I've worked for Michael for six months, and this is the most personal conversation we've ever had. "She sounds like an amazing woman."
"She was." His voice drops slightly. "We lost her five years ago."
"I'm sorry," I say softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his arm.
He shrugs, his armor visibly sliding back into place. "It is what it is. What about you? Any siblings?"
"Just me," I reply. "Only child of two academic parents. They're professors at Cornell."
"That explains a lot."
"What does that mean?" I ask, feigning offense.
His lips curl into that rare, genuine smile that always makes me clench my thighs. "Your vocabulary. Your organization skills.The way you correct my grammar when you think I won't notice."
I laugh, surprised he's caught me doing that. "I thought I was being subtle."
"Not subtle enough."
I clear my throat and set down my empty glass. "I should probably unpack."
"Right." He blinks, the moment breaking. "Dinner at seven? I'll ask the chef to prepare something."
"That sounds perfect." I back away, needing distance to clear my head. "I might take a shower first, wash off the travel fatigue."
As I retreat to my room, I can feel his eyes following me. This is going to be a very long week if I can't get my feelings under control.
My room is beautiful. Airy and light, with its own terrace overlooking the sea. The bed is enormous, dressed in crisp white linens that look impossibly inviting after the long flight. But it's the bathroom that makes me gasp: a huge space with a freestanding tub positioned before a window with ocean views, and a shower enclosure big enough for two.
Not that I should be thinking about that.
I unpack quickly, hanging my clothes in the spacious closet. Looking at my selections now, I question my choices. Did I pack too many sundresses? Are my swimsuits too revealing? I'd selected everything in a rush, trying not to overthink, but now I wonder if I've subconsciously chosen outfits designed to catch Michael's attention.
The shower helps clear my head, the cool water washing away the stickiness of travel. I dress in a simple blue sundress that brings out my eyes, add a touch of makeup, and leave myhair loose around my shoulders instead of in its usual office-appropriate bun.
When I emerge onto the terrace at seven, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in spectacular shades of orange and pink. Michael is already there, leaning against the railing, a fresh drink in his hand. He's changed into linen pants and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms rarely seen in the office where he's always formally dressed.
"You look..." he starts as soon as he notices me, then seems to reconsider his words. "Different. Outside the office."
"Good different or bad different?" I ask before I can stop myself.
His eyes travel over me slowly, deliberately. "Definitely good."
The chef chooses that moment to appear, saving me from having to formulate a response when my brain seems to have short-circuited.
Dinner is served on the terrace—fresh seafood, tropical fruits, and local specialties I've never tried before. The food is delicious, but I'm barely tasting it, too aware of Michael across the table.
Chapter 3 - Michael
I can't stop staring at her. Elena has always been beautiful, but here, with her hair loose around her shoulders and that blue dress making her eyes look like the Caribbean Sea itself, she's breathtaking. The office fluorescents never did her justice. Sunset glow is her natural habitat.
"How's your mahi-mahi?" I ask, desperate for something to say that doesn't involve telling her how badly I want to kiss her right now.
"Delicious." She takes another bite, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. The small sound of pleasure she makes sends heat straight into my cock, "I've never had it prepared like this before."
"The chef mentioned it was a local recipe. Something about lime and coconut marinade." I'm babbling, which is ridiculous.
I don't babble. I give concise, articulate presentations to boardrooms full of intimidating executives without breaking a sweat. Yet here I am, fumbling for words like a teenager.
