Chapter 7
Livvie’s name flashes up on my screen as I’m getting ready for my dinner date. Well, it’s not a date—it’s dinner with a stranger. A stranger who I can’t wait to have sex with. The fact I don’t even know his real name is half the fun. Before I go out with any man in Dublin, Killian and his team have executed a full background check. Knowing everything about the person you’re dating doesn’t leave much room for interesting conversation.
After the sexy fun in the sea earlier, California made some excuses about an MSN Team’s meeting before demanding I meet him at the Italian at seven—and I mean demanding. The man is intense. Hot as fuck. He radiates an aura that assures me he’s successful, probably even a shark in business.
I’d love to know what he does, but then he’d ask me.
And none of it matters. Not really.
I swipe to answer Livvie’s video call, and her face fills my screen. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ she exclaims. ‘How’s the holiday? Any hot men floating around the pool? Tell me everything so I can puke with jealousy.’ She swings the phone around to show me her desk. She’s at her office.
‘It’s Sunday! Why are you at work?’ I shake my head.
‘I told you, my boss is the devil in a three-piece suit.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I’m trying to get a head start on this case p>
‘It must be ten o’clock; that’s serious dedication.’ I prop the phone up against the marble counter in the bathroom so I can see Livvie and continue getting ready. I reach for my mascara and open it.
‘Never mind that. I didn’t call you to talk about work. I called to escape it! What’s the resort like? Show me the suite p>
I put the mascara down and give Livvie a guided tour, finishing on the terrace. She squeals at the sight of the sun setting over the sea. I bring the phone back to the bathroom to finish getting ready, but whatever way the angle on the camera is, she spots the packet of condoms I’d purposely pulled out of my make-up bag.
‘Zara Beckett!’ She squeals again. ‘Why would you need condoms? You’re on the pill! Are you anticipating some sexy fun? With who? Details, my slutty friend! I need to live vicariously through you p>
I snort, then start filling Livvie in on meeting California twice yesterday. When I get to the part about how he ravaged my vagina with his fingers in the sea this morning, she’s practically screaming.
‘Oh. My. Fucking. God. Zara!’ She punctuates every single word. Her hand clamps over her mouth, but even that doesn’t stop her talking. ‘What’s his name? Who is he? What does he do p>
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’ I lash on a little more mascara and then reach for some bronzer.
‘What? Are you mad?’ Livvie’s expression is so incredulous, it’s almost comical. ‘Have you forgotten about Nearly There Nathan p>
‘No!’ I scowl. Nearly There Nathan was my last boyfriend, if you can even call him that. We dated for a couple of months last year, much to my brothers’ disgust. Every time I was nearly there—he blew his fucking load. Which subsequently meant every time he left my apartment, I had to finish the job myself.
‘Do you know how fucking rare it is to find a man who knows what he’s doing? I mean, it took Dylan half a decade to learn how to get me off,’ she reminds me, rolling her eyes.
‘Yeah, and then you dumped him for your brothers’ best friend,’ I snort.
‘And he didn’t know what a g-spot was either. Do you see the common theme here?’ She gesticulates wildly on the screen in front of me. ‘Whoever your man is—he’s fucking gifted if he can get you off that quickly. I’m just saying, you should get his name and number for your little black book p>
I laugh. ‘I don’t have a little black book. Nor do I have time for one.’ I finger through my make-up bag in search of my favourite lipstick, Pillowtalk. There’ll be none of that nonsense tonight. My core clenches in anticipation.
‘Maybe you should make time.’ Livvie’s eyes flare with mirth.
‘Never going to happen. You’re the only person I have time for—other than my family and my business. And that’s the way I like it. I only see so much of Nico because he works for me.’ I finally locate the lipstick. ‘Besides, I’m not the one at work on a Sunday night. You should take your own advice p>
‘True. The only men I meet are other solicitors or criminals. It’s dire.’ She sighs. ‘I better go. This file isn’t going to read itself. Call me tomorrow with a full report.’ She blows me a kiss. ‘And be careful p>
‘I always am.’ I snatch up the condoms and push them into my purse. ‘Chat tomorrow. Love you p>
‘Love you more.’ She hangs ups, and I pad back through to the bedroom, toss my phone onto the bed and head for the dresses hanging in the suite’s generous sized walk-in wardrobe. I finally got around to unpacking this afternoon. Running my fingers over the silks and chiffons, I eventually settle on a pale gold Loewe strapless silk minidress. It’s dressy, but with the flat sandals it’s not too much. I slip it on and pour myself a glass of champagne from the minibar.
I’ve never done anything like this before.
I’ve never had the freedom to do something like this before.
Tate was as curious and concerned about California as Livvie was, but I warned him not to interfere. I’m safe. There’s no threat on the resort. No one knows who I am. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.
At seven o’clock, Tate knocks on my suite door and escorts me across the resort to the Italian. The maître d’ greets us. ‘Table for two?’ She asks, her hazel eyes darting between us.
‘No, I’m meeting a friend.’ Shit, it dawns on me I can’t even tell her his name. I scan the restaurant until my eyes land on a familiar set of broad shoulders encased in a baby blue, short-sleeved shirt—the same shade as his cool, striking irises.
That blond head turns as if he senses my arrival. His lips lift into a wide smile, revealing years’ worth of expensive orthodontics. Our eyes collide across the room. That invisible, ever-present chemistry powering between us.
His jaw could cut glass.
And his cheekbones? They could give a catwalk model a run for their money.
But the most attractive thing about him?
That quiet, commanding confidence. If I had to guess, I’d put him around thirty, maybe thirty-two. After his performance this morning, there’s no questioning his experience. Even from twenty feet away, he radiates charisma and control. His sheer presence could do with its own postcode.
Tate whispers, ‘Here if you need me,’ before taking his own table. The maître d’ leads me through the restaurant. The décor is yet another study in understated luxury: marble-topped tables, deep green velvet seats, and an entire wall covered in hand-painted ceramic tiles depicting the Amalfi Coast. Golden pendant lights hang low over each table, casting everything in a flattering, irresistible glow. But what’s truly irresistible is the scent of California’s rich cologne as he stands to greet me. That should come with a health warning because the heat flooding through my core could melt my clothes straight from my body.
He brushes his lips over my cheek in a greeting that sets goosebumps sizzling over my spine. ‘Irish,’ he mutters into my ear, and his hot breath fans my neck.
I slip into the seat beside him, and flash him a small smile.
His pupils flit over my face, then drop to take in my dress. ‘You look stunning p>
‘You’re not too shabby yourself.’ Understatement of the year. His top button is open, and I glimpse an inch of the tanned, taut chest I’ve been dreaming about touching all day as I lounged on the beach, pinching myself. My gaze falls to his forearms. They’re thick and strong, and the urge to reach out and touch them consumes me.
‘Drinks?’ The Maître d’ asks.
His eyes snap to mine. ‘Champagne.’ It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
He orders a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé Vintage without blinking. It’s my favourite champagne—bar my families own brand—and it’s also eye-wateringly expensive. Yep—he must do well for himself.
‘That’s exactly what I would have picked.’ I beam at him as the Maître d’ nods her approval, then swivels on her heels towards the bar.
‘I had a feeling we would have similar tastes.’ His innuendo isn’t lost on me as his big bright eyes scan the room before finally finding Tate. ‘I see you brought your bodyguard.’ He picks up the menu from the table. ‘Is he going to watch us fuck as well as eat?’ His casual tone implies he couldn’t care either way. ‘Or is he going to stand outside the door and try to decipher if your screams are ones of pain or pleasure p>
My lip curls upwards. That filthy mouth. It’s fucking fabulous. A bolt of lust strikes between my thighs. I press them together and try to look utterly unaffected by the sordid scenario he’s painting. ‘Confident, aren’t you p>
‘Confident I can make you come ten times a day until next Tuesday?’ He tosses the menu on the table, affording me his full attention, the weight of which is debilitating. ‘Yes, I am p>
Next Tuesday.
He leaves the same day as me.
But where will he fly back to?
I push the thought down as quickly as it popped up. It doesn’t matter where he’s going. Who he is or what he does. What matters is if he’s as good with the rest of his body as he is with his fingers.
A waiter brings over the bottle of champagne balancing in a chrome cooler filled with ice. He pops the cork and pours it into two long-stemmed flutes before leaving me alone with my hot stranger again.
California lifts his glass and taps it against mine. ‘Cheers p>
‘What are we toasting p>
A wicked grin splits his lips apart. ‘To holiday flings, and carnal things p>
Amen to that.