As she sashays away without a look back, I lick my lips and take a deep breath. I remember why I’m on this island in the first place: the case. I was just about to open Kaydence’s email before I got interrupted.
In dire need of fresh air, I exit the building and sit at a table on the beach. A gentle breeze cools the heat forming between my thighs from the salacious memories overtaking my mind. Headphones on, I press Play on my running playlist and open the email. I scan the pages, and my thumb halts on a picture of two women. My eyes dart to the one posing on the left: brunette hair, warm smile, memorable right dimple. Wearing a blazer that compliments her blue irises. There’s a flashy rock on her ring finger.
My eyes grow wide when I read the print below the image. My target. Basil Harper Jones.
CHAPTER 7
CAROLINE
“Excuse me, she’s your what?!”Kaydence’s yelp makes me yank the phone from my ear.
With my back against the wooden bridge railing leading to the villa, I let the endless starry night hovering over the ocean capture my attention while she rants. The warm air and gentle breeze calms my mind, unlike the person on the line currently. I know she’s preparing to fight the idea of me playing house with my target, though admittedly at this point I don’t see another option.
“You've been on Lesbo Island for five minutes and now you have a whole-ass wife? If this isn't Vegas—”
“What am I supposed to do?” I reiterate, keeping my voice low. “Besides, how is this only my fault? We both know I would have had plenty of options for outsourcing if you’d informed me about the policy.”
“Okay.” She exhales. “That was my bad. Sapphire East was sold out, so I went with what was available, but that doesn't translate to you going and marrying your target…Christ, King.” Kaydence angrily whispers, “Make it make sense.”
“Quit comparing this to a drunken night in Vegas. There are no legally binding documents. The bright side is I'd be close enough where she'd expect me around. That way I won’t risk her catching me tailing her. The island's big, but not that big. See? Queer Logic 101. What could go wrong?” A hunch tells me I won’t have issues. Then an image of Basil’s smooth legs and what I'd do between them crosses my mind. I force the thought away.
“What could go wrong?” Kaydence repeats my words, then I hear her signature maniacal laughter. “You're at one of the world’s most romantic honeymoon islands, stuck married to yourtarget—who happens to be a woman you already hooked up with. A million things could go wrong, Miss Captain-Save-A—” Pause. She starts over, calmer this time. “I mean, the most likely outcome is your cover gets blown and she poisons you and throws your goofy ass into the ocean. If she doesn’t, maybe I will.”
I should be upset, but I can’t help but laugh when she gets like this. “Trust me, Jones is hot and harmless—and clueless about the case. Sure, she's grumpier than that drill sergeant who found out you slept with his wife back in the day. And I would be too if I was left at the altar like Jones. ”
“Ex-wife,” she mutters. “And quit changing the subject, King.”
A stretch of silence allows me to think. I know, on top of everything else, Kaydence doesn’t need another person to worry about. A pregnant wife and toddler is enough. Nikita’s IVF journey this round hasn't been as successful as they’d hoped, and Kaydence tends to keep her emotions to herself at risk of not appearing to have her house in order. The last thing I want is to add to her stress. I also know our call won’t end until she feels unwavering confidence in the situation.
“I’m going to do my job, that’s it,” I say matter-of-factly. With every ounce of reassurance I can muster, and a firm tone, I continue, “You know my rules.”
“Close cases, get paid. Don't mix work with pleasure. Yeah, yeah…” A deep chuckle—the white flag I was hoping for—finally descends.
Yes, having slept with a target could put me in a compromising situation, but I’ve had my reputation on the line in the past, and I won’t let that happen again. Lust and love be damned.
“I owe you one for dealing with this client,” Kaydence says. “The money’s great, but she’s something else. I’ve had to review what PI work is and what it isn’t because she asked aboutwiretaps. Jesus. Who does she think we are? FBI? My official mission is to figure out exactlywhothis woman is. Stay tuned.” Rosie’s cries echo in the background. “Until then, mommy time.”
Our call ends, and I wait outside the villa door for my increasing heart rate to steady. Why am I nervous? I’m not the same person I was when I fell in love with a narcissist. And I don’t regret sleeping with Basil in the first place, but I hope she got what she needed that night, because it’s never going to happen again.
Having my own key to the honeymoon villa doesn’t help me digest the fact that she hasn’t left my mind since the rooftop party—or that I’m fake-married to her. Maybe showing up isn’t a wise idea, but I can’t deny my growing intrigue.
Never mind. I just need to finish this case and get back to the States.
Entering the foyer, I drop my bag on the entryway bench. Within seconds, I lock eyes with Basil, who’s sitting in the living area with pen in hand. Papers are spread out on the coffee table. She’s no longer wearing her outfit from earlier; now, it’s a black dress. Heels. Makeup. Her hair is pulled up, but I can tell it isn’t fully dried.
She’s up to something.
And she’s mistaken if she believes I’ll let her outfit distract me. We exchange polite smiles and I sit down in the chair next to her.
“How do you know the owners?” she asks after handing me a tiny bottle of water from the minibar. She takes a sip of hers and swings one leg over the other.
“Lynn Blakeman seems to know you.”
I note her shift in body position but maintain eye contact. “We had a brief conversation this morning at the bar. How do you know them?”
“Business.” Her attention is back on the paperwork. “And apparently, now business with you. Look. I won’t bore you with the details, but I wasn’t aware of the resort’s policy. Apparently, neither were you, and somehow the Blakemans believe you’re my wife, someone that doesn’t exist. Hence the dilemma.”
I can’t resist asking the question that’s been circling my mind since I read the case file. “Were you in a relationship when we—?” I believe I know the answer, but part of me wants to hear her say it, to confirm.
