I can’t help but laugh. “She’s got us there, gentlemen.”
Marcus takes our momentary silence as agreement. “Excellent. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your villa.”
The rain has intensified, if that’s even possible. We dash from the lobby to a covered golf cart, huddling together as Marcus drives us along winding paths. The landscape is a blur of green and gray through the downpour, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating towering palms and flowering shrubs.
The Presidential Suite turns out to be a standalone villa perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Under better circumstances, the view would be spectacular. Today, it’s all churning waves and ominous clouds, nature’s fury on full display.
Inside, the villa is obscenely luxurious—open concept living space with soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture in neutral tones. A massive sectional sofa faces both the view and a fireplace that seems unnecessary in the tropical climate but adds to the ambiance. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, and a dining table could comfortably seat twelve.
“Your luggage will be brought shortly,” Marcus informs us. “The kitchen is fully stocked, but room service is available 24 hours. All amenities are complimentary during your stay, given the circumstances. The bedrooms are through that hallway.” He points to the right. “Primary at the end, standard rooms on either side.”
After he leaves, we stand in awkward silence, four people who shouldn’t be sharing space suddenly confronted with forced intimacy.
“Well,” Elle says finally, “I suppose we should settle in.” She moves toward the hallway, then stops. “How are we going to decide rooms?”
“Ladies first,” I say. “You choose.”
She considers for a moment. “I’ll take the bedroom on the left.”
“I’ll take the one on the right,” Adrian says immediately, positioning himself as close to her as possible without being obvious about it. Predictable.
Miles shrugs. “Primary bedroom is fine.”
“And I’ll take this magnificent sofa,” I declare, throwing myself onto it with exaggerated pleasure. “I’ve slept on worse.”
Elle’s lips twitch, almost a smile before she suppresses it. “I assume we can all agree to keep things professional during our unexpected cohabitation.”
“Absolutely,” Adrian says firmly. “This is still a business trip. We’ll maintain appropriate boundaries.”
“Sure,” I agree, unable to resist. “Professional.” I let the word hang there, infusing it with enough suggestion to make Elle’s eyes narrow and Adrian’s jaw tighten.
Elle turns to go explore her room, and something happens. Something subtle but earth-shifting. As she passes me, a current of air from the air conditioning system flows directly toward me, carrying with it the faintest trace of scent. Her blockers are good—industrial strength, as Miles noted—but the combination of recycled plane air, stress, and now tropical humidity has weakened them just enough.
Vanilla. Coconut. Citrus peel. Subtle but unmistakable. Sweet but not cloying. Complex. Intriguing.
My body responds instantly, a primal recognition that bypasses all conscious thought. Heat spreads through my veins, and I have to force myself to remain casually sprawled on the sofa rather than following that scent to its source.
Elle doesn’t notice, already disappearing down the hallway. But Adrian does. His head turns sharply, nostrils flaring slightly. Our eyes lock, and I see the recognition there—he caught it too. His expression darkens into something possessive, territorial.
Miles, interestingly, shows no reaction. Either his senses aren’t as acute, or he’s better at hiding his responses. Hard to tell with him.
A plan forms in my mind, spontaneous but perfect. A game to pass the time during our forced confinement. A way to get under Adrian’s skin while potentially getting closer to the intriguing Elle Park.
When she returns a few minutes later, I make a point of standing close to her as she examines the kitchen, leaning in slightly when I speak.
“Looks like we’re well supplied,” I observe, deliberately using her name. “Don’t you think, Elle?”
The moment her name leaves my lips, I catch it again—that faint, enticing scent. I let my smile widen, knowing Adrian is watching from across the room, his posture rigid.
“The resort seems to have thought of everything,” she replies, maintaining professional distance.
“Almost everything,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. “Though I’m not sure they anticipated the particular chemistry of our little group.”
She looks up at me sharply, assessment in her dark eyes. She’s nobody’s fool, this one. She knows exactly what I’m doing. The question is whether she’ll play along, shut me down, or maybe—most intriguingly—decide to play her own game.
“Mr. Rios,” she says, her voice cool but not cold, “I think we should establish some ground rules for our unexpected cohabitation.”
“I love rules,” I reply, leaning closer still. “Especially the kind made to be broken.”
