Chapter 4
Turn around, Irish.
Turn around and show me you’re aware of my proximity, the way I’m painfully aware of yours.
Turn around and show me you’ve been obsessing about me all afternoon, the same way I’ve been obsessing about you.
No matter how many times I silently will her to glance over her shoulder, she doesn’t. But then again, that would be too easy. I’ve only just met the woman, but easy is unequivocally not a word that I’d use to describe her.
Sassy—yes.
Hotter than hell—yes.
Easy—no way. I could probably climb Everest quicker than she’d let me climb her—which naturally makes trying so much more exciting.
I spent the afternoon hoping she’d return to the pool—preferably without the bionic boyfriend—but no such luck.
Speaking of which, where is he?
Why is she here alone?
If she was mine, I’d be feeding her every aphrodisiac on the menu right now.
I watch as the waiter delivers her dinner, then order the same as her—just to share her experience, even from a distance.
What the fuck has gotten into me?
Thirty-six hours away from the office and I’ve lost my damn mind.
I don’t do obsession. I don’t chase women. They chase me.
It’s a good job I’m a workaholic, because apparently when I’m not working, I’m some sort of psychotic stalker.
By the time my food arrives, she still hasn’t so much as glanced over her shoulder.
I spear the snapper. It’s sublime.
Irish has excellent taste—apart from in men, that is.
I devour my dinner without taking my eyes off her back. If she feels it, she doesn’t so much as flinch. Either she’s completely oblivious to my presence, completely unaffected by it, or an exceptional actress.
If the chemistry at the pool was anything to go by, it’s the latter.
She has a boyfriend.
Leave it alone.
Yet, it’s just not in my nature.
I told you I’m not a good man.
I take what I want.
And if it’s possible, I want her even more tonight than I did today. Even if she’s ignoring me. Especially because she’s ignoring me.
When the waiter finally clears her plate, I watch as she shakes her head, those long curls bouncing as she declines whatever he’s offering—which, for his sake, better be coffee or dessert. If anyone’s going to steal her away from her boyfriend, it’ll be me.
She pushes her chair back slowly with the backs of her long legs. Finally, she turns, and I get a glimpse of her stunning face. The sight hits me like a punch to the chest; the air rushes out in a low whoosh.
My memory didn’t do her justice.
Not even close.
The woman is a God damn knockout.
And however fucktastic she looked in that bikini earlier, the dress she’s wearing tonight clings to every single one of her curves like it was poured on. She’s like a living breathing Grecian goddess. And that lipstick… it’s fucking criminal. Red is supposed to signal stop. Tell that to my dick because he’s ready to go.
Her huge chocolate eyes lock on mine. The same chemistry as earlier pulses between us, tethering us with an invisible thread. She might have a boyfriend, but clearly he’s not giving her what she needs. Not when she’s firing me those fuck-me eyes, silently daring me to challenge her.
She swaggers closer, hips swaying with every slow, deliberate movement. She wields her womanly curves like a weapon, slowing to a stop as she reaches my table. ‘Enjoy your dinner, California,’ she purrs, trailing her index finger over my tablecloth. Another deliberate movement that has me imagining her trailing it over my torso before sneaking it beneath the band of my boxers.
Oh, she’s good.
She knows exactly how to play the game.
But I’m better.
‘You skipped dessert.’ I lift my wineglass to my lips before I can blurt something stupid, namely demanding she join me in my suite for some.
‘Didn’t see anything I fancied.’ She pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
‘Is that right?’ I place my glass down on the table. ‘Perhaps you were looking at the wrong menu p>
‘I wasn’t aware there was more than one choice.’ She arches a single eyebrow in a silent challenge.
‘There’s always more than one choice, Irish.’ I fire her a wink. ‘You just have to know where to look p>
‘And where would that be exactly?’ She flattens her palm on the table, stooping lower to hold my gaze. Heat radiates between us. Desire sparks through my entire body, sharp and demanding.
Does she feel it?
She has to.
It’s burning me up worse than a fever.
I spent all afternoon by the pool. Watched lots of women walk by—not all of them taken. Some of them topless and staring, less than subtle in their intentions. Yet not one of them had the effect on me that she does.
I relax back in my chair with a casualness I don’t necessarily feel. ‘Lose your bionic boyfriend for the night and I’ll show you p>
She throws her head back and lets out that same infectious laughter I heard at the pool. Something strange stirs in my sternum.
‘Bionic boyfriend!’ she gasps, clutching her chest. My eyes drop to the firm swell of her breasts beneath that low-cut, floaty dress. ‘That’s something he’s never been called before.’ Her eyes are literally watering with tears of laughter.
‘Bionic?’ I ask, inclining my head. It’s on the tip of my tongue to insist she sits—share a drink with me, or dessert of any variety—I need to know more about her. But I already know what the answer will be. There might be an insane amount of chemistry crackling between us, but she has a boyfriend. A big, burly fucker at that.
Big as he is, I don’t doubt I could take him, but do I want to have to? I’m supposed to be on holiday.
Still, something about the woman in front of me assures me she’s worth fighting for.
She’s laughing too hard to answer. I take another sip of my drink and wait for her to compose herself. Before she does, a shadow looms beside us.
Speak of the devil.
An irrational burst of irritation surges beneath the surface of my skin.
‘Are you ready to go?’ he asks her in a clipped, formal tone. He doesn’t lay a hand on her. If she were mine, I’d have my hands all over her any chance I got. Even if another man was watching. Especially if another man was watching.
She nods, pressing a hand to her mouth to smother the rest of her sniggers. She eyes me for a long beat. Her full lips part like she’s about to say something, then close again.
My insides feel like they’re folding in on themselves as she twists her torso to face him, turning her back to me. She takes three steps from my table with him at her side. Still, he doesn’t touch her.
I stare, silently willing her to turn for the hundredth time tonight.
Just when I’m about to give up, she spins, eyeing me like I’m an afterthought—something I’m unequivocally unaccustomed to.
A wicked grin lifts her lips. ‘For the record, California, he’s not my boyfriend.’ She places a hand on her hip.
I cock my head in question but don’t dare open my mouth for fear of what might fall out.
She swallows thickly, glancing at the man beside her. He watches her warily. ‘He’s my bodyguard.’ She grins, waggles her fingers in a cheeky wave, then struts out of the restaurant.
Curiosity rises like a tidal wave.
Why does a woman like her need a bodyguard?
And more importantly, how closely is he guarding her body?
Because more than ever, I’m determined to get my hands—and mouth on it.