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Last Saturday, I had her against the wall in an alley outside a jazz club. My hands were up her dress, two fingers pumping in her until she came, biting down on my shoulder.

I’d licked her juices off my finger that night. Something had to give.

Which is why I asked her to come with me to Nassau when the meeting with Jean-Pierre, the boss Yomi told me about as a replacement for Vincent, came together.

“The Bahamas,” she repeated when I brought it up. I’d stopped by Luxe before her shift started.

“Three days. I got a meeting Saturday morning, but Friday and Sunday I’m all yours.”

“This your way of tryna top the helicopter?” She leaned against the bar. She had on a Luxe tee she’d cut up to show off her cleavage, and a pair of black pants that looked painted on. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her in the back.

But I was a gentleman.

“Guess you’ll have to come and find out.”

“Separate rooms?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

I wanted her in my room. In my bed. “I want you there.”

We flew out of Teterboro Friday morning. Belle arrived in the car I’d sent for her looking like she was headed to a magazine shoot—a black cotton maxi-dress, oversized Gucci shades, and two suitcases.

“You pack for three days or three weeks?” I asked, watching the plane staff load her bags.

She flipped me off as she climbed the steps of the plane.

I’d chartered the flight on one of my private planes. Belle wasn’t impressed by that alone, but I caught her paying attention to the vintage champagne that the flight attendants served onboard.

We landed in Nassau in the afternoon, where a car was waiting for us. We were staying at a resort I purchased a few years ago with Tariq—an investment property I wanted to add to his portfolio. It was on a private beach with a few luxury villas tucked behind enough vegetation that gave you privacy from your neighbors.

“This is beautiful,” Belle commented as we walked through the lobby. Soca music filtered through the space while an attendant greeted us with a glass of rum punch.

“Welcome back, Mr. Montague.” The concierge smiled and handed over our room keys. We followed the bellman with our bags down a path that opened to the water, the sounds of waves crashing getting louder as we got closer. When the ocean came into full view, Belle stopped with her hands on her hips and took it all in.

I came up behind her, my hands wrapping around her waist. My lips brushed her neck. “This top the first date yet?” I murmured.

“To be determined,” she laughed, slipping out of my hold like she always did when things felt a little too real.

I shook my head and stepped past her to open the door.

As soon as I entered, I knew something was off.

It was smaller than what I booked—one room with a large king-sized bed in the center, facing the glass sliding doors, which opened to the infinity pool on the deck.

“Umm, Dez?” she said from behind me.

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck, already irritated. “Let me figure this out.”

I tipped the bellman and went to the phone that connected to the front desk.

“Mr. Montague,” the man on the other end said.

“There’s been a mix-up with my villa,” I said. “I reserved the two-bedroom villa and for some reason I’m currently in a one-bedroom one.”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” the man said. I heard him typing furiously. “Let me place you on a brief hold.”