‘He and Rebekka are running late, apparently,’ Scarlett squeals. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work out what delayedthem! I’d put money on there being more Beckett babies this year!’
A pang of envy strikes my stomach. Not at the thought of babies. My business is my baby. I have zero maternal instincts. It just seems like everyone is getting laid except me.
I don’t have time for a relationship. I barely have time for myself, let alone another person, but sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone of my own… one day.
‘Are you having fun?’ my mother asks, her voice is etched with concern. ‘You’re not lonely?’
‘I’ve barely been gone twenty-four hours. I haven’t even had time to start reading my new book yet, let alone feel anything remotely like lonely.’ A waiter approaches with a tray of freshly sliced fruit. I help myself to a giant slice of juicy mango. ‘I’ll call you next week. Enjoy dinner. Love you, bye.’ The sound of several screeched goodbyes echo in my ear as I hit the end call button.
‘It must be nice to feel so loved,’ Tate remarks, dropping into the sunlounger next to me.
‘Sometimes. Other times it’s stifling.’ I readjust myself back against the thick, plush cushion and take a bite of the mango. It is mouthwatering. ‘Did your entire family ring you to ask if you were wearing sunscreen? Or if you’re lonely?’
He inclines his head, his thick auburn eyebrows pulling together in a frown. ‘No, but you know I was raised differently to you.’ Tate was raised by his grandparents after his parents died in a freak boating accident when he was six. His grandparents both passed when he was nineteen, which was when he signed up to the military.
A sliver of guilt trickles over my spine. I love my family so much. I know how lucky I am to have them. How lucky I am to be a Beckett. But being a Beckett comes with certain stipulations. Family first. Which is why half of me is hoping theYank won’t wait six months for my services—that maybe he’ll get someone else in to design his casino.
But then the other half of me?
The part that longs to shine independently?
That part hopes he waits andinsistsI take the contract personally.
I sigh, mentally scolding myself. I’m on holiday. No thinking about work.
‘I’ll walk the beach, scan the perimeter,’ Tate says, standing and pulling a peak cap from the back pocket of his cargo shorts. He struggles to sit still. ‘Do you need anything?’
I spot a familiar blond head bobbing out in the ocean and my heart skips a beat. California.
‘No, I don’t need anything, thanks.’ Not anything Tate can give me anyway.
Livvie once asked me if I’d ever thought about having sex with Tate. He’s young, strong, good looking, but to me, my bodyguards have always been like an extra brother hovering on my shoulder. Although, as I mentioned, thankfully, Tate isn’t nearly as overbearing.
He saunters off, scanning the sun loungers as he passes, no doubt scrutinising every person and every detail for anything unusual.
Meanwhile, I scan the ocean looking for that blond head bobbing beneath the waves. The image of it bobbing somewhere else infiltrates my mind—again. Fuck. My body vibrates with the same awareness I felt last night when he was near, like every single sleepy cell has been shocked awake with a need that’s impossible to ignore.
I’ve never been affected so viscerally by a man before.
But despite my thundering pulse, once again, I pretend not to notice him as I stalk towards the water’s edge. Instead, I tilt my face up to meet the sun, closing my eyes. The warm, gentle waves crash over my feet invitingly. I wade in until I’mup to my waist, but I don’t swim. Dropping to my back, I float weightless in the water, letting the waves carry my weight. The sun beats down deliciously on my body as I silently will the gorgeous stranger over.
Maybe he’s telepathic, or maybe the bikini is doing the job it’s supposed to, because within minutes, a deep masculine chuckle sounds next to me.
‘Just can’t keep away from me, can you, Irish?’
I haul myself up to a standing position, feigning a look of surprise. ‘Seemingly, it’syouwho can’t keep away fromme.’ My eyes drift over his broad shoulders; water glistens on the smooth, hard planes of his torso, trickling over the light hair dusting a trail below his taut tummy before disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. The V lines slashing his pelvis are positively pornographic. An irrational urge to run my tongue over them bursts into my brain.
Enough running.
We’ve played long enough.
Flirting is overrated.
I need him to fuck me sooner rather than later—even if it’s just once.
‘I’m not even going to try and deny it,’ he purrs, sidling closer until his thigh brushes mine beneath the water. That same sexual energy sparks like fireworks between us.
I don’t know anything about the man, but I do know that my body longs for his like it’s never longed for another.
