Bad Business

I stab at the water with the paddle, the break in rhythm wobbling the board under my feet. The daily check-in phone calls to the nursing home are bound to leave me edgy. Apart from the comfort of my grandmother’s voice, which is increasingly frail, the calls usually reveal sobering news. But I can’t think about that now; there’s work to do.

Perhaps, at thirty-six, I’m bored of the lucrative singles’ resorts business, my constant travelling losing its lustre. Perhaps it’s time to diversify, to buy an airline or something...

Yes—that’s it. I’m off-kilter for a new challenge.

Nothing to do with the lure of home.

I snort, the hairs at my nape prickling to attention. Where is home? I have houses all over the world—million-dollar piles of bricks and mortar, a waste of money for the amount of time I spend in them.

In the shallows, I jump from the board, scoop it up and head on dragging feet towards the hut housing the resort’s water-sports equipment. Not even the excuse of temporarily filling in for the island’s paddleboard instructor, Pita, who’s been called back to the main island for a family emergency, is enough of a distraction. I glance back, drawn to the endless ocean view as if I’ll find solace on the horizon.

Movement catches attention. The doctor. My stare holds fast, eyes burning with curiosity.

Of course I’m interested in the resort’s only solitary guest, her presence, her whole demeanour intriguing. Since she arrived forty-eight hours ago, she’s kept to herself, rarely emerging from her bure before late afternoon and then only to walk along the shore looking wistful, just as she’s doing now. But even wistful she’s striking, stirring something in me, an attraction that makes me forget my troubles and the weird clawing restlessness. Something that makes me wonder what secrets she’s pondering as she walks.

And that inquisitiveness, more than the stirring of a sexual itch, is so rare, so enthralling I hardly recognise the feeling.

I watch her slow meander along the shoreline with growing fascination, my focus honed on her body’s movements and her serene but pensive expression. She’s dressed in the complimentary sarong the resort supplies to each guest on arrival and a vibrant red bikini top, her curves perfectly showcased by the revealing outfit.

No wonder I’m drawn.

The paddleboard grows heavy under my arm, but I can’t move away. Why wasn’t I more curious when I met with my resort manager, Taito, for a rundown of the current guest situation? Because all I was thinking was how quickly I could add my signature singles-only stamp of sexy hedonistic luxury to this idyllic resort and move on to the next acquisition, the next destination, make the next million...

Perhaps my curiosity in the doctor is professional. After all, she’s here to teach my staff first aid. But why? Surely she could have found a working holiday gig somewhere less isolated. Somewhere full of singletons...

A slug of disappointment douses me as if I’ve been plunged into iced water instead of the warm tropical ocean—perhaps she isn’t single.

The itch of attraction turns to discomfort, sliding over my skin like sunburn, which makes no sense. What do I care if she’s attached? I don’t even know her name.

Plenty more fish in the sea...

But I can’t stop wondering if one genuine smile from this enigmatic woman, or perhaps hearing her laugh, would reset my balance. The next chance I get, I’ll introduce myself to the good doctor—time to cast off this irritating fixation. I’m in the singletons business for good reason. I have no interest whatsoever in leaving the bachelor club, where I’m a lifelong member.

I catch sight of a slender leg peeking from the sarong as she walks. My groin tightens, a reminder that I’ve been here a week without any female company.

Hmm, perhaps a one-night stand. That would chase away the gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Help me to refocus on working through the changes to Lailai. I press my lips together, torn.

Yes, she’s hitting all the right attractiveness buttons, but what are her philosophies on casual sex? She’s here alone. At a honeymoon resort. That’s answer enough.

I stride up the beach to the equipment hut, shaking off the moment’s regret like the flick of sand from my feet. Inside I stack the paddleboard in the rack against one wall and stow the paddle. I snag my T-shirt from Pita’s battered deckchair and duck outside to collect the handwritten sign advertising the recreations available on the island, which is propped against a pile of fallen coconuts.

My mouth waters, anticipating the ice-cold beer I know is waiting for me back at my bure, but the idea of returning there alone with this strange weight dragging me down holds no appeal. I clench my jaw, fighting frustration. I’m always alone. It’s never bothered me before. A shower, a bite to eat at the resort’s restaurant and a chat with friendly local, Charlie, the bar manager, will shake me out of my strange mood.

‘Am I too late to book a lesson for tomorrow?’

I turn towards the voice, a slug of satisfaction heating my blood at the sight of the doctor close up. I was right—she’s stunning and I’m doubly intrigued, my thumping pulse proof, even as I groan in my head at the bittersweet timing.

She pushes her sunglasses from her exquisite heart-shaped face onto her head and looks up at me expectantly. For a moment, I free-fall into her eyes; they’re startling, sharp, piercing, as if she instantly sees all the crappy dark places in my fucked-up soul but also open, somehow kind, as if she’s about to offer the cure-all pill.

It must be a doctor thing. Perhaps she looks at everyone that way, figuring how to fix their broken parts...

But unless she can wind back the years and fix my grandmother, I have no need for her professionally.

‘No, not at all,’ I say with a smile that feels too wide. Too self-congratulatory. The lack of a ring on that tell-tale finger gives my libido the all-clear to get ideas.

Snapping out of the hold she’s taken by catching me off guard, I stretch out my hand. ‘My name’s Ryan, by the way.’ I train my eyes from her spectacular body, employing willpower I haven’t used in a long time; she’s that tempting. Rocking body, thick, glossy hair. Intelligent dark brown eyes.

Her handshake is firm and warm and too brief, because, touching her, I’m acutely aware I’m a man who hasn’t had sex in a fortnight wearing only a pair of wet, clinging board shorts.

‘You’re Irish?’ she says, pushing her long mahogany hair back over her shoulders as she gives me the kind of once-over I usually relish from a beautiful woman, because it indicates they’re interested in more than introductions. ‘I am, and you’re English?’

‘Yes.’ She laughs. ‘We’re both a long way from home.’

I was right about her laugh—a delightful sound that swells my chest as if I’m the most hilarious comic in the world. I knew an introduction would recalibrate my mood.

‘That we are.’ Am I actually putting an extra lilt to the accent, trying to impress her with a touch of the charming Irish brogue? What the hell...?

Her smile curls up and she does this thing where she looks from under her lashes as if she’s suppressing amusement—sexy as hell... The ends of her hair brush her freckled shoulders. I have the urge to trace those fascinating blemishes on her soft-looking sun-kissed skin until my head is full of pleasure and nothing else. Not the turmoil in me or the daily dose of worrying news from London.

‘Oh,’ she gasps, stepping closer. ‘You’ve cut your foot.’

I look down to see a thin trail of blood seep from a graze on my ankle. ‘It’s fine—I must have caught it on the coral. It’s razor sharp.’

A small pinch of concern surrounds her beautiful eyes. ‘Would you like me to have a look? I have a first-aid kit in my room—I can go grab it.’

I shake my head, which feels light, spaced out, at her attention. ‘It’s fine.’ I know it’s just a professional thing—doctors are probably never off duty—but warmth spills through my veins, almost too hot to bear.

‘You sure?’ she asks, and I nod, as unsettled now as I am intrigued.

‘If my leg starts to fall off, I’ll find you,’ I say. ‘So, back to this lesson.’

She looks away from my foot to the chalkboard advertising the have-a-go activities available to guests. Now would be a good time to tell her I’m just filling in as instructor and expecting Pita to return tomorrow. But I stay silent. I’m a private person. My resorts often attract negative press—the last thing I need is news I’ve purchased Lailai leaking before the last honeymooners have departed. They won’t take well to discovering their idyllic hideaway will soon be full of people looking for depraved, no-strings fun in paradise... Nor do I want the renovations disrupted by some pap sniffing out a story of Dempsey-style debauchery. The press love to paint me as a notorious commitment-phobic billionaire, a playboy of pleasure who sells sex in tropical locations, slamming my resorts as hook-up clubs. But if the shoe fits... The wealthy and single need somewhere to mingle, just like the honeymooners. So if it’s legal and consensual, anything goes at a Dempsey resort.

Somehow I don’t think the serious doc here would approve, and, beyond her professional credentials and the fact she rocks a bikini like a Greek goddess and rivals the sun in delivering that feel-good factor, I don’t know this woman.

I grab a piece of chalk. ‘A lesson for one?’ I’m fishing. ‘You’re here alone, right?’

She bristles, her smile slipping, eyes dulling with something close to embarrassment even as she lifts her chin. ‘Yes, I am. Is that a problem? Don’t you do lessons for one?’

Whoa... I’ve touched a nerve. I’d better not probe any deeper, despite being more intrigued than ever. ‘Of course we do. One-on-one it is.’ Thoughts of her and I alone, every possible distraction, flash through my head, revisiting the possibility of a one-night stand. ‘My favourite kind of lesson.’

I don’t imagine the way her breathing speeds up or those lush lips part. Dragging my mind from all the ways I’d like to see her excited and breathless, I wipe down the board with the side of my fist, erasing today’s bookings, and look up. ‘What time would you like? I recommend a dawn paddle if you’re an early bird—sun’s up around six-thirty and the sunrise is amazing from the water.’

‘Um...’ She hesitates, the small wrinkle of her nose telling me she’s not a morning person but doesn’t want to say so.

‘Do you have a slot around nine?’ She shrugs. ‘You know... I’m supposed to be on holiday.’

‘Supposed to be...?’ Interesting... I shouldn’t care that she might be struggling to embrace the island vibe. All she needs from me is a lesson in paddleboarding. But is that all she wants...? Could we be on the same page, both looking for a temporary distraction involving those shapely thighs wrapped around my waist or draped over my shoulders...?

I clear my throat. ‘Of course. You probably work pretty crazy hours at the hospital—nine it is.’ I shelve my curiosity at her revealing statement, desperately trying not to picture her asleep, her gorgeous, naked body relaxed...

‘What name shall I write?’ I ask. ‘Will Doc do...?’

She flushes, perhaps embarrassed that she’s forgotten the basics of introductions. Do I make her nervous? I want to make her other things—turned on, greedy, demanding.

‘Grace. Grace Metcalf.’ She swishes her toes through the sand as she looks down, and I’m gifted with another flash of thigh through the opening of her sarong.

‘That’s a beautiful name.’

‘Thanks. I’m trying to outgrow Gracie... That’s what my sister used to call me when we were young...’ She shrugs, all sexy awkwardness that leaves me wondering how often she flirts, because I’m getting mixed signals.

A groan echoes inside my head. Oh, Grace, Grace, Grace... Why do you have to be so exquisite? So tempting? So...unexpected?

‘Have you done it before?’ I write her name on the chalkboard—the laid-back, low-tech booking system on the island, where most things are done on island time—and try not to notice that she’s stepped closer, so close I detect her floral scent and something purely feminine on the warm air.

‘Paddleboarding?’ Her cheeks darken as if we share the same dark delightful thoughts my open-ended question has unleashed.

No, fucked a stranger on a tropical island.

‘Yes.’ I swallow hard, tamping down the fierce surge of heat in my groin. ‘Are you a beginner?’

‘Oh...yes. I...mean no,’ she says. ‘I mean I am a beginner. I haven’t done it before. But I’ve always wanted to try.’

I can’t help my wide grin. She’s enchanting—sexy as sin but a little reticent, flustered. ‘Well, you’re in safe hands, and you’re all booked in for nine a.m.’

Shit, I’m in trouble; I had this week planned out, female-distraction-free, but that was before I met Grace. I could swap one distraction for another...

No... Walk away. Stick to paddleboarding.

But she’s still here, still tracing her toes through the sand, still looking up at me with those intensely penetrating eyes, which seem to be saying things she’s holding back from speaking aloud.

‘Do you want to go grab a drink at the bar? I’ve finished for the day.’ The words are out before I know what I’m doing. Curiosity, even mutual attraction, a bit of banter is one thing, but drinks with a woman who looks as if she’d run a mile from one of my debauched singles resorts and gets tongue-tied talking to a member of the opposite sex is another thing entirely. A crazy thing. A thing destined to end in trouble...

But would she run? So flirting doesn’t come naturally, or she’s rusty. Doesn’t mean she isn’t interested. I know that look on her face—she’s eye-fucking me, such a contrast I’m way beyond my usual levels of fascinated, although I don’t usually work this hard to unearth a woman’s interest.

‘I... Um...’ She bites her full lower lip, her sexy eyes swooping the length of my body. My blood heats; I’m certain I’ve lucked out. She’s going to say yes, drag me back to her bungalow and be exactly what the doctor ordered for my sexual-frustration problems.

The damp fabric of my shorts clings tighter to my eager cock.

A warm gust of wind chooses that moment to blow over the chalkboard, which I failed to jam deep enough into the sand. We reach for it together. Our hands collide, fingers brushing.

She steps back, her colour high as if I’ve touched her all the ways I want to, not simply accidentally brushed her hand. But that one touch is telling. Need is a roar through my head, every instinct driving my body towards hers proof that we’d be good together. But I hold my ground—Grace needs to make up her mind. Embrace the situation. Declare her interest. Take that mental leap I can see holding her back.

I secure the board, pretending I didn’t notice the skittish way she snatched her hand away from mine as if I have cattle prods for fingers. It’s okay if she wants to ignore our mutual attraction. It’s probably for the best even though hunger settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock.

When I look up, she’s no longer relaxed, her posture more rigid, arms clasped across her waist.

‘I should let you finish packing up...’ she says in lieu of a direct no to my invitation of a drink.

I shrug, hiding my disappointment, my imagination rampant to know how her letting go would multiply her potent magnetism.

‘But...thanks for the offer,’ she says, stepping away and putting another slice of beach between us so the earlier hollowness inside me re-expands.

Looks like I’ll never know.

‘No problem.’ But, for the first time in my life, I regret inviting her for a drink, because I’d settle for just her company over spending the rest of the week watching and wondering from a distance. ‘I just figured as we’re the only two sad, lonely people here, we could get to know each other.’

Who am I trying to convince? Her or myself? I don’t normally give a shit about being alone. I’ve been practically alone most of my life. It must be a reaction to the near constant state of worry over Grandma’s health. Every time I pick up my phone, I’m almost too scared to look at the screen in case what I see changes my life in the most definitive and devastating way.

‘I’m fine being here by myself,’ she says, her eyes glowing bright with a hint of challenge that boosts my desire to unearth the secrets of Grace Metcalf. To see the side of her shielded behind the straight back and the stiff shoulders that she only seems to allow out to play when she smiles or laughs.

I hold up my hands in supplication. ‘Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that—there’s nothing wrong with being single. I personally wouldn’t be any other way. But a guy needs to save face after a beautiful woman turns him down.’ I grin, aiming for levity.

She looks away, turning her face to the sea, a frown pinching her forehead. ‘Sorry—I... Perhaps I’ve been too isolated since I arrived. You’re probably better off without my company.’

It’s only what I’ve just told myself, so why does it leave me cold? Why am I pushing, rather than walking away?

She seems to shake herself, new resolve glittering in her extraordinary eyes. ‘I should definitely try out the paddleboarding.’

‘There’s that word again—should. But I agree. You should. There’s no feeling like it.’ With clothes on. ‘So, tomorrow at nine, and if you change your mind about the drink, no strings,’ I add to reassure her I’m not a creep, even though my thoughts are far from friendly. ‘I’m in that bure at the end there.’ I point to the most luxurious of the accommodations jutting out into the lagoon and connected to the sand by a wooden walkway.

Grace raises her eyebrows, impressed. Her mouth opens and then closes again. I can practically hear her mind working—how is a lowly paddleboard instructor staying in the resort’s most exclusive suite and not bunked up with the other staff? But for some reason she doesn’t ask. If I were a gentleman I’d explain, but I clamp my jaw shut. We might be trapped here in paradise, but it seems we’re not going to know each other, even as friends.

‘See you in the morning,’ I say and saunter away. My back muscles twitch with unfathomable tension. My toes scrunch the sand, each step full of resolve, as if, left to their own accord, my feet would turn tail and return to the enigmatic doctor. What the hell is wrong with me and what will it take to feel like myself again?

One last look?

I stop. Turn.

She’s where I left her, staring at my retreat.

Her eyes lock with mine, widen, the only move she makes.

My restlessness returns with a vengeance. I continue towards my bure, pick up the pace. The attraction is irrelevant. Now I know the doc and I aren’t going to be on intimate terms, I can refocus on work as a distraction. It’s never let me down in the past.

But as I round the bungalow and catch sight of the sunset strike the water, regret clings like the salt drying on my skin. These solitary moments are the only downside to a life of determined bachelorhood. My nothing serious rule stops me inviting a date when I travel—wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression. And, in my experience, no matter how openly I declare my stance on relationships, some women refuse to accept they can’t change me, magically turn me into marriage material.

But not the guarded doc. She couldn’t get away quick enough. It’s a small island. The newly-weds aren’t going to be very good company. It makes sense for us to get to know each other...

My dick pulses at that remembered slice of toned thigh, the curve of her breast above the cup of the shocking red bikini, the frangipani flower in that beautiful hair...

Yeah, I want to get to know her, all right.

I head to my bungalow’s private pool area where there’s also a Jacuzzi and an outdoor shower. There’s something magical about being so close to nature, to swimming at dusk, showering outdoors, the water on my back as I watch the last rays of sun kiss the horizon.

I snort; I’ll be quoting Shakespeare next. But already I calculate my investment in this place tripling.

An image of Grace naked in the pool, her hair floating in the water, her nipples breaking the surface, drags my thoughts from work... A frustrated groan breaks free. I need to get laid.

I toss my T-shirt onto a lounger and turn on the shower. I shove my shorts down my legs, kicking the fabric aside and reaching for the body wash.

I squirt out a measure, lather up and perform my washing routine on autopilot, my mind free to wander back to other business. Bad business. Grace.

She certainly eyed me like a woman interested in the contents of my shorts, despite her rejection. I can still feel her stare sliding down the length of my body, the subtle rise and fall of her chest on a tiny sigh, almost of longing, the way her spangled eyes clung to mine. Searching...

As I rinse the sand from my hair, my body energises in anticipation of the morning’s lesson. Hopefully I can coax out that sexy smile of hers, that playfulness hovering behind the reserve and hesitation she seems to use as a shield.

Then I remember she’ll likely be wearing another stunning bikini, those delicious feminine curves on display...

I close my eyes and grip my semi-hard cock, offering it a few lazy tugs. Tomorrow I’ll determine her interest, once and for all. Figure out if her hesitation is shyness, or indifference. A shame, because we could definitely have some fun while we’re both here at Lailai.

My fist grips tighter, my jerks pulling a little harder to uncoil the tension of my inconvenient attraction to my island doctor. I brace my free hand on the tiles above my head and focus on the images behind my eyelids. The evening sun strikes my back and I succumb to the presence of Grace in my head as I climb the slope towards release.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.