He laughed, and it was at me. “The way you looked at me, lady, I don’t need to.”
My face flamed and I swallowed hard, looking at the bar. The sound of the ice in the shaker rattled hard, making a few people look over to Tommy.
He wasn’t interested. His concentration was on my drink, pouring the mix through a strainer into a tall glass filled with ice.
“It’s rude to point that out.” I put my head up high.
He shrugged. “Didn’t say I minded you looking, Lady. But I’m surprised.” He topped the glass up with tonic water.
“Why? You must have women falling over themselves to get to you.” He could take a different woman home every night, even without the mixology.
His smile was knowing, as if he had a secret I hadn’t discovered yet. “I’m not like your friends.”
I laughed. “Monty?”
Tommy nodded, sliding the drink a few inches across the bar to me. “The pretty boy.”
“He’s not my type.” He never had been. I’d known him years, from being eleven, maybe, when his parents stayed at our house in Buckinghamshire. He was the boy who first told me and Lala about blow jobs, and we’d thought he was the most disgusting creature we’d ever met.
Tommy didn’t argue or contradict me. “Enjoy your drink, Lady.” He walked away through the door at the back of the bar, leaving me watching his ass.
I didn’t even try to hide it.
Chapter Six
Jameson
“What if there was a shark?”
“There are no sharks in the Med, silly!”
“But there could be. One could get lost. Or extra hungry.” Monty stood behind Lala, his hands on her shoulders, his feet either side of hers.
They were precariously close to the edge of the yacht from where most people would jump off, which is what Lala had spent the last hour doing, jumping and then swimming in the sea, climbing back on board for a cold drink or to warm up.
Monty was yet to get in the water, although he’d pushed Lala in a few times, which had pissed off our captain.
“There are no sharks. The water isn’t deep enough!”
I had no idea if Lala was right or not, and I didn’t care. We’d hired a yacht for the day to cruise round the island, a getaway from the beaches and bars. Three of Livi’s friends had arrived for her yoga retreat, and I knew if I hung around Safir I’d have been dragged into joining in, somehow, so I’d suggested something different.
There were nine of us in total; me and Lala; Monty and his two model friends; Crystal – Monty’s cousin, and two of her friends, and another model who’d landed on the island that morning. Everyone on board was single, which should’ve made for a less dramatic day, and this was Ibiza.
Music pumped out of a sound system that was probably worth as much as the yacht, and the smell of barbecue had just started to filter through. It was mid-afternoon and I’d retreated to the shade with my book, a thriller that I was only half-invested in.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about Tommy since I’d drank mycòctelthe day before. He hadn’t come back out that afternoon, and we’d sat there for hours, until after the sun had set. Lala had wanted to move on to a restaurant, but I’d persuaded her to stay, and we’d ordered food to where we were sitting. I’d kept looking over at the bar, hoping for a sighting, but none came.
He’d gone for the day.
“Lara, who’s the guy who owns the bar we were at yesterday?” I called over to her as she walked away from the side of the yacht, having decided not to throw herself to the sharks.
She wandered over, wearing a red bikini that was probably illegal in fifteen countries. “Tommy Byrne. I asked Carl the other day. He looked familiar and I couldn’t work out why. Why do you want to know?”
“Yeah, Jay, why do you want to know?” Monty sat down at the bottom of my lounger and grinned. I kicked him with my foot, which he grabbed, his thumb pressing into the sole.
“I know him from somewhere.” I wasn’t giving more than that. If Lala thought I liked him, she’d be trying to set me up, and she didn’t understand the concept of subtlety.
She stretched out on a lounger. “I’ll have a foot massage when you’re done with Jay Jay, Mont.”
