He grabbed his phone. A moment later his assistant answered, bright and crisp as ever. “Good morning, Justin—”
“I need some time off,” he cut in. “Soon.”
A pause. “Time off? You don’t take time off.”
“Well, I’m taking some now.”
“Vacation?” she asked, startled.
“Yeah,” he muttered, staring unseeingly at the clouds. “Vacation.”
Another pause. “Where do you want to go?”
“South Africa. Paternoster.”
6
Several days before Christmas, Paternoster, South Africa
Recognition was instant. The aviator glasses and ballcap didn’t fool her. Neither did the scruff covering his jaw. After all, her lips had mapped every inch of that body not so long ago. The memory of his scent and the feel of his skin against hers still haunted her nights.
Their gazes locked across the busy dining patio, and he lifted his chin.
Her brow furrowed. Acknowledgment? Challenge? She couldn’t tell.
The breakfast hostess appeared at his side, drawing his attention, and giving Suzette a moment to untangle the jumble in her head.
What the hellwashe doing here? In Paternoster. Atherhotel.
Lifting the coffee carafe, she wove her way between the tables until she reached the one the hostess had shown him to. It sat tucked between two massive boulders at the edge of the patio, offering an unobstructed sweep of golden sand and turquoisewater. The most private spot in the house. Reserved solidly for the next two weeks by a nearby holiday home.
For him?
He sat there, maddeningly relaxed, chair angled toward the ocean, legs stretched out, chinos rolled to mid-calf, ankles crossed, and slip-on leather shoes that looked both careless and expensive. The faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt clung to a still-fit frame, the short sleeves exposing his sun-bronzed forearms, the spattering of hair doing nothing to conceal the corded strength. Beneath the brim of his cap, a few strands of light brown hair escaped, curling slightly at the edges.
“You can’t be here,” she muttered, flipping the coffee mug upright with more force than necessary.
His smile widened. “Good morning, Suzette. You look particularly gorgeous today.”
“Justin.”
“Suzette.”
She set the coffee carafe down with a thunk and collapsed into a chair. “What. Are you. Doing here?”
“Visiting you.”
Her breath caught. Of course he was. Just strolling into her world as if he hadn’t turned it upside down once already. As if he belonged here — in her hotel, her town — flashing that easy movie-star smile that made rational thought impossible.
She forced her voice steady. “You can’t just … visit me.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Whynot? “Because.”
He tilted his head, amused but kind. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Her pulse kicked up. “Because this isn’t” — she waved a hand, words tangling — “whatever you think it is.”
