Chapter 12
No woman has ever walked away from me before. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or irritated. Both perhaps, but admittedly, it’s refreshing to have to work for it. To flirt with a woman who has no idea who I am, no idea of my bank balance, and no idea of the influence I possess.
Refreshing… and fucking frustrating, given it’s been hours since she vanished for that shower and there’s still no sign of her.
I drag my gaze around the hotel bar for the hundredth time. Towering palm fronds arch over polished coral-stone floors. Carefully positioned lanterns cast warm amber light across marble-topped tables. The backlit liquor display throws a soft pink glow over the room from rows of top-shelf rum and imported champagne. This bar is the kind of place where people come to be seen.
Except the only person I’m looking for isn’t here.
I take another slow sip of my drink. Tension lines my shoulders. Disappointment seeps into my blood—not just because I want her in my bed—though I definitely fucking do.
It’s something else.
Something more.
I want to watch the way she smirks when she spouts one of her witty one-liners.
I want to hear that rich, throaty laugh again.
I want to know what’s going on behind those giant dark eyes when she looks at me like she’s deciding whether to take a bite or take her leave.
No names. No strings. Casual sex. That was the deal.
So why the fuck am I sitting here, wondering, obsessing about when she’s coming back?
I scan the space again. The place is emptying out. Couples are drifting back to their suites, with the promise of pleasure etched into their alcohol influenced PDAs.
Just when I’m about to call it a night, I spot the bionic bodyguard. He’s hard to miss given the sheer size of him and the way his auburn hair gleams under the lighting. Not to mention his sunburnt skin. He scans the room, his gaze homing in on me a second before she steps in behind him.
The stupid heart I didn’t know I owned leaps in my chest.
I’m worse than a goddamn teenager with a crush.
A slow smile rips open my lips as her eyes land on mine. That new but already familiar sexual energy throbs through the air between us, so potent it’s fucking intoxicating.
In a white floaty maxi dress that sculpts every single one of her curves before cascading to the floor, Irish looks like a bride. But there’s nothing virginal about the crimson staining her lips, or the sexual intentions in her kohl-lined eyes. She sashays confidently towards me and flashes that half smile I’ve learnt means she’s going to say something funny.
‘I thought it might be past your bedtime.’ She slides onto the bar stool beside me, placing her phone face up on the bar. Her citrus perfume wraps around me, seeping into my lungs.
‘We can sleep when we’re dead.’ I motion for the barman to fetch her a drink. I’ve already paid for another bottle of that Dom Perignon Vintage Rose that she loved; all he has to do is pop the cork.
Her phone buzzes on the bar. I don’t mean to look, but it’s impossible to miss.
James.
Who the fuck is James?
She rolls her eyes. ‘Which won’t be long, if my brother had any idea what we got up to last night.’ She cancels the call, but the phone lights up with his name again instantly.
She frowns, staring at the screen for several seconds. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ She snatches up her mobile and swipes to answer it. I expect her to walk away in order to find a little privacy, but she’s rooted to her seat.
‘Hello p>
I can’t hear James—whoever he is—but whatever he says to Irish sets the colour draining from her tanned complexion. Her lips pop open, and her eyes widen. Slim fingers grip the bar so tightly the tips turn white within seconds.
‘How?’ she asks. The sheer horror that hangs on that one word sets a shiver down my spine.
James says something.
Irish nods, even though he can’t see her, then she says, ‘I’ll put Tate on the phone.’ He’s already by our side with a grim expression etched onto his face.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask, even though it’s clearly not.
Irish snatches up the champagne flute the barman left in front of her while she was on the phone. She drains half the glass before she answers. Her hand is visibly shaking.
‘Someone who wants to hurt my family escaped from prison tonight p>
‘Shit.’ I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, with the bodyguard and everything, I assumed she was some sort of celebrity or model, or influencer, or something—maybe she’s part of an organised crime syndicate. No fucking wonder she doesn’t want to exchange names or questions.
‘I’ll keep her safe.’ Tate promises James beside us. ‘It might be a blessing she’s out of the country p>
He pauses, listening to whatever James says, then says, ‘You have my word.’ He disconnects the call and hands it back to Irish.
However intrigued I was about her before, I’m twice as intrigued now. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. I mean, I’m not part of an organised crime syndicate, but I have connections. In my line of work, there’s no other option. Sometimes problems need to go away, and sometimes, I need help orchestrating that.
‘Should I be worried?’ She turns to Tate.
His gaze drifts to me, then back to her. ‘No. We’re miles away. By the time we get home, this will have all blown over.’ He touches her shoulder. ‘Relax. I’ve got you p>
A sliver of jealousy ripples through me.
What the fuck?
It takes me a long beat to process.
I want to be the one to protect her. I will be the one who protects her. I won’t let her out of my sight for the rest of this holiday.
I don’t even know her name, yet she’s stirring all sorts of primal urges in me.
Tate and her lock eyes for a minute, seemingly exchanging an entire conversation. Then she nods, and he drifts back to the other side of the bar, giving us some privacy.
‘Sorry about that.’ She lifts her glass again. I refilled it because, man, she looked like she needed it.
‘Don’t be. Life can be complicated and ugly at times. I’m just glad you’re here, this side of the world.’ I lift my beer to my lips. ‘With me p>
Her eyes meet mine. I glimpse something in them I’ve never seen before—vulnerability. And it rips my heart right out of my chest. ‘Me too,’ she straightens her spine, attempting to recompose herself. ‘It just came as a shock, you know? We have a rule in our family: two consecutive calls means we have a problem p>
‘You’re close to your family.’ I surmise, drinking in every detail of her flawless face.
‘Yes. They drive me crazy sometimes, but they’re everything to me. We’d kill for each other. Die for each other. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.’ She shrugs. ‘What about you, California? Do you have a family p>
I blow out a breath. ‘Unfortunately, I do.’ We’re not supposed to be getting into the deep and meaningfuls but given what she just told me, it seems only fair I share. ‘My brother, Luke, is a drug addict. He squanders his inheritance on fast cars, loose women and as much coke as he can physically snort up his nose. And my mother, well, she’s about to embark on her third marriage in as many years.’ I lift my glass to my lips.
‘Families, right?’ Irish shakes her head and purses her lips together. ‘What about your father p>
Her question hits me like a punch to the gut.
I wince.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It was my idea to keep things light between us, and here I am asking questions I have no right to know the answers to p>
‘No, it’s fine.’ I wet my lips. ‘My father passed on. Four years ago. Heart attack. One minute he was here, the next he was gone p>
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Sympathy softens her voice. ‘My father suffered a heart attack several years ago too. He was lucky my mother was there. Now she has him on a strict salad and lean protein diet, and makes him walk ten kilometres a day.’ Her affection for her family is written all over her face.
‘Life can be cruel. That’s why we have to make the most of the good days.’ I raise my glass and tip it against hers.
‘Amen to that.’ Her eyes flare as the colour begins to slowly return to her cheeks.
‘Don’t pretend you’re religious now, Irish.’ I tease, determined to lighten the mood. Whatever’s going on with her family, they’re a long way away from here. ‘Not when you let me fuck you six ways to Sunday last night p>
I’m rewarded with a burst of laughter that stirs something in my chest. ‘Keep plying me with the good stuff,’ she raises her glass, ‘and I’m pretty sure tonight will be the same p>
‘Maybe there is a God after all p>