Chapter 8
Irish is clearly well educated. She has a particularly articulate way of keeping the conversation going without prying—and without revealing anything personal about herself.
Has she done this before?
The thought pops into my head like a wayward cork.
And why does the prospect make me feel murderous?
‘Did you see the resort’s excursions list? I expected the usual helicopter rides and private catamaran tours, but they’re also offering a bespoke cigar rolling excursion.’ She throws her hands up in the air and shrugs. My eyes fall to her bare shoulders, they’re sun kissed and shimmering beneath the low lighting.
‘Have you done it before?’ I blurt.
‘Cigar rolling?’ She laughs. ‘No. I’m categorically not interested in that. My brother, Ri–’, she catches herself then, and clamps her lips shut.
‘I’m not talking about cigar rolling. I’m talking about picking strange men up on holiday p>
Those big, beautiful brown eyes stare at me for a long beat; a serious expression etches onto her face. Then a bout of low, throaty laughter bursts from her lips. It takes her a full three minutes to compose herself, and even then, her amusement lingers, creasing the corners of her eyes.
‘You picked me up, Mr I Want To Touch You, I Want To Taste You, and I Want To Fuck You. I mean it took several attempts, but your persistence paid off—or it probably will p>
‘There’s no probably about it,’ I growl. ‘I’m going to fuck you so good, I’ll ruin you for anyone who comes after me p>
An animalistic rumble sounds from the back of my throat. The thought of her with another man sets a stupid surge of jealously snaking through my stomach.
What the fuck has gotten into me?
I blame the heat.
I reach for my glass and take a mouthful of champagne while I recompose myself. ‘Cocky, aren’t you?’ She arches a pristinely shaped eyebrow.
‘Confident,’ I assure her with a small smile.
‘Would it matter if I have done this before? Haven’t you ever picked up strange women? Indulged in… carnal things p>
‘I don’t pick women up. Especially not strange ones…I don’t have to. They usually throw themselves at me p>
She snorts and slaps her manicured hand on the table. ‘Yeah, yeah, big guy. I’m the only woman you’ve ever chased. I believe you p>
‘It’s true.’ I catch her foot with mine beneath the table. She’d get it if she had any idea who I am, but funnily enough, she doesn’t want to know. It’s fucking ironic. ‘The second I saw you in the pool yesterday, I wanted you—more than I’ve wanted anyone before p>
‘Flattery will get you everywhere with me, California.’ She slips her foot out of her sandal and traces it up the back of my calf. ‘And for the record, no, I haven’t done this before. I don’t make a habit of going on holiday to pick up men p>
Relief courses through my bloodstream.
She smirks then. ‘But after what happened in the sea today, maybe I should…’ She winks.
‘Careful, Irish.’ I lean over the table ‘Or I’ll punish you with my tongue p>
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Her expression darkens with desire—oh, she likes that idea.
‘Don’t try me. And don’t think your bodyguard will save you. When I get started with you, sweetheart, the entire army won’t be able to intervene p>
‘Promises promises.’ She wets her lips. ‘You talk a good talk; let’s see if you can follow through p>
‘Like this morning, you mean?’ Getting her off in the sea while a beach full of people sunbathed languidly ten metres away was the highlight of my year. It’s a good job I had online meetings to attend or I would have dragged her straight to my suite like a fucking caveman.
A tiny blush colours her cheeks. ‘Let’s order so we can get to dessert p>
‘Great idea.’ I should have booked a private table on the beach, that way, I’d already have this stunning beauty best side up on the table with my tongue buried between her legs.
There’s always tomorrow night.
A waiter arrives to take our order.
‘Can I order for you?’ I ask.
Her lips slant up. ‘Like being in charge, do you?’ Her foot remains locked around my leg.
‘Yes.’ There’s no point denying it. Not when I’m planning on taking complete charge tonight.
She sits back in her chair, sweeping a hand in front of her face. ‘Go on then. Surprise me p>
Oh, I plan to. She folds her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them higher. My dick is straining, desperate to get out. Fuck. Not here, buddy. Not fucking here.
I avert my eyes to the menu. ‘We’ll start with the carpaccio di manzo,’ I tell the waiter. ‘Then the handmade truffle tagliatelle for the lady.’ I pause, letting the moment stretch. ‘And the wagyu osso buco for me p>
‘Good choice,’ she concedes, her tone thick with approval.
‘I have excellent taste.’ My eyes fall to her mouth.
‘Obviously.’ She watches me intently, like she’s trying to figure me out. Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to figure me out my entire life with no luck.
The waiter slips away. She rests her chin on her hand, studying me like she’s committing every inch of my face to memory.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she asks thoughtfully.
I fold my hands on the table. ‘You can ask, that doesn’t mean I’ll answer though. No deep and meaningful conversation was your idea, remember p>
Her breath catches. Just a fraction. But I hear it—her hesitation. ‘Are you married p>
‘No.’ I snort. ‘I’m not a good man, but I’m not an asshole p>
She nods.
‘Why did you ask?’ I murmur.
‘I just find it hard to believe that a woman hasn’t locked you down, given your looks, fingers, skills, and age, which I’m guessing is—’ she pauses, smirking at me again ‘—mid to late thirties p>
‘Ouch! I’m thirty-four, smart-ass.’ I huff out a breath, and she laughs. ‘Several women have tried to lock me down, but not necessarily because of my looks or, what did you call it?’ I muse, ‘Finger skills. Anyway, let’s not go there. Anonymity was your request p>
‘To sex with strangers,’ she says, lifting her glass.
I clink mine gently against hers. ‘To sex with a stranger p>
She laughs again. The sound is throaty, rich, and it curls around me like an utterly addictive smoke.
For the next two hours, we don’t talk about names, families, careers, or anything that would tether us to reality. Instead, we talk about food, travel, the art on the walls, the notes in the champagne.
And fuck, with every minute that passes, I only want her more.
When the waiter brings over dessert menus, she nudges hers aside.
‘I think we know what we’re having,’ she says, eyes lifting to mine, slow and deliberate.
My grip tightens on my glass. Thank fuck.
She hands back the menus with a small shake of her head.
Game on.
‘My place or yours?’ I ask.
She pushes her chair back with her thighs. ‘It’ll have to be mine.’ Her eyes flit to her bodyguard, who’s already making his way for the exit, probably to sweep her suite before she goes back. I’m used to having a security team. I know the drill.
That curiosity rises again, but I squash it down. This entire resort is probably crawling with millionaires and billionaires. She’s entitled to her privacy, as I’m entitled to mine.
I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant and follow the bionic bodyguard through the landscaped path. The guy is a walking fortress. I respect that. I also respect the fact he’s barely glanced at me, which means he’s probably profiling me silently, compiling every potential threat vector in that sharp, military-trained brain of his.
Fine by me.
I’ve been profiled by far worse men.
Irish and I walk in silence, side by side, the weight of our want hangs in the air between us, emphasised by every fleeting touch of our fingers as our hands intermittently brush. I contemplate taking hers in mine, but this isn’t a fucking romance movie.
It’s sex.
And I’ve got a feeling it might just be the best sex of my life.
The air vibrates with illicit possibilities. My body burns to get her alone. To get her on her back. To get between those long, toned legs.
When we finally reach her suite, her bodyguard unlocks the door and steps in first, sweeping the space with quick, efficient, methodical movements. He clears the place in under a minute. He’s good—quick and calculated. If he didn’t already have a job, I might even have offered him one myself.
He returns to the living area, planting himself between us and the door.
‘You need anything, you text,’ he says to her, ignoring me completely.
She rolls her eyes—fondly, but with a hint of exasperation. ‘I’ll be fine p>
His gaze flicks to me for the first time, staring at me for a long, heavy beat, until she steps between us, breaking the tension with a casualness that looks effortless but clearly isn’t.
‘You can go, Tate.’ Her voice is soft, but there’s no missing the steely command lingering beneath.
He hesitates—the briefest flicker. It’s clearly killing him to leave her with a man he hasn’t vetted, a man he can’t background-check, because she won’t give him so much as a first name. He cares about her. I can see it in every fleeting facial expression.
But what she says, goes.
He gives a curt nod, then silently exits, closing the door behind him.
Finally, I have her where I want her—alone.
Silence settles.
I drink her in—the mysterious beauty in front of me—the promising curves of her cleavage, the slant of her full, inviting lips, the fire blistering in her huge dark pupils.
Huge lust-hued eyes look at me through her lashes. ‘Sorry about that,’ she finally says.
I step closer, slowly, savouring the moment, lowering my face to hers until there’s less than an inch between us. The air tightens. ‘Don’t apologise. A woman like you needs protection—from predatory men.’ I murmur, breathing in the scent of her citrus perfume. My lips tingle with the need to touch hers.
‘Like you?’ she teases.
Oh, she has no idea.
‘Exactly p>
‘Bring it on.’ Her chin tilts up in a silent invitation.
I don’t hesitate. My mouth crashes onto hers, claiming, conquering, and exploring. She tastes of champagne and sin. Her fingers curl around the nape of my neck, yanking me down harder against her, like she can’t get enough of my lips on hers. I reach for her waist, palming her lethal feminine curves. My pulse pounds in my ears as I swallow every single one of her tiny mews of pleasure. She’s so fucking responsive.
We’re making out like a couple of horny teenagers. I can’t remember the last time I made out with anyone like this. I need to get her somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere I can spread her out and savour every single second with her.
My hands skim round to her back, appreciating the smooth, hard globes of her backside. Will she let me fuck it?
I haul her up, lifting her like a rag doll. She wraps her legs around my waist as I break our kiss to carry her further into the suite, placing her on the huge four-poster bed.
‘Strip. Now p>