“There,” he says. “Apology accepted. By the jungle.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me, cutting through the disgust. “Direct. Effective. Environmentally questionable.”
He turns back to me, all traces of amusement gone.
“If he comes near you again,” he says quietly, “I’m not stopping at his solar plexus.”
The intensity in his voice does something deeply inconvenient to my knees. “West—”
“I mean it, Jane.” He steps closer, tipping my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Fake relationship or not, you’re under my protection. Got it?”
I should argue. Point out I don’t need protecting.
Instead, I nod.
Because some primal, deeply inconvenient part of me wants to be his to protect.
His gaze sweeps over my face, lingering on my eyes. “You okay?”
I take a steadying breath. Whatever Blake left behind—disgust, anger, that sick churn in my stomach—it finally settles.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just reminded of how little time we have left.”
I meet his gaze and continue, "It's Thursday, West. T-minus two days. We need proof. Ironclad, Barbie-approved, Natalie-will-actually-believe-it proof. Because as we speak, two hundred guests are flying in onto the island, sealing this place into a gilded pressure cooker. We're almost out of runway."
He nods, his expression shifting into that focused, strategic mode I recognize. The hockey captain assessing the ice. "Agreed. We need a play. Fast."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Bachelor and bachelorette parties are tonight. Same venue, apparently. Some 'exclusive' club downtown. Separate rooms,King’s and Queen’s, but shared space for mingling beforehand. Chaos potential: high."
“I heard it’s really just a fancy name for a strip club, is that true?” " I ask, raising an eyebrow.
West shrugs. “Blake’s idea of sophistication. Lots of neon and questionable decisions.”
“I’ve never been toa strip club.”
His eyebrows lift. “Never?”
“Shockingly, ‘Chippendales tickets’ weren’t in the Cooper sisters’ budget.” I keep my tone light.
He studies me for a beat. “Jane—”
“It’s fine. I’m just saying this is new territory for me.” I gesture at the resort, the two-hundred-guest reception, the world where bachelor parties cost more than my rent.
“You planning on enjoying the… entertainment?”
The question is casual. His look isn’t.
Maybe a test.
I cross my arms, leaning against the patio railing. “Might catch a show. Research purposes. Gotta see what the competition offers.”
The words come out teasing. Deflecting even, because suddenly, there’s an unwelcome pang in my chest.
So why does the thought of him with another woman make me want to set something on fire?
"So, an educational experience for you." He says, that dangerous warmth back in his eyes. "I should warn you—Chippendales uses a lot of body oil."
"I've seen your abs," I counter. "I'm prepared."
