Stripped

She’s smart. Her ideas are original and clear-cut. I need her to make the Rochester brand look good. So I’ll have to say the C word, something I hate.

‘I’m willing to compromise.’

The last word sticks in my throat. I don’t do well working alongside other people. With my foster-kid charities around the world I have full autonomy. I work better that way. Not many people know about my involvement in establishing outreach centres in high-risk cities and I prefer to keep it that way. The last thing I need is my face bandied around as part of the Rochester empire and scaring off kids who might see me as a rich prick flinging his cash around rather than a guy who was once like them willing to give them a break.

I don’t need accolades or publicity for what I do for those kids. I don’t expect anything in return.

I help them because it’s a way to pay my dues.

‘You’re willing to compromise? Lucky me.’ She claps her hands, her sarcasm making me want to laugh out loud.

I’ve never met a woman like her. Isn’t she at all intimidated?

‘I could fire you. You know that, right?’

She doesn’t blink. ‘You can but you won’t, because you need me to make you look good.’

Her snooty gaze sweeps me from my head to my torso. ‘And it’s going to be a tough enough job without you vetoing everything.’

I bark out a laugh. I can’t help it. She’s feisty and mouthy and bold, unlike any woman I’ve ever met.

The girls I knew growing up in the foster system were defiant, but I always saw through to the underlying fear. It was like looking in a mirror. Later, when I began to move in Pa’s social circles, the women were deferent yet calculating, impressed by wealth more than anything else.

Daisy is...unique. She’s not scared of me, she’s not embarrassed, and she’s not backing down.

‘I’m glad you find me amusing.’ Her anger has faded, replaced by something more alarming: daring.

I see it in the brash way she meets my gaze, unflinching and questioning. And her mouth has relaxed, the corners curled up like she’s about to smile.

‘I find you many things, but amusing is low on the list.’

Those beguiling flecks in her eyes glow again but with heat this time, not anger. ‘Do tell.’

I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. But I’ve never backed down from anything in my life and I’m not about to start now, no matter that I should.

‘You’re confident. Overly so.’

She remains silent, one eyebrow arched in provocation, and I continue.

‘I also find you surprisingly impertinent for someone who’s technically an employee of mine for the foreseeable future.’

The other eyebrow arches. ‘There’s a difference between being impertinent and articulate. I’m the latter, in case you were wondering.’

‘There you go, being insolent again.’

She rolls her eyes and I stifle another chuckle.

‘And at the risk of going over old ground when we said we wouldn’t, you’re also incredibly attractive.’

‘Hey.’ She waggles her finger at me. ‘You chastised me for looking at your mouth earlier so you can’t say stuff like that.’

‘You asked me to give you a list. I’m doing that.’ I shrug. ‘What’s the big deal?’

She doesn’t buy my guileless smile. Smart girl.

‘I’ll email you what I’ve just presented.’ She closes her laptop, slips it into her portfolio and stands. ‘I recommend you take another look and we reconvene this afternoon.’

I should let her get away with her abrupt reversion to professionalism but where’s the fun in that? Not much amuses me these days and I haven’t laughed in forever. Daisy Adler, with her swiftly changing faces—audacious to prim, teasing to business-like—has managed to get me doing both over the last thirty minutes.

‘Maybe we should make it dusk and take another walk along the beach?’

Those sensational glossed lips compress into a thin line. ‘I’ll see you back here at two.’

With that, she tucks her portfolio under her arm and stalks towards the door, back ramrod straight. Her ass is divine and I remember palming it last night. How it filled my hands. Soft yet firm. Pliable.

As if sensing my thoughts she stops at the door to glance over her shoulder, shooting me a disapproving glare.

I can’t help but grin as she slams the door on her way out.

CHAPTER SIX

Daisy

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.

Hart caved.

Well, technically he’s only agreed to doing a few shots around the resort but it’s a start. I’ll have him agreeing to the rest before he can say ‘I’m a contradictory jerk’. Because he is. The way he stared down his nose at me one minute, then flirted with me the next... I could’ve slapped him.

Instead, I had to play nice. Especially when he said he had the power to fire me. That gave me a fright. But I took a risk. Rather than back down as he would have expected, I goaded him further and it worked. I’d pitched to guys like him in the past: they respected courage so I showed no fear.

Unfortunately, it semi-backfired when he found my boldness a bit of a turn-on, if the way he looked at me was any indication. He switched from moody to intrigued, like he couldn’t figure me out.

Confronting the guy I kissed was bad enough. My quick mental argument between my logical side and my inner vixen when I entered his office went something like this:

Why the hell does Hart Rochester have to be the hottie you kissed? What’s so special about him that he makes you want to shuck your panties? What the hell were you thinking?

Well, I wasn’t. He’s a seriously good kisser and he’s hot and I’m in a man drought so I couldn’t help myself despite having to work with him. Damn, he looks fine. Better than I remembered in the semi-darkness last night. I wonder how unprofessional it would be to lie on his desk and ask him to take me now?

Thankfully I managed to appear calm and coherent during my presentation. But I was ultra aware of him throughout, staring at me with those enigmatic eyes that shield his every thought. Only when he lightened up did I see a glimpse of how he could be if he let go: funny, interested, alive.

The latter had me spooked because when I’d first entered his office and we’d got past the awkwardness of our kiss, I’d seen a man sitting behind a desk who appeared like a robot. Like he was going through the motions. Like he didn’t want to be here.

I’m good at my job but no amount of positive PR will make an ounce of difference if he looks like that in the rebranding material I have planned. Which is why I’m here to ensure he lightens the hell up.

‘How about this for a few casual shots?’ I hand him one of the outfits I asked him to bring down to the cabanas circling the pool.

He stares at the red polo and navy shorts like I’ve given him a chicken suit to wear. I expect him to baulk. Instead, he shrugs and glances around. ‘Where should I change?’

I refrain from rolling my eyes, just. He’s deliberately making this as hard as humanly possible and my patience is wearing thin, considering we’ve been at this for an hour.

I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think. ‘I don’t know, Einstein, maybe in one of the cabanas?’

‘But the material is flimsy, you’ll see everything.’ He ducks his head to murmur in my ear. ‘Or is that your intention, perv?’

I bite back a laugh. ‘Trust me, Sweet-Cheeks, if I wanted to see everything it wouldn’t be out here.’

‘Then where would it be?’

He hasn’t moved, deliberately staying close enough to taunt me, so I respond in kind. ‘Somewhere private, because I don’t like an audience for what I have in mind.’

He makes an odd strangling sound and backs away. Go me.

I deliberately avert my gaze when he enters the nearest cabana. But I’m only human, and insanely attracted to this smart-mouthed guy, so I risk a peek.

Bad move. While I can’t see anything per se, I see enough. The angling of the sun ensures light pours through the cabana’s canvas, casting his shadow against the opposite wall. He has his back to me and I see him slip off his shirt and pants, leaving him silhouetted like a goddamn Adonis. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long, lean legs.

My mouth goes dry as he half turns and I see the rest: an obvious bulge in his jocks. Nice to know I’m not the only one turned on. I continue staring as he steps into the shorts, hikes them up and pulls the polo over his head. I’m hot, flushed from head to foot. Damn island heat. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Thankfully the photographer is busy changing lenses and doesn’t notice my flustered state as I reach for a water bottle from the cooler nearby and roll it across my forehead.

‘Heat getting to you?’

I jump and almost upend the bottle. He’s snuck up behind me, the ratfink. His tone is silky smooth, as if he knows I’ve been perving on him.

I turn and glare at him, annoyed by his smug grin and knowing eyes, and I realise something. If he’d changed in the cabana on the other side of us, the sun wouldn’t have cast him in shadow. Which could only mean one thing.

He wanted me to watch.

Two can play this game and I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be better at it than him.

‘Yeah, it’s incredibly hot here.’ This time I roll the bottle across my upper chest, where the condensation transfers onto my skin.

He’s riveted, staring at my chest like he wants to lick off the water droplets. The thought alone is enough to make my hand shake. I changed into a sundress after our meeting. It’s not particularly low-cut but what skin that is exposed is now moist and he can’t stop staring at it.

‘You’re...’ He drags his gaze off my chest and meets my eyes. His pupils are dilated amid all that gorgeous blue. I’m definitely winning this battle.

‘What?’

I eyeball him, daring him to articulate what’s going on here. Disappointingly, he mutters something unintelligible and turns away, missing my victorious fist pump.

‘I can see your reflection,’ he says, sounding amused rather than annoyed, as I belatedly realise we’re standing near the trendy glass-enclosed poolside bar.

‘Good. Then you’ll know how absolutely pumped I am that this photo shoot is going so well.’

He turns back to me. His pupils have returned to normal and he looks way too controlled. I’ll fix that. I’m not done with payback for that little cabana stunt yet.

‘Where do you want me next?’

I flash him an innocent smile. ‘If you’re after the PG version, I’d like you to strike a casual pose over by the bar.’

He swallows. ‘And if I want the R version?’

I lean closer and his sharp intake of breath indicates he isn’t as controlled as he appears. ‘You’ll have to be a lot nicer to me.’

I will him to say he does want it, that, despite our logical agreement to forget that kiss, he isn’t averse to doing it again and a whole lot more.

I brace for him to fob me off and put an end to our verbal sparring.

‘I thought we agreed not to do this,’ he says, sounding gruff.

‘We’re just flirting. It’s healthy.’

‘The thing is, if you push me too far, it won’t stop there.’

I resist doing a fist pump again. ‘Promises, promises.’

He swipes a hand over his face, like he wants to eradicate my presence altogether. ‘This is a dumb idea.’

‘There are dumber.’ I hold up my hand and start ticking off a list by lowering my fingers. ‘Leg warmers. Crimped hair. Scrunchies. Acid-wash jeans—’

‘As much as I like hearing that you’re an eighties aficionado, can you be serious for one damn second?’

Okay, maybe I’ve pushed him too far because now he looks plain tortured. ‘I don’t like mixing business with pleasure.’

I shrug. ‘Me either. But we’re both adults. I’m pretty sure we can separate what happens out here from what could happen in there.’

I point over his shoulder towards the luxurious villas scattered among the lush tropical gardens. ‘Or do you prefer it on the beach only?’

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, ensuring I’ll have to smooth it before the next batch of photos is taken.

He’s conflicted. I see it in the shadows scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, in the wry twist of his mouth. He wants me but doesn’t want to relinquish control.

So I take pity on him. ‘The photographer’s ready to start shooting again, so why don’t you head to the bar?’

He locks eyes with me and I glimpse something that gives me hope: indecision. ‘This isn’t over.’

‘I’m counting on it.’ I wave him away with a dazzling smile. I hope it hides how damn uncertain I am about this too.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hart

IT’S BEEN TOO long since I got laid. I need to remedy that pronto if all I can think about is taking my PR rep up against the nearest wall.

She’s driving me insane.

I know it’s wrong. It will muddy our working relationship. Then again, she won’t be on the island for long. Four weeks max. Why can’t we indulge this thing between us, and walk away unscathed at the end?

Because I’m a realist and know that the clean break-up after casual sex is a myth. A fucking fairytale.

I’ve never been involved with a woman, even physically, for longer than a week. It doesn’t make me a man-whore. It makes me smart. Women I screw know the score. We’re in it for a short time not a long time. Pure physical release. Fun.

Yet I have a feeling that even if I spell it out for Daisy she’s the kind of girl to get under a guy’s skin. I like the way she doesn’t back down, the way she fires back quips, the way she fills out a dress. Yeah, I’m a shallow, narcissistic prick but I can’t stop thinking about her and I have a feeling I’ll be a mess until I slake my thirst for her.

Kevin bollocked me after the shoot because I hadn’t looked over the next quarter’s projections and bookings are still falling. I wish I could shoulder the blame. I’d happily announce to the hotelier world I’m a nomadic hippy destined to run Pa’s empire into the ground. I’d do anything to stop the muckraking press from besmirching Pa any more than they already have. And that means I’ll take the Rochester hotels back to the top. I’ll show them.

One thing not many people know about me: I never give up. I may not want this role thrust upon me but I’ll be damned if I screw it up and let Pa down—more than I already have over the years. I have a plan: regain consumer confidence in the Rochester brand, install quality management hierarchy, then leave.

I can’t be tied to a desk. It’ll kill me. I’ve tried it before, after Pa invested in me. Back then I worked alongside him for two years after earning my degree, putting on a game face, as if running hotels was what I was born to do.

Pa saw straight through me. He invented a meaningless job for me, ensuring I could travel as much as I wanted but still be semi-attached to the company. I mucked that up, focussing more on the foster kids outreach stuff than my bogus hotel job. It makes me feel even guiltier that I let him down, that the one job he entrusted me with I didn’t do properly. I felt like a fraud; still do.

I’ll never understand how the gruff tycoon welcomed me into his life and gave me what I craved most: a family. He’s been my emotional touchstone for so long—my only one—that since he passed away I’m dead inside.

Until Daisy.

She’s the first person to make me feel anything other than repressed and shut off, even if it is only lust. I’d be a fool not to capitalise on it. She’s joining me shortly, on the pretext of scouting more locations for her bloody photo shoots to make the hotel brand more likeable in some media blitz. She’s insistent I need to be seen as part of the new brand to instil confidence in consumers and restore faith.

What a crock of shit. She’s wasting her time. I have one of those faces that tends to scare off everyone. But I need this campaign to work if I want to escape the desk and return to what I like doing best: helping kids like me. Wary, resentful, terrified kids abandoned to foster systems around the world. They need me even if they don’t know it, like I needed someone way back when.

Pa was my saviour, but at sixteen I’d already seen too much and endured too much, way more than any child should. Some people say I have a god complex. I don’t. I’m not narcissistic enough to think I can control everything around me, but when it comes to those kids I’ll do my damnedest to make sure they have a better life than I did for the first sixteen years of mine.

I hear humming and something akin to lightness makes the tension in my chest ease. Daisy definitely has a thing for the eighties because as she nears the caves she breaks into a Rolling Stones classic, off-tune yet endearing.

I smile. It feels foreign because I don’t do it a lot. Yeah, a sizzling sexual encounter with this bold, quirky woman is just what I need to take the edge off and get me refocussed on the job at hand.

She pauses at the entrance, shielding her eyes to peer into the gloom.

‘Over here.’ I wave, knowing the exact moment she sees me, because her face lights up. It shouldn’t. I’m no good for her. Not in the way a girl like her expects. But I wouldn’t have asked her to meet me here if I didn’t have more than work on my mind and I’m done lying to myself.

I want Daisy.

‘You’re not going to leave me here at high tide, hoping I’ll wash out to sea?’ She steps into the cave and lowers her hand, her head swivelling as she turns a full three-sixty. ‘Wow, this is spectacular.’

‘I thought you might like it. For the shoot,’ I add, hating how clipped I sound, like I’d rather be doing anything other than this. I’m not a people person, never have been, and it irks that I’m so fucking horny for this woman I sound gruffer than usual. ‘In another few hours when the sun sets the light in here is fantastic.’

‘It’s like something out of a fairytale.’ She stops spinning and her eyes are wide and bright. Fuck. I’m not the knight in shining armour someone like her deserves. I should get the fuck out of here now. But my cock has other ideas. ‘How did you find this place?’

‘It was my go-to place when Pa first brought me to the island.’

Why the hell did I blurt out something so honest? Some of the light in her gaze fades at my terse response and I hope she’ll gloss over it.

‘When was that?’

No such luck. ‘He discovered I existed when I was sixteen, so around my seventeenth birthday.’

She wants to ask more. I can see the blatant curiosity all over her face. But she surprises me. ‘This would’ve been a perfect hideaway for a teen.’

I nod, characteristically uncomfortable discussing anything regarding my past. ‘I’d bring a book, some snacks, and hang out. I liked the peace.’

After growing up in foster homes where yelling was often the main method of communication, I thought I’d discovered paradise in this cave. I haven’t been back here for a decade and now I regret asking her to meet me here. It means too much and I’m overwhelmed. My throat tightens and there’s a constricted band around my head, squeezing until it aches.

‘What’s wrong?’

Damn, so much for my famed poker face. ‘Let’s go scout a few more locations.’

If she registers my sudden panic she doesn’t show it. But she does something far more frightening. She crosses the distance between us to stand in front of me, close enough I can smell the resort’s signature exotic fruity body wash, a heady blend of strawberries, lime and coconut. I want to gobble her up.

‘At the risk of sounding crazy, I’m all about the ambience of places. How a house feels, whether it’s good or bad, that kind of thing. And this cave feels incredible, so I’d like to hang out for a bit.’

‘You’re right, you’re crazy.’

I don’t want to stay. Not with her standing too close and staring at me like she can see all the way down to my soul.

‘So I’ve been told.’

I hear a hint of vulnerability in her voice and it slays me. I don’t want to ask. I shouldn’t. But I find my stupid damn mouth not working in sync with my head.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘Not really,’ she says, but her expression says different, like she’s swallowed a lemon.

‘Guy troubles?’

Belatedly, I remember what she blurted when we were both uncomfortable during our first meeting in my office, something about ending an engagement and not dating much since. I’m an idiot for asking something so personal when all I want to do is escape this place right now.

‘Something like that.’ She sighs and it makes me want to cuddle her. ‘I was engaged to a jerk. Typical good-on-paper guy who’s very different once you have to live with him.’

‘Good on paper?’

She gives a wry chuckle devoid of amusement. ‘The type of guy every woman would love to be with. Financially stable, owns his own house, charming, confident, good-looking.’

‘Like me, you mean?’

‘You’re far from charming.’ She looks at me, but she’s not really seeing me. She’s caught up in memories of some dickhead who hurt her.

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