That curiosity rises again, but I squash it down. This entire resort is probably crawling with millionaires and billionaires. She’s entitled to her privacy, as I’m entitled to mine.
I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant and follow the bionic bodyguard through the landscaped path. The guy is a walking fortress. I respect that. I also respect the fact he’s barely glanced at me, which means he’s probably profiling me silently, compiling every potential threat vector in that sharp, military-trained brain of his.
Fine by me.
I’ve been profiled by far worse men.
Irish and I walk in silence, side by side, the weight of our want hangs in the air between us, emphasised by every fleeting touch of our fingers as our hands intermittentlybrush. I contemplate taking hers in mine, but this isn’t a fucking romance movie.
It’s sex.
And I’ve got a feeling it might just be the best sex of my life.
The air vibrates with illicit possibilities. My body burns to get her alone. To get her on her back. To get between those long, toned legs.
When we finally reach her suite, her bodyguard unlocks the door and steps in first, sweeping the space with quick, efficient, methodical movements. He clears the place in under a minute. He’s good—quick and calculated. If he didn’t already have a job, I might even have offered him one myself.
He returns to the living area, planting himself between us and the door.
‘You need anything, you text,’ he says to her, ignoring me completely.
She rolls her eyes—fondly, but with a hint of exasperation. ‘I’ll be fine.’
His gaze flicks to me for the first time, staring at me for a long, heavy beat, until she steps between us, breaking the tension with a casualness that looks effortless but clearly isn’t.
‘You can go, Tate.’ Her voice is soft, but there’s no missing the steely command lingering beneath.
He hesitates—the briefest flicker. It’s clearly killing him to leave her with a man he hasn’t vetted, a man he can’t background-check, because she won’t give him so much as a first name. He cares about her. I can see it in every fleeting facial expression.
But what she says, goes.
He gives a curt nod, then silently exits, closing the door behind him.
Finally, I have her where I want her—alone.
Silence settles.
I drink her in—the mysterious beauty in front of me—the promising curves of her cleavage, the slant of her full, inviting lips, the fire blistering in her huge dark pupils.
Huge lust-hued eyes look at me through her lashes. ‘Sorry about that,’ she finally says.
I step closer, slowly, savouring the moment, lowering my face to hers until there’s less than an inch between us. The air tightens. ‘Don’t apologise. A woman like you needs protection—from predatory men.’ I murmur, breathing in the scent of her citrus perfume. My lips tingle with the need to touch hers.
‘Like you?’ she teases.
Oh, she has no idea.
‘Exactly.’
‘Bring it on.’ Her chin tilts up in a silent invitation.
I don’t hesitate. My mouth crashes onto hers, claiming, conquering, and exploring. She tastes of champagne and sin. Her fingers curl around the nape of my neck, yanking me down harder against her, like she can’t get enough of my lips on hers. I reach for her waist, palming her lethal feminine curves. My pulse pounds in my ears as I swallow every single one of her tiny mews of pleasure. She’s so fucking responsive.
We’re making out like a couple of horny teenagers. I can’t remember the last time I made out with anyone like this. I need to get her somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere I can spread her out and savour every single second with her.
My hands skim round to her back, appreciating the smooth, hard globes of her backside. Will she let me fuck it?
I haul her up, lifting her like a rag doll. She wraps her legs around my waist as I break our kiss to carry her further into the suite, placing her on the huge four-poster bed.
