Damon returns with breakfast—perfectly poached EggsBenedict for her, and scrambled egg whites plus the protein-heavy green drink I’ve downed on the daily for the past decade for me.
As we move to the dining table under the thatched palapa, she makes fun of my boring, bland meal (she’s not wrong). Then she proceeds to make the most obscene noises of pleasure as she savors each bite of her food. I never understood the idea of food porn. Glamorized aesthetics don’t do it for me, which is probably a waste given how often I’ve been served highly stylized presentations of food in a myriad of exclusive restaurants and clubs. But the sensory experience of listening to Avah’s soft hums and moans of happiness, and watching the delicate column of her throat as she swallows…Christ, I’m going to need an ice bath after this.
The sun is climbing higher now, the heat starting to press down with a weight that promises oppressive humidity by afternoon. Stealing glances at her, I can see the faint freckles across her nose that I’m not usually close enough to notice.
My trip to this resort has been an exercise in frustration. Every attempt I’ve made to “accidentally” run into Joel and Mariel Johnson has been politely shut down by both of them. They have a complete lack of interest in talking to me, which is not something I’m used to. Potential business partners typically fall all over themselves to get my attention, but not these two. I’ve spent four days watching them from a distance and getting exactly nowhere.
Despite my frustration, it’s made me more determined. But now, the only person I actually want to spend time with is Avah.
It should bother me more than it does. I’ve actively avoided Sloane’s friend group for the better part of a year, and Avah in particular. She sees through my bullshit and isn’t afraid to call it out. She’s also fresh out of an abusive relationship and in no position to be anything other than a person who needs help, not whatever this feeling in my chest is every time she looks at me with those sharp blue eyes.
But having her in my villa and being the person she considerssafe enough to relax with after what she’s been through feels more important than anything I’ve done in months, or maybe years.
It should terrify me, but instead makes me want to keep her close, which is objectively insane. I don’t do impulse decisions, and I definitely don’t get protective over women who’ve made it clear they think I’m an obnoxious asshole. But I also built a billion-dollar company by executing plans everyone else said were impossible. Comparatively, keeping one razor-tongued woman out of harm’s way should be easy enough. I wonder if I’ll be so lucky.
5
AVAH
I’m curledup on the cream sofa later that afternoon, staring out toward the pool, when the villa door slams. It’s more controlled than an overly dramatic, throw-it-off-the-hinges rattle, but Jeremy’s back, and he’s not happy about something.
It’s hard for me to register any sort of problem here in paradise when I’m still a little floaty from the masseuse who showed up at the door two hours ago. Her hands could coax knots out of granite, and her soothing voice made me want to confess all variety of secrets. I didn’t, obviously, but I thought about it.
It was difficult to believe Jeremy took the time to set it up for me, but also right in line with this confounding version of the man I thought I had pegged from my limited interactions with him in Skylark.
He rounds the corner into the main living area, his mouth a thin line and his shoulders rucked up to his ears. He gives me a single nod, like we’re strangers in an elevator, and a prickly sensation blooms in my chest. What happened to the man who steadily stood sentry while I gathered my belongings from the bungalow this morning, making lame jokes in an obvious attempt to distract me from what a mess my life had turned into?
“You didn’t need to do that.” My plan had been to thank him, but Jeremy Winslow raises my hackles like no one else, and that’s saying something.
One dark brow lifts. “Do what?”
“Arrange a private massage.” I straighten my shoulders. “I’m not a sequestered charity case here.”
“Did you like it?” He’s standing near the kitchen island, one hand braced against the marble countertop like he needs the anchor.
I want to lie, but the massage was absurdly good, and my body feels fully relaxed for the first time in two years. Longer, maybe. “Kids like cupcakes,” I answer. “Doesn’t mean they need them delivered on a silver platter.”
“There’s nothing wrong with cupcake delivery,” he says, like that settles the matter, and starts to turn away.
“Thank you.” The words come out reluctantly, but they need to be said. “I happen to love cupcakes.”
Okay, I didn’t need to add that last bit.
He pauses mid-step, and I watch the words ripple through him. There’s a visible shift in the set of his spine, and for a second, I think he’s going to join me on the couch. Maybe share what has his briefs in a bunch.
But he just inclines his head toward the outdoor kitchen visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “We have a chef coming to make dinner tonight, unless you’d rather eat at one of the resort restaurants.”
I don’t need to stay hidden with Jon gone, but the idea of leaving this unexpected sanctuary makes my stomach clench. “Here’s good.”
“If you don’t want to eat with me, that’s fine, too.” It sounds like he’s offering me an escape hatch and trying not to care if I jump.
“Since you’re footing the bill, I’ll allow it,” I answer tartly, going for humor but wondering if I just sound like an ungratefulbitch.
He laughs softly and scrubs a hand over his face. Are nerdy tech geniuses supposed to have chiseled jawlines? “A familiar sentiment, although most people just think it. At least you’ve got the balls to say it out loud.”
“Is it possible you’re hanging around the wrong people?”
I regret the question immediately. It’s too personal. The kind of thing you ask someone you actually care about, not your friend’s rigid billionaire brother who happened to find you bleeding on a beach last night.
