design his casino.
But then the other half of me?
The part that longs to shine independently?
That part hopes he waits and insists I take the contract personally.
I sigh, mentally scolding myself. I’m on holiday. No thinking about work.
‘I’ll walk the beach, scan the perimeter,’ Tate says, standing and pulling a peak cap from the back pocket of his cargo shorts. He struggles to sit still. ‘Do you need anything p>
I spot a familiar blond head bobbing out in the ocean and my heart skips a beat. California.
‘No, I don’t need anything, thanks.’ Not anything Tate can give me anyway.
Livvie once asked me if I’d ever thought about having sex with Tate. He’s young, strong, good looking, but to me, my bodyguards have always been like an extra brother hovering on my shoulder. Although, as I mentioned, thankfully, Tate isn’t nearly as overbearing.
He saunters off, scanning the sun loungers as he passes, no doubt scrutinising every person and every detail for anything unusual.
Meanwhile, I scan the ocean looking for that blond head bobbing beneath the waves. The image of it bobbing somewhere else infiltrates my mind—again. Fuck. My body vibrates with the same awareness I felt last night when he was near, like every single sleepy cell has been shocked awake with a need that’s impossible to ignore.
I’ve never been affected so viscerally by a man before.
But despite my thundering pulse, once again, I pretend not to notice him as I stalk towards the water’s edge. Instead, I tilt my face up to meet the sun, closing my eyes. The warm, gentle waves crash over my feet invitingly. I wade in until I’m up to my waist, but I don’t swim. Dropping to my back, I float weightless in the water, letting the waves carry my weight. The sun beats down deliciously on my body as I silently will the gorgeous stranger over.
Maybe he’s telepathic, or maybe the bikini is doing the job it’s supposed to, because within minutes, a deep masculine chuckle sounds next to me.
‘Just can’t keep away from me, can you, Irish p>
I haul myself up to a standing position, feigning a look of surprise. ‘Seemingly, it’s you who can’t keep away from me.’ My eyes drift over his broad shoulders; water glistens on the smooth, hard planes of his torso, trickling over the light hair dusting a trail below his taut tummy before disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. The V lines slashing his pelvis are positively pornographic. An irrational urge to run my tongue over them bursts into my brain.
Enough running.
We’ve played long enough.
Flirting is overrated.
I need him to fuck me sooner rather than later—even if it’s just once.
‘I’m not even going to try and deny it,’ he purrs, sidling closer until his thigh brushes mine beneath the water. That same sexual energy sparks like fireworks between us.
I don’t know anything about the man, but I do know that my body longs for his like it’s never longed for another.
‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he demands.
It’s not a request.