“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, his lips curving into the smallest, most devastating smirk. “You’re irreplaceable, remember? I’d never recover from the withdrawal.”
I grin slowly. “Damn right. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to replace me, only to fail spectacularly.”
He leans in until his breath prickles the hairs on my ear. “I’ll try to contain my inevitable heartbreak.”
I lean back in my chair and study him in the torchlight, my stomach flipping. That line he spoke earlier on our deck—“I’m not most men”—echoes in my head. And that’s exactly why every sensible part of me should be screaming to run. Screaming that this man could unravel me in ways I’m not ready for.
But instead of listening to the thoughts, I grab another shrimp skewer and try to ignore the erratic thud of my heart that wants to leap straight into his hands.
Chapter Four
Milo
Hours after dinner,I sit at the far end of the table with a glass of scotch Gregory offered me in hand. The amber liquid catches the firelight every time I tilt it, but I barely taste it anymore.
Every scrap of my attention is fixed on her.
Sienna moves through the crowd in that yellow sundress, the fabric catching the firelight. The straps have slipped off her shoulders, and they ride lower with every animated gesture, every burst of laughter, and every time she tosses her head back.
The dress molds to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist, then flares over her hips as she sways. Her dark curls are loose and wild in the humidity, clinging to the damp skin on her neck and in the hollow of her throat.
She’s talking with Aria, hands flying in that expressive way of hers, head thrown back in a laugh that cuts straight through the music and lands low in my gut.
Taking another slow sip of scotch, I feel the burn slide down my throat and pool in my chest, right beside the place where her laughter keeps echoing.
Look away, Milo. Look at the fire. Look at the ocean. Look at anything except the way that dress clings to her perfectly as she moves.
I don’t look away, and she catches me.
Her eyes flick across the sand, and the corner of her mouth curves into that wicked smile she’s wielded like a weapon since the plane. She lifts her Mojito in a tiny, mocking toast, then turns back to Aria as if nothing happened.
As though she hadn’t just reached across thirty feet of sand and tugged on every frayed thread of my restraint.
My grip tightens on the glass, the ice clicking too loudly in my ears. Her dad leans back in the chair beside me and follows my line of sight with the easy awareness of a man who raised a hurricane and survived to talk about it.
“She’s always been like this,” he says quietly, not looking at me. “Lights up a room, then sets it on fire just to see what burns.”
I exhale through my nose, the sound an almost-laugh. “I’ve noticed.”
He takes a sip of his scotch, his eyes still on his daughter. “She’s already decided you’re interesting…”
“Should I be scared?”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest as he stands and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, you should be petrified.”
He’s walking away before I can respond, and my eyes divert back to Sienna again. Like she knows exactly when I’m looking, she glances over—longer this time. No smile. Just that direct, unblinking stare that feels like fingertips trailing slowly down my sternum.
My hand tightens around the glass before I lift it and drain the rest in a single swallow. The burn is welcome this time, but it does nothing to quiet the low throb in my veins.
Ethan drops into the chair Gregory just left and slides a fresh scotch across the table. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
I take it without looking. “Thanks.”
He follows my gaze. “She’s something, huh?”
“Something is one word for it.”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. “She’s like a human firework—bright, loud, and impossible to ignore. And apparently impossible to look away from.”
