But I’d taken it off before sitting down so that my legs could soak in the sun.
If I stand, Owen is going to see how little fabric there is.
Eloise wouldn’t care. She’d stand, bend over to pick up the sarong, and make sure she gave him a good view. She wouldn’t even bother putting it back on.
But then she isn’t the sister who steals the last cookie.
We are the same size. You just don’t like to flaunt what you’ve got.Eloise’s voice plays on repeat in my head.
I channel her confidence, swallow the nerves back down, slide my legs over the side of the chair, and stand. I don’t make a fuss of bending over—I can’t fake that type of confidence. Instead, I quickly snatch up the sarong and will my legs not to tremble as I hurry toward the door.
I can feel his eyes on me, watching my hips—that I may be unconsciously swinging a little wider for his benefit. Ugh. I’m supposed to be acting like a brat to annoy him, but the attention is intoxicating, and it’s easy to be confident when I’m channeling someone else.
He curses under his breath.
I bite back a grin.
CHAPTER SIX
CHARLOTTE
Aweathered beachside restaurant comes into view.
Faded pastel paint adorns the rustic exterior, and the weather-worn wooden planks exude a nostalgic charm that calls to my vintage-loving heart. “What is this?”
Owen points to the battered sign gently swaying in the breeze—Seaside Serenade.
It draws me in, just like the villa.
Owen holds the door open, and I take the invitation. The coziness continues inside, with warm lighting casting a soft glow over the small arrangement of tables and chairs and the bar close to the open window. The murmur of waves draws my eyes to the view of the ocean, which is just as breathtaking as at the villa.
“This is gorgeous.”
Owen’s hand touches the small of my back as he leans close to my ear. “I thought you’d like it.”
He’s right, but how? This is the opposite of Eloise’s style.
The question slips from my thoughts as his breath tickles my ear and curls around my neck. The warm rush of air slips between my breasts and tightens my nipples. I press my armstogether to hide the hard points, but that threatens to make me spill over the top because Eloise’s dresses are too damn tight.
And thin—as Owen leads me to our table, I can feel the heat from his fingers on my back as if no fabric separates us.
He pulls out my chair, and my traitorous body thrums with pleasure at the gesture as I sit.
“This reminds me of the villa.”
“Harold and Julia lived in the villa while Harold was the caretaker of the resort. Julia loved to decorate. When Harold retired, they used their savings to open this place. Their son, Louis, runs it now.” His smile softens. “I spent a lot of summers playing on the beach by the villa and drinking root beer floats at that window seat.”
He nods to a seat by the window that overlooks the beach.
“You grew up here?”
He nods. “My father bought the resort when I was a kid, so we’d come here every summer for a few weeks after my mother died. Julia would babysit me while he worked. Even though the villa is small, it was comfortable and felt more like a home than the penthouse apartment I lived in with my father.”
“That’s how I used to feel about my parents’ bed-and-breakfast.” My lips curl upward, genuinely happy to share a sliver of memory with him. “I love how Louis has kept the essence of his parents here and embraced thefamilyof family business.”
I wish my own family-business history was that happy.
“Is that important to you?”
