Chapter 11
The sun’s slipping low over the resort by the time Tate and I stroll up to the pool bar, laughter spilling between us. That’s the great thing about Tate. He knows when I need company, and he knows when to hang back and let me feel like I’m alone.
This morning, I needed company.
I would have preferred the company of the man who slipped out of my suite at three am, but I think I mentioned before, I don’t chase men—even one who blew my mind and almost broke my body with multiple orgasms.
I also refuse to sit around and wait for that man either.
Which is why I had to get off the resort.
There was no way I was going to spend the day hanging around waiting for California to come and find me like he promised he would before he left my suite last night.
Instead, I hired a private catamaran and forced Tate to explore the hidden coves along the coastline with me. The untouched stretches of sand and turquoise water are like the ones you only ever see in travel magazines. We even saw a pod of dolphins racing the bow, their sleek silver bodies slicing through the waves. And a sea turtle gliding lazily beneath the surface like it owned the entire ocean.
Now that we’re back, the evening air is thick with the scent of food drifting from the beach restaurant below. The sunset’s turning the sea to molten gold on the horizon, and the whole place hums with that lazy, seductive energy that only comes at the tail end of a perfect day.
I’m still damp from our late swim, my hair drying into wild salt-sprayed waves down my back. My skin is tight from the sun and from the sea. Tate carries both our beach bags, muttering something under his breath about “glorified pack mule duties,” as I scan the poolside bar for the perfect seat, before settling on a table near the bar.
I slip onto the highbacked stool, cross my legs, stretch back, and let the last of the sunlight warm my skin. The resort looks like a postcard. It’s hard not to feel relaxed here. Even if I can’t stop scanning the vicinity for a certain hot blond who blew my mind last night.
‘You didn’t need to threaten the captain, Tate,’ I tease, sliding my Chanel sunglasses to the top of my head.
‘He was staring at your ass.’ His tone is incredulous.
‘He was offering me a mojito p>
‘He was offering you his penis p>
I laugh, shaking my head. ‘God, you sound like Killian p>
‘High praise,’ he deadpans, though his lips twitch. ‘I’ll take it p>
I order an Old Fashioned, Tate orders a beer.
‘So no date tonight?’ Tate asks. It’s the first time he’s broached the subject of California all day.
‘Huh, please, last night wasn’t a date. It was a bit of harmless fun.’ Am I trying to convince him, or myself?
‘You had dinner with the man,’ he reminds me. ‘And dessert.’ His eyebrow quirks. ‘Maybe we should ring Killian and ask him if he would class that as a date p>
‘You’d better be joking p>
‘You know I am. He’d murder me for letting a man in your suite p>
He’s not wrong. I’m so grateful that, out of all the Beckett bodyguards, I got Tate.
I clink my glass against his bottle of beer. ‘To the best bodyguard ever p>
‘And to me surviving another day of keeping you out of trouble.’ He shakes his head. ‘Even if I incurred third-degree burns in the process. I’m the bravest ginger around p>
‘You’re the only ginger around,’ I laugh, smiling into my drink.
‘Because the rest of my kind have more sense,’ he jokes, running a hand over his pink tinged face.
Then the air shifts.
A ripple of awareness crawls over my skin, and I feel him before I see him.
My pulse thunders. My skin prickles. Every cell in my body vibrates with that sexual awareness.
California is here.
I don’t need to look. I feel his presence with every fibre of my body.
Tate catches it too. His posture changes. ‘Don’t look now,’ he murmurs, ‘but your friend is back on the radar.’ The word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue like poison.
I flick my hair from my shoulders, straighten my spine, and will myself not to look round.
‘He’s glaring at me like I kicked his puppy.’ Tate snorts, then lifts his beer to his lips, drinking deeply.
I can’t help it. Something about that man pulls me in like a magnet. Against my better judgement, I glance over my shoulder. The sight of him knocks the breath from my lungs. He’s leaning against the bar, beer in hand, those cool, piercing eyes collide with mine and those same sex hormones soar through the air between us like arrows aimed at every erogenous zone I own. The heat in his stare is hotter than the Caribbean sun. My stomach does that stupid flip again.
He pushes off the bar and struts toward us, slowly, deliberately, like a panther assessing its prey. My heart hammers in my chest as he approaches. My eyes drift to the lips that, mere hours ago, roamed over every inch of my skin, and lust lances through my entire body.
He stops beside me, close enough to set a fresh burst of tingles spiralling over my skin. ‘Thought you’d disappeared on me.’ His voice is low, gravelly.
I let out a short laugh and lift my drink. ‘And I thought I’d left my overbearing brothers at home p>
He leans in, close enough for his breath to brush my ear. His voice drops to a husky whisper. ‘Trust me, Irish. There’s nothing brotherly about the things I’ve been waiting to do to you p>
Heat floods my veins. My body betrays me instantly, every nerve singing. ‘You’ll have to wait a little longer.’ I motion to my damp sundress. ‘I need to shower p>
Tate bristles beside me but says nothing.
‘Want some company?’ His lips curve into that lazy, sensual smile.
I put my straw into my mouth and suck without breaking eye contact. I know how to play the game. And if I make things too easy for California, he’ll be using his talents on someone else before his holiday is over.
His gaze fixates on my lips around the straw. I swallow, watching as his eyes darken. Bingo. ‘Maybe later.’ The words flow out cool and calm—in complete contrast to the heat bubbling like molten lava in my blood.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles—pure, charged chemistry. Then, I casually avert my eyes, pretending I’m completely unaffected by him. Pretending that I’m not pressing my thighs tightly together at the mere prospect of having him in between them again.
His deep chuckle reverberates down the column of my spine slowly sliding over each individual vertebrae. ‘If you keep teasing me with that straw, Irish, I might not last until later p>
‘Then I guess you’d better work on your stamina,’ I fire back, arching a brow.
The corner of his mouth curves. ‘Oh, my stamina is fine. I can go all night. You should know p>
I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips. ‘I knew you were cocky p>
‘Confident,’ he reminds me.
I tilt my head, pretending to consider him. ‘Was confidence what made you strut out of my suite before sunrise p>
His grin falters for a beat, then he leans closer, voice dropping. ‘If I’d stayed, we’d have run out of condoms, and I’d have probably impregnated you, and forgive me but the only person I want calling me daddy is you p>
My laugh escapes before I can stop it. ‘You’re insufferable p>
‘Yes,’ he muses. ‘You really seemed to be suffering last night.’ He drops his hand to my bare thigh and strokes fleetingly. ‘Either that or you’re an exceptionally talented actress p>
My core quivers as the memories hit me in high definition. I force them away, finish my drink and push back from the table. ‘You’ll never know.’ I wink. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I really do need that shower p>
He straightens, eyes glinting like the last sliver of sunset on the water. ‘Careful, Irish. You keep walking away from me like that, and one of these days, I will run after you. And God help you when I catch you p>
‘Promises, promises, California.’ I walk away, swaying my hips deliberately as his eyes sear my skin.
‘Treat them mean, keep them keen, right?’ I mutter breezily to Tate, who’s fallen into step beside me, clutching my beach bag under his bicep.
‘Careful with him, Zara,’ he warns, caution hanging on his every word. ‘He has this ruthless glint in his eyes. It’s concerning p>
‘It’s debilitating more like. Man, last night was p>
Tate raises his hand, silently asking me to shut up. ‘I don’t need those kind of details. Call it plausible deniability if your brothers ever found out I aided and abetted your sex scandal p>
‘Ha! It’s not a scandal unless they find out. Besides, it’s not as if they haven’t been involved in their own fair share of scandals. I’m a million miles away from Dublin, having consensual sex with a man who I will never have to see again after we leave. It’s not as if he’s going to sell sordid stories to the press about me. Relax. We’re on holiday. It’s just a bit of fun p>
We cross the resort and reach the door of my suite. It’s open. Weird. Tate frowns and motions for me to stay back as he places a hand on the ever present gun in his pocket. I hold my breath as he enters the suite, then exhale it again when he returns almost immediately.
‘Room service.’ A smartly dressed waiter exits the suite.
‘I didn’t order room service.’ My forehead creases.
‘Perhaps someone ordered it for you p>
I thank the waiter as he passes by, then step inside the Coral Reef Suite. A bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé Vintage sits chilling in a bucket of ice. A tiny note embossed with the hotel’s crest rests on the table beside it.
I warned you one night would never be enough. Meet me in the main bar when you’re ready.
Oh, he is good.
Bossy, demanding, presumptuous.
But yeah, kudos where it’s due. He’s a fucking professional.