Still, something about the woman in front of me assures me she’s worth fighting for.
She’s laughing too hard to answer. I take another sip of my drink and wait for her to compose herself. Before she does, a shadow looms beside us.
Speak of the devil.
An irrational burst of irritation surges beneath the surface of my skin.
‘Are you ready to go?’ he asks her in a clipped, formal tone. He doesn’t lay a hand on her. If she were mine, I’d have my hands all over her any chance I got. Even if another man was watching.Especiallyif another man was watching.
She nods, pressing a hand to her mouth to smother the rest of her sniggers. She eyes me for a long beat. Her full lips part like she’s about to say something, then close again.
My insides feel like they’re folding in on themselves as she twists her torso to face him, turning her back to me. She takes three steps from my table with him at her side. Still, he doesn’t touch her.
I stare, silently willing her to turn for the hundredth time tonight.
Just when I’m about to give up, she spins, eyeing me like I’m an afterthought—something I’m unequivocally unaccustomed to.
A wicked grin lifts her lips. ‘For the record, California, he’s not my boyfriend.’ She places a hand on her hip.
I cock my head in question but don’t dare open my mouth for fear of what might fall out.
She swallows thickly, glancing at the man beside her. He watches her warily. ‘He’s my bodyguard.’ She grins, waggles her fingers in a cheeky wave, then struts out of the restaurant.
Curiosity rises like a tidal wave.
Why does a woman like her need a bodyguard?
And more importantly, how closely is he guarding her body?
Because more than ever, I’m determined to get my hands—and mouth on it.
Chapter Five
ZARA
I wake to the gentle lull of waves breaking beyond the open terrace doors. For a moment, it’s a battle to remember where I am. The bed beneath me is enormous, the mattress so soft, it feels like I’ve slept on a giant fluffy cloud. I can’t remember the last time I felt this rested. Before I started the business, that’s for sure.
The Egyptian cotton sheets are cool and smooth against my skin as the faint scent of coconut and salt drifts through the half-open doors. I blink open my eyes, stretching lazily, limbs heavy and loose. A satisfied sigh slips past my lips. Away from my family, from Ireland, and from the pressure of my business, I feel utterly relaxed.
And yet.
The second my eyelids flutter closed again—I see him.
California.
That tempting grin.
The silent invitation in those impossible blue eyes.
The low, teasing rasp of his voice.“Lose your bionic boyfriend for the night and I’ll show you”.
I groan and roll onto my stomach, burying myface in the pillow. This is ridiculous. I met the man once. Twice, technically. And yet his face is branded onto the backs of my eyelids like some kind of sunspot. He’s the reason my body is tingling this morning, and every nerve I own is demanding attention.
Not helpful.
I’m supposed to be reeling him in, and yet I’m the one pining like a kid with a crush.
I sit up, shove my hair into a messy knot, and swing my legs out of bed. The ocean view hits me full in the face—a brilliant, endless sweep of turquoise and gold. Maybe a cool dip will distract me from this inappropriate infatuation I seem to have developed since stepping off the jet. Though if last night was anything to go by, I’m not the only one feeling a little hot under the collar.
