CHAPTER SIX
THEYACHTSLOWLYapproached the Green Island dock, skimming through calm, cerulean waters. The ocean breeze blew through Natasha’s hair, but it barely helped. It was hot as hell up in North Queensland, even out on the water in the shade of the boat’s canopy. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and disappeared into her tank top.
The engine cut, leaving only the sounds of water splashing against the sides of the boat and Natasha’s own breaths. How had she never made this trip before? She had been meaning to come to the Great Barrier Reef since she and Alya moved to Australia three years ago, but she had familiar research sites on the Hawaiian reefs, so it was much easier to start experiments there. And Green Island wasn’t cheap, so she couldn’t just pop up here for an extended weekend.
The captain tied up the boat as Natasha tore her eyes from the green-blue waters and gazed at the little island. White sand, palm trees, just big enough to explore, small enough to feel remote, like nothing from the mainland could touch her. Paradise, for sure. It was no wonderTropical Blisswas shooting their new branding campaign here.
The white beach that stretched along the shore of the island was empty of people, but as they pulled in she spotted a colorful row of beached kayaks, a sign that a resort lay somewhere in the tangle of palms. Max had timed their arrival ahead of the first ferry from Cairns. They’d stayed in the ocean-side city after flying from Sydney last night. It was early to be up on a Saturday but it was worth it. The day tourists weren’t here, so the island was quiet, with only the resort staff and the other fashion shoot folks who had flown in. They had made it through the trip without even a hint of Alya’s ex, as expected. Natasha let out a deep breath and glanced at Alya. Her sister leaned over the deck rail next to her, bundled in gauzy swathes of wraps and scarves, topped with a wide-brimmed hat. The only signs of stress were in her hands, fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.
Natasha brushed her fingers over her sister’s. “It’s official. We can relax now.”
“I’m working on it,” Alya said, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Max was right about this place. I can’t see any way we could be caught unawares on this island.”
Natasha said gently, “I’m sorry you have to think about this stuff in such detail.”
Her sister sighed, her shoulders sinking a little. “It’s probably time I stopped worrying so much, but I can’t bring myself to just yet.”
Nick Bancroft was the asshole responsible for that. He’d used his charm, money and power to attain anything he wanted, and at one point that had been her big sister. Nick apparently believed that women didn’t break up with him—that honor he reserved for himself—and his exes certainly didn’t flee in the middle of the night.
That move had earned Alya some very unsettling threats. The restraining order on Nick had been so much harder to get than it should have been, and for a while, Natasha had begun to suspect what Alya believed from the beginning: that Nick Bancroft’s influence kept him above the law. His obsessive and erratic behavior had resulted in their leaving Los Angeles and necessitated a security boost when Alya restarted her career on the other side of the world.
But Blackmore Inc. had influence, too, and in the end, money couldn’t buy everything. Thank God. Now calls and surprise visits to Alya’s workplace were violations of the court order, and even Nick couldn’t talk his way around that. No more claiming that each encounter was a mistake or misunderstanding. Whatever Blackmore Inc. had done since their move to get Nick to back off, it had worked.
Despite the fact that Natasha had left behind her former academic community in California, she didn’t regret moving here with her sister. They’d lived on a few different continents growing up—including Australia once. Home was wherever Alya was. That would never change.
“Blackmore Inc. has been a big help to me in moving past what happened in LA,” said Alya. “And Max is here all weekend.”
Natasha suspected the reassurance was as much for her benefit as for Alya’s. Her sister still felt terrible about getting Natasha caught up in the mess with Nick. But she didn’t mind that Max came along on various trips and events. Not at all.
Natasha took off her sunglasses and looked at her sister. “New rule. No Nick talk on Green Island.”
Alya laughed. “You’re right. New topic.”
Natasha wiped her brow. Damn, she couldn’t wait to get in the water. “Do these cabins have air-conditioning?”
“I hope so.” Alya searched through her handbag and pulled out a brochure.
Her sister skimmed the little booklet while Natasha’s interest wandered up to where Max was helping the captain unload their bags onto the dock. He was working, so she was free to gawk at him while he paid absolutely no attention to her. He was dressed in all black, his biceps stretching at the sleeves of his T-shirt, all muscles and tanned skin, and his thighs were outlined in his jeans. He had worn a blank expression on his face for most of the day, like he was immune to the sweltering heat and the amazing scenery, but as he’d climbed off the boat—giving her a nice view of his ass—he looked a little more relaxed. One step closer to the Max who had kissed her and then watched her strip through her bedroom window.
Most of the time, he exuded the kind of charm that echoed her mother’s high-end world. Even without knowing the details of his background, it was clear Max came from money, both from the ease with which he moved through the functions he attended with Alya and from the implied confidence it took to reject that world. He, unlike most people, would always get a second chance. He had that in common with Nick, though somehow privilege didn’t have the same asshole effects on Max.
But as soon as there was any hint of a threat, she got a glimpse of another side of him. Underneath his easygoing exterior was a man with laser-sharp focus and an iron will. Maybe this was the appeal of the high-end security business...because Lord knew he didn’t need the money. One look at the tabloids—yeah, she occasionally peeked—suggested that Max took nothing seriously, but his résumé was filled with accomplishments that suggested the exact opposite.
Natasha had barely had to cyber-snoop to learn his story. Early years working for his family’s ranching empire, graduating from Princeton with honors, starting position on a professional rugby team, principal at Blackmore Inc., the top security firm in the country—all accomplishments that couldn’t be bought.
She admired hisfuck youattitude toward all the expectations for perfection that she herself had buckled under.
“They have—” Alya looked up from her brochure, and her voice cut off. Natasha snapped her gaze away from Max and looked where her sister was pointing, but not quickly enough. Alya’s mouth curved into a slow smiled.
“Soooo...” Her sister drew out the word suggestively. “Max.”
“What about him?”
Alya wasn’t deterred. Her smile grew as she waited. Okay, so it wasn’t the first time her sister had caught her ogling Max, but like Natasha, Alya had also weathered enough of her mother’s obsessive relationships to not mistake the stormy throes of lust for intimacy. Her mother’s string of husbands had thrown the three Petrova women’s lives into turmoil, moved them all over the globe, only to come to a calamitous end each time when the next budding starlet turned the man’s head. Natasha didn’t have to explain why Max was very bad news.
She sighed. “Max is the cotton candy of men.”
Alya snorted. “Pink and fluffy?”
