But I changed anyway, choosing a simple sundress that was more revealing than I’d normally wear but still modest by most standards. It was one of the items Mari had snuck into my suitcase, and I hated to admit she’d been right about it being perfect for the setting.
When I arrived at the main villa, I found Callan on the expansive patio, mixing drinks at an outdoor bar. He’d changed into linen pants and a loose white shirt, looking like he’d stepped out of a luxury travel advertisement. Or possibly my most inconvenient, distracting daydreams.
“Perfect timing,” he said, glancing up. “I was just making us some island specialties.” He gestured to the colorful concoctions he was preparing. “Don’t worry, they’re stronger than they look.”
“Is that a warning?” I asked, accepting the vibrant blue drink he handed me.
“Yup. Careful with these. They’re like the tropical version of truth serum. Two of these and you’ll be telling me your deepest secrets. Three and you might start removing clothing. Not that I’m keeping track or anything. Here, take another one.”
I shook my head, rejecting the second one. I took a cautious sip. It was absolutely delicious; sweet and fruity on the surface, with a definite kick of rum beneath. “Tasty,” I acknowledged. “And potent.”
“Just like me,” he quipped, clinking his glass against mine with a wide grin.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Part of my charm.”
Rhonda served us dinner at a table overlooking the water, with the sunset painting the sky in spectacular shades of pink and orange. Her paella was indeed amazing.
As we ate, Callan kept our glasses filled with his “island specialties,” which seemed to get stronger with each iteration. By the time we’d finished the main course, I was feeling pleasantly warm and significantly less inhibited than usual.
“This is amazing,” I said, gesturing broadly at the setting. “All of it. The food, the view, the... everything. Even you’re not so bad, for a client who’s probably breaking at least sixteen professional ethics guidelines by bringing me here.”
Callan smiled, seeming pleased by my enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s nice to share this place with someone who appreciates it.”
“So you really haven’t brought anyone else here?” I asked, frowning at my drink when the straw had no more liquid to suck up. “No supermodels? No Hollywood starlets? No tech heiresses? No one else has experienced the full Callan Burkhardt private island experience?”
“Just the guys, once,” he confirmed. “And they spent most of the time seeing who could jump from the highest point into the pool without dying. Not exactly the sophisticated island experience I was going for.”
“And what experience are you going for with me?” The question slipped out before I could censor it.
His gaze met mine, surprisingly serious. “Honestly? I just wanted to see you relax. You’re always so... contained. Even at the wedding expo, even in crisis mode, you maintain this perfectcomposure. I wanted to see what Anica Marcel looks like when she’s not planning someone else’s perfect day.”
“And?” I prompted, caught somewhere between flattered and exposed. “What’s the verdict?”
“The jury’s still out,” he said with a small smile. “But I like what I’m seeing so far. Especially the part where you keep forgetting not to stare at my chest.”
“I do not—” I began, then caught myself looking exactly where he’d claimed. “Okay, fine. You have a nice chest. Congratulations. It’s very... chesty. But in my defense, you’ve been parading around half-naked all day. That’s basically entrapment.”
“Entrapment? So now I’m guilty of forcing you to appreciate my physique? Should I put on a potato sack to protect your professional virtue?”
“The potato industry doesn’t deserve that kind of publicity. Your abs would probably make potato sacks the new fashion trend, and then what would potatoes be stored in? You’d cause a worldwide agricultural crisis.”
He laughed, looking genuinely delighted by my nonsense. “I’ve never had my abs described as a potential threat to global agriculture before. I’m flattered.”
“Well, keep the tropical truth serum coming, and you might see more than you bargained for,” I said, holding out my empty glass.
“Is that a warning?” he asked, echoing my earlier question and refilling my cup with the magical blue liquid.
“Yup,” I replied.
After dinner, we moved to a seating area closer to the beach, where Callan built a small fire in a pit. The night had brought a slight chill to the air, and the fire’s warmth was welcome. Or maybe I just needed something to blame for the heat I felt whenever Callan’s eyes lingered on me.
“Another drink?” he offered, holding up a bottle of something amber.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I said, then immediately contradicted myself by holding out my glass. “But when in Rome...”
“Or when on a private island with no responsibilities and no witnesses,” he added, pouring generously.
