ABOUT THE VIP PACKAGE

When my fiancé forgets to show up for our wedding

I show up at the one place on earth I can’t go.

No, literally, I can’t—it’s forbidden to be here right now.

How was I supposed to know the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club closed for a holiday?

No naughty massages or sexy group play like my blissed-out best friend had here.

Just a grumpy gazillionaire who’s pissed that I’ve crashed his closed sex club.

I came here seeking a no-strings revenge fling with an older stranger.

Billionaire resort owner Ashton Holyfield will do nicely.

He’s sexy and snarky and absolutely won’t connect carnal pleasure with feelings.

Perfect.

At least until we wind up trapped together in this tropical paradise.

We’re forced to spend sensuous days on his luxury yacht, 

and steamy hot nights indulging my wildest desires.

There are worse things, I’m sure.

Like falling in love with this tortured bosshole, for one.

Another is learning the reason he’s punished himself for so long.

One-click this grumpy/sunshine age-gap erotic romance with a woman who falls for the billionaire boss while trapped at his luxury resort built to fulfill her hottest fantasies. This story includes scorching FFF and MFMM scenes.

THE VIP PACKAGE

THE JILTED BRIDES HONEYMOON CLUB

BOOK TWO

TAWNA FENSKE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2025 Tawna Fenske

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

www.tawnafenske.com

Cover by Sweet ’N Spicy Designs

Edited by David Michael at Encompass Press LLC

ALSO IN THE JILTED BRIDES HONEYMOON CLUB COLLLECTION

Their fantasy weddings went down in flames. Now, they’re chasing fierier fantasies. Would-be brides who missed their big day find sensuous satisfaction at an exclusive, luxury resort designed to quench their steamiest desires.

The Upgrade (Eve and Kit)

The VIP Package (Camille and Ashton)

The All-Inclusive (Sara and Trent)

And if you can’t get enough scorching-hot erotic romance, you might also enjoy my Sugar & Spice series:

Eye Candy (Lyla and Aidan)

Tough Cookie (Skye and Devon)

Honey Do (Nina and Josh)

A NOTE TO MY AWESOME READERS

Hello, lovely!

If you’re looking for one of my fluffy rom-coms that’s heavy on heart and light on heat, you may want to stop here. No hard feelings!

While most of my hefty book catalogue consists of romantic comedy with the occasional comedic suspense romance tossed in, I also write scorching hot erotic romance.

That’s what you’re holding right now.

The Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club series features big, gooey gobs of no-holds-barred explicit sex. We’re talking menage and other group sexytimes, plus plenty of kinky fuckery as my characters explore their sexuality.

If that’s not your jam, no worries! But if it is, I hope you enjoy this sensuous escape to the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. I’ll save you a sun bed on this glorious white sand beach.

Love and piña coladas, Tawna

CHAPTER 1

CAMILLE

“He should be here any minute.”

I glance at my watch, then turn from the full-length mirror in the bathroom of the Multnomah County Courthouse. Facing my two dearest friends, I give them a shaky smile. “How do I look?”

Tears fill Sara’s pretty brown eyes. “Beautiful.”

“Gorgeous.” Eve steps forward and touches my boob.

Wait. Not my boob.

“You’ve got a button undone.” She fastens the white starburst at my breastbone. “Whoops, there goes another.”

“Goddammit.” I glare at the runaway buttons, annoyed with myself for not having this altered. “I might’ve picked wrong.”

Eve frowns. “The dress?”

I did mean the dress, but now that she says it, that’s not the only thing feeling a little bit off. “Is it a bad sign Hayden’s late for our wedding?”

“I don’t think so.” Sara hands me the tiny seed pearl veil she helped me pick at a Portland boutique yesterday. “I’m sure he’s just tied up in court.”

That’s the reason we’re doing this here, today. Hayden’s filing ex parte motions with two different judges; one at ten, one at two-thirty. It’s efficient to squeeze in our simple, no-fuss ceremony between them.

Eve slips a safety pin from her purse. “Want to try this for the buttons?”

“No, thank you.” With my luck, I’d stab my own tit right as I utter I do. “I just want to get this fucking thing over with.”

“That’s the spirit.” Sara props her butt on the edge of a not-very-clean sink. “Nothing says passionate romance like getting it over with.”

A toilet flushes and a sleek-ponytailed attorney in a tailored gray suit strides out of a stall. She picks up her briefcase and nods as she passes. “Congratulations,” she says. “Steer clear of the third courtroom on the left. Convicted felon with a bride fetish.”

“Uh, thanks.” I watch as she walks out the door, then turn to my friends with a grimace. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

The fact that neither one argues should clue me in. I already know I made an impulsive choice.

No. Not impulsive.

I’ve dated Hayden Marx since grad school. He was a young, up-and-coming attorney as I was finishing my post-doc training in marriage and family therapy. We got along well and cycled through typical milestones of moving in together and building careers. Getting hitched was never a priority.

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” I straighten my gold and pearl choker. “Hayden and I have been through a lot. We share a house, a car, and a Netflix account.” It sounds like I’m making a case I don’t totally buy. “It was time to shit or get off the pot.”

“Beautifully put.” Eve looks at her watch and winces.

Sara bites her lip. “Why don’t we go see if Trent or Kit has heard from Hayden?”

“Good idea. Kit’s in the cafeteria.” Eve glances at me. “I can check in with him and grab us some snacks.”

“That’s okay.” For once in my life, I’m not really hungry. “But feel free to grab yourself something and see if he’s heard from Hayden.”

“Trent’s in the garden.” Sara offers a halfhearted smile. “Probably checking for terrorist activity, but I’ll go see if he’s spotted him.”

“Good plan.” I like the idea of sending out a search party. Perhaps my friends’ partners can track down my groom. “He shuts off his phone when he’s talking with judges. Maybe ex parte ran long.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” Sara gives me a hug, then slips out of the bathroom with Eve on her heels.

At the door, Eve pauses. “Text if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”

“Will do.”

As soon as they’re gone, I take a few moments to gather myself. This isn’t the first time Hayden’s been late. If I had ten bucks for each time he’s arrived on time for a date, I’d have…ten bucks?

Roughly.

It’s not that he doesn’t care about me. It’s that he cares for his career a whole lot. Which is fine! It’s great. We clicked in the first place because I admired his ambition; his drive to be the best.

It’s the same trait he loved in me.

I remember the year he made partner. It was the same year I launched my own practice and appeared regularly on Brooke Braham’s podcast. Yes, the Brooke Braham. We’ve been colleagues and friends since grad school, and you’re damn right I cashed in some professional capital to take my own practice to the next level. Brooke urged me to do it. She supported my goals every step of the way.

Which makes me feel guilty she’s not here today. Most of my family and friends couldn’t make it. This wedding came together so fast. Less than a week between Hayden’s heartfelt, “we should take advantage of this marital tax loophole,” and me admitting that I did kinda sorta maybe harbor a few teensy-weensy schoolgirl fantasies of being loved, honored, and cherished forever.

So what if we’ve only had six days between, “I can squeeze it in at lunch Thursday,” and me standing here wearing an organic cotton Windsor dress with waifish eyelet lace and ladder trim that itches a little?

And fucking buttons that won’t quit popping open.

“Dammit.” I shove two of them back through their holes, poking my boob with a fingernail. “Ouch.”

Snatching my phone off the paper towel holder, I scan for new texts. Just one from my sister, Courtney, asking if she should bring the flowers to the bathroom or if I’m coming out.

That’s it. I’m calling Hayden. After six unanswered texts, it’s time to be worried.

My betrothed picks up on the second ring. “Camille, hey.” Cutlery clangs in the background, maybe a glass being set on a table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Uh, where are you?”

“Portland City Grill. John tipped me off they got fresh scallops this morning from⁠—”

“You’re at lunch.” The bottom drops out of my stomach. “Scallops.”

“Want me to order you some?” There’s some muffled chatter as he calls for a waiter. “They were almost out when I got here, but you know they always save extra for VIP guests. If I order now, they can box them up for you to have tonight while I’m working late on the Clauson case.”

I command myself to take a calming breath. To think before speaking. What would I tell a client to say in my shoes?

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Not that.

“Babe?” He’s chewing something, probably the focaccia I love. “You okay?”

“We’re supposed to be getting married.” I’m trying hard not to shout. “Noon at the Multnomah County Courthouse, remember?”

“Oh shit. Oh, honey, I’m—” He takes a second to swallow whatever he’s eating. “Was that today?”

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

Fuck my life.

Calm, Camille. Stay calm.

We can still save this. “How soon can you get here? Maybe Judge Wallace can shift things around. His next trial isn’t until one-fifteen, right?”

“I doubt I could make it, even if I walked fast.” Swear to God, I hear him take another bite. “Besides, scallops don’t reheat well. It’s silly to let them go to waste.”

That’s the moment I know I’m not getting married.

The moment I know my relationship is done.

Screw the shared mortgage.

Screw the Netflix account.

Screw thinking Hayden Marx is meant to be my husband.

“You’re right, Hayden.” I sound eerily calm, which might be another bad sign. “This wedding was a bad idea.” If I say this next part out loud, it’s done for. “So is our relationship.”

“Hold on, just give me a sec.” He mumbles to someone in the background. “Camille? I have to go. One of the junior attorneys has a question about⁠—”

“Enjoy your scallops, Hayden. Enjoy your life.”

I hang up before he can protest. To be honest, I’m not sure he would.

A strange mist of calm settles over me. I’d probably tell a patient it’s shock. What I tell myself instead is that our honeymoon’s booked through the same company Eve used for hers.

The one with a trade-in system for brides whose weddings get cancelled. A sex club that caters to scorned women’s desires.

Calm as can be, I scroll to the icon for the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. It’s a private island near the Caribbean that’s devoted entirely to female pleasure. Eve went a few months ago and regaled me with tales of “consorts” fulfilling guests’ wildest fantasies. From bondage to threesomes to pirate roleplay, you name it, it’s probably on the menu.

No joke, there’s a menu.

It’s not terribly hard to switch my reservation. There’s some kind of glitch that’s showing my dates as greyed out, but no matter. The system allows me to book a deluxe room. I’ll make calls from the airport, maybe fill out these forms on the plane. Good thing I just had all my bloodwork done for the wedding. Two clicks later, I’ve uploaded a copy of my squeaky-clean STI test results.

In another five minutes, I’ve swapped out two honeymoon flights for one last-minute ticket to the island closest to Crystal Bliss Retreat. Did Eve say there’s shopping on site? I’ll buy a few summer dresses there, maybe some sunblock.

There’s makeup and shampoo in my gym bag, maybe a swimsuit from when Sara and I went paddleboarding. Hopefully some extra panties, or maybe I won’t need them where I’m going.

By the time I climb into an Uber, I have a fully formed plan. There’s just one thing left, and I feel like a jerk for handling it this way.

I pull up the group text called “Strumpets.” My chest squeezes tight as I skim my last messages with Sara and Eve. They’re all about details for the wedding that won’t happen, but I push aside any sad feelings. There’s no time for that now. I fire off a text that makes it all real.

Change of plans. Hayden stood me up for the last time, so I’m headed to Crystal Bliss. Count me in as an official member of the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.

“Hello?”

I’m clutching my lopsided gym bag as I stroll through the empty-ass lobby. My voice bounces off a big marble welcome desk gleaming beneath a crystal chandelier. Bell carts stand polished and empty, but there’s nobody manning the concierge desk adorned with three orchids in pots.

This is weird.

“Anyone here?”

My voice echoes in the cavernous space. A two-story waterfall splashes cheerfully into a pond filled with colorful koi. Pots of lush ferns line one wall and floor-to-ceiling windows frame a view of the pools and the sprawling, white-sand beach beyond that.

An empty white sand beach.

“Where is everyone?”

I can’t imagine they’d close a whole freakin’ resort. This place employs five dozen consorts, plus bartenders, aestheticians, chefs, and personal trainers. My research psychologist brother did a study here several months back, so I know what goes into running this place.

Which means they couldn’t just shut it down.

“Did I miss some zombie apocalypse?” I follow the signs to the spa, which appears to be right off the lobby. My sensible wedding sandals tap cool terracotta tiles as I make my way down a dimly-lit hall. The flowy cotton dress billows behind me as I pass a big fan by the elevators. Not for the first time, I’m grateful I picked such casual wedding attire. To the undiscerning eye, it’s just a regular white sundress to wear on vacation.

Now I just need the vacation.

Rounding a corner, I move past another big waterfall with a pond. This one’s lined with smooth river rock and delicate plants sporting pink-spotted leaves. A stocky green parrot sits perched on a branch with no cage in sight. It has a bright yellow beak with a pink throat and neck, and its curious eyes track my path down the hall.

“Hi,” I manage, just being polite.

“Hello!”

“Aren’t you pretty?” I continue past.

The bird tilts its head and squawks. “Cunnilingus.”

“No, thank you.”

There’s a thump from a room to my left. A sign on the wall says the spa’s to the right and the laundry facilities are straight down the hall.

Another loud clang suggests someone’s behind the closed door on my left. I pivot and reach for the handle.

“Hello?” I push it open, dragging my gym bag with me. “Anyone here?”

It’s some sort of boiler room. Big metal tanks huddle against dark concrete walls. Pipes snake the ceiling, forming a path that leads God knows where. I’m probably not meant to be here but screw it. They’re the ones who left the lobby unattended.

“Hello?”

Heavy footsteps thunder from somewhere down a long hall before there’s a crash and some heavier stomping.

Then a door flies open and in strides a man in blue Armani. He’s impeccably groomed, with a gray silk tie and sleek silver sideburns at his temples. Onyx and platinum cufflinks gleam at both wrists and the shoes on his feet are a high-polished crocodile leather. He’s incredibly handsome with that older-guy swagger I so often see in a zaddy.

Icy blue eyes lock with mine, then narrow in fury.

“Who the fuck are you?”

CHAPTER 2

ASHTON

Istare down the willowy redhead wearing a wispy white dress and the baffled expression of someone who expected Geoffrey the Butler and got Godzilla instead.

Or maybe Norman Bates.

She’s not answering my question, so I try again with more professional grace.

“Pardon me, that came out wrong.” I fix one of my cufflinks that’s turned sideways and watch her eyes dart to my sleeve. “Who the fuck are you, ma’am?”

She straightens to her full height of five-foot-nothing and I watch her jaw clench. “Real fucking polite,” she claps back. “If this is how you treat all your guests, it’s no wonder this place is deserted.”

Now she’s just pissing me off. “A guest,” I snarl, “would have a resort reservation. I can assure you, madam, that you do not.”

That steals some of the stiffness from her spine, but she puts it right back and tips up her chin. “I can assure you that your website malfunctioned when I attempted a last-minute booking. But the system showed unoccupied rooms, which I was able to book with a two p.m. arrival.” With a glance at her watch, she holds a pale wrist aloft in triumph. “It’s two-oh-two.”

She must be lying. Either that or there’s a glitch with the website. Someone on the tech team is getting fired. “Be that as it may, you do not have a reservation for the resort.”

“Are we seriously quibbling over a technicality?” The woman huffs. “I can show you my credit from Holyfield Properties, my room reservation, screenshots of my desired reservation dates, proof of vacation insurance, and the stupid zillion-page questionnaire with tick-marks beside all of my kinks and most passionate desires.”

She sounds passionate, all right. But it’s the rip-your-dick off brand, so I absolutely, positively shouldn’t ask to view the forms that detail her most intimate fantasies. That’s none of my business. Also, irrelevant.

“Let me see it.”

I expect her to hand me her phone, but she digs in her bag and yanks out a thick sheaf of papers. “The airport had a business center.” She thrusts the forms at me and I have no choice but to take them. “I’ve learned to always make printed copies.”

“I see.” I most definitely should not look at this.

But should nots are my personal weakness, so I let my eyes drop to the paperwork. The redhead’s creative, I’ll give her that. She’s ticked boxes for activities like skinny-dipping and nude sunbathing. She’s apparently open to group sex, plus some exhibitionist play. There’s a tick-mark for age gap, which isn’t the most common selection for guests. Our system defines it as a minimum gap of ten years, and I ponder who’s on the schedule this week.

Then I punch myself in the dick—mentally, of course—because this woman’s not staying here. Goddammit.

I thrust back the paperwork like she’s used it to blow her nose. She stares at my outstretched hand, refusing to take it.

The hell with her.

“While this is all very interesting,” I begin, setting her forms on top of a tankless water heater, “I can promise you that you do not have a reservation. Not for this specific Holyfield Properties resort on the dates you indicate.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m Ashton Holyfield.” I watch for the wide-eyed jolt of surprise. For the awe that always accompanies this announcement. The news that I’m one of the world’s wealthiest men.

“How fortunate for you Ashton Holyfield,” snaps the redhead. “Did kids at school call you Ash Hole?”

I blink. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.” One edge of her mouth ticks up. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

“Airplane.” I wasn’t expecting a movie quote, so I’m more than a little thrown off.

And she clearly wasn’t expecting me to know it. Her hazel eyes blink in surprise. “You’ve watched Airplane?”

“Everyone’s watched that film. It’s a cultural staple.” We’re getting off track here. “Madam, I regret to inform you there is no possible way we’re equipped to handle your nonexistent reservation this week at Crystal Bliss Retreat. The resort is closed for the holiday.”

This time, she flinches. “What holiday?”

“World Baking Day.”

Her eyes drag my body, slowly. “And why are you not off sliding your baguette in an oven?”

I decide to overlook her salacious suggestion, though not all of me wants to ignore it. My dick’s paying attention.

But that’s an organ I’ve learned to disregard, so I retort. “I’ve given my staff a full week’s vacation to recoup, regenerate, and relax. Fully paid, of course.”

“I see.” She’s looking a little less sassy. “So why are you here?”

“I’m using the downtime to switch over the boilers to solar.” Because yes, I care about the environment. “The repairman will be here at three-thirty.” It’s barely after two, but I believe in being prepared.

The redhead stares with a little less fire in her eyes. The hand gripping her bag turns white at the knuckles and I can see she’s fighting to quash what she’s feeling.

I’m familiar with the look.

“Fuck.” She squeezes her eyes shut, jaw clenching tightly. “It fucking figures, doesn’t it? My fucking fiancé forgets to show up for his own fucking wedding, so why the fuck would I expect this fucking disaster of a day to start going my way the instant I get on a fucking plane and fly all fucking night wedged between a guy eating a tuna wrap and some fucking stockbroker who hit me up for free fucking therapy.” She doesn’t even take a breath between sentences. “I fucking counsel patients constantly not to seek a geographical cure for a fucking internalized problem, and what do I fucking do? The same exact fucking thing I know will create more problems.”

I stare at her face. At the bright spots of color high on her cheekbones. I’d never say this out loud, but she’s beautiful when she’s angry.

And I know what it’s like to have a bad day. A bad life, to be honest.

But I’m still not taking her in. “Rather impressive,” I manage, “the quantity of fucks you managed to fit into one mouthful.”

“Wonderful.” She doesn’t unclench her jaw. “Because they’re clearly the only fucks I’ll be getting this weekend.”

“And the only mouthful?”

I expect her to slap me. I probably deserve it.

Instead, she steps forward. “You’re an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Most assuredly.” That’s an easy one.

“Straight?”

That catches me by surprise. “Yes, but I don’t see⁠—”

“Married?”

It’s my turn to flinch. I cover it well, but I think she just noticed.

“No.” Injecting my voice with stiff rods of steel, I respond. “Not married.”

“Well, then.” She lets go of her bag, which flops to the floor with a smack. Her right hand snakes out, catching my tie in a fist.

As she jerks me forward, I manage to stay on my feet. Pulling my face down to hers, the redhead looks right in my eye. “Let’s go, Ash Hole.”

“Go where?” I’m dimly aware of a buzz in my brain that tells me she isn’t inviting me to dinner. The way she just licked her lips makes that clear.

Or the heat in her eyes, so blazing and fierce, when I haven’t felt fire in ages. A faint whiff of Shalimar—of bergamot, spices, and iris—clings to her skin. I dip my gaze down and find myself drowning in lush cleavage.

“Lovely breasts.” I didn’t intend to say that out loud, but it’s true. They’re quite remarkable.

“Thank you,” she snaps, her mouth mere inches from mine.

“Are you aware,” I say slowly, “that your dress is unbuttoned?”

She doesn’t recoil or let go of my tie. She doesn’t even blink.

“Are you aware,” she retorts, “that I came here for a rage fuck and I intend to collect one way or another?”

“I see.” And I’m seeing quite a lot of her breasts from this angle. Pale freckles sprinkle the tops like a dusting of cinnamon. I’m aching to taste them. To savor the rest of her body. To give this woman exactly what she wants.

Swallowing hard, I try to force some sense into my brain. “That would be…inadvisable.”

“Inadvisable?” She laughs like I’ve said something funny. “Getting on an airplane to go to a sex resort with a questionable reservation is inadvisable.” She licks her lips and my cock twitches. “Having rage sex with the owner is just practical.”

There is absolutely nothing practical about it.

Why was that again?

I look into her eyes, getting lost in those bright, hazel depths. Her breasts rise and fall, heaving with the passion of her speech. Possibly something else.

Fuck it. I’m a strong man. That’s what they say in the gossip rags.

But there’s only so much I can take.

Grabbing the wrist that’s attached to the hand on my tie, I give a tight squeeze. With a squeak, she releases her grip. Backing her up toward the boilers, I feel her sharp intake of breath.

“You’re playing with fire.” I’m trying for fierce, but it comes out a little bit strained.

“Maybe I am.” Her chin tips up and it’s all can do not to kiss that smug smile off her pretty pink lips. “Maybe I want to get burned. Maybe you’re exactly what I need.”

I know that’s not possibly true, so why am I pressing her lithe little body against this rough, dusty wall? The back of her skull thumps the concrete, and I start to make sure she’s okay.

But the hand I’m not gripping grabs the front of my pants and squeezes. Hard.

“That’s what I thought.” Her expression turns even smugger. “You’re as turned on as I am.”

“Maybe it’s a medical condition.” I’m sweating enough to feel ill.

“Maybe you want to fuck me. Maybe…” She licks her lips, and I hate how badly I want to fuck that smart mouth. “Maybe the neurochemical effects of anger heighten the intensity of arousal, increasing serotonin to enhance the sexual experience.”

Uh…?

What is up with this woman?

And why do I still fucking want her this badly?

She’s haughty and rude, entitled and vulgar.

That’s the last thought I have as my mouth crashes into hers. I kiss her hard, way too hard to be pleasant. She refuses to yield, her tongue lashing mine as our teeth clack together. Our lips clash and battle, fighting for dominance. For submission.

But this is a fight she can’t possibly win. She can’t have more pent-up fury than I do. Plus, I outweigh her. The advantage of height lets me crush her small body like a butterfly pinned to this wall.

With a low, hungry growl, I reach down and grip the neck of her dress. Breathing hard, I drag my mouth off hers. “Are you particularly attached to this?”

“The dress?” Hazel eyes flashing, she snarls. “I’d like to fucking destroy it.”

“That can be arranged.” I yank and the buttons pop off, two-dozen white disks bouncing like bullets off my chest. They tap to the ground, ricochetting around our feet as I force the ripped remnants of fabric off her shoulders.

It falls to the floor and I kick it aside, pressing my body to hers. Soft heat sears through the front of my suit as I dip down to kiss her again.

She mumbles something against my mouth, but I don’t care what it is. Kissing her now feels vital somehow. Like I’ll cut off my air if I stop.

Jerking her hand from my grip, the redhead grabs the sides of my shirt. It’s her turn to assault blameless cotton, ripping it open to set off another sharp shower of buttons. Delicate hands drag my chest, clawing and groping as we pant heated hunger against each other’s throats.

She’s nipping a spot near my Adam’s apple, and I bite down on her shoulder too hard. She fights back by dragging her teeth down one pec, biting my nipple as I draw a breath. 

“Fuck.” There’s just enough blood in my brain to form words. “Tell me now if this isn’t consensual.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She kisses me hard, grabbing the front of my pants again. Her palm grips my dick through sleek, tailored wool, and I groan as her thumb strokes the head.

I’m assuming that’s consent.

My cock fights the zipper as it strains to escape, and she helpfully sets the thing free. Drawing a breath, she shoves hard at my chest and looks down.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathes, swallowing as she stares at my dick. “There’s no physical way to deep throat that thing.”

I wasn’t asking, but now I can’t think about anything else. “Give it your best,” I snarl, pressing down on her shoulders. I expect her to fight me, but she sinks to her knees on the tattered remains of her dress.

Tipping her head back, she looks up with those fiery, light eyes. “I should bite you for being a jerk.”

“For being a brat,” I snap, lacing my fingers into her hair, “you should suck me even harder.”

I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Neither can she, from the way her eyes widen. But she opens her mouth and wraps those plush lips around me. Groaning, I glide down the length of her tongue. Something detonates in the back of my brain as I fuck that pretty pink mouth.

She hollows her cheeks, sucking so hard I see stars. Releasing the suction, she swirls her tongue around me before tipping her head back to take me in deeper. Her eyes start to water, but she doesn't stop.

Apparently, she underestimated her own skills. This woman is deepthroating me like a fucking champ.

“Good girl,” I growl.

That earns me a moan and the flutter of her tongue as her hand comes up to cup my balls. I flatten a palm on the concrete behind her, not sure how long I can stay upright. This feels way too fucking good.

“Fuck,” I grind out, balling a fist against the wall. It’s been too long since I jerked off. That’s rarely a pleasure I allow myself.

It’s been even longer since anyone sucked me like this, bobbing and licking and making me mindless with those sweet, hungry sounds.

“Stop,” I bark out, and what do you know?

The redhead pulls back in an instant.

“What?” She gives me an impatient glare. “I’m busy.”

“I can see that.” Why am I talking to her like this? I don’t even know this woman’s name.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting her. From watching her fingers work inside her panties. She’s stroking and thrusting, circling her clit behind a damp panel of silk. My mouth starts to water. Her panties are white, with a whole lot of lace, and a matching lace bra tips up her tits. Delicate fingers work in a frenzy behind the thin wisp of material. She’s fucking herself and I won’t stand for that.

That’s my goddamn job.

“Stand up,” I command, and she does it.

But she makes it hurt, scraping her nails up my chest as she rises. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

“Would you like that, you dirty little slut?”

The flash in her eyes says she likes that a lot. “Let’s see you try.”

That’s a challenge I’ll gladly accept. Dragging a hand to her shoulder, I grip one rounded hip with the other. Seizing control of her body, I spin her to face the wall.

Her sharp little breath says she wasn’t expecting that, but the woman adjusts quickly, drawing her arms up the wall. Pressing her cheek to the pillow of her hands, she peers at me over a shoulder. “I don’t have all day,” she sasses. “Hurry up.”

The mouth on this woman. “I should shove my cock back down your throat for talking like that.”

But there’s someplace I’d rather shove it. She wiggles her ass, grinding her body back into me. My dick lunges and twitches, straining to get inside her. There’s no back to her panties, and it wouldn’t take much to ease past the dainty white string parting the firm, rounded globes of her ass.

“Come on, already.” She tilts up her hips and her wet little pussy pops into view. These panties are pointless, so I snatch the waistband and jerk them down her legs.

“Show it to me,” I order. “Spread your legs.”

Looking over her shoulder, she narrows her eyes. “You’d better ask nicely.”

“Pretty fucking please.” Gripping her waist, I use one of my thighs to force her legs apart. Her feet slip beneath her, but my hold on her hip keeps her upright. Now she’s tilted at the perfect angle. Those bare, swollen lips beckon, slippery and begging to be plundered.

I’m glad to oblige.

Shoving my pants down with one hand, I glide the head of my cock through her slick seam. Jesus, she’s wet.

My breath hisses out, then turns to a groan. “Fuck,” I snarl. “No condom.”

The redhead looks back, her eyes locked with mine. “I’m on birth control,” she says. “I had a full panel of blood tests and STI screenings a week ago.”

Probably for the wedding she mentioned. I can’t think about that right now. I’m not thinking at all, to be honest.

“I’m clean,” I choke out, knowing I’m crazy to trust her. And she’s nuts to trust me. “I’m tested regularly, and haven’t been with anyone for⁠—”

Longer than I care to tell her.

“A while,” I finish, clenching my jaw.

She takes in this information with a nod. “I’m way past the point of making rational choices.” Her eyes lock with mine in what should probably serve as a warning. “Fuck me bare. And make it snappy.”

Lust surges through me, angry and hot and completely detached from reason. This is insane. This is reckless.

This is me with a death wish, apparently.

Because I’m nudging the head of my cock at her entrance, poised on the brink of something I can’t control.

Then I draw a deep breath and sink into her hot, wet heat.

CHAPTER 3

CAMILLE

Holy mother of God, that’s a huge penis.

And it’s sinking inside me, slowly invading my body inch by thick inch. The insertion goes on for hours, or maybe it’s just a few seconds. He’s taking his time, letting my body adjust to his size. By the time the man buries himself to the root, the walls of my sex stop clenching.

Balling my hands on the wall, I peel my cheek off cool concrete. As the stranger slides out of me, I cast an arrogant look over my shoulder. “Is that as hard as you can fuck me?” I’m playing with fire, and I see it flare up in his eyes.

Then I get what I want as he slams into me. Hard.

“Oh, God.” I tip my hips up to take him as he draws back and fucks into me again. He’s pounding me against this wall, angry and wild and so hot it’s blinding. My fingers slip down to my clit, fumbling and rubbing and struggling to find enough friction.

“Hands off,” he snaps, slapping the back of my wrist. Thick fingers replace mine, strumming that tight little bud like a master. “I decide when you come. Not you.”

“Then you’d better fucking get busy.” Oh my God, what’s wrong with me? I never talk like this. Never in my whole life have I had unprotected sex with someone I don’t even know.

I must have gone crazy. That’s my only excuse for slamming my hips back into him, meeting this man thrust for thrust. He’s trying to kill me, or maybe I’m trying to kill him.

My psychologist brain catalogues what’s happening. Diminished inhibitions, rising blood pressure, increased heart rate, my system flooding with dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin.

“Fuck,” I cry out as his thick fingers roll my clit. “How are you so fucking huge?”

“How are you this tight?”

We’re both hurling words like they’re weapons. Like we’re trying to destroy one another. As he slams in again, I feel his thick cock hit my spleen. I know that’s not physically possible, but Jesus Christ.

“That thing is a menace,” I snarl as my climax creeps up like a sniper. I’ve never been fucked quite this hard. My forehead thumps the wall and I have the passing thought that I’ll probably wind up with bruises. Then big hands bite into my hips, dragging me back to impale me again and again.

“You got what you wanted,” he growls as he thrusts in harder. “You’ll take as much of this cock as I give you.”

The words push me closer to coming. His fiery rage, the strum of his fingertips pulsing and teasing. I can feel my walls clenching, feel myself hurtling over the edge.

“Come with me!” I scream, clawing my hands down the concrete.

He lets out a roar, pounding me fiercely as the first spasms hit. Oh my God. I’m coming so hard I can’t breathe. All I can do is keep driving back on his dick, meeting him thrust for powerful thrust.

Another raw roar rattles out of him as his grip on my hips gets tighter. I’m falling and tumbling, bumping along like a mannequin being dragged behind a car. That sounds so unpleasant, but the truth?

It’s the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had.

“Holy shit.” I scream as another wave hits me. My hands scrape the concrete wall and two fingernails break. There goes my stupid wedding manicure.

Also, my last shreds of dignity.

Ashton slows down, dripping sweat on my back as he thrusts three or four more times. Then he pulls out and spins me around to face him.

“What’s your name?” he demands, cool blue eyes searching mine.

“It’s on my reservation,” I retort. “Dr. Camille Plier, PsyD.”

Definitely the first time I’ve introduced myself with cum dripping down my leg.

“Dr. Camille Plier, PsyD,” he repeats, shaking his head just a little. “Are you actually clinically insane?”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

Two seconds ago, I was this close to crying—over a manicure, of all things—but there’s something about this man’s rumpled hair, his crooked tie dangling down his bare chest, and his stupid Armani trousers rucked around well-muscled thighs. I’m laughing so hard I start wheezing. More cum rolls down my leg, and dear God, it’s the funniest thing ever.

I double over with laughter, howling and swiping at hot tears of mirth. I manage to straighten, to get it together, only to hiccup another raw snicker. Ashton’s brow furrows as he slides a pressed linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and hands it to me without comment. I can’t stop laughing as I clean myself up.

I’m not making much of a case for why I’m not nuts.

I start to hand back the handkerchief, then decide that’s inappropriate. The thought sets me laughing again. So does the sight of Ashton Holyfield’s bare chest heaving, his ripped-open shirt showcasing magnificent pecs. He’s still wearing his tailored suit jacket with the tip of his silk tie pointing right at his cock.

“You’re a hot mess,” I manage to wheeze. “Your hair’s all fucked up and your pants⁠—”

“I’m a hot mess?” He lets go of my hip and tugs up his trousers, fastening the button with fingers still sticky from me. “You show up at my resort without a reservation, go prowling around my boiler room commanding strangers to fuck you, and I’m the hot mess?”

“Just the one stranger,” I point out. It’s not much of an argument. “I’m open to multiple strangers, though.”

“I know. I saw your paperwork.”

Jesus, why did I hand him that? He might have a point. I might be insane.

But as I study his way-too-attractive face, I consider insane might be just what I need.

“Are you really Ashton Holyfield?”

His dark scowl unclenches. He looks almost bemused. “You think I’m the janitor?”

“You think that matters?” Of course he’s an elitist asshole. “I’ve got nothing against men who perform blue collar manual labor.”

“Nor do I,” he claps back. “But they don’t tend to wear Armani.”

Fair point. “Is the resort really closed?”

“Do you always question everything?”

“Yes.” Most definitely. “Some things more than others.”

“Though clearly not whether it’s wise to have unprotected sex with men you’ve just met in a boiler room.”

I wince. “Would you believe me if I said it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like that?”

“Yes.” He sounds surprised to admit it. “I would.”

“Well it was.” I look down at my dress on the floor. “It’s been a weird day.”

“You don’t say.” He bends down and picks up the tattered remains of my dress, folding it neatly before handing it to me. “I’m not certain it’s salvageable, but if you like⁠—”

“Don’t bother.” I walk to my duffel, still leaking his cum down my legs. My underwear’s missing, so I’m dressed in a bra, attempting to maintain as much dignity as possible. “I’m sure there’s something else I can wear.”

Unzipping my gym bag, I pull out pink Lycra bike shorts and the bright-yellow sports bra I wear when I need to do laundry. There’s a good chance I didn’t bring underwear.

“So much for dignity,” I mutter as I pull on the shorts.

“Allow me to suggest a shopping spree in our on-site boutique.” Ashton steps to my side, lending his muscular forearm for balance while I wriggle into the bike shorts. “Complimentary, of course. It’s the least we can do before sending you on your way.”

“We?” I straighten and smooth down my hair. “Thought you gave the whole team a paid holiday.”

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, looking a little bit flustered. “Be that as it may, my accountant will want records of why I gave away hundreds of dollars in charitable clothing donations.”

Charity? Something about that word sets me on edge. Clenching my jaw, I stuff the ripped dress in my gym bag.

“Don’t let me trouble you, Ash Hole.” I try to pull on the bra top, but it gets twisted around my head. “I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

He frowns, catching the edge of the Lycra to help me tug it in place. “You can’t go like this.”

“Dressed like a refugee from a Lululemon explosion, you mean?” I look down at my outfit and yeah—it’s not awesome. “Believe me, I’ve done worse.” Today is a perfect example.

What the hell was I thinking?

And why is some twisted part of me aching to do it again?

“Stop.” The man looks like he’s trying for a medal in Olympic frowning. “I can’t allow you to leave like this.”

“Allow me?” Does he think because I let him call me a dirty slut he’s now my keeper? Degradation’s never been my thing, so I’m a little perplexed by how hot that was.

But I’m drawing the line now. “No man allows me to do anything.”

“Certainly,” he agrees. “But the captain of the transport vessel that makes twice-daily deliveries to this island might have an opinion on your wish to leave forty minutes after the final boat has departed for the day.”

“Motherfucker.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Did I mention this isn’t my day?”

“It might have come up.”

I open my eyes and size up the man. “Now what?”

“You’re asking me?” There’s that bemused look again. “I thought no man allows you to do anything.”

“I’m not seeking permission. I’m asking if you have any ideas for how you can get rid of me so I can move forward with at least a few shreds of dignity.”

His eyes travel my body, going a little bit molten. “On the latter count, there’s no chance. On the former⁠—”

“Fuck you, Ash Hole.” I stoop down and pick up my gym bag. “I’ll swim if I have to.”

“Wait.” He catches my arm and I turn. “I apologize. I’m being inhospitable.”

“You think?” I glare at his hand, then soften. A memory of those fingers on my clit sends a shockwave of lust through my body. “You seemed pretty hospitable with your dick buried inside me. Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s maybe not wise to be bitchy to the guy whose private property I’m trespassing upon, so I dial it down a notch. “I apologize for basically bullying you into having sex with me.”

“Madam.” His grip on my arm tightens. “I can assure you that no one—no man, woman, or non-gendered individual—bullies me.”

I hate how fucking hot that is. Not just the confidence. The utter arrogance. The fact that he just used inclusive language. I want to hate this guy, but part of me can’t seem to manage.

“Okay.” I draw a deep breath. “We’re two intelligent, educated, rational individuals.” I try to recall what I’ve read about Ashton Holyfield and his Ivy League pedigree floats through my mind. I’ll look him up later. “If the last boat of the day already left, what are my options?”

He opens his mouth to say something snotty, but my stomach chooses that moment to let loose a ferocious growl.

Ashton’s blue eyes drop to my midsection. “Did you smuggle a gargoyle with you on the plane?”

I laugh. The man’s funny, I’ll give him that. “The only thing I’ve eaten since yesterday was a whole can of Pringles on the plane.” I meant to buy something at the airport, but I couldn’t find any restaurants open during my 3 a.m. layover in Houston. “I don’t suppose you have a granola bar or something?”

He studies my face and those steely eyes shift to something a little less chilly. An odd warmth seeps into them. Not pity or fondness. Kindness, maybe.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Ashton Holyfield might actually have feelings.

He straightens his tie, which is silly since he can’t even button his shirt. “I might wind up regretting this.”

“Welcome to the club,” I mutter. “I wrote the fucking book on regret today.”

He frowns. “You regret what we did?”

I replay the last twenty-four hours in fast forward: getting stood up for my wedding, racing to get on a plane and flying three-thousand miles without a plan, leaving my friends with little more than a text.

There’s plenty I regret. Having sex in a boiler room with Ashton Holyfield isn’t one of them.

“No.” I watch his shoulders drop with something that looks like relief. “I don’t regret it.”

“Nor do I.” He tugs at his tie again, long fingers brushing his bare chest.

My mouth starts to twitch. I fight to refrain from laughing again.

One haughty brow lifts. “Is something amusing?”

“You’re not a little bit amused?”

He doesn’t respond, but something in his eyes goes a little bit softer. He looks down at his torso, then back at me. Clearing his throat, he drops his hand from my arm. “Follow me.”

And like a complete moron, I do as he says.

CHAPTER 4

ASHTON

“Here you go, Madam.”

I set down a fine China plate artfully arranged with chicken nuggets, tater tots, apple slices, and a frozen passionfruit tartlet warmed in the microwave. Sliding a set of fine cutlery from my pocket, I set it on the table beside her. Next to that, I place a pouch of Capri Sun. “Bon Appetit.”

“Thank you.” Camille dives into her dinner, eating with the same ravenous hunger she brought to our sexual encounter.

I really should stop thinking about that.

Or noticing how nicely she fills out the simple gray sundress we grabbed in the on-site boutique on our way here. She pointed it out in the window, making her selection with the same forethought she gave our sexual encounter.

“That one’s fine,” she said as I attempted a dignified undressing of the mannequin. “Thank you again.”

“Surely you’d like to assess other sizes, colors, styles⁠—”

“I’m really not picky. Size doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” I handed her the garment, along with a new pair of lacy white panties like the ones I’d just ripped off her body. “You suggested otherwise in the boiler room.”

Camille blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re really something, Ash Hole.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how she meant it. Like a gentleman, I waited outside the spa’s locker room while she donned her new outfit. I grabbed two more dresses, one in a shade of dark green I imagined would set off her eyes. She emerged five minutes later looking lovely and combed in the breezy gray sundress that fits like a glove.

“Thank you,” she said, adjusting a strap on her shoulder. “Please take me to food now.”

Which I’ve done, because guest satisfaction matters. Also, because I’m inclined to do whatever she asks when she looks at me with those bright hazel eyes brimming with ravenous energy.

In this case, though, it’s purely for food.

She’s licking her fingers as she swallows a fat chicken nugget, and I definitely don’t think about how that tongue felt wrapped around my cock. She starts on the tater tots next, wolfing them down with a zeal that’s, frankly, impressive.

“You okay?” she says, looking up from her meal.

“Certainly. Why?”

“You’re watching me eat like you’re hungry for something.” She picks up one of her last three tots. “Want one?”

“No, thank you.”

She pops it in her mouth with a grin. “Good, because I’m starving.”

Watching her eat is like watching her have sex. One’s certainly more satisfying, but both feel like witnessing true passion in action. I’m a little bit envious, and not just of chicken nuggets.

Glancing away, I scan the beachfront restaurant for repair projects scheduled to occur during our closure. The thatched roof over the bar took a beating in the last tropical storm, so I’ve hired a handful of local workers to attend to it. They’re already half done, calling to each other in the local dialect as one man points out a pod of gray whales arching through bright turquoise waters. A gentle sea breeze stirs the fan overhead, and I’m pleased to see someone’s already cleaned the blades.

I run a tight ship, but I take good care of my people. Of that, I’m confident.

“Thanks again.” Camille licks ketchup off her fingers. “This is delicious and I’m grateful.”

“But?”

“Why do you think there’s a but?”

Because I’m a gentleman, I don’t comment on her butt. Or the fact that I noticed several anal enchantments on her intake form. “Your voice tipped up at the end of that sentence,” I say instead. “Like there was more you meant to say, but you held back.”

“Interesting. You’re very observant.”

“I try.”

“Okay, well—like I said, I’m grateful. I was ready to chew off my own arm, so I appreciate the food.”

“Clearly.”

“But I have to admit, it’s not what I expected when my brother raved about the five-star culinary scene at this place.”

I blink in surprise. “Your brother’s been here?” We don’t allow male guests, so I can’t fathom that’s possible.

“Kit Plier—er, Dr. Christopher Plier, PsyD.” She stuffs another chicken nugget in her mouth. “He’s a research psychologist you hired a few months back.” Chewing an apple slice, she pauses for a sip from her juice pouch. “The profession runs in the family.”

“Ah, I see.” I hired Dr. Plier to study the overall job satisfaction and mental health of sex workers at this resort. To my utter shock, he insisted on being one to thoroughly enmesh himself in the study.

I doubt his sister knows that.

“You remember my brother, right?”

“Certainly.”

Camille grabs another apple slice. “He came here expecting to fuck a lot of people as a consort but wound up falling in love with my bestie instead. Eve Goodrich?”

“Oh. Interesting.” Apparently they do share intimate details in their family. “To answer your question, my culinary staff has the week off with the rest of the resort employees. The only thing I could find to prepare on short notice with limited ingredients was the menu attached to our DDLG package.”

Camille’s brow furrows. “DDLG?”

“Daddy/little girl kink. It’s quite popular among women.”

“I’m aware.” She looks down at her plate with renewed interest. “And while I’d certainly never kink shame, I’m not above culinary shaming. Daddy can’t serve his little girl some fettuccine alfredo or something?”

I try to hold back a chuckle. When I fail, I cover it with a cough. “If I hadn’t feared you might drop dead from hunger, I probably could have rounded up something more pleasing to your palate.” I’m trying to sound sarcastic and haughty, but it winds up sounding more sympathetic.

There’s a story behind this ridiculous meal. It’s one I prepared years ago for a child I will not discuss in this context. Or any context, ever.

As my dead, blackened heart twists itself into a ball, I try to reroute the discussion. “If it helps, the chicken is all-natural and organic. The apples are sourced locally, as is the passionfruit.”

“Fabulous.” Camille bites into another chicken nugget. “I’m just grateful you stuffed me with something besides your cock. Both were terrific, but only one saved me from hypoglycemia.”

The mouth on this woman. “Are you this gauche with your patients?”

“Not typically,” she says with surprisingly good cheer. “But I do find using coarse language—particularly in the context of human sexuality—can prompt others to open up in ways they might not if I used purely clinical terms.”

“That makes sense.” And it does. Once, in a past life, I attended marriage counseling. Shocking, I know, and it’s not something I’ve told anyone before.

Nor will I. “Any luck booking a new flight?” That was her task while I prepared food.

“Ugh, no.” Camille picks up her phone and frowns. “There’s one flight out in less than two hours. Even if that shuttle boat were still running, I probably wouldn’t make it tonight.”

“How unfortunate.”

Here’s where I’m sort of an asshole.

My personal yacht sits anchored in the resort’s marina. With my Jaguar garaged on the next largest island, we could reach the airport in roughly ninety minutes. There’s also the possibility of reaching it via private plane from the airstrip here on the island, but that’s not an option I’ll consider.

Even with the yacht, there’s a chance we could make it in time. I might have to pull a few strings to delay the departure of Camille’s scheduled flight, and tugging some more would get her escorted through security and straight to the front of the boarding line.

All of that’s possible for a man of my considerable means.

So why don’t I offer those options?

“You okay?” She peers up at my face. “You got sort of a funny look all of a sudden.”

“I’m quite all right.” I stand and pluck an upturned water glass from the adjacent table. “May I offer you some ice water? Wine, perhaps?”

“I’m good.” Camille picks up her drink pouch. “Enjoying my Capri Sun for now.” Wrapping those perfect, pink lips around the straw, she hollows her cheeks and sucks.

I know she’s not trying to be seductive. For God’s sake, what man in his right mind would be turned on by a woman fellating a juice box?

But my dick has a mind of its own. It likes the display very much.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Can I get you anything else?”

Camille releases the straw and sits back with a hand on her belly. “No, thank you, I’m stuffed. You seriously saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it.” There’s a squeeze in my chest that feels like my supply of oxygen has been cut off. “Well then. Shall we find you a place to rest for the night? We can sort out your departure in the morning.”

“Hey.” Her hand darts out to capture my wrist before I get up from the table. Hazel eyes search mine, and the pinch in my chest starts to loosen. “Seriously, thanks. I probably didn’t make the best first impression, but you’ve been incredibly kind.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“But I do.” Her delicate fingers graze the back of my hand. “As you probably gathered, the last thirty-six hours have been a challenge. I haven’t exactly been myself.”

“Who have you been?” The question slips out before I can think, and Camille laughs.

“Fair point,” she says. “If I were my own therapist, I’d probably observe that nothing I’ve done in the last day wasn’t already in my nature. That an inciting incident may have triggered more extreme behaviors, but I’ve done nothing outside my moral code or innate personality, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You sound like a very good therapist.”

Her eyes spark to life and she smiles. “I like to think so. I work very hard at it. Continuing education, advanced training, always striving to be the very best I can be for the sake of my patients.” Some of the light fades from her eyes. “Then again, what sort of therapist can’t see that her own relationship sucks balls?”

I shouldn’t ask. It’s none of my business. There’s no reason to invest in this woman’s personal trauma. “Was he unfaithful?”

“No, nothing like that.” She sighs and draws back her hand, and it’s irritating how much I miss her touch. “Ours was never a deeply passionate connection.”

“How unfortunate.”

“That’s the thing, though. I thought it was a point in our favor. That if we didn’t plant ourselves on the shifting sands of lust and fallible human emotion, we’d have a stronger base for long-term commitment.”

“Okay.” Is she trying to convince herself or me? “So you got bored?”

Camille shakes her head, sipping her juice pouch some more. “Not even that. I guess I tried to convince myself that was enough. That I didn’t need a guy who bent me over the kitchen table because I had a partner who set the table and made lovely dinners.” She frowns. “When he came home for dinner, I mean. Hayden works a lot.” She fiddles with the tiny white straw, her gaze shifting off toward the sea. “I guess we could have gone on like that for a long time—forever, maybe—except he broached the idea of marriage.”

I’m not sure I’m tracking this story. “So you dated a man who worked hard and provided and even—on occasion—cooked dinner? Then he asked for your hand in marriage?” He doesn’t sound like a terrible person.

Quite frankly, he sounds like me.

“I’m not telling this very well.” Camille bites her lip. “Hayden didn’t get down on one knee and profess his love with a ring in one hand and a can of Pringles in the other as doves perched on his shoulder and Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You played on a boombox beside him.”

“That’s what you wanted?”

“No, let me finish.” She sets down her juice pouch. “A week ago, he took me out for dinner. It wasn’t much different from a normal Friday night. He spent most of it on his phone texting other attorneys about this case they’re working on. He’s a partner at his firm and—” She stops, shaking her head. “That’s an irrelevant detail.”

“The devil’s in the details,” I quip. And I’m still not seeing her ex as the devil here.

“My point is that we barely spoke at all over dinner that night. I started feeling a little neglected and sad, wondering if maybe I’d missed the boat on having a deep connection with my partner.” The pain in her eyes is the opposite of the emotionally detached relationship she’s described thus far. “Then Hayden set down his phone, looked me right in the eye, and said, ‘I want to marry you.’ Just like that. Took the breath right out of my lungs. And all of a sudden, I felt—I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Seen.” My voice sounds raw and gravelly. “Desired. Worthy.”

Camille blinks. “Yes.”

I nod once. “Go on.”

She stares long enough that I’m not sure she will. When she finally speaks, her own voice sounds strained. “There was this five-second window where I felt all those things you just said.” She looks down at the table again. “Then Hayden kept going. Turned out his accountant tipped him off about some change in the tax laws. A reason it behooved us financially to tie the knot before the end of the month.”

“Very sensible.” Not particularly romantic, but I respect sensible.

“It is sensible.” She looks up again, eyes searching mine. For what, I’m not sure. “And for so long, I’d prided myself on being sensible and practical and smart in my relationship. On finding a way to avoid all those landmines that bring couples to my office—fizzling passion, fading feelings, a loss of newness and novelty. I thought if I skipped those things to start with, we’d begin from a more solid place.”

“I can’t fault your logic."

Her throat rolls as she swallows. “But for those five seconds, I knew what it felt like to be something more. To be chosen. To be claimed by somebody who loved me enough that he wanted to stand up in front of our friends and our family and a few random assholes from his office and say, ‘I commit my life to being the best possible partner to this woman I love more than anyone else in the world.’”

The pinch in my chest returns with a vengeance. I look out at the sea because it hurts more to look at Camille. Too many memories squeeze the breath from my lungs. “A lovely thought.” I try to infuse my voice with as much disdain as I can muster. “Not very practical.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. And I stuffed all that sentimental crap back down my throat and convinced myself we should forge ahead with a legal partnership. That I had it right the first time.” She looks out at the water again. “Then he forgot to show up for our wedding.”

“Forgot?”

“Yep. Just plain didn’t show up.”

Okay, that’s bad.

I might not have the best track record with committed relationships, but I like to believe I’d never forget my own wedding. “Didn’t he have it in his calendar?”

“You’d think. All his work stuff is in there. His phone pings constantly with reminders.”

I can’t wrap my head around that one. “Did something important come up?”

“No, that’s just it. He went to get lunch. Scallops, apparently.”

Good lord. “Were they at least fresh?”

She laughs and swipes at her eyes. I hadn’t noticed before that she’d started to cry. “The best in Portland. Almost worth it, right?”

“Indeed.” I shouldn’t touch this woman. That’s playing with fire, and we’ve already seen what happens with that.

But I can’t seem to stop myself from placing a hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“Thanks.” She looks down at my fingers brushing the edge of her wrist. “And thanks for listening. I swear I’m normally not such a mess.”

“Quite understandable.” I reach for the handkerchief in my breast pocket, then recall what I did with it. Why I’m wearing a starched white chef’s coat I found in the kitchen. “Come on.” I stand and offer my hand.

“Where are we going?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just laces her fingers through mine and lets me hoist her to her feet.

“There’s a new section of rooms we just added.” I guide her past the pool and toward the luxury villa where guests stay. “While the main section is scheduled for deep cleaning this week, these new suites don’t yet require it. You can stay there tonight, and tomorrow we’ll arrange for your transport home.”

“Thank you.” She yawns as I guide her past rows of lush hedges and palm trees. “Would this be the room I intended to book?”

“Indeed.” Here’s where I owe her an apology. “You were correct that you’d successfully booked a room. Not a stay at the resort,” I add quickly before she can get too smug. “That’s required to take part in dining and activities at Crystal Bliss Retreat. But you discovered a glitch in our system in which one of the rooms not slated for deep cleaning was technically still available for booking. I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay.” One edge of her mouth quirks up. “That pretty much sums up my luck lately.”

“How so?”

She trails her fingers over a dense thatch of hibiscus. “I’m a foodie sex therapist who somehow managed to book a room at a sex resort that currently offers neither food nor sex.”

I chuckle as we round a corner in the path. “If I’m not mistaken, you managed to get both within your first hour on site.”

“I’ve always been an overachiever.”

As we pass a jacaranda tree, there’s a chirp and a flutter from one of the branches. A yellow-billed Amazon parrot squawks out a greeting.

“Fellatio!”

I return the greeting as we stride past. “Good afternoon, McFly.”

Camille skids to a stop. “Wait. Is this the same bird from inside?”

“You met McFly?”

“You named him McFly?”

“I didn’t.” There’s no reason to elaborate on who did. I don’t speak her name, not ever. “He has free run of the resort. He does enjoy loitering outside the women’s locker room.”

Camille leans closer to peer at him. “Hi, pretty bird.”

“Anilingus.” McFly flaps his wings. “Anilingus!”

“Aren’t you a smart bird?” She looks at me. “Am I to assume whoever named him also taught him a complete glossary of sexual terms?”

“Not complete.” It also wasn’t Brigitte who coached him on that. “He has a repertoire of about four dozen terms, mostly sexual in nature. One of the consorts taught him.”

“Sybil?”

“How do you know Sybil?”

“I don’t. My friend, Eve, mentioned her.” Her smile suggests Eve got to know my resort’s most popular female consort quite well.

“It wasn’t Sybil,” I tell her. “It was a consort from Canada named Zane.”

“Sounds like someone I’d enjoy getting to know.”

“McFly or Zane?”

“Both. Either.” She laughs. “Probably the bird more than the guy.”

I point to a bright-blue door on the corner. “This is you. Your room for the night, that is.”

“Thank you.”

I hand her a key card. “Make sure you know how to use it.”

Camille rolls her eyes. “I think I understand how a key card works.” She waves it in front of the sensor. Nothing happens.

“You need to slide it in all the way.”

She shoots me a salacious look. “That’s what she said.”

But she does what I’ve told her. Still nothing.

“Slide it in quickly, then pull out.”

That earns me another smirk. “You’re just writing marketing copy for the resort at this point.”

Ignoring Camille—though I’ll be honest, it’s hard—I push the door open as the light flickers on. “Let me make sure your fridge is stocked. There should be water and several forms of distilled spirits. White wine and our locally made passionfruit kombucha. I can also bring over a fruit basket with⁠—”

“Whoa, check out the sex swing.”

I turn from my kitchen inventory to watch Camille seat herself in our top-of-the-line apparatus. She slips her feet in the stirrups, wrapping her fingers around the handles. Her perfect, round butt fills the seat nicely, and her pale gray sundress billows as she swings.

I shift behind the counter as my cock gives an unpleasant throb. “All our new suites come equipped with that model. It’s very sturdy.”

“This is fantastic.” She kicks her legs to go higher. “I’ve only ever tried the kind that hooks on a doorframe. Can’t really get swinging in one of those.”

“Indeed.” I watch as her dress flies up past her hips. “Not to criticize, but I don’t believe they’re meant to be used as playground equipment.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ash Hole.” She kicks her legs, laughing. “Playing is kinda the point.”

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually tested one. Watching Camille, seeing the flex of her calves and the lushness of her thighs, makes me wonder why not.

She’s a sight to behold, all that glossy red hair and her willowy arms flexing as she tips back her head to soar higher.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” I move toward the door, praying she can’t see the bulge in my pants. “I’ll bring over some fruit later on. There’s granola and yogurt in the⁠—”

“I always begged Hayden to try this.” She keeps swinging like I’m not even here. “There’s one on the door of my office that I show clients who ask for ideas on spicing things up. It’s more of a prop than anything.”

“But you’ve used it?” I don’t need to know this and it’s none of my business.

“Just once, with Hayden.” She swings her legs in the stirrups, laughing as one of the straps starts to tangle. “He gave it a shot with your standard supported missionary, but it wasn’t really his thing.” She kicks her legs higher, hair trailing behind her. “I read about this one position called the flying sixty-nine and that sounded fantastic. Weightless oral, two ways? Sign me up!” She leans back to study the support system fixed to the beam overhead. “But you need a ceiling-mounted one for the flying sixty-nine, and Hayden absolutely hates sixty-nining, so⁠—”

“I beg your pardon?”

Of all the things she’s said, that’s what I choose to remark on?

Camille must wonder the same because she plants her feet on the ground and stares. “Which part wasn’t clear?”

“The part where a straight, red-blooded male found mutual, simultaneous oral genital stimulation appalling.” I was on my way out, but now I can’t leave. “Was something wrong with Hayden?”

“Many things.” Camille winces. “Sorry. I absolutely, positively never sex shame anyone for their likes or dislikes. People are entitled to draw boundaries around their preferences, and no one should ever participate in an act that makes them uncomfortable.”

I catch myself grinding my teeth. Why do I even care about this?

“Be that as it may,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm, “and with all due respect to your fiancé⁠—”

“Ex fiancé.”

“Ex fiancé.” And thank God for that. “The man is an idiot.”

She laughs but doesn’t argue. “Is this a sensitive subject for you?”

“I’m just pointing out that the act of pleasuring a woman orally while simultaneously being pleasured in the same fashion should be one of the seven wonders of the world. It’s like a French linen sheets or a Rolls-Royce Phantom or eighty-year-old Macallan scotch.”

“Wow.” She tilts her head to study me. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a guy this passionate about having pussy spread over your face.”

Now she’s just pissing me off. “And what, pray tell, does that guy look like?”

Camille licks her lips with a grin. “I wouldn’t know.”

I should disengage right now. I should get the fuck out of this room and go take a cold shower. No good can come from parting those pale, luscious thighs and proving her wrong.

So why do I take a step toward her? And another. And another.

I’m bearing down on Camille, watching her hazel eyes flash with intrigue and shock.

“In that case,” I say, unhooking the buttons at the collar of the chef’s coat. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

CHAPTER 5

CAMILLE

Am I deliberately poking the uptight billionaire until he snaps?

That would be a yes.

Am I truly convinced he’s this riled over the classic simultaneous oral position?

Actually…yeah.

I wouldn’t have guessed it five minutes ago, but the fire in his eyes as he stalks my direction has me seriously rethinking…well, everything.

My palms start to sweat as Ashton storms over, an unreadable look on his face. Is he fired up for sixty-nining, for sex swings, or for proving himself on a sexual stage?

I’m about to find out.

He stops right in front of me, icy blue eyes shooting daggers. “Lose the dress.”

“Nice foreplay.” God, it’s working.

Ashton doesn’t blink. “Lose the dress now.”

He finishes unfastening the buttons on his borrowed chef’s coat, and in an impressive display of multitasking, toes off his shoes and kicks them toward the door. Thick hands drop to his zipper and he stares me down with fiery hot lava in his eyes. “I’m not joking, Camille. Get naked right now.”

“Does the bosshole zaddy thing really work for you?”

“Yes.” He drags down his zipper and shoves off his pants and his boxer briefs.

Swallowing hard, I stare. “I can see why.”

Domineering men have never been my thing. I’m starting to reconsider.

I can’t resist pushing his buttons again. “What if I just want to swing?” Threading my feet through the stirrups, I kick out and set myself in motion. “What if I feel like⁠—”

“Like a woman who needs her pussy licked?” He captures the strap connecting the swing to the ceiling. The other hand catches my waist, halting my movement completely. Storm clouds fill his gaze as he stares me down. “I won’t ask you again, Camille.”

I shiver and try to hide it. “I don’t recall you asking me the first time, Ash Hole.” Liquid heat between my legs. “I remember you bossing me like a caveman.”

“That’s because you like it.”

Licking my lips, I wonder if it’s really that obvious.

“Yes,” he says, though I swear I said nothing out loud. “I can see how you become flushed and dazed when I tell you what to do. How you squirm in your seat, rubbing your legs together.”

“I don⁠—”

“Your mouth might say you don’t like being ordered around, but your body says otherwise.”

Arousal rolls through me like a wave. Has any man ever paid this much attention to my responses?

“You’re an expert on my body now?”

“Damn right, I am.” He hooks two thick fingers under the strap of my new gray sundress. “You have three seconds to take off this dress, or risk losing another one permanently.”

“You’re a menace to the women’s clothing industry.” But I step from the swing and grab hold of the hem of my dress. “Do I get time to shower first?”

“You do not.” His eyes rake my body as I pull the dress over my head. “I want to taste you just as you are. No flowery soaps or lotions.”

“Jesus.” I can’t believe how aggressive he’s being.

Or how much I like it.

Hayden was a stickler for showers before oral, both for him and for me. He framed it as a form of consideration for each other.

But Ashton Holyfield demanding to taste me just as I am has me peeling off my new panties and kicking them aside. At least I thought to give myself a quick sponge bath in the spa’s locker room when I put on my new dress. Small blessings I’m not steeped in airport funk, or the deposit he left inside me an hour ago.

Holding his gaze, I peel off my bra. Ashton makes a low sound deep in his throat.

“Fuck.” His iron jaw clenches. “You’ve got perfect tits.”

“Oh—it’s the first time you’re seeing them.” I’d almost forgotten the rush we were in before. I never even took off my bra.

Sliding my hands up to cup them, I give him a saucy smile. “They feel even better than they look.” A shudder rolls through me as I stroke my nipples with both thumbs.

He shudders, too. “You are exquisite.”

Exquisite? Who says that?

Bossy, silver-haired billionaires, apparently. It’s insane how much I love this.

“You want to touch?” I step close and his breath stirs my hair. “I have very sensitive nipples.”

The growl that slides out of him sounds feral and wild. His massive cock lurches like it’s trying to grab me.

Then he does grab me. One hand strikes out like a snake, pulling me tight to his chest. He lets go of my hip and glides his hot palms up my body, shoving my own hands aside. Cupping my breasts, he groans.

“Jesus.” He squeezes me roughly, but not too roughly.

God, that feels good.

“Like that,” I breathe as his thumbs roll my nipples. “Just like that—oh.”

“So fucking soft.” He sounds like he’s praying in church. I’m also a fan of how well he takes direction. He’s touching me just how I said to. Trusting me to know my own body. To say what I like without him taking it as an affront to his ego.

His hands knead my breasts, thumbs caressing me just how I want it. Not content to just stand here, soaking up pleasure, I put my own hands to use. Catching his cock with both hands, I stroke him from root to tip.

“Fuck,” Ashton hisses as I squeeze tighter. “Harder.”

I do as he’s asked, tracing my thumb over his glans. He seems to like that, so I do it again, watching his blue eyes go molten. He’s kneading my breasts more firmly than I’d normally like, but I find myself begging for more.

“Harder,” I urge.

He obliges and nibbles my ear. “Will this be the entirety of our verbal exchange?”

“Just saying ‘harder’ over and over?” I give his granite-like appendage a strong squeeze. “I somehow don’t think so.”

He kisses his way down my throat, dropping to his knees in front of me. There’s something disarming about a powerful man kneeling at my feet. Something even more disarming about him squeezing my breasts together, sucking and nibbling my nipples.

“God,” I grab, gripping his hair in a fist. “Of course you’re good at that, too.”

“Wait ‘til I get my tongue between your legs.”

I shiver and grip his hair tighter. If I don’t anchor myself to his skull, I might actually fall over.

“Not harder.” He releases my nipple and looks up with clear irritation. “I don’t believe I would look good bald.”

“You don’t want to find out for sure?” I loosen my grip on his hair, but only a little.

“You shouldn’t take risks with a man holding your nipple between his teeth.”

My laugh morphs into a hiss at whatever he’s doing with his mouth. There’s this soft, gentle suction, followed by a tight pinch that’s almost painful. Then more gentle pressure and the swirl of his tongue. I cry out in pleasure and he does it again. And again.

Ashton Holyfield fucking pays attention.

Also, I’m pretty sure he’d look great bald. He’d look great wearing a burlap sack and a Burger King crown.

“What’s making you smile?”

I look down as he sucks on my nipple again. “Um, that feels fucking amazing?”

“You had a thought.” He does the whole suck-and-nip thing again. “I can tell when something lights up in your brain.”

“You’ve known me two hours.” And yet, here we are, touching each other intimately for the second time. “I pictured you wearing a Burger King crown.”

He blinks. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very strange woman?”

“Insane,” I clarify. “That’s what the last man I slept with suggested.”

“He sounds wise.” Ashton licks me again. “And handsome. A Burger King crown?”

“Also a burlap sack.”

Sitting back on his heels, he stares up at my face for a second. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“No.” Something I can’t read passes over his face. “I don’t.”

“Good thing we’re staying in.”

“Indeed.” Gripping my hips, he gets to his feet. Turns me around so we’re facing each other, but now his back is to the sex swing. “Mind if I have a seat?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just sits on the padded swing platform, gripping the handles as he finds the stirrups with his feet. Of course, they’re too short, so I drop to my knees and adjust them for his height.

“I was going to offer you the manual,” he muses, “but I see that won’t be necessary.”

“I’m a quick learner.” I’m also impressed he’s allowing himself to be in such a vulnerable position. It’s not every man who’d park his bare ass on a sex swing with someone he’s just met.

Extending his legs in the stirrups, he watches me rise to my feet. “Come here.”

I’m getting used to him bossing me around, because I don’t even comment. I just move to stand near his right side. “Here?”

“No, here.” He releases the handles and leans back in the seat, abs flexing with effort. “By my head.”

The way he’s reclining must take an incredible amount of core strength. I watch like a voyeur as he slings a second strap behind his shoulders. “I appreciate the help,” he quips. “I don’t suppose you could adjust that pully right there?”

“This?” I tug on a lever that makes the strap longer. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” He eases his torso back, coming to lie with his upper half parallel to the ground. His feet rest on the floor, stirrups dangling by his shins where he won’t have trouble finding them again. It’s a bit like he’s lying on his back at the edge of a mattress, long legs bent over the sides.

“Right here.” He lets go of the handles and holds out his arms. Toned pecs flex and his impressive biceps are on full display. “Straddle my face, Camille.”

“You should have opened with that when we met.” I waste no time stepping into position, not even a little self-conscious. “You’ve clearly done this before.”

“I read the manual.”

“I meant the position, not the sex swing.”

“Read the manual for that, too.”

“There’s a manual?”

He grabs hold of my thighs, spreading me over his face. “Grab the handles until you get settled.”

“What am I settling in fo—oh!” I cry out as his tongue strokes the length of my slit. “Jesus Christ.”

I know I told him this position was on my fucket list, but that was mostly the novelty. It sounded like fun, trying something unique. But this feels⁠—

“Exquisite.”

“You’re stealing my word,” he murmurs as he licks into me again. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“I’m not waterboarding you, am I?”

His tongue probes deeper inside me. “A fine way to go.”

The sensation’s insane. I’m standing on the floor, straddling his face, having my clit sucked as I cling to the handles for dear life. My God, the man has a talented tongue.

“Ash,” I cry out as his tongue flicks faster over my sensitive nub. “I won’t last long like this.”

“Not to put too fine a point on this, but”—he pauses to flutter the tip of his tongue at my entrance—“isn’t this meant to be a flying sixty-nine?”

“Math was never my strong suit.” But he’s right, his cock is right there. I lean forward to reach it, lying over his torso with my breasts pressing into his belly. Gripping the base of his cock, I seal my lips around the head.

“Fuck.” He groans as I slide down slowly. “That’s more like it.”

He doesn’t let up on his side of the bargain, licking and sucking and making me mindless with his mouth. At some point, he slides two fingers inside me, turning his wrist to locate my G-spot.

“Holy fuck!” I cry out, nearly choking on his cock. “What fucking manual did you read?”

“A fucking manual.” He chuckles between my thighs. “How aptly named.”

I go back to swirling my tongue at the head of his cock. As skilled as he is at eating me out, I want to impress him with my fellatio. But I keep getting distracted by the tug of his lips on my clit. His fingertip pressure on my G-spot. The talent he has for teasing me right to the brink, then easing up just as I reach the precipice of climax.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” I pant, “aren’t you?”

“Edging you?” He plunges his fingers in deeper. “Perhaps.”

I like it. I like it way too much.

It’s the sort of thing that’s only possible with a partner who knows your body intimately. How is he doing this?

“Camille.” There’s a sharp note of warning in his voice. “No more deep throating.”

“Mmm?” I’ve already got him at the base of my throat, so I ease off gently. “How come?”

“Yes.” His voice sounds strained, or maybe that’s because he’s speaking into the space between my legs. “You’ll make me come the next time you—Camille.”

I chuckle and ease off, letting the man have a break. “Two can play the edging game.”

“Ready to fly?”

“What?” My voice slips out hazy and breathless. I’m dizzily swirling my tongue at the base of his cock, struggling to make sense of his words. “Is that a clever word for coming?”

“Pick up your legs.”

“What?” Jesus, I’m close. Colors blur at the edge of my vision. “What are you⁠—”

“Lift your feet off the floor, Camille.”

“But then you’ll be holding my full weight on your—oh!” I pitch forward as Ash yanks my legs out from under me. I nearly impale my own throat on his cock but manage to brace myself on his thighs.

Then something magical happens. Ashton shoves off with one foot, sending us spinning. Stretching my legs out behind me, I yelp and go full-on Supergirl.

That’s if Supergirl flew with a tongue between her legs, and why wouldn’t she? She’s fucking Supergirl.

“Oh my God.” I’m groaning and laughing at the same time. No small feat, while I’m still sucking Ashton’s cock. “We’re flying.”

“Indeed.” He tongues me some more, then gasps as I drag him to the back of my throat. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

We keep spinning in circles, weightless and mindless and moaning between each other’s legs. He’s managed to find the stirrups with his feet, so we’re completely suspended now. There’s some kind of ball socket hooked to the ceiling, and I’m certain it’s built to hold our combined weight. I may not know Ashton Holyfield well, but I have no doubt the man would make sure a sex swing could hold two people. Probably three.

Gravity stops existing. We spin in a blissed haze of mouths and tongues and fingers. Of soft pressure and gentle suction. We’re twirling through space on a cloud of shared pleasure.

“Ash,” I warn as spots dance through my field of vision. “I’m close.”

He makes a guttural sound as I slurp on the head of his cock. “Stop right fucking now if you don’t want a mouthful.”

Is he kidding? There’s nothing I want more than to swallow him down, to feel him explode on my tongue. Fireworks burst behind my eyelids as the first blast of orgasm hits me.

“Fuck!” I’m spinning and flying and coming so hard I can’t see.

Then Ash makes a sound like somebody’s ripping his soul from his body. His cock starts to pulse and I swallow him down as my own climax goes on and on.

We’re still spinning slowly as we both come down. 

Ash drops his feet to the floor, and I do the same. “Holy shit.” I should peel myself off his body, but I’m not sure my legs work. “Are you still alive down there?”

“Please.” He chuckles and nips the inside of my thigh. “I could do this all night.”

That wouldn’t surprise me at all. The man’s superhuman, that’s all there is to it.

Somehow, I manage to lurch to my feet. Gripping the straps overhead, I extricate myself gracelessly from the world’s most intense sixty-nine. I peer down at Ashton, whose chin now resembles a glazed donut.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” He pulls himself into an upright position, not wiping his face at all. “Was the experience what you expected?”

That experience so far exceeded my expectations that I no longer recall what they were. “I’m still seeing stars and I can’t feel my hands. Is it possible to die of bliss?”

“We have an excellent physician on staff,” he replies. “Shall I summon her back to the resort?”

“Only if she knows how to keep this sensation going forever.”

Ashton smiles and I swear it’s like the sun just came out. Cool blue eyes dart to the ceiling, then back to me. “Well then,” he says dryly. “I’ll inform the maintenance team this unit has been thoroughly tested.”

Ashton leaves ten minutes later, declining to stick around to cuddle. Not that I invited him. Not that I expected him to be the snuggly sort. Whatever’s between us is purely sexual, and I’ll be gone tomorrow anyway.

Having time to myself in this luxury suite gives me a chance to catch my breath. To take a long bath in the gigantic tub and assess the last thirty-six hours of my life.

I feel like a failure.

I haven’t said that out loud to anyone yet. Not even myself.

But when Ashton said I sounded like a great therapist, I wanted so badly to think so. I’ve always believed that. It’s what’s kept me going through challenging patients and discouraging treatments that tested my skills. Through all of that, I persevered.

But what kind of therapist can’t see she’s botched her own relationship this badly?

I should have seen the signs that things weren’t great with Hayden. We lost our connection long before he didn’t show up for our wedding. That was just a symptom of a larger problem. A problem I failed to diagnose.

That failure leaves me questioning everything.

Drawing a breath, I turn off the taps and settle into a fragrant sea of bubbles. As I snatch my phone from the edge of the tub, I reenter the real world for the first time all day.

I have several calls from Sara and Eve. A few from my sisters, all five of them, plus one from my brother and four from our mom.

A patient I’ve worked with for years has emailed requesting an appointment. “I know you’re getting married,” she says. “Please don’t let me bother you if you’re busy. But I’ve had a breakthrough in my feelings around Jimmy’s death, and if there’s any room in your schedule for a telehealth session, I’d be so grateful. Even ten minutes in the late afternoon would be amazing.”

I normally wouldn’t accept. It’s important to set boundaries with patients, and I’m clearly marked out of the office. But if tomorrow’s travel day goes according to plan, I’ll be stuck in Atlanta on a three-hour layover right when she’s hoping to meet.

I email her back confirming a time for a telehealth session, making it clear that it’s subject to change, based on my travel schedule. As soon as I send it, I switch back to checking my messages.

There are two missed calls and a series of texts from Hayden. He and I spoke briefly on my layover in Houston when I called to explain as clearly as possible that this wasn’t a temporary break. That we needed to end our relationship.

He didn’t sound hurt. Not even a little.

“If that’s your decision.” He spoke like a man addressing a third grader eating Crayolas in class. “I won’t hold you hostage in a relationship.”

“It’s been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

“What I think,” he began, sounding fatigued with the conversation, “is that we should talk about this later. When I’m not at work⁠—”

“You’re at work?” Of course he was. It was only nine p.m. in Portland.

Hayden kept going like I hadn’t asked a question. “I think we should sleep on it. Talk a bit more when you’ve calmed down and you’re feeling more reasonable and rational.”

“I think that’s the problem.” I was willing to give him a pass on the calm down bullshit. It had been a long day for us both. “We focused too much on reasonable and rational. Not enough on our emotional needs.”

He scoffed like I knew he would. “Okay, Camille. If this is what you want, I won’t fight it.”

He hung up without a goodbye. Probably just as well.

As I settle in to read his texts that followed that call, I’m braced for anger. For an apology. For hurt or rage or blame or maybe all of those things.

What I should have expected was total detachment.

I’m sending a proposal to buy out your half of the mortgage.

Do you want to keep the cookware?

When did we buy this bookshelf? I’m adding it to my side of the ledger but please move it to yours if you brought it into the partnership.

“Jesus.” Right to the end, it’s a business transaction for Hayden. Why did I think our breakup would be any different from the entirety of our relationship?

I glance at time and realize it’s 7 p.m. here. That means it’s 4 p.m. back home in Portland. There’s a crumpled-up hollow in my chest that can only be filled by the comfort of friendship. I dial Sara first, since she’s most likely to be home at this hour.

“Camille, thank God.” Her face flashes up on the screen. She’s seated in her kitchen wearing a fuzzy pink top and a concerned expression. “We’ve been worried to death.”

“I texted you and Eve when I got here.” Maybe I should have written more than arrived. “Hang on, let me buzz Eve for a three-way.”

“I’m here!” Her voice rings out in the background, and seconds later, the screen readjusts so they’re both in the frame. “We’re having a sleepover. And speaking of three-ways⁠—”

“The sex resort’s closed.”

They gasp and I get down to spilling the story. I tell them about the mix-up with the reservation and how I arrived to an empty lobby. How there isn’t a single consort on the island. How the pools are all empty for cleaning and there’s not even a functioning restaurant if I wanted to stay a few days with the goal of resuming my fantasy vacay when things reopen next week.

Which I haven’t been invited to do in any case.

Somewhere in the middle of sharing my story, I debate whether to tell them about Ashton. He’s a public figure, but a private man.

Ultimately, I trust my girls. Besides, it’s not like I’m bound by client privilege. I gave Ashton Holyfield a BJ, not a therapy session.

“Fabulous.” Eve performs a dramatic slow clap. “I love this for you.”

“Thanks.” I look at Sara, whose eyes are as wide as silver dollars. “You okay, Sar?”

“Oh my God.” She’s the virginal product of a strict upbringing, so it’s no shocker she’s stunned. “That’s so—so—so⁠—”

“Wild.” Eve supplies. “Exciting for Camille.”

“Yes, of course.” Sara nods. “I’m happy if you’re happy.” She nibbles her bottom lip. “Will you see him again?”

“I mean, I kinda have to. I don’t have a way off the island without him. But no, we’re not dating, if that’s what you mean.”

“I met Ashton Holyfield once,” Eve muses. “When I went back for Kit’s final presentation of the study. He’s, um…” She’s fumbling for the right word, and I hold back the urge to help her describe Ashton.

Sexy?

Commanding?

Insanely attractive?

“Scary,” she says.

“Oh.” I can see that. “Not really, once you get to know him.”

“You’ve gotten to know him?” Sara still looks astonished. “When did you get there? My time zone math gets all mixed up. You left about thirty-eight hours ago, right?”

“Something like that.” I glance at the clock on the wall, calculating the time change and my layover and the time it takes to get from Jamaica to here. “I arrived about five hours ago.”

“Holy shit.” Sara looks at Eve. “You said that place was like another planet. I guess time operates differently there?”

She sounds more curious than judgy, which I love about Sara. She might be a little naïve, but she’s open minded. Just because she and her hot, Navy fiancé decided to wait until marriage for sex, she doesn’t judge others who make different choices.

“To be honest, I feel like I’ve been in a time warp the last couple days. Maybe more than a week. Like the wedding happened so quickly that my brain never had time to catch up.”

“And your body had other needs.” Eve nods and I know she gets it. “Sometimes, listening to your body isn’t such a bad thing.”

“As a short-term measure, absolutely.” I’ve talked endlessly about the therapeutic benefits of rebound flings. “It wouldn’t be the basis for a long-term relationship, but that’s the last thing I’m looking for here.”

“I want to know more about this Holyfield guy.” Sara pulls out her phone, so I guess we’re chatting on her iPad. As she starts to scroll, I twist the taps to warm my bathwater. These suds are luxurious, all foamy and fragrant. I’ll have to ask Ashton what sort of bubble bath they buy.

“Holyfield is kinda famous.” Sara taps at her screen. “I knew he was some sort of eccentric billionaire, but he does tons of philanthropy stuff.”

“Interesting.” I meant to Google him before I got in the tub but got distracted. “Does it list his age?”

“Forty-five.” Sara keeps scrolling as Eve wiggles her brows.

“You do like older men,” she says. “The zaddy thing, right?”

“He does have that going for him.” Maybe this counts for my age-gap fantasy. “Doesn’t he own like a zillion resorts worldwide?”

“Two thousand eight hundred and sixty-three,” Sara reports. “And his net worth is—oh my God.”

“Let me see.” Eve peers at the screen and blanches. “Oh my. No wonder he paid Kit so well for the study.”

I’ve never been one to care about money, so I don’t bother to ask for the number. “What else does it say?”

“He grew up between London and New York. Went to a boarding school in Connecticut, graduated from Harvard with an MBA in business. Made his money in real estate, then expanded into hotels and vacation properties.”

“What does it say under ‘personal’?” Pretty sure that’s the section that lists romantic relationships. Not that I think he’s lying about not being married.

“That section is missing.” Sara frowns at the screen. “Weird.”

“It just names his parents and grandparents.” Eve’s brow furrows. “I can ask Kit if he knows anything.”

“Don’t worry about it.” It’s not like I’ll see him again once I get on a plane tomorrow. “Have my sisters been hounding you?”

“Kit and I sat them down for a talk.” Eve twists her hair into a floppy bun. “You said it was okay to tell them where you went, so we explained that time spent at Crystal Bliss is sacred. That it’s better to give you some breathing room. A chance to get settled and relax.”

“Thank you.” Tears fill my eyes when I think of my sisters. I love them all dearly, but right now I need space. “I’m glad I cleared my calendar for the honeymoon.”

Even as I say it, I know that was irresponsible. My patients might need me, and can I really be gone this long?

Sara must notice the worry on my face. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she assures me. “We can water your plants or pick up your things from Hayden if you want us to.”

“Whatever you need,” Eve agrees. “Just take care of you, okay?”

It was just a few months ago I spoke those exact words to Eve. I urged her to take time at Crystal Bliss to tend to her needs.

I won’t be getting the full Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club experience, but I can use my short time away to get my head on straight.

“Thank you.” I find a fluffy white washcloth and use it to dab at my eyes. “I should probably hang up and see about rebooking my flight.”

“Fingers crossed you don’t get caught up in that pilots’ strike.” Eve squints at the screen. “Hey, are you in one of those tubs they use for the Bubble of Trouble? That’s the sexy bubble bath enchantment with⁠—”

“What pilots’ strike?”

“It’s all over the news.” Sara makes a face. “I guess it’s affecting multiple airlines.”

“Huh.” That’s not good. “Hopefully it’s resolved soon. And yes, this bathtub is great. You could definitely fit an orgy in here.”

Eve giggles. “Or one very acrobatic, enthusiastically amorous couple. Not that I’d know.”

“Bubble bath’s irritating to vaginal tissue.” I sound so obnoxious. “Good way to get a yeast infection.”

“Check the label.” Eve grins. “Everything at Crystal Bliss is organic and safe for all orifices. You can probably eat it if you want.”

“I’ll pass.” And I’m about to pass out if I don’t get out of this tub. “Thanks for listening, guys. And for being there.”

“We’re always here for you.” Sara blows me a kiss. “We’ll give you an in-person hug when we see you.”

“Love you,” Eve says. “Give Ashton Holyfield more than a hug when you see him.”

I laugh and swirl my free hand through the bubbles. “I sincerely doubt I’ll see more than his hand waving goodbye at the dock tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” Eve says, grinning. “That place has a way of twisting your life around when you least expect it.”

“Ha.” I sincerely doubt that’ll happen for me. Not with such limited time and a resort that’s not even open. “Love you guys.”

“Love you, too,” they chime.

I hang up flooded with gratitude for my friends.

For this chance to be here in this luxury suite with a beach right outside and a chance to recharge, even for only a few hours.

As I’m counting the things I feel thankful for, I can’t help seeing a flash of Ashton Holyfield’s face in my mind.

CHAPTER 6

ASHTON

“Thank you for your time.” With the phone to my ear, I glance at Camille sitting cross-legged and lovely in a flowered green sundress. Morning sun dapples her shoulders at the same seafront table where she ate chicken nuggets yesterday. “Please keep me abreast of any developments.”

I hang up the phone and watch my train of thought derail into the lush valley of her cleavage. Was I doing something?

“Eyes up here, Ash Hole.” Camille tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my gaze to her face. “What did she say?”

“Who?”

“The airline executive you called.” She rolls her eyes. “I know I’ve got great tits, but surely they didn’t make you forget you called a major airline CEO and attempted to singlehandedly solve an international pilots’ strike.”

They did, actually.

“Bad news,” I say, though some secret part of me isn’t terribly disappointed. “There will be no flights departing or arriving from any airport in the region today. My attempts at negotiation were unsuccessful.”

Not that I tried as hard as I could have. Speaking of hard⁠—

“Hey, Ash?” She tips up my chin again. “I appreciate the flattery. And I really appreciate you making those calls. But do you think you could talk to me and not my tits?”

“I apologize. You’re right, that’s disrespectful.” One would think that having my hands all over Camille’s body would satisfy my curiosity. Scratch the itch. Tick the box on touching the world’s most perfect pair of breasts.

But all night long, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. The squeeze of her slick channel around my cock. Her sharp cry at the peak of climax. The taste of her arousal as she⁠—

“Breakfast.” I force my gaze back to her face. “We should eat something.”

“Good plan.” Camille gets up from the table. For the last forty minutes, we’ve been sitting here reading through news of the strikes, poring over airline websites, and struggling to find her a route home.

I suppose I could offer my private jet, but the pilot was granted the same long vacation as the rest of my staff. How urgent really is it to send Camille on her way? She seems to be having a nice time, and I⁠—

Let’s just say it’s been a while since I enjoyed anyone’s company this much.

“I can cook.” Camille heads for the end of the bar, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Is it okay if I poke around in the restaurant kitchen?”

“Be my guest.” I follow because technically, she is a guest. “You really don’t have to cook for yourself. The least I can do is prepare a meal for us both.”

I do rather enjoy cooking for people I care about, which technically shouldn’t include a woman I’ve just met.

But I follow her into the kitchen where she’s already making herself at home.

“Please.” She tugs an apron off a hook by the stove and cinches it around her slim waist. “You sent me a tray last night with one of the best gourmet meals I’ve ever eaten. Seriously, where did you get all that? I just opened my door when the bell rang and poof—Michelin star meal sitting on my stoop.”

“My personal chef created it.” I pull open the fridge and rifle through its meager offerings. We really aren’t stocked to serve meals this week. “I asked him to prepare an extra meal for an unexpected guest.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” She pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge, then butter and bacon and cream. “You must live close by?”

“Not exactly.” I locate a loaf of bread that’s several days old and decide it’s acceptable for French toast. Setting it aside, I start slicing up strawberries I brought over this morning from my garden. “My home is roughly a thirty-minute boat ride from here.”

“Wait.” Forehead furrowing, Camille finds nutmeg and cinnamon on the chef’s spice rack. “You had your personal chef travel an hour round trip to bring me dinner?”

“Something like that.” There’s no need to go into details, or admit that’s not quite how it happened. “I do hope you found it more appetizing than chicken nuggets. I referred to your intake form to determine your dietary preferences.”

Which is why I’m double-checking the bread to ensure there’s no sesame. She’s also allergic to peanuts, so I’m glad I didn’t serve yesterday’s lunch with its customary peanut butter dipping cup to accompany the apple slices.

“Dinner was incredible, thank you.” She starts beating eggs and cream in a bowl. “The jumbo scallops with lemon burre blanc were an especially lovely touch.”

She shoots me a look that says the subtext wasn’t lost on her. If her dickhead ex would rather eat scallops than show up for their wedding, the least I could do was bring her the best goddamn scallops she’s ever tasted.

“I hope they weren’t rubbery.” I reach into a cupboard and pull down a serving platter and two plates. “I had to prepare them on the boat to eliminate the risk they’d dry out.”

“You mean the chef had to prepare them?” She looks up from sprinkling cinnamon sugar in the egg mixture.

“Precisely.” I check the pan I’ve been heating, then lay out the bacon in sizzling strips. “I’ve asked Lars to prepare several more meals while you’re here.”

“Lars is your personal chef?” Camille takes the vanilla I hand her, tipping some into the bowl. “Sounds like a sexy Swede.”

“He’s seventy-six years old and German. Other than that, you’re spot on.”

“Well it was nice of him to offer to prepare food for me, but please ask him not to go to any trouble.”

Arranging sliced berries on a platter, I comb my brain for what else Camille ought to know as my temporary guest. “You’ll likely meet Kora and Sybil at some point. Their home sits at the edge of the resort property and they chose to stay for the duration of the break.”

“Ah, Kora and Sybil.” She unwraps the bread and begins dunking slices in the egg mix. “My brother mentioned them. Married couple, right? Sybil’s a consort and Kora manages the consorts?”

“Kora manages all resort personnel, plus my household staff.” I’m a little surprised Camille knows of them. I knew they’d stayed in touch with Kit Plier, but I’m surprised he’d discuss such details with his sister. “I’m certain they’d enjoy meeting you. Other team members may return early, depending on when the airline strike ends. If they’re vacationing nearby on adjacent islands, the strike shouldn’t impact their travels.”

“Good to know.”

I turn the bacon with tongs as Camille tests the skillet I’ve warmed for French toast. She turns down the heat just a little, then lays egg-soaked slices on the hot surface. “I thought perhaps we could take a boat ride today.”

Camille nibbles her lip. “Please don’t worry about entertaining me. I already feel like a jerk for showing up when you’re closed. The last thing you need is someone to babysit.”

That’s where she’s wrong. Having her here feels like my own private vacation. “It’s no trouble, truly.” I clear my throat. “Given our less-than-ideal circumstances at Crystal Bliss, the least I can do is ensure you fulfill a few of your bucket list fantasies.”

She looks up in surprise. “Did you memorize that form when I handed it to you in the boiler room?”

“It’s in the online portal.” And I’m a little embarrassed to admit how much time I spent poring over it last night. “I saw skinny-dipping on your list, and while most of our pools are being resealed, I’m happy to take you to a private swimming cove with a beach you might find inviting. It’s also a chance to attend to your nude sunbathing fantasy.”

“Damn.” Camille gives a low whistle. “What did I do to get the VIP treatment here?”

“Fucked me in the boiler room, then sucked me off on a sex swing.”

She bursts out laughing as I transfer the bacon to a platter. “Jesus, Ash. You do love the shock value, don’t you?”

Only with her, it seems. “That was gauche, I apologize.”

“Please. I love your comedic timing. Your sense of humor is like one of those orgasms that sneaks up on you. Just comes out of nowhere and bam! Instant dopamine hit.”

“Well put.” That might be the nicest compliment anyone’s ever paid me. “Could you reach that bottle right there? The brown one with the blue top—it’s maple syrup.”

Camille grabs the bottle, then swivels to face me with shock in her eyes. “Wait.”

“What?” I frown down at the bacon, at the French toast she’s piled on the platter beside it. “What’s wrong?”

“Did we seriously just make an entire French toast and bacon breakfast without discussing what we were doing?”

I survey the meal we’ve prepared. The perfect crisp bacon. Slices of fresh strawberry. The warm, fragrant wedges of French toast, each with a golden pat of butter pooling on top.

“Yes.” I try not to read too much into that. “I believe we did.”

“Wow.” Camille’s grin spreads slow and wide. “Guess we’re in sync or something.”

“It appears so.”

“That might explain all the simultaneous orgasms. Not terribly common among couples who’ve just met.”

There’s a sharp pressure building behind my breastbone. A need to say something before Camille reads too much into this.

“I don’t get involved.”

“What?” She blinks, then looks down at the breakfast. “Is this your way of telling me you’d rather eat on your own?”

“No, I mean—” Fuck, what do I mean? “I don’t date. Not seriously, not ever. Certainly, I’ve had my dalliances over the years⁠—”

“Dalliances, huh?” She grins. “That’s how you keep in such good practice. Your sex skills are on point, my man.”

I study her face for flashes of judgment. For jealousy or irritation. There’s none of that anywhere.

Perhaps she’s just not hearing me. Perhaps I need to be clearer.

“I fuck women a few times, then move on with my life. It’s nothing personal. I’m not seeking connection or commitment. I just—I don’t get involved. Feelings aren’t part of the equation.”

A smile breaks over her face. She even laughs just a little. “Oh, Ash Hole.” She pats my arm, then picks up the platter. “You’re sweet to look out for my feelings but trust me—the last thing I want right now is commitment.”

“Well, yes.” I clear my throat. “I’ve had something of a history with women changing their minds on that front.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s still chuckling. “Because you’re a billionaire god in bed?” She bumps me with her elbow. “Please. You’re fantastic, don’t get me wrong. Or maybe the chemistry means we’re fantastic together.”

“Certainly.” I’m not sure she’s grasping the weight of the problem. “I just don’t want anyone getting attached. Because I don’t. Ever.”

“Not ever?” Her tone suggests she’s teasing me. “Never ever never ever with sugar on top?” She plucks a perfect ripe strawberry from the pile on the platter, holding it up to my lips. “Relax, Ash Hole. We’re good. We’re on the same page.”

I open my mouth to argue but she pops the berry between my lips. It’s juicy and sweet and I get lost for a moment in the flavor explosion on my tongue.

“Take it easy, big guy.” She watches me chew with kindness in her eyes. “You don’t do commitment. I want a relationship like I want a nipple in the middle of my forehead. Which is not at all, in case your obsession with breasts clouds your judgement on that one. Seriously, Ash—we’re okay.”

She walks away with the platter, leaving me staring after her. Not for the first time, I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

“Wow, Ash Hole.” Camille grips the rail of the bow and turns back to face me with wind whipping her hair. “When you promised a boat ride, I pictured one of those little rubber rafts with an outboard motor.”

“Perish the thought.” I’m at the controls of my Arcona 50 luxury racing yacht with a steel frame, mahogany trim, and push-button sailing capacity.

In other words, one of the nicest luxury yachts money can buy.

I point to a stark white sliver of sand ahead on our starboard side. “That’s where we’re headed.”

“Woah.”

I attempt to view it through her eyes. Lush jungle crawls from the pale, sandy shore to the center of the crescent-shaped island. There’s only one structure, a sizeable estate with a kidney-shaped pool and floor-to-ceiling windows spanning all three floors. From the back of the property, a tangle of chartreuse vines twists up the side of a dormant volcano. Deep in the jungle, a howler monkey beckons for a booty call.

Feathering the throttle of the yacht, I glance off the portside to where a pod of dolphins leaps alongside us, riding our wake through the froth.

Camille laughs and points. “Oh my God, look at them. That’s amazing.”

“Certainly is.” Her joy is infectious, not unlike the Legionnaires’ disease I work meticulously to prevent at all my resort properties. We’ve never had a case, not anywhere.

Still watching the dolphins, Camille gathers her hair in a fist. Light, copper strands slide through her fingers like droplets of liquid metal. In her bright-blue bikini, she peers down at the water with her plush lips parted. “So beautiful.”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Indeed.”

I focus on threading the needle between sandbars. There’s a mooring ball fixed to a spot between two beds of coral, and I connect us as Camille keeps an eye on the water.

“You really know what you’re doing.”

“You weren’t certain of that before boarding?”

“I trust you.” She shrugs as I tug at the ropes attaching the small tender to the side of the ship. “You’re amazing so far at all forms of sex. Figured you must be good at this too.”

“Your thought process eludes me.”

“Good.” Laughing, she re-ties the sarong at her waist. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Ash Hole.”

I hate how much I love that nickname. Since when does it turn me on to have a woman mocking me, even in a good-natured way? It’s not like I’m into degradation, but that’s not what she’s doing. Camille’s playful teasing makes me feel like less of an asshole, oddly enough.

I like that feeling a lot.

Clearing my throat, I finish securing the boat. “I have something you should see.”

“Your penis?” Tipping her sunglasses, she pretends to peer at my crotch. “It’s been twelve hours since I’ve seen it, so whip that bad boy out.”

“Hilarious.” And nice for my ego, but that’s beside the point. Slipping a hand into a cubby by the controls, I pull out a thin white envelope. “For you.”

“What is it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just tears open the seal and squints at the page. Her forehead furrows as she reads. “Your test results for sexually transmitted infections and diseases.” She looks up from reading and smiles. “Is this another one of your attempts at foreplay?”

I choose to ignore that question. “Obviously, you were required to upload your test results to the portal. It seemed unfair not to share mine.” We’ve already had unprotected sex. The last thing she needs is to be concerned I may have been lying.

“Thank you.” She folds the paper back into the envelope, then tucks it into her beach bag. “This makes me a little less freaked out about throwing caution to the wind yesterday.”

“Glad to hear it.” And I rather hoped she’d throw said caution just a little bit farther. “Are you ready for your skinny-dipping fantasy? There’s a ladder off stern, or I’ll have the tender unhooked in just a moment.”

A mischievous smile plays over her mouth. “We’re discussing your dinghy again?”

“Are you actually a pre-teen boy?”

“You’d better hope not. Otherwise, yesterday might raise some legal concerns.”

“You’re quite the comedienne.” It’s a battle to keep a straight face.

“I have a question.” Camille’s smile quirks. “You said you read through all my fantasies?”

“I did. Are you speaking, perhaps, of number two in section six?”

“Oh my God.” She takes a step closer, filling my senses with Shalimar and coconut sunblock. “You’re such an incredible geek.”

“I thought I was an Ash Hole.” I love how she says both like they’re compliments. “Boat sex, hmm?” Because of course I made note of that when planning this excursion.

“Always wanted to get railed on a boat.” Cocking a hip, she regards me with interest. “Such a cool fantasy.”

“A common one. It’s why we have a whole section devoted to it on the Crystal Bliss menu.”

“Smart.” One more step closer and she’s officially entered my personal space. She trails a hand down my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Once, I convinced my friend Brooke to take me on her fiancé’s brother’s boat. He’s a commercial fisherman in Oregon, and I thought there might be an opportunity to tick that box.”

Once again, I’m not following the story. “You wanted to sleep with her brother?”

“Absolutely not. He’s engaged.” Her wide hazel eyes hold mine with something that looks like fury. “I might be impulsive and reckless, but I am never, ever, ever a cheater. Given what I do for a living, I’ve seen infidelity destroy too many lives.”

My face feels hot, so I nod. “Of course. My apologies.”

“It’s okay, I’m not telling this well.” Her hand remains on my chest, and it’s startling how much I enjoy it. “Hayden joined us for the boat ride and I got him hyped up for the possibility. I mean, as hyped as Hayden gets for anything not work-related.” She makes a face and continues. “But he agreed to give boat sex a shot if the opportunity arose.”

“It didn’t happen?” The tease of her fingers at the opening of my shirt makes me dizzy.

“Nope. Half of Brooke’s family joined us. Her fiancé’s family, I mean. Even his sister’s thirteen-year-old daughter and her friends. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t a setup for maritime sex.”

“What a pity.” I’m nearing my breaking point. All this casual touching and talk of boat sex.

Time to take action.

Sliding my hands to her back, I cup the delicate wings of her shoulder blades. The tips of my fingers graze the knot securing her top in place and I quickly untie it. “So it turns out you’re not aroused by live bait?”

“Nope.” She gasps as I tug at the neck of her top, letting it fall to the ground.

A gentle sea breeze stirs her nipples to peaks, and she presses them into my chest. Waves rock the boat, tipping us into each other. God, she feels good.

Caressing her shoulders and collarbones, my hands make their way to her beautiful breasts. I cup them gently, stroking her nipples with my thumbs. “Your tits are fucking amazing.”

“Your mouth is fucking filthy.” She grins. “Only when you’re turned on, though.”

“And you think I’m turned on?” I grind my erection into her belly, erasing all doubt.

“Definitely.” She grins. “Know what we haven’t done yet?”

“Considering we met less than twenty-four hours ago, it’s a rather substantial list.”

She laughs and steps back, giving me a full-frontal view of her breasts. She takes hold of my hand, tugging me toward the built-in mahogany bench near the cockpit. “Face to face sex.” She peels off her sarong and those skimpy bikini bottoms, tossing them off to the side near her top.

Gloriously naked, she grabs a thick towel from her bag. “I know it’s nothing kinky, and not technically on my bucket list, but I’d really like to ride your cock in a reclined position.”

“I think that can be arranged.” I’m already rock-hard from watching her strip. From seeing the sunlight spill through her hair and over the slope of her breasts.

She’s so fucking pretty it hurts.

“Glad you agree.” Dropping the towel, she goes to work unbuttoning my shirt, kissing her way between my pecs. Her lips pause over the heart-shaped scar just below my left collarbone. “What happened here?”

“An unfortunate but very minor accident in my twenties. I’d been drinking.” That’s all she needs to know.

“We’ve all been there.” She kisses the white-puckered scar. “Painful?”

“It was at the time.”

I pray she won’t press for more, and she doesn’t, thank God. She just sinks to her knees on the towel, undoing my pants as she slides down my body. “Somebody’s ready to play.”

“Guh.” That’s all I manage as she swallows the head of my cock. “I thought this was supposed to be your fantasy.”

“It is.” She goes back to sucking me as I thread my fingers into her hair. “I’ve never given a BJ on a boat before.”

“You’re doing a damn fine job of it.” Christ, she’s good with her mouth. And her hands, one of which cups my balls as her tongue works its magic on my shaft.

I watch her bob for a bit, groaning with pleasure as she draws me deep into the back of her throat. It doesn’t take long to reach the point of no return.

“Up,” I command, hooking my hands under her arms. I hoist her to her feet, kicking my linen trousers off to the side.

She laughs as I scoop her into my arms. “God, you’re strong.” Wrapping her legs around my hips, she lets me carry her the rest of the way to the bench. “Feel how wet you made me already?”

I groan as she grinds her slickness against me. Burying my face in her neck, I breathe in the spicy-warm scent of her. Tasting her skin, dragging my teeth down the slope of her throat, I feel more alive than I have in years.

“God, that feels good.” She wiggles her hips, trying to get me inside her. “Need you, Ash.”

“That can be arranged.” I sink to the bench and position her over my body.

Creamy pale thighs envelop my hips as she straddles me. With a devilish grin, Camille grips the base of my cock in a fist. “Should I let you inside me?” She’s teasing now, trying to torment me. “What if I just put the tip in?”

Gritting my teeth, I watch the head of my cock slip inside her. She’s so fucking tight I can’t stand it. She plays like that for a while, dipping me into her slick little center, then sliding me out again. She sinks back down, letting one inch of me feel the squeeze of her channel before retreating.

“Are you trying to torment me?” My voice sounds strangled and thick.

Her smile looks a little bit dazed. “If it’s any comfort, I’m tormenting myself, too.”

“Why would that comfort me?”

“Isn’t it fun sometimes?” She moans as she rubs the head of my cock over the nub of her clit. “A little torture to make bliss feel even better.”

That had never occurred to me before.

Camille coats my cock in her arousal, circling, teasing, not quite sinking down on it. I’m like her personal sex toy, letting her use me like a tool.

A tool that’s nearing its breaking point.

“When you’re done playing,” I bite out, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t walk right for a week.”

“Oooh, threats.” She sounds delighted.

“Not a threat. Just a promise.”

She glides me back to her entrance, hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. Holding my gaze, she sinks down another slick inch. “God, you’re thick.” She groans as she eases me deeper.

I let go of her hip and move my hand to the front of her body. With the pad of my thumb slick with her juices, I massage that sensitive nub.

“Fuck,” she cries out as her pussy walls clench me. “How are you so good at that?”

“Rubbing your clit?”

She gasps as I do it again. “Knowing exactly how to touch me when—” Another sharp gasp splits her sentence in half. “When we just fucking met.”

Making her melt like candle wax leaves me feeling powerful and in-charge. I like it way more than I should. “I can make you come anytime I want,” I breathe against her neck. “Shall I show you?”

“Oh, God.” She tips her head back, starting to ride me with vigor. “Why does this feel so good?”

I don’t have an answer, and I’m not sure she wants one. But she sounds so surprised that I wonder.

Does whatever’s between us feel as glorious to her as it does to me?

“Camille.” I can tell by the squeeze of her body that she’s close. “Come for me.”

She lets out a guttural moan. Thin cords of tendon strain in her throat, almost like she’s fighting it. Is she trying to show I can’t control her?

“Look at me, Camille.”

She opens her eyes. They’re blazing with need, with defiance and so much desire.

“I want you to come on my cock.” I tilt up my hips to search for it. For the angle that hits her sweet spot.

The second I graze it, her eyes open wide. “Oh, God,” she cries out as I thrust up and hit her G-spot again.

“That’s it,” I growl. “Let go—let me feel it.”

She gives a scream that spurs animal sounds from the jungle. Monkeys and toucans and maybe a cry of my own. I’m not sure she hears it. Or hears my sharp curse as I surrender to my own fierce explosion.

“Jesus Christ.” I moan as she pistons her hips, riding the waves of her pleasure and mine. We’re coming together again, a synchronized burst that goes on for decades as I pump the sweet vise of her sex.

Camille pitches forward, collapsing onto my chest. “Good God,” she mumbles, spitting hair from her mouth. “I don’t understand why it’s that good.”

Nor do I.

But I stroke her damp back as her tight little walls keep clenching around me. “Novelty,” I offer. “Vacation sex is always better, right?”

She sits up on my cock to look at me. A smile plays over her flushed face. “Did you get that from the Crystal Bliss brochure?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Surely there’s some psychological phenomenon she could cite. “That’s all it is.”

“Of course,” she says, licking her lips. “What else would it be?”

I have no idea. As I draw in a shuddery breath, I cup both her hips in my hands. “Lust,” I murmur. “Powerful stuff.”

Please let that be all this is.

CHAPTER 7

CAMILLE

We slather each other with more sunblock, which, naturally, leads to more groping. Not that I’m complaining. Having Ashton’s hands on my body and touching his smooth, broad chest, isn’t exactly a hardship.

I don’t bother putting my bikini back on, in deference to my skinny-dipping fantasy. Ash pulls on swim trunks, insisting one of us should be clothed in case the Coast Guard needs to rescue us.

He points to a spot of crystal-blue sea where it’s safe to dive into the water. “There’s no coral reef there,” he assures me. “I’ll toss down a life ring so you’ve got something to hold on to while I lower the tender into the water.”

“Tender.” I grin up at his serious face. “Come on, Ash—what do we really call it?”

He clenches his jaw, feigning annoyance like a champ. “You’re not getting off this boat until I call it a dinghy, are you?”

“Correct.” I laugh as I step to the edge of the deck. Just before jumping, I turn back to face him. “Thanks for this, by the way.” I bite my lip. “For knowing I need to do this alone.”

“Dive off a boat?”

“I know it’s probably one of those things you do all the time. I mean, you own a freakin’ yacht.”

His expression shifts to deep bemusement. “Actually, I never have.”

“Jumped off your own boat?”

“Perhaps I’ll remedy that at some point.” He tugs at a rope that’s holding the tender—the dinghy—in place. “But please, be my guest. Dive to your heart’s content.”

Some over-explainy urge prompts me to say more. To make sure he understands. “I just need to do it by myself. Jump off the boat? Not holding hands with the hot billionaire I’m banging on a vacation fling.” I should stop talking, but I need him to know we’re on the same page. That we’re both committed to not making this more than it is. “Just me in my birthday suit, soaring through the air, diving into the Caribbean Sea by myself.”

“I understand completely.” Ash frowns. “Though, if you want to get technical, this is actually the Strait of⁠—”

“Goodbye, Ash Hole.” I blow him a kiss, then swan dive off the side of the boat.

For four or five seconds, time stands still. I arc through the air like a professional diver, though I probably look more like a kid doing her first launch off the high dive at a public pool. Turquoise water sparkles below and the wind whips my hair. I feel powerful and free as I slice through the water, then paddle my way back to the top.

“Wooo!” I shout as I come up for air.

The first thing I see is his face at the edge of the boat, looking surly and overprotective. “Next time,” he growls, “don’t stay underwater so long.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He winces, then goes back to unhooking the dingy. “Stay close,” he mutters.

And I do. I paddle around in the crystal-clear water, loving the ripple of waves caressing my body. It’s the perfect temperature, cool enough to feel refreshing, but warm enough I could swim here all day. I roll onto my back and float for a while, exposing my belly and breasts to the sun. Gentle waves lap at my ears as I bob on the surface and forget all my troubles for a few blissful minutes.

It's been way too long since I did anything like this. Unlike Sara and Eve, I didn’t grow up steeped in purity culture. I skinny-dipped plenty in high school and college, and it was never a big deal.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot what it feels like to have fun. To chase my own pleasure for the sake of pure bliss instead of just counseling patients to do it. There’s that old saying about the cobbler’s kids going shoeless, and if I’m honest with myself, that’s been me. I’ve urged so many patients to better their sex lives, while Hayden and I slowly drifted apart. When’s the last time we had sex anyplace other than our bed?

Or in bed, for that matter? At least three weeks. That’s been our pattern these last few years, and I own at least a piece of that. It’s not like I bought sexy lingerie and asked Hayden to come home early. Or surprised him in his office with a blowjob like I might have done eight or nine years ago when he worked late.

As mad as I am at Hayden for forgetting our wedding, I forgot romance for much longer than that. We both did.

A splash to my right pulls me out of my back float and I watch as Ash lowers the small boat beside me, then does whatever the hell sailor guys do to secure it. I tread water nearby, gauging the distance to the shore. It’s two hundred yards at most, but it’s nice knowing the dinghy’s here if one of us gets into trouble.

“Oh, look!” I point as a big school of bright blue and yellow fish ripples past. “What are they?”

“Fairy basslet.” He holds out a snorkel and mask. “Here.”

“Thank you.” I wriggle the mask on over my face, biting down on the mouthpiece of the snorkel. I probably look like a goober, but who cares? Ash points me closer to shore. “Halfway between here and the beach, there’s a really nice reef. Look for parrotfish.”

“Thanks.” I have no idea what a parrotfish looks like, but it sounds colorful. I paddle that way, delighted by bright-green angelfish and something with yellow and black stripes. A long, skinny fish thing glides past on my right but doesn’t pay me any mind. I’m not harming him, he’s not harming me. Perfect.

When a ray swims beneath me, I watch for a while before pulling my face from the water. “I just saw a giant a portobello mushroom with wings!”

Ash chuckles and slips into the water. A couple broad strokes bring him close to my side. “Having fun?”

“This is amazing.” I search with my toes before planting my feet on the sandy bottom. Tossing the mask in the dinghy, I open my arms as Ash reaches my side. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.” His slippery skin brushes mine as our limbs twine together under water. “How’s the skinny dipping?”

“Exhilarating.” I spit water on his chin by accident when I say it, but he doesn’t brush it away.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He pushes a wet hank of hair off my face. “Are you ready for the nude sunbathing portion of today’s planned fantasy schedule?”

“I’m not ready to get back on the boat yet.”

“Who said anything about the boat?” He nods toward the wide swath of sandy shore. “There’s a perfectly respectable beach right here.”

I squint at the pristine white sliver of sand. At the gigantic mansion beyond it. “Won’t the rich snobs who live there get mad if I wander buck-naked onto their property?”

“Let me check.” Ash stares blankly at the house for a moment. “It doesn’t appear so, no.”

“Wait.” I blink. “That’s your house?”

“Indeed.”

“Holy shit, Ash Hole.” I gape at the mansion, trying to see where the structure starts and ends. The part I can see looks massive, and more of it vanishes into the jungle. “Are you housing all five-dozen consorts there?”

“If you’re going to mock, you can’t use my beach.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Twisting my fingers behind his neck, I wrap my legs around him. Anchored in place like this, I’m in a better position to study the house. Huge panes of glass reflect the surrounding palm trees and lush vines. The woodwork blends naturally into the foliage, and even the deck looks constructed to be part of the forest. “Is that a barn and a paddock on the other side?”

“It is.”

“You have horses?”

“I don’t.”

“You keep ill-behaved consorts there?”

He chuckles and kisses the edge of my jaw. “Just resort guests who show up without a reservation.”

I laugh as I tip back my head, giving him access to kiss down my throat. “You should get ponies.”

“Is this some sort of pony play joke?” His voice sounds muffled as his mouth moves over my skin.

“Nope.” I moan as he finds the sweet spot between my neck and my shoulder. “I just think ponies are adorable.”

“I certainly need more adorable in my life.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Glad we agree.”

“Hmm.”

My gaze drifts back to his house. It’s huge but it really is lovely. I love how it blends into the landscape. “Your home is gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s huge.”

“I believe you established that yesterday.”

Laughing, I squeeze my thighs around his hips. “How long have you lived there?”

“Eighteen years, give or take. I built it before I built Crystal Bliss.”

I wait for more details, but he doesn’t elaborate. There’s something in his eyes I can’t read. A distance between us. Something melancholy and tender.

As I open my mouth to ask more, there’s a sharp, painful zap on the side of my thigh.

“Ow! Holy shit!” Sucking in saltwater, I choke. I’m flailing and splashing and yelping in pain. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?” Ash pats my sides, eyes growing frantic. “What is it, what happened?”

I howl in reply, fighting to form words. Holy fuck, that hurts.

“Leg cramp?” Ash tries to grab me, but I’m shrieking and swatting at the water around me.

“Sting!” I’m screeching in pain, hoping he grasps that I don’t mean the English pop star. “Something stung me.”

“Shit.” His eyes scan the water. Then he mutters a long string of curses and something that sounds like Pink Meanie.

“Who are you calling a pink meanie?”

“It’s a type of jellyfish.” Ash points to a spot over my left shoulder. “See that rose-colored shape over there?”

I squint through the water, my thigh still throbbing with pain. “The blob that looks like bloody snot?”

“Correct.” His hands stroke my thigh and I yelp.

“Ow! What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if there are any tentacles stuck in your skin.”

“It’s not fatal, is it?” I traveled to Australia once and heard horror stories about box jellyfish.

“Not fatal,” he confirms. “But it can be quite uncomfortable.”

“No shit.” It feels like someone took a cattle prod to my thigh.

“Come on.” Ash drags me into his arms.

“Where are we going?”

“Ashore.” He boosts my nude, flailing body into the boat and clambers in after me. “I’ve got a first-aid kit on the ship, but this is quicker and we’ll have more options.”

“Options like amputation?” I’m trying to joke, but this fucking hurts.

“Pretty sure you’ll live.” He throws me a towel as I cradle my thigh to my chest. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been stung before.”

“Why would that make me feel better?” I spit out a salty hunk of hair. “Did you see sadism checked on my forms?”

“I did not.” Ash’s mouth quirks. “I merely meant that I’m familiar with treatment protocol.”

“You’re not going to pee on me, are you?”

“I beg your pardon?” He squints at the dock, angling the boat into place.

“Isn’t that what people do?”

“Far be it from me to kink shame, but this hardly seems like the time for a golden shower.”

“Ash!” The man is a pain in the ass. “Are you trying to distract me by pretending to be dense?”

“Is it working?” He ties off the boat and leaps out onto a small wooden platform.

“A little,” I admit, wincing as he bundles me into the fluffy red towel.

Gripping my hand, he hoists me out onto the dock. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, I—oh!” I clutch at his neck as he scoops into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“You took too long to answer.” Tucking me against his chest, he strides with purpose up a crushed-shell walkway. “This is quicker.”

“Okay.” I don’t think that’s true, but I’m not in a position to argue. I just hold on tight as he bangs through a gate and over a wide paver path to the house. Being pressed to his body has a placebo effect on the pain, and I notice my thigh isn’t throbbing anymore.

“Urinating on jellyfish stings is a common myth,” he explains as he reaches a side door to the mansion. Shifting me to one side, he presses his thumb to a scanner.

“Who the hell made up that myth?” I mutter.

“Evidently, someone who likes urinating on others.”

“Or being peed on.”

“There’s no kink shaming at Crystal Bliss Retreat.”

The door swings open and we stride through it with Ashton still talking. “Hot water is the best treatment. Anywhere from one-hundred-ten degrees to one-thirteen.”

My thigh throbs like someone’s still zapping me with a taser. “It’s annoying that you know the precise temperature.”

He ignores me and starts up a wide set of stairs, still clutching me tight to his chest. “There’s a bathwater thermometer in the primary suite, along with tweezers in case you have tentacles attached to the injury site.”

“I’m sleeping with a man who has a bathwater thermometer?”

Ash doesn’t reply as he thunders up steps made from some kind of colorful wood. Glancing around, I admire the interior of his home. It’s open and airy, like the place was designed to be part of nature. The entire front is comprised of glass panels, each one framing up spellbinding views of the sea. From the lip of a second-floor balcony, a waterfall tumbles to a shimmering pond trailing down to a gourmet kitchen.

Holy crap, that’s a huge kitchen.

“Do you cook for yourself, or does Lars do all your meals?”

“What?”

“Your personal chef.” I’m getting the sense he’s a bit too distracted for small talk about his eating habits. “Does Lars make everything you eat, or can you cook?”

Ash grumbles something as we turn to take the next flight of stairs. “Did we not make French toast and bacon together?”

“I meant at home.” I’m chalking his surliness up to concern, which is sweet in an unsettling way.

“I can cook,” mutters Grumpy McGrumpypants.

“That French toast was outstanding.” We’re at the top of the stairs now, where lush ferns and plants with orange-spotted leaves frame the top of the waterfall. “You like water features a lot, huh?”

“One would hope so,” he mutters, which isn’t an answer.

Ash pivots at the top of the stairs, striding into a room that’s the size of my house.

My house with Hayden, which won’t be my home for much longer. I wait for a sharp pang of sadness or loss, but it doesn’t come. Maybe I’m still in shock.

“This is your bedroom?”

“Indeed.”

The walls are stark white and a huge king-sized bed sits under a giant window. It’s draped in soft linen bedding, with pillows and sheets in five or six hues of blue. There’s an ivory coverlet I’d probably wreck within minutes by spilling nail polish or wine.

Ashton deposits me at the foot of the bed, then stalks to the en suite bathroom framed by double French doors. Water starts running, so I tuck the red towel tighter around me and wander his bedroom.

All the furniture is made from the same splotchy wood as the stairs. I’m exploring his space, touching the dresser and picking up picture frames. There’s a photo with Ash and two people I assume are his parents. They have matching blue eyes and icy-stern expressions like his. He’s wearing a cap and gown, and everyone’s stiff-armed and rigid.

In a blue and white frame right beside it, there’s a photo of a woman. A beautiful brunette with sun-streaked waves and an open smile. She’s barefoot and wearing a pale peach sundress, her pink-tipped toes curled in the sand.

On her lap sits a boy, maybe three or four years old. He has a gap-toothed smile and freckles like sunbursts on each of his cheeks. I squint at the photo, admiring the cool blue of eyes that remind me so much of⁠—

“Camille!”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

“Yes, sir.” I snap a salute and pad into the bathroom.

He looks up from running the water. “How’s the pain?”

“All right.” It’s faded enough that I almost forgot I got stung by a jellyfish. “I think maybe⁠—”

“Let me see.” He yanks the towel from my body and glares at my thigh like it offended him. “I don’t like how red that is.”

“It doesn’t like you much, either.”

Ignoring me, he plunges a hand in the bath. When he pulls it out, I notice he’s holding a thermometer. “One-ten,” he reports. “Get in.”

“Okay, bossy-boss man.” I slide into the tub, hissing and yelping a little. “Hot.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Know how I know you’re worried about me?” God, this is scorching.

“How?”

“Because you’re watching my face and not my tits.” I sink into the water, bending a little so my boobs tip toward him. “They’re right here, in your face, but you haven’t even noticed⁠—”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.” His chiseled jaw clenches. “I can’t take care of you if I get distracted. Stop distracting me.”

“Fine.” I settle in the tub, my salty skin adjusting to the heat of the water. “Your bathtub could fit a car in it.”

“And infinitely more practical than a carwash. How’s the pain?”

“Fine.” I wince as water sloshes the tender bits between my legs.

“Something hurts?”

“Not from the sting. That’s feeling better.”

He inspects me for damage. “Why did you grimace?”

“Because your gigantic penis just left me a little bit raw, okay?”

“Not okay.” He glares. “You tell me, Camille, if I’m hurting you⁠—”

“You didn’t hurt me—I love that you fuck like a machine with that battering ram between your legs.”

Still muttering to himself, Ash maneuvers my body to the side and looks at my thigh. “I don’t see any tentacles⁠—”

“From your dick? Not really into tentacle kink, but I did see it on the Crystal Bliss menu. Very inclusive of you.”

“Stay right here.” He stomps from the room as I lie back in the tub, letting hot water surround me.

“Where else would I go, Ash Hole?” I grumble.

“I heard that!” Loud footsteps thunder and he returns to the bathroom, a yellow and white tube gripped in one hand.

“Is that Neosporin?”

“It should help with the sting. We’ll let the hot water work a little longer.”

I already feel almost normal. Dunking my head underwater, I rinse the salt from my hair. When I bob back to the surface, Ash is watching with a worried look.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. “Got any shampoo?”

“Later,” he says. “You want clear water for now.”

“Besides the sunscreen, you mean.”

Scowling, he hands me a washcloth. “Use this if you want.”

“Thanks.” I sponge off my body, working carefully around the site of the sting. The hot water must be working, since I’m barely in pain anymore.

Ash watches like a hawk, laser focused on me as I dunk my head underwater again. It feels nice to rinse all the salt off my body. To soak in this luxurious tub with an attentive man by my side. I consider asking for a glass of champagne, but he’d probably take me seriously and order a servant to go get it.

“Where’s all the household staff?”

“Hmm?”

“You mentioned that Kora supervises your household staff. Surely, in a mansion, you’ve got maids and groundskeepers and⁠—”

“Everyone’s on vacation right now.”

“Except Lars, obviously.”

“At the market,” he grumbles.

Good to know, in case we wind up fucking each other’s brains out again. I tip my head back for one final rinse, then slick back my hair. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands me a towel and I use it to pat my face dry.

“No, I mean it. I know I tease you for being bossy, but I appreciate you taking charge. That you knew what to do when something went wrong.”

A funny look crosses his face. “You’re welcome.”

We’re both quiet a moment, letting the hot water work its magic. I’m not used to an audience when I’m bathing, but it’s nice having Ash here. He leaves for a second and returns with a bottle of water.

“Drink this.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I love watching him wince when I say it. “You have a fridge in your bedroom?”

“Of course.”

“Obviously.” I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the water.”

“You need to stay hydrated.” He watches me gulp from the bottle, then takes it from my hand and sets it aside. “Let’s give it just another minute.”

“Okay.” I cast about for something to discuss. “Who’s the woman in the picture?”

“What picture?”

“On your dresser out there. Blue and white frame, little boy on her lap. He looks a little like⁠—”

“Get out.”

I blink. “Out of your house?”

“No, Camille.” He sounds unbearably tired. “Out of the bath. You’ve been in there too long, and you need Neosporin.”

I decide not to argue or push. Whoever the woman in the photo is, that’s none of my business. I’ve been a therapist long enough to understand that when people don’t want to talk about something, there’s no point in pushing. They’ll only dig in deeper, not trusting you as a safe place to share.

Ash hands me a fluffy blue towel as I step from the tub, then offers another for my hair. I wrap it around my head like a turban, conscious of Ash hovering nearby.

The whole time I dry myself, he doesn’t say a word. Just watches me closely, not speaking, not smiling. He sits like a statue carved with a frown on his handsome stone face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he hates the sight of my naked body.

“Brigitte and I were married nearly five years.”

My heart hits the floor and I turn at the sound of his voice. He stares straight at the wall, not making eye contact at all.

Swallowing hard, I anchor the towel at my breasts. “The woman in the photo?”

“Yes.”

“She’s very beautiful. Kind eyes.”

“Yes.”

I wait to hear more, braced to accept that’s the end of the story. It’s Ash’s decision whether to share more.

“The boy is my son, Grayson.” Pain fills his eyes as he stares at the wall. “Was my son.”

“Oh, Ash.” I step to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t respond. Just looks at the wall like the rest of the story lies there. “They died in an auto accident nearly twenty years ago. I rarely speak of it.” His throat rolls as he swallows. “I never speak of it. Ever.”

“I understand. We don’t have to speak of it now if it bothers you. I’m sorry I asked.”

He looks up from the wall, blue eyes finding mine through the steam of the bath. “It was my fault they died,” he says softly. “When I tell you I don’t get involved—that feelings aren’t part of the equation—that’s why.”

That’s one hell of a statement to make. Empathy urges me to insist he couldn’t possibly be to blame. To spill platitudes and condolences, sympathetic words that might assuage his grief.

But I need to tread carefully here. “Guilt and grief almost always go hand-in-hand, regardless of the circumstances. If you want to share, I’m here to listen. If you want to change the subject, we can do that, too. You don’t owe me your pain, Ash. But if it feels right to share it, please know I’m a safe place to do that.”

“Thank you.” His jaw clenches tight and he looks away. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course.” I make a mental note not to bring it up again.

“I don’t know why I shared all that.” That’s clear from his look of befuddlement.

“I asked, so that’s on me,” I say softly. “I know better than to be nosy.”

“I could have lied.” He looks me dead in the eye, then swallows again. “I’m quite a skilled liar. I could have told you she’s my sister, my best friend from college. An old girlfriend.”

“You could have.” What does it mean that he didn’t?

And what does he mean by skilled liar?

Ashton seems quieter after that. I watch for signs that he’s spiraling, maybe grappling with fresh waves of grief now that I scratched off the scab.

But Ash forges stoically ahead with our afternoon plans. Maybe for a man whose default setting swings from grumpy to bossy, it isn’t a leap to toss grieving into the mix.

He might not be chatty, but he makes us a beautiful lunch. He fixes buttery scampi with fat, fresh shrimp and a tossed herb salad. Afterward, we laze on the beach in the shade of a purple umbrella. I fulfill my nude sunbathing fantasy, while Ash wears swim trunks and a scowl. He taps away on his laptop, pausing occasionally to mutter at the screen.

We both check our phones every few minutes for news on the pilots’ strike.

“Still going,” he grumbles after making a call. “My colleague assures me they’re doing everything they can to end this.”

“That’s ambiguous.” I sit up and stretch. Annoyed as I am by the news, the sun on my bare skin takes the sting out. And I’m not even feeling the jellyfish sting anymore.

Ash’s eyes dart to my naked breasts, then skitter quickly away. “She anticipates the strike dragging on for at least another day. Possibly longer.”

“I’m sorry.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, grateful he’s trying so hard to get me home. “You were probably counting on having quiet time to yourself with the resort shut down.”

“It’s been a hardship.” He’s clenching his jaw as he looks over the water. “Somehow I’m suffering through the agony of sex with an exquisitely stunning intruder who revels in nudity.”

“Way to be a trooper.” My ego adores being called exquisitely stunning. Especially by a man so sparing with sentiment.

Still watching the ocean, he sighs. “I should probably return you to the resort. I have an early meeting tomorrow in Negril. I’ll likely stay gone overnight. You’ll be left to fend for yourself.”

His sarcasm’s catching, so I try it myself. “Sounds like absolute torment, relaxing on a beautiful Caribbean island with a bottle of white wine and an eReader stuffed with erotic romance.”

Ash quirks an eyebrow, dragging his eyes off the water. “What sort of erotic romance?” There’s a light in his eyes that’s been gone since I asked about the photo.

“You read my intake forms. You’re probably more familiar with my kinks than my best friends are.”

“Hmm.” His eyes dip to my bare breasts like the answers lie there. “I seem to recall an exhibitionist streak.”

I guess the answer is there. “Not hard to guess.” I shimmy my boobs just a little to give him a show. I love being nude in the open like this. “I might not fulfill my whole kink list, but I’ll go home with a killer full-body tan.”

“Hmm.” That’s apparently his favorite response. “I also recall you ticked several boxes related to intimate relations with other women.”

“Did you commit my kinks to memory?” It’s flattering to think so.

Ash ignores the question, though his response says enough. “I also recall you selected the option for our Queenly Quartet enchantment.”

“Ah, yes.” I laugh. “More commonly known as being pounded by three men at once.”

“Sadly for you, there aren’t presently three men on the island.”

“Oh, come on—I haven’t met Lars the chef yet.”

Ash chuckles. “Shall I see if he’s available? Perhaps he has some accommodating geriatric friends.”

“I’ll pass, but thank you for making the effort.”

“I pride myself on guest satisfaction.”

That explains why I’m feeling so satisfied. I mist more organic sunscreen on my shoulders and neck, taking extra time around my décolletage. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’ve created this entire sex resort.”

“And?”

He’s suddenly guarded, so I do my best to keep my voice light.

“Surely you have kinks of your own. I’m just curious.”

“My kinks are irrelevant.” A shadow rolls over his face as he looks at his watch. “We really do need to go.”

“I can take a hint.” I get up and stretch one more time, tipping my naked breasts toward the sun. Between skinny dipping and the nude sunbathing, I’ve spent more time nude today than I have in a long time. “If I lived here, I’d probably stay naked all day.”

“Your patients would appreciate that.”

All the blood drains from my head. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

Guilt grips me tight in cold claws, squeezing my lungs and my heart. “No, no, no, no, no—” I scramble for my phone, heart thudding in my ears

“Camille, what’s wrong?” Ash frowns. “What is it?”

“I totally forgot I booked a telehealth session with one of my patients.” It’s four p.m. here, which means it’s five in Halifax. Two hours past when I promised my patient I’d try to connect. “I’m the worst fucking therapist ever.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I snap. “I told her I’d be there for her and I wasn’t.”

Toggling to email, I see she sent me a message thirty minutes ago.

Hi, Dr. Plier. I logged into the portal and waited around for fifteen minutes, but it looks like you couldn’t make it. We’ll connect another time.

“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself for spending my day rolling around naked with Ash. “I’m such a dick.”

“You certainly aren’t.” Ash’s brow furrows. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I’m too fucking mad at my own dumb ass to make a hard-on joke. “My patients depend on me. I don’t have the luxury of not being there for them.”

“You’re entitled to have a life, Camille.” The urgency in his voice makes me open my eyes. “That doesn’t make you a bad therapist. For fuck’s sake, you’re on your damn honeymoon.”

I peer into cool blue eyes. “A honeymoon with a man I met yesterday at a sex resort I wasn’t supposed to be at. Goddammit.” With more force than necessary, I cram my phone into my beach bag. “I can’t believe I let her down like that.”

Ash picks up my gym bag. “Come on.” He stuffs my eReader into a pocket. “Grab the rest of your things. You can email her from the boat and reschedule for this evening. You can take the call from the comfort of your suite.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He folds up a chair, tucking it under one arm. “Would you believe me if I said it’s for the blowjobs?”

“No.” I start stuffing my things in my bag. “I’d believe you if you admitted you’re secretly a very nice guy who just pretends to be a grumpy asshole so no one gets close to him.”

Ash goes still as a statue. Cool-blue eyes turn to ice. “Do not,” he snaps, “psychoanalyze me, Camille.”

I freeze at the sharpness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Clearly, I touched a sore spot. I’m batting oh-for-two as a therapist today. “I was just being glib. I understand you have secrets. Pain I can’t possibly⁠—”

“That’s right, you can’t.” Gritting his teeth, he picks up the other lounge chair. Slamming it shut, he stuffs it under his arm. “I’ll wait for you on the tender.”

Ash storms away and I watch him go, observing the tension in his back. The closed-off hunch of his shoulders as he stomps down the dock.

God, I’m a jerk. I can’t believe I didn’t read the signs. There’s been turbulence bubbling just below the surface from the moment I brought up that photo. I should have picked up on it sooner. I should have known better than to push.

I gather my things, rehearsing an apology I plan to deliver on the boat. I’ll mind my own business for now. For the rest of my limited time with Ash, I’ll remember my place in his life. I’m an uninvited guest taking advantage of his kindness and his sexual attention. We’re not friends. Not even lovers, really.

We’re temporary fuck buddies on a layover lasting a little longer than either of us planned.

As I shoulder my beach bag, I order myself to remember that.

CHAPTER 8

ASHTON

I’m an insufferable asshole.

I’ve known it forever, but I earned a reminder today. Someone as sweet and kindhearted as Camille doesn’t belong in the company of a heartless bastard like me. We shouldn’t even exist on the same planet.

Camille’s urge to help fellow humans in need only ensures I’ll wrap my slick tentacles around her delicate ankles and drag her to the bottom of the sea. I’ve learned that the hard way already. Refreshing the lesson feels like ice water dumped down my trousers, but it’s necessary. She’d understand if she truly knew me.

“Thank you again for the lovely day.” A breeze lifts her hair off her shoulders as Camille sets her gym bag on my private dock at the Crystal Bliss marina. “I had a great time.”

I don’t even walk her to her suite. That’s how much of an asshole I am. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

She touches my arm and I flinch. “I want to apologize again for my poor attempt at humor. It was inappropriate and completely uncalled for to imply that I had insight into your character. I feel aw⁠—”

“Continue to put Neosporin on the sting site,” I interrupt before she says one more damn word about her feelings.

I’ve already done enough damage.

She blinks, then nods. “Will you allow me one more apology then?” When I don’t reply, she forges ahead. “Besides burrowing into your brain, I never should have pried you with questions about the loss of your wife and child. Please accept my deepest apology for stirring up difficult memories.”

“I’ll call the airline tonight.” If I ignore what she’s saying, I can pretend we’re not having such an intimate conversation. “As soon as I have more news on the strike, we’ll get you out of here. Until then, I’ll have Lars bring meals to your room.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble.” She hikes her bag up on her shoulder. “If you’ll allow me to access the restaurant kitchen again, I’ll make my own meals. I don’t want to bother Lars.”

I nod once, aching to end this discussion. Aching to take her in my arms and tell her I’m not upset about her psychoanalysis. I’m not even angry she asked about the photo.

I’m mad at myself for forgetting she’s a human with feelings. That actions have consequences, and my actions—my selfish, libido-fueled actions—can destroy lives. It’s as simple as that.

“Help yourself to whatever you need,” I tell Camille. “I’ll text you as soon as there’s an update on your travel plans.”

Her throat rolls as she swallows. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I watch as she walks toward the Villa, bag slung over one shoulder as her red hair glows in the late-afternoon sun. There’s zero risk of anyone harassing her on the short walk to her room, but I glue my eyes to her back anyway. The lump in my throat makes it painful to swallow as she vanishes behind a palm tree.

Well. That’s done.

I kick myself all the way home, wishing I’d done things differently. So many things, not just today. I never should have laid a hand on Camille in the boiler room. The sex swing was a mistake, too. So was today’s tropical excursion. What the fuck was I thinking, fulfilling items on her fantasy list, when she’s not even a guest at the resort? It was reckless and selfish and completely out of character for me.

Inviting her into my bedroom, for Christ’s sake. When’s the last time a woman stepped foot inside my home? Or the last time I laughed with a woman, let down my guard like I have the past twenty-four hours?

I know the answer to that. Thinking of it now swells the lump in my throat to something the size of a softball.

Pounding a hand on the control panel, I remind myself of the one rule I live by. The rule I don’t ever break.

“Feelings aren’t part of the equation.” I say it out loud, so I’ll fucking remember.

The sun’s going down by the time I get back to my house. I wasn’t lying about tomorrow’s meeting, so I spend a few hours preparing. The legal team representing Holyfield Properties is spending the week in Negril assessing a resort I’ve recently purchased. Meeting them there gives me a chance to go over my vision for the property, and to review the details of keeping sex work safe and legal at my Jilted Brides Honeymoon resorts.

I’m re-reading a clause on vacation pay when it dawns on me. I’ve failed to alert Kora Neville to Camille’s presence on the island. She and her wife live just down the beach from the guest quarters, and I don’t want them alarmed by a stranger’s presence.

At the risk of interrupting their vacation, I dial Kora and explain.

“I’ll be delivering most of her meals, but I’ve granted her access to the kitchen at Halcyon Bistro,” I conclude. “She shouldn’t cause any trouble, but I wanted you to be aware.”

“She’s here?” Kora sounds taken aback. “On the island with us?”

“She passed the background check.” That’s standard procedure with all Crystal Bliss guests. “She’s not violent or dangerous or⁠—”

“That’s not why I’m concerned. It just seems inhospitable not to welcome her.”

“She’s not staying.” That’s mostly a reminder for myself. “If anything comes up, please reach out. I’ll have my phone off during my meetings with the attorneys, but I’ll be available by text.”

“About the meetings—I’d like to be there.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. You’re entitled to vacation, just like the rest of the team.”

“I’m aware, and I appreciate that, but I want to be part of discussions impacting the staff.”

“I see.” It’s tough not to take that personally. I take pride in ensuring all Crystal Bliss staff are well cared for. “Do you have concerns?”

“Absolutely not. Please don’t think I’m questioning your authority or your competence, sir, but⁠—”

“You really don’t have to keep calling me sir.” It’s a habit she’s never let go of, not in the three years she’s worked for me. “You’re welcome to join me tomorrow. I respect your position overseeing all Crystal Bliss staff. Of course, your input is valuable.”

“Thank you.” There’s a pause during which I hear muffled laughter on her end. Kora sighs. “We’ve had a houseguest these past couple days.”

“Oh?” I have no idea why she’s sharing this. Kora and I don’t discuss our personal lives.

“A dear friend who works for one of the other Jilted Brides properties. She’s charming and lovely and an absolutely wonderful woman, not to mention a wonderful g⁠—”

“You’ve reached the bottom of your introvert gas tank?”

“Dear God, yes.”

I fight back a chuckle welling up in my chest. “Say no more.”

“I really do want to be there for the meeting with the attorneys.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable.” I’m well-versed in Kora’s deep commitment to her work.

“This isn’t just a job for me,” she says, practically reading my mind. “Looking out for the staff is a point of deep pride. Especially the consorts. I feel like their mother hen, and I can’t switch that off because I’m on vacation.”

“I understand.” My brain zings back to my conflict with Camille. To what triggered me lashing out. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the marina. Eight a.m. sharp.”

“I’ll be there, s—Mr. Holyfield.”

“Good night, Kora.”

I click off and stare at my phone for a minute. I was a dick to Camille. That much I already knew. But I hadn’t considered the implications of letting her think her professional insights caused the riff between us.

We still can’t get involved. Feelings aren’t part of the equation, of course. But that doesn’t mean I should completely ignore hers.

I’m dialing her number before I have the good sense to think it through.

“Ashton, hello.” She answers on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “Any word on the pilots’ strike?”

“Nothing new.” I haven’t checked for an hour, and I still need to phone my airline contact. “I called to apologize.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence on the other end. “You’re apologizing to me?”

“For being curt with you.” Among other things, but that’s the easiest to address. “I understand that your habit of analyzing people is deeply engrained as a part of you. I’d just as soon tell you to stop breathing as order you not to tunnel into my psyche.”

“That’s still no excuse for voicing my thoughts. I know better than that, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Camille. Truly.” I hadn’t realized until just now how tired I sound. It’s good we’re sleeping in separate spaces tonight. If we were together, I’d need to explore every inch of her body. To bury my face in her neck just to feel her shiver. To slide into the sweet vise of her slick little⁠—

“Did you have dinner yet?” I try to divert blood back to my brain.

“I’ve been snacking on Pringles. Found a can in the bottom of my gym bag.”

“Quite the well-balanced dinner.”

She chuckles. “I just wrapped up a telehealth session and I still need to write up my notes.”

“You were able to reschedule with the patient from earlier?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“This is someone you’ve been treating a while?” I don’t know why I just asked that. “I apologize, you probably can’t answer that, can you?”

“This one’s a bit different, since she’s a patient I first counseled on a popular podcast. You’ve heard of Brooke Braham?”

“The name is familiar.”

“She’s America’s leading advice guru, and also an old friend. We did a three-part podcast series on grief. Several of our callers chose to continue with me in private therapy.”

“I see.” I suspect that’s the end of what she’s allowed to share with me. “You must not be terrible at your job, if you’re sought after like this.”

Camille scoffs. “It’s the Brooke Braham connection, more than anything.”

I doubt that’s true, but I know better than to dispute someone’s treasured personal narrative in which they star as the leading loser. “This patient is grieving?”

“Yes.” She seems to hesitate. “Again, I can’t share anything she didn’t share publicly on the podcast. She’s a young widow with lingering feelings of guilt about her husband’s passing.”

“I see.” I know from my own research that Camille is a sex therapist. Whatever she’s treating this woman for must lie in the intersection between grief and sexuality. “Do you feel you’re making progress with her?”

“It’s hard to tell sometimes.” Camille sighs. “So often it’s two steps forward, one step back, you know?”

“Yes.” I do know.

And maybe I need to share something more with Camille.

“Brigitte died in a car accident.” My voice sounds gravelly and I’m not honestly sure why I’m telling her this. “Grayson, our son, was in the backseat. He lingered in a coma for two weeks but ultimately passed on as well.”

“Oh, Ash.” There’s a small sound that might be a sob. “I’m so unbelievably sorry. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you.”

“It—wasn’t great.” Such a fucking master of emotion. “As you can tell by that unbearably inadequate response, you hit the nail on the head when you suggested I’m not in touch with my feelings. I’d prefer not to be, frankly.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she says. “And I promise I’m not wearing my therapist hat when I say so. This is me, Camille, your friend and—” She flounders there, probably seeking a term to describe what we are to each other. “I lost my father last year, and while I know that can’t possibly compare to the heartache of losing a wife and a child, I do understand grief. And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss as well.” What the fuck is wrong with me, turning this conversation into a sob-fest? Did I not just remind myself to keep my emotional distance from Camille?

“You asked about my personal kinks.” I wince at how jarring that sounds. “That wasn’t the smoothest subject change, was it?”

Camille laughs and the spell gets broken. “I’ll give you a pass. Did you bring it up because you’d like to share yours?”

Not really, but here goes nothing. “I’m a bit of a voyeur, to be honest.” If she’s struck by the fact that my kink matches her exhibitionist desires, she doesn’t say so. “I love women. I love looking at them, touching them, breathing them in.” My voice goes a little bit husky. “I love admiring their curves, savoring the softness of their skin. I love watching them come unraveled with just the lightest touch. I don’t even need to be part of it. Just witnessing that beauty is perhaps my most deeply ingrained kink.”

There’s a soft little click as she swallows. “Are you trying to turn me on right now?”

“Not precisely.” But now I’m curious. “Are you turned on?”

“A little.” There’s some rustling on the line and I picture her touching herself. She probably isn’t, but I like to imagine she might. “I love that about women, too.”

“You’ve been with a woman?” There’s another picture indelibly burned in my brain.

“Yes.” Her response slips out on a wisp of breath. “A few times in college and grad school. It’s been years.”

“Do you consider yourself bisexual?”

“I suppose so, but I’m leery of co-opting that identity. I’ve never been in a relationship with a woman, and I won’t claim I’m a member of a marginalized community.” She lets out a soft little laugh. “I know I promised not to put on my therapist hat, so won’t bore you with the science of sexual fluidity and gender, so I’ll just say that I’m heteromantically bisexual.”

I feel my brow furrow. “Say what?”

“I’m sexually attracted to both men and women, but I prefer men for long-term partnership.”

“I see.” I honestly wouldn’t mind if she donned that therapist hat, but we’re already treading on dangerous ground. The last thing I want is a shrink rooting around in my brain.

“That makes sense,” I continue. “I’m only attracted to women but open to ménage experiences that include any gender.”

“Good to know.”

Is she picturing me as part of that three-man fantasy she marked on her form? The filmstrip in my brain that’s playing a girl-on-girl ensemble switches to one starring Camille at the center of an all-male cast.

These pants are becoming exceptionally snug.

“Can I ask you something, Ash?”

The urge to say no makes me pause. “Perhaps.” I pause. “I reserve the right not to answer. Not to be obstinate. I just⁠—”

“I get it. I do.”

Something in her voice says she does. “Go ahead. Ask me what you want to ask.”

“What made you open a sex resort?”

The breath leaves my lungs. I can’t answer that one completely. Not without spilling my secrets.

But I can give her at least part of an answer. “I care very deeply about women’s sexual experiences. Giving women a safe place to explore all their fantasies and unmet needs.” I take a moment to find the right words. “Especially women who’ve been betrayed in some way.”

“I see.” There’s no more rustling on the line, so clearly I’ve killed any urge Camille felt to touch herself. “That’s noble of you.”

“Absolutely not.” The snap in my voice surprises me. “I’m not noble.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t argue, which tells me something.

What, I’m not sure.

“It’s simply a good investment,” I point out. “Crystal Bliss is the most profitable venture in my portfolio.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a business venture. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Understood.”

Does she understand? Does Camille believe the bullshit I’m spouting, or has she put on her therapist hat despite pledging not to?

The thought chills me down to my core.

“I should go.” My voice comes out raspy and low. “I have an early meeting and need to prepare for bed.” It’s not even eight, so that’s a stupid excuse. “I’ll be available via text if you need anything tomorrow and done with my meetings by four. And I’ll be in touch with my contact at the airline and will update you immediately with any news.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done to make me feel welcome, in spite of me showing up without a reservation.”

“It’s been my pleasure.” I don’t even mean it in a sexual way. “Truly.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause that I’m aching to fill. By spilling my secrets. By telling Camille just how badly I want her.

But she speaks first. “Good night, Ash Hole.” She says it so kindly my chest aches. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams,” I repeat, wishing it could be that simple.

That I could be the sort of man who deserves such a thing.

CHAPTER 9

CAMILLE

Iwake to the sound of someone knocking on my door. My bleary-eyed glance at the clock informs me it’s half-past nine, which is way later than I’d normally sleep.

Guess the jetlag’s still lingering. Either that, or the jellyfish sting. Could be the sex bonanza, too.

“Coming,” I shout as I roll out of bed and throw on my complimentary Crystal Bliss robe. It’s unbearably soft, and I hug it around me as I open the door.

“Hey there!” A curly-haired blonde with sparkly silver-gray eyes stands on the threshold. She wears a friendly smile and cutoff jean shorts, her wild mass of corkscrew curls tumbling around her bare shoulders.

“Um, hi.”

“I’m Sybil.” She holds out a basket with a blue linen cloth inside. “I made you my famous morning glory muffins.”

I blink in the bright Caribbean sun. “You’re Sybil? The Sybil?”

Her laugh rings out bright and clear. “I’m not sure what I did to earn the honorific, but I’m intrigued. And I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Camille,” I say, taking the basket of muffins. It’s warm and fragrant and my greedy stomach growls. “Thanks for this. Ashton must have mentioned me?”

“Ashton, huh?” She gives me a look that suggests I’ve revealed more than I meant to. “I forget sometimes the man has a first name.”

“What do people call him?”

“The Fortress, mostly.” Sybil grins. “Never to his face, of course.”

“Of course.” I file that away and don’t bother asking her to explain. Not tough to guess why they’d dub him that.

“He and I don’t cross paths much, but I’ve sometimes called him ‘boss man.’” Sybil shrugs. “He’s my wife’s boss, and she can’t stop calling him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Holyfield,’ which just seems weird. As far as I know, he takes off his pants one leg at a time just like anyone else.”

Her lips quirk as she watches me. It’s like she’s waiting for me to admit I know exactly how Ashton Holyfield takes off his pants.

Do I have the words I fucked The Fortress scrawled on my forehead?

I settle for playing it cool. “Sorry, I’m groggy. I’m not used to sleeping so late. Let me start again.” Setting the muffins on a table by the door, I stick out my hand. “Camille Plier. My best friend is Eve Goodrich. She came here as a guest three months ago and spoke fondly of you. Maybe you remember her?”

“Oooh, Eve.” Sybil’s strange silver eyes go round and delighted as she cradles my hand in both palms. “Of course I know Eve. What a treat!”

I laugh at the woman’s contagious enthusiasm. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Give her a smooch for me.” There’s that saucy grin again. “With tongue, please.”

“That might feel weird, considering she sucks face with my brother.”

She lets go of my hand but doesn’t miss a beat. “Kit’s your brother?” She leans on the doorframe, folding her arms in a nonchalant way that lifts her lush breasts into the V of her t-shirt. “No weirder than if you and I made out. Is it any different than two sisters who date the same guy at different times? It’s not like we leave incestuous cooties in each other’s orifices.”

My brain attempts to untangle that puzzle, then gives up. “Fair point.” And now I can’t stop staring at her mouth. I wouldn’t mind kissing Sybil. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you. Is Kora around?”

“She’s at the off-site meeting with Ashton.” She grins as she says his first name, and I catch myself blushing. “Between you and me, I think she just needed a break from our houseguest.”

“Houseguest?”

Gripping the doorframe, Sybil leans back and yells down the pathway behind her. “Hey, Lacy! Stop talking dirty to the parrot and come meet the stowaway, runaway bride.”

I don’t get a chance to respond before a pretty brunette with a pixie cut pops up behind Sybil’s shoulder. “Hi,” she says, sticking out her hand. She has golden-brown skin and light-green eyes I could get lost in. “I’m Lacy. Sybil’s an old college pal, but we sometimes have sex, and I work as a consort at another Jilted Brides resort.”

That’s one hell of an introduction. “Pleased to meet you, Lacy. I’m Camille.”

“Camille got here a couple days ago,” Sybil informs her. “Mr. Holyfield has been taking care of her.” She smiles as she turns back to me. “We came over to see if you’d like to join us for a pool day.”

I tuck my hands in the pockets of my robe. “I didn’t think any pools were open.”

“They reopened the east one,” Lacy supplies. “They got it done early, so we’re free to use it now.”

“I’d love to.” The thought of a pool day with two friendly women sounds perfect. “I got stung by a jellyfish yesterday, so I’m glad there’s a way to go swimming without risk.”

“A jellyfish?” Sybil tilts her head. “There’s an eco-barrier around this whole island to keep them away from the resort. Does Holyfield know about that?”

“Um, yes.” I’m not sure how much to admit. “I was on a boat. We must have been outside the barrier.”

“Ahhh.” Sybil’s knowing look says I’ve confirmed her suspicions. “Anyway, we’ll be at the pool in about an hour if you’d like to join us.”

“I’d love to.” My eyes flick to a high-tech red cooler sitting in the shade near Sybil’s toes. “Did you bring me something besides muffins?”

“That was already here.” She squints at the cooler. “Were you expecting something?”

“Probably from Ash.” Last night, a cooler of food arrived on my doorstep. It was well after nine, and a typewritten note told me Lars had made extra smoked salmon baguettes with fresh dill. I devoured mine while hunched at my laptop, still typing up clinical notes.

Sybill looks dumbfounded. “The Fortress makes you food?”

“His personal chef does, I guess.” I crack open the cooler, eager to see what’s inside. “Let’s take a look.”

It’s packed tight with ice, along with an itemized list. There’s yogurt and milk, plus homemade quiche tartlets and fresh-sliced papaya. For lunch, there’s a massaged kale salad with chilled local shrimp. For dinner, it’s a tropical chicken rice bowl.

“Whoa,” Lacy says. “That’s quite a feast.”

No kidding. “This looks delicious.” I tuck the note in the pocket of my robe and grab the container on top of the cooler. “There’s enough kale salad to feed at least three. How about I bring lunch for our pool day?”

“Perfect,” Lacy says. “Sybil baked bread, so we’ll bring that as well.”

“Plus local strawberries we picked this morning.” Sybil smiles warmly. “And lots and lots of chilled white wine.”

“Sounds great.” Between the contents of the cooler and the muffins, I’ll be eating quite well for a while. “What else can I bring?”

“Just yourself.” Lacy’s eyes dip to the V of my robe and she smiles. “Maybe some sunscreen.”

“And a bathing suit if you want,” Sybil adds.

“Or not.” Lacy’s flowy pink top slips off one shoulder. She’s clearly not wearing a bra. “All the pools here are clothing optional. I don’t plan to wear anything.”

“Same.” Sybil smiles. “But it’s fine if you’d rather not be nude.”

“I’m great with nudity.” A warm little ripple runs through me. It’s not every day two beautiful women show up bearing muffins and an invitation to spend a day basking naked in sunshine.

Possibly more, based on the way Lacy keeps eyeing my cleavage. And Sybil just glanced at my mouth with a look that suggests she’s imagining it all over her body.

So am I.

I know I should put in a few hours of work. I was up late last night preparing notes for a podcast with Brooke in four weeks. Hayden sent forms for dividing our assets. There’s plenty to do right here in my room.

But it’s been so damn long since I had fun for fun’s sake. Yesterday with Ash was the first time in ages I let myself just enjoy. That I savored the bliss of a stranger’s hands on my body, the heat of his breath on my skin, the erotic thrill of casual sex with someone who treasures my body.

“Dammit, Lacy.” Sybil nudges her friend. “You made her blush.”

“Sorry.” Lacy looks contrite. “I’m a bit of a flirt, but I’m harmless, I swear. I hardly ever bite.”

“What a shame,” I reply, and they break into smiles. “I’m a fan of sexy nibbling.”

With a laugh, Sybil backs out of the doorway. “See you at the pool, Camille.”

Lacy blows me a kiss and steps back. “Can’t wait.”

Six hours later, I’m sprawled nude with two women on a cozy white sunbed that’s draped in a gauzy white canopy. We’re a tiny bit tipsy and stuffed with great food, achy from laughing so hard.

“You did not!” Sybil plucks a juicy strawberry from the basket beside us, pausing to slip it between Lacy’s full lips. “I’ve never actually broken a strap-on.”

“Swear to God.” Lacy holds up her hand as her tongue darts out to lick berry juice from the corner of her mouth. “I was fucking her so hard the dildo snapped right off.”

I’m lying on my belly, propped on my elbows with Lacy sitting up on her knees to my left. Sybil’s stretched on her side, her beautiful breasts perched inches away from my face.

Maybe it’s the wine or the blissful sea breeze caressing our skin. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve regaled me all day with salacious tales of consort life. Whatever the reason, I’m more than a little turned on.

Lacy grabs another berry from the basket. “How about you, Camille?”

“What about me?”

“Any sexy stories you care to share?”

Sybil tips her head back and bites the tip off a berry. “You seem like a woman with a naughty streak.”

“Let me think.” The first story that springs to my mind is Ashton railing me in the boiler room. Or the flying sixty-nine on the sex swing. What is he up to right now? Based on the timeline he texted at lunch, he’s probably back in his room by now.

“Camille?” Lacy leans past me to refill her wine glass. Her breasts sway as she moves, lush and round with dusky nipples. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“I’m trying to come up with something.” I’m embarrassed to admit how vanilla my sex life has been these past few years. “Most of my sexual experiences are with men, but I’ve been with a few women.”

Lacy lights up like a lantern. “I like this story already.”

I thought she might. “I was pretty clueless the first time. We went back to her place and started making out. Then clothes start coming off, she unhooks my bra, I peel off her panties⁠—”

“Yes, please.” Sybil slips another strawberry into Lacy’s mouth. “I also approve of this story.”

My heart starts to race for some inexplicable reason. Maybe the way Lacy just licked Sybil’s fingertips. Maybe the way we all know why I’ve chosen this particular story.

If there’s been any question of whether I’m up for same-sex affection, I’m providing the answer right now.

“The girl had more experience than I did,” I continue, “so she went down on me first. I came my brains out and wanted to return the favor.”

“Mmm.” Lacy’s tongue darts out to catch the last dribble of strawberry juice. “Keep going, please.”

“I tried to,” I say, enjoying the audience as much as the original experience. “But as soon as I start fingering her, she yelps and slams her legs together. Looks down at me like I’m nuts.”

“What?” Sybil’s appalled. “What was the problem?”

I take a sip of my wine. “She points to my hand and says, ‘You can’t finger me with those fucking talons.’ I hold up my palm and wiggle what’s left of my wedding manicure. “I’d gotten my nails done the day before, and I was so proud of growing them out.”

“Ouch,” Lacy says, nodding. “I get it, though.”

“I wanted to get it, too.” I grin and help myself to a strawberry. “So I went and grabbed the clippers, and she sat there and watched me cut every last one of them.” I still remember the trembling anticipation. Her sweet, breathy moans as I slid three freshly clipped fingers inside her and suckled her sweet little clit.

Lacy leans down to sweep hair off my face. “Did you get her off?”

“Yep.” Satisfaction rolls through me. “Learned a lot about my own body, being with a woman.”

“Amen to that.” Sybil brushes something off my shoulder. I don’t see any lint or a bug, so maybe she’s making excuses to touch me. “I learned the hard way to always opt for the Pride manicure.”

“Pride manicure?” I’ve never heard of that.

Lacy laughs and flutters her fingers in front of me. “Index and middle finger kept nice and short, baby.” She plucks a berry from the box and holds it up. Sybil opens her mouth and Lacy pops it inside. Sybil heaves a blissed-out sigh and a warm pulse of need throbs between my thighs.

Is this turning them on, or are they used to this much sexually charged banter? They must see hundreds of unclothed women. They live, eat, sleep, and breathe sexuality.

Am I alone in aching for more? More gentle caresses, or maybe a chance to recall what it’s like to kiss lips so unbearably soft.

Lacy catches me watching and smiles. “Want some?”

“Um—”

“A berry.” Lacy smiles like she knows that’s not what I’m aching for. Leaning forward again, she plucks a plump fruit from the basket. “Open for me.”

My heart starts to race as Sybil’s warm fingers coast down my spine. “They’re so juicy,” she murmurs, her lips stained with berry. “You really should taste one.”

I nod as my mouth goes dry. Sybil’s breasts are right there, just inches away from my mouth. So is the strawberry Lacy’s dangling by the stem just in front of me.

“Yes, please,” I manage, my voice slipping out husky and soft. Parting my lips, I wait without breathing.

“Good girl.” Lacy leans over, touching my cheek as she feeds me the berry. Long lashes flutter as her thumb skims my bottom lip. “Nice, hmm?”

“Delicious.” There’s a kettledrum pounding in my chest and a slick, achy heat in my core. I press my legs together, hungry for friction. For relief that won’t come just from flexing my thighs.

Lacy’s thumb traces my bottom lip. “You got a little juice right here.”

“Where?” My tongue darts out, wetting my lip and the side of her thumb.

“God, that mouth.” Lacy leans closer, hazel eyes searching mine. “May I kiss you, Camille?”

My breathless reply sounds like more of a squeak. “Yes.”

Unfolding her flawless bronze legs, she stretches out in the space right beside me. I roll to face her, turning my back to Sybil for now. I lie with my nose touching Lacy’s as she places a hand on my hip. Her breath warms my skin with summertime heat and the scent of fresh strawberry pie. Slowly, gently, her palm strokes my hip.

“You have beautiful eyes, Camille.”

“Thanks.” My jackhammer heart hits my ribs. I’ve got one hand tucked under my head, and I’m not sure what to do with the other. “You have a perfect mouth.”

“Wait ‘til you feel it all over your body.” She smiles as her hand finds the curve of my waist and my breath hitches. Her lips brush mine, supple and soft and sweet with fresh berry. I moan as her tongue grazes mine. We explore for a minute like that, restless hands searching, bare breasts kissing each other. My palm cups the curve of her waist as I savor the exquisite softness of her skin.

At some point, I’m conscious of Sybil setting the food to the side. Then she’s moving beside us, running her hands over Lacy’s toned body. I’m sandwiched between them as Sybil’s light fingertips dance to my hip.

“Mind if I join you?” Sybil murmurs.

We nod our consent and I roll to my back, making room for all three of us. The two women start kissing above me, a decadent bridge of soft tongues and delicate fingers. Sybil’s hand covers my breast, squeezing and kneading as she rolls one stiff nipple with her thumb. I moan and watch Lacy’s palm bump over Sybil’s taut ribcage, teasing the edge of one breast.

She draws back from her deep kiss with Sybil. “Touch her, Camille.” She cups Sybil’s breast like a gift she’s offering me. “They’re real and they’re perfect.”

“I can see that.” And I’m dying to feel for myself. Lifting a hand, I let my trembling fingers graze Sybil’s lush flesh. God, she feels good. A soft moan slips from her lips as I circle my thumb on her nipple, just like she’s doing to me.

Her moans make me bolder and I run a hand up Lacy’s side. Finding my way to her breast, I squeeze softly to test the weight in my palm. She presses against me, dipping down to kiss my lips.

“Just like that,” she whispers, kissing me again. “Look at you with two handfuls of titty.”

I giggle, then gasp as Lacy dips down to suckle my breast. Is this really my life? Am I seriously squeezing two women’s breasts right now?

Petal-soft skin fills my palms as the thrum of my pulse fills my ears. Sybil’s ripe, round nipple is right there, beading in my palm like a berry begging to be tasted.

It’s all I can think about now.

Licking my lips, I lift my eyes to hers. “May I?”

She doesn’t ask what I mean. “Anything you want, Camille.”

I slide down her body, flicking the tip of my tongue over that taut bud. She gives me a sweet little sigh, her hand gliding over my body. “Oh, sweetie—that feels so fucking good.”

Sybil’s hands slide to my hair, letting it sift through her fingers. Our soft bodies squish together, grinding and grabbing as we all get a little bit greedy.  Someone’s squeezing my breasts, and I’m not even sure who. We’re a tangle of curious fingers and feather-light kisses. Fingertips tease at the wetness between my legs, and I moan and arch up.

“God, you’re wet.” Lacy teases my folds as her other hand roams Sybil’s body. “Is that for us?”

I nod with my mouth full of Sybil’s soft breast. “I want you both so much.” And I’m getting my wish right fucking now. Everything’s tingling, lit up like fireflies buzzing beneath my skin.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m wired to love dick more than just about anything. My twenty-four hours with Ashton served as a throbbing reminder how much I love straightforward sex with a man.

But touching two women, feeling their delicate hands trace my body, is a pleasure I haven’t experienced in ages. The heady scent of coconut sunscreen and berry juice fills me with light as Lacy slides down my body. My heartbeat ticks up as she gently nudges my thighs apart.

“Mmm, pretty.” Lacy slides into the space between my legs, planting a soft kiss on my hip. Another one lands at the edge of my pubic bone, and I moan. A whisper of warm breath skims my slick, throbbing seam and I bow up to feel more of that heat. I’m aching and slick and desperate to feel her soft mouth where I need it.

“Look at how wet you are.” Her breath tickles the inside of my thigh. “How sexy is she, Syb?”

Sybil looks up from teasing my tits with her tongue. “So sexy.” She smiles down at me. “I think you should let her go down on you.”

“I agree.” Lacy laughs, her soft little breaths brushing my sopping wet center. “I’m quite good at it.”

“Please,” I beg. “Do it.”

Her soft tongue dips out, flicking the bump at the top of my sex. It’s barely a touch, but I arch off the mattress and whimper. She does it again and she may as well light me on fire. That’s how fast the flames race through my veins.

“Oh, God.” I clutch at the mattress, but there aren’t any sheets. Just a terry cloth towel and Sybil’s lush thigh in the palm of one hand. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the sweet stroke of Lacy’s clever tongue.

My eyes flutter shut as I lose track of time. There’s nothing but bliss and the gentle suction of Lacy’s mouth exploring, licking, teasing. I can’t believe how fucking good this feels. She’s a master of the female body and mine’s about to go under.

“Wait.” She stops and pops up to peer at Sybil. “Should we call Kora?”

“Kora?” I blink myself back to the real world. I’m clutching Sybil’s thigh, and I shift to look into her silvery eyes. “You seek permission when playing with other partners?”

Sybil laughs. “She meant for a video call.” Her hand glides down Lacy’s back, cupping her pert little ass. “It’s kinda our thing.”

“Kora likes watching.” Lacy kisses the inside of my thigh, then my hip bone again. “So does Sybil.”

“I’m hoping she finds someone to fuck at this meeting.” Sybil laughs and tosses her hair. “I love when she tells me all about it.”

“Video’s even better.” Lacy pauses to trail her tongue through my folds. She teases me open, painting soft little strokes with the tip of her tongue. I draw a sharp breath as she sucks on my clit.

“Fuck, Lacy.” I clutch at her shoulders, hurtling back to the brink. “Jesus, you’re good.”

She chuckles and releases my clit. “Let’s play with just us for a while. Kora understands, right?”

“Of course.” Sybil smiles. “We both know our boundaries, and all this is fine.”

Lacy goes back to licking me, her delicate tongue fluttering over my clit. I’m getting the sense she knows just how close she’s gotten me. Just the slightest lick will send me tumbling over the edge.

“So sweet,” Lacy breathes between my thighs. “Kora and Sybil together?” She laughs as she swirls her talented tongue, dipping it back down inside me. “Not as sweet as your pussy, of course.”

“Oh, God.” I clutch at her shoulder and cry out. “Please don’t stop.”

“Mmm,” Sybil groans as I suckle her breast. I sip at her nipples, wild with the feel of her flesh on my tongue. My brain bobs and weaves, darting between, we’re really doing this? and holy shit, this feels insane.

Lacy slides a finger inside me and I lose all sense of who’s touching whom. There’s moaning and gasping as I inch past the point of no return. “Please,” I beg. I squeeze Sybil’s breasts, mindless from the flutter of Lacy’s soft tongue. “Oh, God.”

“Make her come, Lace.” Sybil’s voice comes to me from above this sweet hollow between her breasts. “I want to watch her explode.”

Bright lights burst behind my eyelids. My senses short circuit and I gasp. All this soft, fragrant flesh—all the sweet little moans—they jumble together to tip me over the edge. A pulse of sensation shoots up my spine and I scream.

“Right there.” I let out a shriek and arch into Lacy. “Oh, fuck!”

She plunges her fingers in deeper. Curling a digit, she grazes a spot that makes me go off like a rocket. I’m bucking and thrashing and clutching her shoulder. I scream my release into the valley of Sybil’s soft breasts.

Slowly, I come down to Earth. I’m riding Lacy’s hand and the last shockwaves of orgasm. My eyes flutter open and I smile. “Holy fuck.”

Lacy laughs and sits up between my spread thighs. “That was fun.”

“You’re really skilled.” I sound breathless and dazed as Sybil leans in and kisses me softly.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” She tucks a wild mess of hair behind my ear. “You know what would be fun?”

My system’s still processing this round of fun. “What?”

She glances at Lacy. “Assuming we want to keep going⁠—”

“Hell yes.” A grinning Lacy wipes her mouth with the back of a hand. “How about you, Camille?”

“Yes, please.” God help me, I’m nowhere near done with these two beautiful women.

Laughing, Sybil leans in to claim Lacy’s mouth. “Mmm, you taste good.” She kisses her sweetly, then turns back to me. “Where was I?”

God, they’re gorgeous together. I struggle to sit up, my abdominal muscles aching pleasantly. “Assuming we want to keep going—” I prompt.

“Right, yes.” Sybil sits back on her heels. “And assuming my intuition is correct that there’s a reason Ashton Holyfield looked extraordinarily satisfied when I walked Kora to the marina this morning⁠—”

“And appeared to have a love bite on his neck,” Lacy adds helpfully.

“And got this big, dopey grin while discussing our stowaway guest.”

“Fuck.” I wondered how they guessed. “Was anyone else there?”

“Just Kora,” Sybil says. “The queen of discretion.”

“Relax.” Lacy brushes the hair off my face. “We won’t tell a soul.”

“Holyfield knows we’re discreet.” Sybil smiles. “Everyone who works here signs a strict NDA. You don’t make it as a consort if you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Lacy laughs. “When it’s not full of pussy, that is.” She leans over the edge of the sunbed, treating herself to a handful of strawberries, and me to a beautiful view of her round little ass. “I haven’t seen the man smile that big in—” She comes up with a bright fistful of berries, cocking her head at Sybil. “Have we ever seen The Fortress smile?”

“Nope.” Sybil looks at me. “You’re clearly fucking each other.”

“Well done.” Lacy puts up a fist, which I assume she wants me to bump. I nibble my lip, still unsure whether to confirm or deny. I settle for kissing her knuckles, which makes her laugh. “I think I know where Sybil’s going with this and let me just point out that the man owns a sex resort.”

I’m so confused. “Ashton?”

“He’s kinky as hell or he wouldn’t run this place,” she continues. “From what little I know about Mr. Holyfield, he’s an open-minded guy.”

“And clearly hot for our girl.” Sybil grins. “I wish you’d seen how he lit up talking about you.”

As nice as that is to hear, I still have no idea what we’re discussing. “What are you suggesting?”

Licking her lips, Lacy grins. “What do you say we give the boss man a show?”

CHAPTER 10

ASHTON

I’m alone in my hotel room, removing my tie, when a text comes in from Camille.

Are you by yourself?

What a peculiar question. Tossing my tie on the table, I sit down on the plush leather loveseat near a sliding glass door overlooking the bay six stories below.

I am. Is something wrong?

The reply bubbles appear almost instantly.

Not at all. But I have something to show you. Free for a video chat?

A video chat? Now I’m intrigued.

I thought of her all damn day, even as a team full of lawyers talked incessantly about the legal nuances of the new property acquisition. Then they yammered for another long hour about an upcoming merger that only mildly impacts my business.

Thank God that’s over.

Alone in my hotel suite, I glance around. Not that I need confirmation there’s nobody else in the room. I left my last meeting an hour ago, and after a brief chat with Kora, I retreated up here to wind down for the day.

But Camille’s text has me winding back up. I’d very much like to hear her voice. To see her face on a screen or in person.

What are you up to, Camille?

My phone starts to buzz with an incoming video call. There’s a thrum in my chest as my heart rate ticks up and I picture all possible emergencies. Maybe she’s hurt or not feeling well. An allergic reaction to the jellyfish sting.

Or maybe she’s found a way home, some alternate route to bypass the pilot’s strike. The thought of that weighs like a stone in my gut at I tap the button to take the call.

Her face fills the screen almost instantly. She’s biting her lip, looking lovely and flushed and bathed in a bright splash of sunlight.

“Hi, Ash.” She sounds nervous and jumpy.

“Camille.” I stretch out my legs, getting comfortable on the couch. “How was your day?”

“Good. Really good. I, um…met some new friends.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip again. “Okay, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I want to make sure you’re alone. You’re not in a bar or heading into a meeting, right?”

Now I’m really intrigued. “I assure you I’m utterly, completely, totally alo—” I trail off as the picture goes blurry.

Voices—not Camille, but two women—whisper and giggle and murmur something about a tripod. What on earth is happening?

Then the picture clears and I find myself staring at Camille’s bare breasts. She’s flanked by two consorts, one of whom works at my Mediterranean property. Lacy someone, I think.

The other woman is Kora’s wife.

“Hello, Mr. Holyfield.” Sybil waves, and that’s when my brain catches up to the fact that they’re all nude. “Thank you again for the week-long vacation.”

“And for the treats.” Lacy caresses the side of Camille’s body, and I watch as she shivers with pleasure. “We thought you might like to see how we’re taking this time off to work on our skills.”

Sybil laughs and tosses her head. “We’re big proponents of continuing ed.”

A blushing Camille bites her lip. “You know the exhibitionist fantasies I mentioned?” Her eyelashes flutter as Sybil starts kissing her shoulder. “Video counts.”

I open my mouth to reply, then snap it shut. Camille turns her head and starts kissing Lacy, their rosy-plush lips fusing together. Sybil’s hand glides down Camille’s arm, coming to rest on the curve of her breast.

Dear God. It’s my own private show.

Camille turns to look at the camera. Her hair is a sex-rumpled mess, and her pupils flare with desire. “Tell me now if you don’t want this. We can pretend this never hap⁠—”

“Please continue.” I prop my phone on the table beside me, angling for a clearer view. “You’ve been busy today.”

A bubble of laughter rolls out of her. “So busy.” She turns to kiss Sybil as three sets of hands keep exploring.

Nipples pebble beneath curious fingertips dancing over goose-bumped flesh. Breasts brush together, delicious soft mounds shifting and teasing and turning me on. I assume that’s their goal here, and may I just say, mission accomplished.

Holy shit, this is hot.

There’s moaning and sighing and I recognize Camille’s sharp intake of breath. A foot or an elbow bumps the camera, but I don’t say a word. I may not be able to see every body part, but I can see Camille.

And it’s perfectly clear she’s enjoying herself.

My cock starts to swell as the women nibble and lick their way over each other’s bodies. But it’s Camille who leaves me transfixed. Camille whose sex-flushed cheeks and wandering hands have me aching for more. Her soft gasps and searching fingertips stir something deep in my chest.

I’ve never seen anything so fucking lovely.

Sybil breaks free to reposition the camera. “Thought you might enjoy a wider view.”

“How considerate.” I’m burning with need, transfixed by the sight of Camille looking turned-on and tousled.

She’s still kissing Lacy but pauses to smile at the camera. “I came here seeking some new experiences.” She sounds aroused and so sexy it hurts. “Would you like to see what I’ve been learning?”

“I most certainly would.” I glance at my own thumbnail image in the corner of the screen. I’m visible just from the shoulders up, so I take a chance on the fact that most of my body remains out of view.

Easing down my zipper, I watch Sybil lie back on the bed. Camille gets up on her knees, shifting to straddle the pretty blonde’s upturned face. Lacy moves right behind her, both women kneeling over Sybil’s prone body.

Lacy stares into the camera as her hands glide a slow, languid path down Camille’s flushed skin. “Look how sexy she is.” She purrs the words against Camille’s neck, but she’s talking to me. “You really outdid yourself, sir. Our holiday bonus is delicious.”

“She certainly is.” My voice sounds a little bit strangled as sunbeams play over Camille’s naked flesh. She’s breathtaking in her arousal and I can’t believe how much I want her.

Lazy nibbles her way down Camille’s neck. “You want to watch her ride Sybil’s face?”

I groan my response, gripping my cock in a fist. Camille rolls her hips, moaning as Sybil’s skilled tongue dances between her taut thighs.

“God, that feels good.” Camille licks her lips, looking right at the camera with that little pink tongue dancing between her legs. Her hands move behind her, stroking the outsides of Lacy’s thighs.

“Want to know what I did right before we called you?” Camille doesn’t wait for an answer. “I went down on Lacy. She thought we should wait for you, but I couldn’t, Ash. I wanted her so bad.”

My throat feels scratchy and dry. “How did she feel?”

“So good.” She moans as Sybil’s tongue swirls her sweet clit. “Her pussy’s so soft, Ash. I wish you could have been there.”

I do as well, but I’m rather enjoying this call. “Are you touching her now?” I’ve noticed her hand has left Lacy’s thigh, curving behind her as her forearm flexes. “You’ve got your greedy little fingers in her pussy right now, don’t you?”

“Mmmhmm.” Camille licks her lips like she’s still tasting Lacy on her tongue. “She’s so fucking wet, Ash. All wet for me.”

Lacy’s hands knead Camille’s breasts, squeezing and stroking as her hips start to rock. As she rides Camille’s hand, she looks right at the camera. “Your special guest is very, very good with her fingers.” She sucks in a breath as her long lashes flutter. “She’s been such a naughty girl today. You wouldn’t believe how hard she made me come.”

I believe it. I believe and I want to see more. “Camille is a woman of many talents.”

She smiles at me, licking her lips. “Can you see okay? Sybil’s licking my pussy right now, and Ash—” She gasps and I watch her go melty. “She’s so good with her tongue, honey. Can you see how she’s sucking my clit?”

A shudder rolls through me as I stroke my cock harder. Honey? I like how that sounds. I like it a lot.

“Sybil has talent.” That’s clear as her nimble pink tongue swirls circles around Camille’s swollen bud. She’s driving her wild and watching this live is almost as sexy as experiencing it myself.

“Yes!” Camille cries out, rolling her hips as Sybil’s tongue dances. “Oh, God, that’s so good.”

Sybil’s eyes drift to the camera, and I wonder what she can see from this angle. If she knows how insane this is making me. Will Sybil go home to her wife and share all the dirty details of what she’s been up to today? I hope Kora enjoys it even half as much as I do.

“Yes.” Sybil cries out between Camille’s spread thighs. “Right there, Lace. Deeper.”

There’s a gentle buzzing from somewhere off camera, and I put two and two together. Lacy’s using a vibrator on Sybil while Camille fingers Lacy and Sybil goes down on Camille. I practically need a spreadsheet to keep it all straight.

I give up trying and focus on the pretty picture the three women make. Lacy’s hand flexes, squeezing Camille’s soft breast in a palm. As she grinds her tight little body on Camille’s back, she purrs in her ear. “Can you hear that, Camille?” I’m straining my own ears to listen. “How wet Sybil gets just from eating your pussy?”

Camille laughs. “That vibe you’re using doesn’t hurt.” She looks at the camera, inviting me into their moment. “When I went down on Lacy, Sybil used the toy on me. It felt so fucking good.”

“You ladies have been very busy.” It’s driving me wild, watching this whole thing unfold. Even what’s happened off camera—what’s happening now, outside my view—stirs me to stroke myself faster.

Camille cries out, grinding on Sybil’s pretty face. Gliding a hand up her own exquisite body, she pinches the nipple that Lacy’s not currently squeezing. Her eyes go unfocused as she peers at the camera. “I’ve got my fingers so deep in her pussy right now,” Camille says. “You think I could make her come?”

It’s a struggle to find my voice. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

She laughs and continues to ride Sybil’s face. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

“I can see that.” I love watching her hips roll. “Tell Lacy you like your nipple pinched harder.”

Camille laughs and tips her head back, getting lost in a deep kiss with Lacy. “You hear that?” she murmurs. “The boss man says you should—oh!”

It’s Lacy’s turn to smile at the camera. “Thanks for the tip. Anything else you’d like me to do to her?”

“Kiss her right where her neck meets her shoulder.” A surge of heat blasts through my veins as Lacy obeys my command. “You like that, Camille?”

“Oh, God.” She squeezes her eyes shut, thrusting her hips as she rides Sybil’s face. “You’re gonna make me come.”

I can’t wait to watch that. I’m nearly there myself, stroking my dick with a frenzy. “Camille?”

“Yeah, Ash?”

God, how she says my name. It’s making me harder, which I didn’t imagine was possible. She’s so fucking beautiful right now. “You like how Sybil’s licking you?”

“It’s so good,” she breathes, with a soft little laugh. “So fucking good. Different from riding your face while I sucked you off.”

I chuckle and don’t take my eyes off Camille. She’s practically glowing, radiant and round and riding that pretty pink tongue that flicks faster. Her whole body tenses and I know she’s so close.

“Oh, fuck.” That’s Lacy this time, and she starts to look dazed. Whatever Camille’s doing with her fingers must be working. “Stop if you don’t want me to come right now.”

Camille licks her lips as her forearm flexes. “Watch her come on my hand, Ash. She’s so fucking pretty.”

Sybil cries out from under Camille. The buzz of the vibe gets louder as all three women careen to the edge. It’s Camille who captivates me.

Camille and her tousled red hair. Camille and her perfect round tits. Camille and the swift rush of pink to her cheeks as pleasure unfurls on her face.

“Ash,” she breaths, frantic now. “Oh, Ash.”

“Do it,” I whisper. My cock aches and throbs in my fist. “Camille?”

“Yeah?” She sounds almost drugged.

“Come for me, baby. I want to watch you come all over Sybil’s face.”

“Oh, Ash. I’m so close.” She gasps as her forearm flexes, still twisted behind her. “You should feel how hot and slick Lacy is.”

I don’t doubt that’s true, but it’s Camille’s sun-streaked body I’m aching to touch. Her hips roll faster as Sybil keeps tonguing her.

“Almost there.” Sybil’s moan echoes from the valley of Camille’s thighs. “Want her to say your name when she comes?”

I’ve never wanted anything more. “Do it.”

Sybil’s eyes drift to the camera. “She’s so fucking sweet.” Her tongue flicks Camille’s swollen clit. “Bet you wish you could have a taste.”

Oh, God. I stifle a groan, but it rips from my throat without warning. “Come for me, Camille.”

It’s Lacy who cries out first, head tilting back as she fucks Camille’s hand. Then Sybil explodes, shrieking her pleasure between Camille’s splayed thighs.

Only Camille stares straight at the camera, hazel eyes locked with mine as she lets out a shuddery moan. “Oh, Ash—oh fuck!”

“That’s it.” I’m right there with her. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She lets out a shriek that goes straight to my balls, and suddenly I’m coming. I’m watching her ride Sybil’s face as hot ropes of semen land on the leg of my Burberry trousers. She’s writhing and gasping, but her eyes don’t leave mine. Not even as she slumps back against Lacy’s plush breasts.

“Wow.” Camille stares straight into my soul. “Holy shit, Ash.”

I swallow hard, not sure what I should say. I’m locked in her gaze, locked in this moment of pleasure and connection. This moment of losing control but gaining something else.

Something so much better.

Sybil breaks the tension. She rolls out from under Camille and sits up with a smile. “Don’t worry, boss man. We won’t hit you up for overtime.”

Lacy laughs as she eases Camille back against the swell of her breasts. “This one’s on us,” she says, kissing her cheek. “Your girl is a treat and a half.”

My eyes stay fixed on Camille. I know I should say that she isn’t my girl, but that isn’t the feeling welling up in my chest.

Feelings aren’t part of the equation.

But watching Camille, feeling this surge in the pit of my chest, I know it’s no longer that simple.

CHAPTER 11

CAMILLE

I’m dead asleep at three a.m. when I wake to a pounding at my door. I’m sleep-drunk and dazed, but pretty sure that’s not Sybil’s dainty knock.

“Who is it?” I pad across the room and stretch on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.

Holy shit.

“Ash?”

“Let me in, Camille.” He tugs off his tie and shoves it in his pocket, one sleeve of his shirt already rolled up. “Now.”

“One second.” I’m buck ass naked and my morning breath smells like something died. “I’m indecent.”

“Perfect,” he says as he rolls up the other shirt sleeve. “That’s how I prefer you.”

“Hang on.” I race to the sink and squirt out a fat lump of toothpaste. There’s no time to brush, but I swish it around with some water while finger-combing my hair. I showered four hours ago, so at least I’ve got that going for me.

Or maybe smelling like sex would be a turn on for Ash. That’s assuming he’s here to get naked. I can’t tell from his dark look if he’s turned on or pissed off. Maybe both.

Why is my heart beating like this?

I spit out the toothpaste and race to the door. My sweaty palm slips off the knob as I twist it open.

Goddamn. Ashton Holyfield is an imposing figure.

“Hello.” My voice sounds raspy. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” His smoldering gaze roams my body, then back to my face. “You’re naked.”

“Very observant, Mister Holyfield.” Snatching the front of his shirt, I drag him into my room.

Ash kicks the door shut, backing me up toward the bed. “I needed to see you.”

My breath’s coming fast as I claw at his shirt. “I thought you were spending the night in Negril.”

“You can’t honestly think I’d be able to sleep after that show you put on.” His mouth crashes into mine as we tumble into my sleep-rumpled bedding. “Couldn’t”—he breathes between kisses—“get you”—more kissing, this time in a trail between my breasts—“out of my head.”

“I missed you.” It’s silly to say, since I’ve only known him for three days. “I hope that video call was okay.”

Ash stops suckling my breasts to give me a bewildered expression. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.” I bite back the urge to giggle. “And don’t call me Sh⁠—”

He kisses me back into silence, which is just as well. His hands feel insane on my body, greedy and hot and demanding. I unbutton his shirt, shoving it over his shoulders like it personally offended me.

Ash yanks his arm from a sleeve as he comes up for air. “That was the hottest fucking call I’ve ever taken.”

I laugh as I tug at his belt. “Glad you liked it.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes.” I sink my teeth into his peck. “But I desperately craved your cock.”

The organ in question gives a sizeable throb behind the fly of his trousers. “My cock says the feeling is mutual.”

“I thought feelings weren’t part of the equation.”

His icy eyes blaze, and for three breathless seconds, I’m afraid he’ll get up and run. Have I crossed some invisible line?

Instead, he just growls. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to me.” He goes back to kissing my breasts as I work his cock free from his pants. “Some kind of witchcraft, maybe.”

“Definitely.” I let out a whimper as Ash rolls me onto my back. I’ve barely got his pants shoved past his ass before he’s sinking inside me with a groan.

“This tight little pussy,” he snarls, thrusting inside me again. “Must’ve put a spell on me.”

“Oh fuck.” I scream as my legs wrap around him. “It’s my supernatural snatch.”

A laugh rumbles out of him, then turns to a moan as his thrusts start to quicken. “Flew all the way here with a hard-on.” I’m not even sure if he knows he’s still talking. “That’s what you do to me.”

I gasp as he hits something so good. “Did you use your dick as a propeller?”

The sound that rolls up from his chest is half laughter, half growl. His body tenses as I arch up against him. I’m clutching his ass, obsessed with the taut flex of muscle as he drives into me.

Ash swears under his breath. “Devil Woman.”

God, this feels good. “I prefer Magical Maiden.”

He growls in my ear, nipping his way down my throat. “Can’t fucking believe I’m this close already.” He pounds me so hard I see stars. “I jerked off twice already.”

I’m right at the brink myself. “Your hand is no match for my bewitching bajingo.”

Ash lets out a roar and that’s all it takes. The throb of his shaft deep inside me sets off a chain reaction. My thighs clench around him as we ride out our climax together. It’s fierce and consuming and I don’t understand what’s happening now. It feels different somehow. More intense, more connected.

So fucking infused with emotion.

Ash goes still as my climax recedes, but my body keeps humming. I’m struggling to wrap my head around what just happened.

Wow.

I mean, wow.

Not to disparage my afternoon with the girls, but that was a next-level fuck.

We’re both breathing hard as he rolls to his side, pulling me onto his chest. With a hand on his pec, I prop up to peer at his face. “Where’s Kora?”

He blinks. “That’s what you lead with?”

“What?”

He arches one salt-and-pepper brow. “I would have presumed you’d had your fill of group sex with beautiful bisexual women today.”

“It’s a new day, babe.” I swat his chest. “Not what I meant anyway.”

“What did you mean?”

“You didn’t just abandon her in Negril, did you?”

Ash shakes his head, heart beating fast under my palm. “I texted her just after midnight to say I’d send the jet back for her in the morning.”

“Kind of you.”

“By the time I got down to the lobby, Kora was waiting with her suitcase.”

“You woke her up?”

“Apparently she couldn’t sleep, either.” He gives me a look that would melt off my panties if I weren’t already naked. “It seems Sybil sent her some video footage.”

“Ah, yes.” I chuckle at the thought of Kora and Sybil together. “She asked if she could. I certainly envy their sex life.”

That earns me another raised brow. “You’re finding ours lacking somehow?”

“No, I just—” What am I trying to say? “Don’t you think it’s remarkable for two people who’ve been married three years to still be so sexually in-tune with each other?”

I watch as his eyes fill with feeling. Shit.

That’s not how I meant it. I’m not trying to bring up his marriage or probe into his past about⁠—

“You’re right,” he says softly. “It is remarkable.”

I relax just a little, my hand still riding the waves of his breath. The thump of his heart under my palm might still be from sex, but I don’t think it is. Ash is keyed up and I’m suddenly not sure how to read him.

His eyes flutter shut and a hand moves to cover my own, which still lies flat on his chest. We lie there like that for five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Waves shush the shore outside my window and the lull of the sea almost lets me believe something big hasn’t shifted.

But I’ve been a shrink a long time. Something is different in Ash tonight. I feel it in my bones.

We lie there in silence for five minutes at least. Just as I start to get up for some water, Ash speaks.

“I got married young,” he says softly. “I didn’t have a great childhood, so maybe I was looking for some kind of stability I didn’t get from my parents.”

There’s the slightest upturn in his voice at the end of that sentence, so I’m sensing he wants a response. “That’s very common,” I say softly.

It must be what Ash needed from me. “Brigitte and I had Grayson right away,” he continues. “That little boy was my whole world. I loved him with my whole twisted heart.”

My own heart breaks at the catch in his voice. I circle my palm over his chest, attempting to soothe all his pain. “I’m so sorry, Ash.” I can’t even imagine that loss. “This must be tremendously painful.”

He doesn’t acknowledge my words, but he also doesn’t argue. Doesn’t pretend he’s some coldhearted, emotionless monster. Just draws a deep breath and keeps going.

“Even before Grayson was born, Brigitte and I didn’t have a great sex life.” He opens his eyes and looks straight into mine. “I apologize.”

“What for?”

“It’s inappropriate to broach that subject while naked in your bed.”

I need to tread carefully here. “If you’re talking about being vulnerable with me, I think naked in bed is as good a time as any.”

“Okay.” He releases a long, shaky sigh, his eyes falling shut again. “I’m not telling you that to disparage my late wife. Just stating the fact that our libidos were mismatched from the start.”

“It happens,” I say, commanding myself not to ask any questions. To let him speak freely.

But the silence drags out for another long minute. Then two. There’s a reason he said what he did. If Ash doesn’t know or isn’t sure how to say it, then maybe he does need a nudge.

“Were you the partner with the higher drive?” I know better than to assume. “Or was it your late wife?”

He’s silent so long I don’t think he’ll answer.

“I refuse to blame my actions on my high sex drive like there’s some kind of clinical cause for how I behaved in my marriage.” He lets out a long, ragged breath. “I lied and I cheated because I’m an asshole. It’s as simple as that.”

My clinical training says otherwise. “It’s never that simple, Ash.” I’m walking on eggshells contradicting him, but maybe he needs to hear this. “Good people make poor choices every day.”

Ash shakes his head, eyes still shuttered like he can’t bear to see me. “I was not a good person. Not even close.” He’s using past tense, which is noteworthy. “If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d force myself to be faithful. To be a good husband instead of the asshole who betrayed her.”

“Oh, Ash.” I’ve counseled enough clients through infidelity to know it’s never that easy. “We all have regrets. We all make mistakes.”

“I made way more than my share. I was young and stupid but that’s absolutely no excuse for being a pompous, selfish prick who believed I was entitled to sex outside my marriage.” His jaw clenches tight and his eyes remain shut. “I believed myself to be so skilled at deceit that my wife would never find out.”

“But she did.”

“She did. Not once, but many times.” The ache in his voice hurts my heart. Not just for Ash, but for his poor late wife. Whatever sort of relationship these two had, they must have loved one another on some level.

My fingers curl into his chest. His hand’s still on mine when Ash opens his eyes and looks at our fingers like he’s seeing them for the first time.

No. Not at our fingers.

He’s looking at the scar on his chest.

Slowly, so very gently, I trail a fingertip over that thin, raised, white line. I don’t speak a word. Just this silent acknowledgment that this scar is a part of him. That I see Ashton Holyfield, all of him. The visible scars and the unseen ones.

“There’s a story behind that scar,” he says softly.

I swallow the swell in my throat. “You mean besides a minor accident in your twenties that involved drinking?” I suspected that wasn’t the full story.

“I was drinking,” he says. “Coffee. Brigitte had just found out about my latest affair and snatched the mug from my hand. She smashed it on the table and the handle flew off.” He touches the mark like it burns. “Took six stitches to close it. She said she was sorry. But not nearly as sorry as I was.”

“Oh, Ash.” I glide my hand over it, warming the spot with my palm. “I know it hurts.” I don’t mean the physical pain.

“I deserve every bit of pain and then some.” His jaw clenches again. “You said earlier that we all make mistakes.”

“We do.”

“But I kept making mine. At a certain point, it’s no longer a mistake. It’s a deliberate choice to hurt someone else. That’s who I was. What I’m capable of.”

My therapist brain fights to engage. I force those thoughts back and make myself talk like a regular person. “People change, Ash.” I hesitate. “Do you think you’ve changed?”

Ash doesn’t answer the question. He draws another long breath and closes his eyes again. “That was the turning point. The point where I tried to repair my marriage. Maybe there was already too much damage. Before that moment, I don’t know how many times I cheated and got caught. Too many to count. Maybe some sick, twisted part of me wanted to get caught.”

That’s a very distinct possibility. “I’m going to ask a question, but please don’t feel like you need to reply.”

He gives a nod of assent, but I pause anyway. Once I ask it, I can’t unknow the answer. But part of me needs to know.

If there’s one thing my career has taught me, it’s that people who punish themselves find ways for the punishment to fit their perceived crime. I once had a client who had an affair with his husband’s best friend from Italy. To punish himself, he vowed he would never speak Italian again, even though it was his native tongue.

In a roundabout way, that’s where my question is coming from.

“Do you blame your infidelity for your wife’s death?” I might not have asked that right. “That is, do you believe your quest for sexual fulfillment led to her passing?”

His eyes are still shut, and I watch as his forehead furrows. Emotion plays over his face—pain, regret, shame—as I lie here caressing the scar.

“I don’t believe it,” he says roughly. “I know it.”

I wait for Ash to continue. For him to fill in whatever blanks he’s willing to.

The hand on his chest starts to rise as Ash draws a shuddery breath. “I swore I was done betraying my wife, and I meant it. We’d gone through three months of couples’ therapy, and I was in a good place. We were in a good place. Grayson was four and just starting preschool. Brigitte agreed to a second chance. But there was a catch.”

I hold my breath, waiting in silence. I already know this story won’t have a happy ending.

“Brigitte had a desire to even the score. It’s something we talked through in therapy, and believe it or not, our therapist agreed.”

“How do you mean?”

“She wanted to sleep with her old high school sweetheart. A man she once dated and never had sex with. She thought—” His voice breaks off as he pulls in a breath. “She thought maybe if she did that—if she got it out of her system—it would somehow make things feel fair. That we could start with a clean slate after that.”

Oh, God.

I’ve proposed my share of unconventional therapies, but that isn’t something I’d ever suggest. I won’t say so out loud, but good lord.

“I was fine with it,” he says, and I relax just a little. “Anything to help Brigitte forgive me. If I’m being honest, I’ve always been aroused by the idea of my partner with somebody else. At the time, I thought it made me a sick, twisted fuck.” His face contorts in a grimace. “It took meeting Sybil and Kora to see that’s not always unhealthy. That it can work in a loving, consensual relationship.”

“It’s a common proclivity,” I say, not sharing the formal terminology for that particular kink. That’s not what he needs now. “Did Brigitte go through with it?”

Ashton releases a long, shaky breath. “She made plans to meet him one weekend. We agreed I would fly her back to her hometown where the man still lived. I owned a small plane and had my pilot’s license.” His throat rolls as he swallows. “But something came up at work.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeats, a dark cloud falling over his face. The pain in his eyes steals my breath.

“She decided to drive,” he continues. “It was only four hours, and she chose to take Grayson along.”

I gulp back an urge to pass judgment. “To visit her lover?”

“Her parents.” He wets his dry lips and continues. “Grayson adored his grandma and grandpa. Brigitte arranged to spend two nights with the man in a hotel just outside town. Her mom and dad would watch Grayson, under the pretense of giving her a much-needed weekend with friends.”

A sour slick of dread pools in my gut. “What happened?”

There’s another long pause and I sense that he’s gathering courage. That we’ve reached the most gut-wrenching part of the story.

“They were less than an hour from Brigitte’s parents’ home when a drunk driver slammed into them. Ran a stop sign and just kept going.” His throat makes an audible click. “Brigitte died instantly.”

“Oh, Ash.” I already know his young son hung on in a coma for weeks. “Honey, I’m so fucking sorry.” I stroke my hand over his breastbone, fingertips grazing the scar. “It’s a sick, horrible tragedy and there’s absolutely nothing I can say to make it any better.”

He doesn’t respond to that. “I gave up flying for pleasure after that. I don’t deserve the privilege of piloting a plane, since I couldn’t be bothered to do it for Brigitte.”

“Oh, sweetie.” I’m truly at a loss for words.

“And I started the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club as a form of redemption for Brigitte. She was never granted the marriage she deserved. The life she deserved. I betrayed her in the worst possible way, and she never got to even the score. To seek the satisfaction that was owed to her—to every woman…” He trails off there, shaking his head. “I can’t ever make up for what I did. But I want to believe the women who come here can find some of what Brigitte was seeking.”

I hold back the urge to tell him that’s noble. Saying so didn’t go well the last time I said it.

But I can’t let this go without offering something.

“You made mistakes,” I say softly. “I won’t try to pretend that you didn’t. But it sounds to me like you’ve owned them. Owned them and learned from them and tried to make up for your sins.”

His steely jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. Some little voice implores me to keep going.

“I’ve counseled a fuck-ton of people who won’t ever do that, Ash. Who don’t have it in themselves to acknowledge they’ve done the wrong thing. It’s so very human to find other people to blame, to point fingers anywhere else but themselves, but that’s not what you’ve done, Ash. Not once since I’ve met you have you tried to pin your failures on anyone else.”

If anything, the man beats himself up for things outside his control. Can he hear what I’m telling him? Does Ashton believe me?

He studies my face, then shakes his head slowly. “You will never, ever hear me suggest that any force besides my own selfishness and my greedy libido caused me to betray my wife. To destroy my family.”

There’s something behind that greedy libido remark that Ash would be wise to explore on his own in therapy. But I’m not the clinician to do that. All I can do is be here for him right now.

“You won’t let me pay you a compliment,” I say. “So I’m not going to tell you that what you’ve done—the way you’ve owned your mistakes and atoned for your failings—is a rare act of bravery. But I will say, Ashton, I see you. I see a good man who made mistakes and learned from them. I’m not sure you realize how uncommon that is.”

He closes his eyes, and this time I know it’s a signal he’s done. That Ashton Holyfield is finished telling the terribly tragic story of his lost wife and son. That what he’s just shared is a gift.

So I give him the gift of my silence. Planting a kiss on his temple, I curl up beside him. With a hand on his chest, I stroke the small scar over his heart until he falls asleep in my arms.

CHAPTER 12

ASHTON

“Thank you for the news.” With the phone to my ear, I glance at Camille. She’s sitting in a sunbeam with a forkful of blackened rockfish halfway to her lips. “I appreciate you keeping me apprised of the situation.”

As soon as I put down the phone, Camille pounces. “Is it over? The pilots’ strike? What did they say?”

“You’re very eager to escape.” I pick up my fork and twirl it through thick strands of clam linguine. Crystal Bliss won’t reopen for two days, or possibly longer if the strike precludes guests from arriving. But several key staffers with their own private boats have returned from vacation, including the head chef at Halcyon. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that wasn’t the airline exec on the phone.”

“Oh.” Camille makes a face. “For the record, I’m in no hurry to leave. I can do telehealth therapy from anywhere in the world, and I’m rather enjoying my time here.”

This news delights me more than it should. That’s something I’ll need to control. “To answer your question, that was the head of my legal team with the answer to a question I posed in yesterday’s meeting.”

“I see.” She stabs another bite of fish. “Sorry to be nosy.”

“It’s fine.” Funny how it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been a private man for as long as I can recall. It’s the reason you won’t find one word of my marriage or fatherhood online. Power and money buy silence. That part of my life is something I’d rather keep all to myself.

For the past twenty years, I’ve lived for control.

Control of my public profile.

Control of the world around me.

Control of my own urges.

I’m not saying I’ve lived as a monk for two decades, but the death of my young child and wife substantially diminished my desire.

But something shifted the day Camille showed up.

Something bigger shifted between us in her room yesterday morning.

It’s been twenty-nine hours since I flew back from Negril, and we’ve had more than our share of toe-curling sex.

But we’ve talked a lot, too; about goals and mistakes and wrong turns. Both of us bared our feelings. I’m honestly hard pressed to say which I’ve loved more.

Feelings aren’t part of the equation.

It’s getting harder and harder to live by that rule.

“Ash?” Camille touches my hand. “I really am sorry about listening in on your chat with the lawyer.”

“I’m not brooding about that.” To be honest, I’d already forgotten. “I accepted a phone call sitting two feet from you. I hardly had an expectation of privacy.”

But now that she mentioned the lawyers again, I do have a question.

“I wanted to ask you about something.” I pick up my phone and scroll to the email the law firm just sent. “Holyfield Properties is represented by Olaf McMahon in all legal matters. One of the top five law firms in the world.”

Camille wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Are you suing me for trespassing?”

“Indecent exposure,” I deadpan, just as I locate the email I’m seeking. “They’re in the process of merging with a law firm from the Pacific Northwest. I wondered if you’d heard of them.”

“Do you know the name?”

I squint at the email. “Steele Marx?”

Camille drops her fork. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I can tell by her face something’s wrong. “I presume your impression isn’t favorable?”

“Of the firm? It’s fine. Of one attorney in particular⁠—”

“Your former fiancé?” Now I recall she told me the man is a lawyer.

“Yep.” Camille shakes her head. “For the record, Hayden’s a fine attorney. An excellent attorney.”

“So excellent he prioritizes work over his own wedding?”

“Bingo.” She nibbles her lip. “You’re not working directly with him, are you?”

“Is that a problem?” I’ve got a call scheduled later this week with key members of the legal team. Perhaps I could ask that her ex not be present.

“It’s fine,” Camille says, looking out at the sea. “Just—maybe don’t mention we’re sleeping together.”

“That’s not typically something I’d broach in a business discussion.” I twirl my fork in a pile of linguine, curious why she’d think it might be. “Where does he think you are now?”

“He knows I cashed in the honeymoon and went on a trip by myself.” She frowns at the sea, watching a bright pair of toucans dip and weave. “Given he couldn’t be bothered to show up for our wedding, I kinda doubt he’s looked into it any further than that.”

“Rest assured, I have no reason to inform him of your whereabouts.”

“I’m not keeping it a secret. I’ll tell him, eventually.” She nibbles her lip. “Know what’s silly?”

“The platypus. The fact that Hawaii has an interstate.” So many other things. “Not what you meant?”

Still chewing her lip, she looks down at her plate. “I’ve spoken with Hayden several times since I got here. Always about the logistics of dividing our assets, the process of uncoupling, and it’s been amicable.”

“I don’t think that’s silly.”

“I hadn’t gotten to the silly part yet.” She pokes at a cherry tomato on the edge of her plate. “Hayden wouldn’t judge me for coming here. The man has his faults, but sex shaming isn’t one of them. He’d never think less of me for sleeping with someone so soon after our split. He wouldn’t get jealous at all.”

“That sounds…fair.” I’m still not hearing the silly part.

“It does, and that’s why I’m embarrassed.” Camille lifts her eyes and I’m struck by the heartache I see there. “Some silly little insecure part of me wants to believe that the man I lived with—the man I loved and was ready to marry—would feel something about his former fiancée moving on so quickly.” She must be self-conscious about this admission, since she hurries to fill the short silence. “I don’t want Hayden to suffer. But I want to be someone he cared about enough to have feelings about our breakup. I just—” She looks up at the sky, searching for words. “I want to be wanted. And I never really felt that with him.”

I study her face. This woman, who’s so fucking kind and so generous with her feelings. Does she know how much I want her? I have my own faults, but I like to believe that I’ve spent this past week proving over and over just how desirable I find her.

“That makes sense,” I say softly. “We all want to be wanted.”

“Right, but—” She pokes the tomato again. “It’s ego, I know. And I guess I just don’t want to feel the sting of telling Hayden I’ve spent the past week having the best sex of my life and hearing him say, ‘that’s nice,’ and segue into dividing our water bill.”

My ego swells at the detail she buried in that statement. The best sex of her life? No doubt it’s the same for me, but I wasn’t aware Camille felt likewise.

Focus.

I clear my throat. “I hear what you’re saying,” I tell her. “Having a partner whose passion doesn’t match your own can be terribly painful.” I don’t want to make this about me, but I’m all too familiar with that feeling. “I’m sorry you’ve felt that way in your relationship.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Camille sets down her fork and picks up her water glass. “It never bothered me before. I thought having a no-nonsense, pragmatic partnership was the safest way to forge the lifelong bond of a relationship.”

For once in my life, my mind serves me the exact right thing to say. “Maybe safe isn’t the same thing as happy.”

“You’re right,” she says, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. I didn’t even notice she’d started to cry. “Some fucking therapist I am, huh? That’s such an obvious thing. I can’t believe it never fucking occurred to me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I put a hand over hers and feel how her fingers are trembling. “A very wise therapist once told me that everyone makes mistakes.”

Camille sniffles and gives me a watery smile. “She sounds like a real bitch.”

“She’s the kindest, most thoughtful woman I’ve ever met.” I look in her eyes as I say it, so she knows I’m not lying. “Unless, of course, she feels the need to tell her former fiancée that the best sex of her life wasn’t with him. That’s just cruel.”

She laughs and picks up her fork again, drawing her hand out from under mine. “I promise I wouldn’t really say that. I was exaggerating to make a point.”

“I know.” And I love her for that.

Love?

All the blood drains out of my brain.

Of course not love. Just like she said, I’m exaggerating in my mind to make a point.

But now that I’ve thought it, I can’t unthink it.

Am I starting to feel things for Camille?

My palms start to sweat as my brain bangs alarm bells. I pick up my fork, clearing my throat as I try to refocus on lunch. “This linguine is exquisite.”

Camille laughs again, spearing her last bite of rockfish. “You used that word to describe my breasts when we first met. Which do you find more exquisite?”

“No contest,” I say, twirling my noodles through a puddle of sauce. “Your breasts covered in linguine.”

She laughs and lays down her fork on the edge of her plate. “Thanks, Ash Hole.” She crumples her napkin on top of it. “That was delicious. Almost as good as the meals you’ve had Lars dropping off for me.”

“You liked yesterday’s tofu and cous cous with mango dressing?”

“Amazing. He must have made you the same thing?”

“I’ll see if I can get you the recipe.”

“I wish I could thank him myself, but he just leaves the food at the door.”

“I’ve requested he not disturb you.” Clearing my throat, I twist up my last bite of pasta. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” A shimmer of worry shines in her eyes. “Sounds serious.”

“A little.” I still can’t believe that describing my infidelity didn’t send her screaming for the hills. Perhaps this will do it. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

Her posture goes rigid, though she’s trying so hard to look cool. “About?”

“It’s true I’ve been speaking with airline executives about the strike.” I did make an effort, at least. “But I could have tried harder.”

“Ash, you’ve gone above and beyond⁠—”

“My private jet could get you anywhere you needed to be in a matter of hours. The pilot returned from vacation to fly me to that meeting in Negril.”

That stops her in her tracks. “I wondered.”

“About?”

“If the plane you took that day was just too small to get me back to the states. Or maybe too expensive for⁠—”

“Size is certainly not an issue.”

“No kidding.” One edge of her mouth quirks.

“And as for money⁠—”

“I get it, Ash. You’re not exactly digging loose change out of the sofa.” The other corner of her mouth tips up. “So let me get this straight—you’ve been holding me hostage for sex.”

I study her face, waiting for some other reaction. “Should I be concerned you look delighted by the prospect?”

“It means you want to be with me, Ash Hole.” She snatches my hand off the table, twisting our fingers together. “Which works out well, since I want to be with you.”

A niggling sense of unease wells up in my chest. “I told you I’m a liar and a cheater.” I don’t understand why she’s still looking at me like she likes me. “I’ve told you feelings can’t be part of the equation. That I’ve been keeping you here under false pretenses.”

“Oh, honey.” Her expression is one I suspect she’d reserve for a senile old man. “First of all, you lied and you cheated—past tense, but still true. That doesn’t make you a liar or a cheater anymore than a few instances of peeing on a campfire to extinguish it makes you a firefighter.”

I stare at this beautiful woman. This gorgeous, clever, completely mad human. “Are you utterly insa⁠—”

“Secondly,” she continues like I’m not even speaking. “You insist feelings aren’t part of the equation, but you know what I’ve seen in almost a week of knowing you?”

I don’t even open my mouth to reply, since she’s on a roll now.

“I’ve seen a man so concerned with employee satisfaction that he invents a goddamn holiday to give them paid time off. I’ve seen a man who knows he’s a little bit brusque, but he’s quick to apologize and own his mistakes.” She squeezes my hand as her voice becomes serious. “And I’ve witnessed a man willing to share his deepest shame and pain. I’m sorry to break it to you, Ash, but those actions are all based on feelings.”

Fuck me.

Dragging a hand over my chin, I search for a path around her argument. “Can you at least hold me accountable for keeping you here as my sex slave?”

“Sure,” she says cheerfully. “As long as you hold me accountable for showing up without a reservation, demanding sex from a perfect stranger, and spending the last week eating your food, fucking your employees, and taking advantage of your generosity.”

I stare at Camille. At this perfect, breathtaking, most assuredly insane woman.

A woman who might be my perfect match.

“No.”

Camille blinks. “No what?”

“No, I won’t hold you accountable. None of those things are an issue for me.”

“And I won’t hold you accountable for things you’ve already spent years punishing yourself for.”

“So where does that leave us?” I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. “Right back to holding ourselves accountable?”

“How about this, Ash Hole.” A breathtaking smile spreads over her beautiful face. “Let’s get naked and hold each other accountable.”

Later that evening, we’re strolling the grounds of the resort as the sea slowly swallows the sun. There’s a soft buzz of birdsong, and bugs whose earnest chatter marks them as meals for said birds. I’m not sure if Camille laced her fingers through mine or if I took the lead in holding her hand.

All I know is that it feels natural. Her delicate hand in my rough one, the sea breeze on our skin, tropical birds swooping above us like colorful drunk men with feathers. Being with Camille, it’s the freest I’ve felt in my life. I wish I could hold onto this feeling forever.

Feelings aren’t part of the equation.

But what if they could be? She made a good point that I’ve been feeling things all along. Maybe it’s time to admit it.

“Dildo!”

I jump at the squawk from the palm tree beside us. “Dammit, McFly.”

Delighted as always, McFly bobs his head and squawks out his triumph. “Dildo. Dildo!”

I recover my composure to properly greet him. “Good evening, McFly.”

“Hi, pretty bird.” Camille releases my hand and steps close to the tree. “Aren’t you a handsome devil?”

“Devil’s three-way!” That’s a new one Zane must have taught him. “Devil’s three-way!”

Camille laughs and I wonder if I should explain. Probably not, since she’s a sex therapist, but I don’t like to assume. “Also known as two men and one woman having carnal relations.”

“Amateur hour.” Her salacious grin reminds me what’s still left on her bucket list. “Ever heard the slang term for four men and one woman?”

She’s got me there. “Gangbang?”

“Triceratops.” She laughs and looks up at the bird. “Don’t repeat that.”

“Gangbang!” McFly squawks. “Gangbang!”

I step close to Camille and peer up into the tree. “Do you only take word suggestions from men?”

“Typical.” She rolls her eyes. “Handsome and sexist.”

McFly flaps his wings, agreeing, or maybe defending his honor. “Sex list!”

“There you go.” She watches him strut back and forth on the branch. “You sure know a lot of sex words.”

“Sex bird!” he squawks, shuffling sideways. “Sex bird!”

Laughing, she turns back to me. “How old is McFly?”

“Approaching twenty-five.” I watch Camille’s face as she quickly does math. “I acquired him as a wedding gift for my late wife.”

“That’s sweet,” she says without missing a beat. “Brigitte named him?”

“Yes.” I wait for the pinch in my chest, but it doesn’t come. It’s calming, in a way, to hear Camille say her name. “He goes back and forth between here and my own private island.”

“He flies?”

“As opposed to taking a water taxi?” I shouldn’t be glib. “I’ve occasionally traveled with him on the yacht.”

“Rough life, bird.” Camille makes kissy noises and McFly does a happy dance across a low branch. “How long do parrots live?”

“This breed can live fifty years or more.” I clear my throat. “Not terribly common as pets. He was intended to spend a lifetime with us.”

I wince at my own careless words. Picturing Brigitte, I don’t think of “us” anymore.

Camille doesn’t seem bothered. “That’s a really romantic gesture.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I considered rehoming him after she passed. It felt wrong to keep him locked in a cage.”

She surveys the grounds and all the lush foliage around us. “He’s got free run of the place now.”

“Yes,” I acknowledge, as McFly flaps his wings. “I researched where Yellow-Billed Parrots come from. Then I bought a small island chain and brought him here. Hired a bird expert to help orient him back to the wild. I built my home and then the resort, and McFly seemed happier here, so this is where he’s stayed.”

Camille stares at me, stone-faced. “Let me get this straight: you felt guilty that the bird you purchased for your wife as a wedding gift might feel lonely or trapped in a cage, so you bought an entire fucking island⁠—”

“Two islands,” I correct, not sure why that matters.

“Two islands.” Camille shakes her head. “Then moved here and built a home and a sex resort just to give the bird his freedom?”

It sounds absurd when she puts it that way. “A business decision. Did I mention Crystal Bliss is quite profitable?”

“You did.” She rolls her eyes. “You also mentioned that you don’t have feelings.” She shoots a glance at the bird. “Tell that to McFly.”

Hearing his name, McFly squawks again. “Orgasm!” he shouts.

“That’s one of his favorites,” I mutter.

“Can you blame him?”

Footsteps on the path behind us pull our attention back toward the beach. Two muscular consorts saunter our way, each with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The moment they see us, they freeze.

“Mr. Holyfield.” That’s a former Marine named Logan. He’s worked here for several years now. “Nice to see you, sir.”

“Gentlemen.” I turn to Camille, since introductions are in order. “Dr. Camille Plier, meet Logan Wilder and Zane Phillips. Two of the finest consorts employed at Crystal Bliss Retreat.”

She takes a step forward and puts out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” As she shakes Zane’s hand, a smile stretches over her face. “Zane, as in the man who taught McFly an entire glossary of sexual terms?”

He chuckles, scrubbing a hand on his chin. “Guilty, I suppose.” He looks at me. “Didn’t realize you were aware of that, sir.”

“Yes, well.” I clear my throat. “Camille has been a guest of the resort for the past week. She’s been unable to return home, due to the pilots’ strike.”

I watch the men take in that detail. Confusion and surprise play over their faces. Logan’s brow furrows as he puzzles it out. “Sorry if I’m forgetting, sir—were some consorts asked to remain behind for the break?”

Zane looks worried. “I would have stayed if I’d known. I didn’t realize⁠—”

“No need.” I’m tempted to capture Camille’s hand again, but that feels performative. I settle for shifting closer, brushing her arm with my own. “Camille has been perfectly well cared-for in her time with the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.”

“Extremely well cared-for.” One edge of her mouth quirks. “Five-star experience.”

The consorts’ eyes dart back and forth between us. Probably wondering what a beautiful woman is doing with a pompous dickhead. Or perhaps they assume we couldn’t possibly mean what’s just been implied.

“Glad to hear it, sir.” Logan clears his throat. “Let us know if you need anything, ma’am.”

“We came back early to get settled.” Zane shifts his pack on one shoulder. “Glad to clock in if we’re needed.”

“Absolutely.” Logan’s gaze swings to mine. “I know there’s nothing more important to you than guest satisfaction.”

Zane bobs his head. “Like you always say—‘Our mission is to ensure every woman feels secure, satisfied, and desired.’”

He’s right that I’ve said that a thousand times. It’s part of a small speech I give at each new consort’s orientation. Zane’s quoting me word for word, so why does it make me uneasy now?

It’s not simple jealousy. I see how their eyes roam Camille’s sexy curves, and all I feel there is pride. There’s something else bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on what.

“Gentlemen.” I nod to let them know they’re dismissed. “No need to report for duty until you’re scheduled. Until then, enjoy the resort amenities. All restaurants will be reopened by morning. There’s a welcome back luncheon on Saturday.”

“Thank you, sir.” Zane nods to Camille. “Nice to meet you.”

Logan does one better, capturing her hand and drawing it to his lips. “I hope your stay here has been everything you hoped it would be.”

“Thank you.” She giggles as he kisses the back of her hand. “Welcome back, guys.”

We both watch them go, silent until they vanish around a bend in the path that leads to the consorts’ chateau. The moment they’re out of earshot, Camille looks at me. “I’m not positive, but I think my friend Eve slept with the blond one.”

“Logan?” Good for her friend, if that’s the case. “It’s my understanding that he’s quite skilled. One of our most requested consorts.”

Her lips form a cheeky grin. “So I’ve heard.” She must notice something in my voice or expression. “You okay, Ash Hole?”

“Certainly.”

She studies my face, and I hate the sensation of having her peer through my skull. I doubt she could know what I’m thinking, since I’m not certain myself.

But sometimes I think she might understand me better than I do.

“Hey.” She throws her arms around my middle, burying her face in my chest. It’s a swift, unexpected hug that takes me aback. I hesitate only a second before wrapping my arms around her. “You know I think you’re ridiculously hot, right?”

“So you’ve said.” And my healthy ego doesn’t doubt that.

“And you’ve made me come my brains out a million times since I’ve been here.” She tips her head back and grins. “Only a slight exaggeration.”

“Slight.” I don’t want her to think I’m threatened by other men. “You’re more than encouraged to ogle the consorts, Camille. If you’d like, I can even arrange for one or both men to⁠—”

“Clock back in and fuck me?” She draws back to slug me in the chest. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Ash Hole—you’ve satisfied me plenty. I won’t be leaving here with any regrets.”

But she will be leaving here. She has to.

“Semen!” McFly flaps his wings, breaking the tension. “Semen! Semen! Semen!”

Camille laughs and draws back, breaking our connection. Bringing me back to reality. “Way to kill the mood, bird.”

Still squawking, he does a proud march back and forth on the branch. “Cocky asshole,” I mutter.

Chuckling again, Camille threads her arm through mine. “Takes one to know one, Ash Hole.”

“Touché.” My chest feels warm from the heat of her arm tucked against me. The bergamot spice scent of her hair, the ring of her laugh in my ear, all serve to remind me that joy is a thing.

A thing that’s quite fleeting, if memory serves.

CHAPTER 13

CAMILLE

Over the course of the next afternoon, more consorts return to the resort. So do an array of chefs, aestheticians, and massage therapists, several of whom find me and offer their services. While the pilots’ strike is still going, employees who spent their vacation on neighboring islands make their way back by boat.

“Ms. Neville explained how you’ve been stranded here,” says an earnest young consort named Nico. “Can I interest you in a massage?”

“Ms. Neville?” I’m not actually sure who that is.

“The staff supervisor. Kora?”

Ah, Sybil’s wife. We still haven’t met. “That’s sweet of her to send you.”

“She didn’t.” Nico smiles. “I came on my own. You’ll find me in the app if you’d like to book a service.”

“App?” That’s right, Eve explained how enchantments get booked here. “I guess I missed that step. The whole orientation, really.”

Appalled and a little dumbfounded, the sweet young Italian spends the next several minutes setting me up with a profile. An hour later, I schedule my first official enchantment for two days from now. Might as well have it on the books in case the pilots’ strike drags out. I don’t opt for anything too wild—a regular massage with no happy ending—but I’m browsing the rest of the menu when Eve calls.

“Hey.” I answer the call with my video on, delighted when she does the same. A second smiling face fills the screen beside her. “Sara’s there!” It’s so good to see both my friends.

And then my brother ducks into the frame. “Hey, Camille.” Kit waves from behind them. “I’ve been instructed to exit the room and put on my headphones so I won’t inadvertently hear girl talk. Leaving now.”

“Wise man.” I blow him a kiss as Kit plants a real one on Eve’s forehead. “You guys are good?”

“Yep!” Kit says, already backing out of the room. “And before you ask, our sisters send love. They want you to call when you have time, but they understand you’re busy.” He winces when he says it, like he’d rather not linger on the subject of me getting railed at a sex resort. “Bye.”

“Bye, Kit.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, my girls scoot closer together. “You look beautiful,” Sara says. “So tanned and relaxed.”

Eve grins. “Like a woman who’s had lots of great sex.”

“Thanks.” Laughing, I tuck some sun-streaked hair behind one ear. “I’m having an incredible stay at Crystal Bliss.”

Sara tilts her head. “Is the resort still closed?”

Even Eve looks befuddled. “You said most of the consorts wouldn’t return for a few more days.”

“And yet, I’ve had an epic sex-cation.” I bring them up to speed on my week, including my hookup with Sybil and Lacy.

By the time I’m done, Sara’s gaping in shock, while Eve looks confidently giddy.

“Told you,” she says, grinning. “Sybil’s fantastic.”

Sara’s forehead scrunches. “Is it weird that you and Eve hooked up with the same woman?”

“Not at all.” I sometimes wish Sara wasn’t so sheltered. “If we all made flowcharts of our partners’ former partners and their partners and got oogey about the crossover, no one would ever fuck anyone.”

Eve laughs. “Beautifully put.”

“I guess.” Sara nibbles her bottom lip. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a prude.”

And now I feel bad for thinking the same thing. “You’re perfect just as you are, Sara. Everyone has different comfort thresholds and that’s fine. Imagine how boring life would be if everyone was the same.”

“Absolutely.” Eve puts an arm around our sweet virgin pal. “That’s the great thing about sexuality. We all make the rules for ourselves. Not for anyone else.”

Hearing her say that cheers me again. It wasn’t that long ago Eve led a life cluttered with purity culture residue. Now she’s happily boning my brother in a loving, committed, somewhat-open relationship. They’re clearly in love, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for my friend.

Eve swings back to focus on me. “So Ashton Holyfield, huh?”

“Yes.” I’ve already briefed them on keeping this private. “He’s really made this a fantasy trip for me.”

“Sounds like it.” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Do you have plans to see him again after you leave?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” My answer surprises me. I’m usually ten steps ahead when it comes to planning. “I mean, yeah…it’s not like we’re getting matching tattoos and talking about moving in together. We haven’t even discussed keeping in touch.”

As soon as I say it, my gut fills with cold, liquid lead. The thought of never seeing Ash again feels inconceivable.

“Camille?” Eve looks concerned. “You okay, sweetie?”

“You got a weird look on your face.” Sara peers at the screen. “Are you all right?”

“Of course!” Why is my heart pounding like this? Panic wells up in my chest as I picture my life without Ash in it. “I’m great.”

“You don’t look great.” Eve frowns. “No offense.”

“None taken.” She’s right, I feel flushed. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

“Oh.” Sara’s eyes go wide. “Are you maybe catching feelings?”

“No!”

Shit.

Am I?

The realization hits with the subtlety of a flaming semi-truck crashing into a nuclear plant. Is that what’s happening? Is that why the thought of leaving here makes me feel queasy and unsettled? It would also explain why I haven’t thought past the end of the pilots’ strike.

Denial is a powerful force.

Which means it’s conceivable I have caught feelings for Ash. “Oh my God, you guys.”

Eve laughs and lays a flat palm in front of Sara. “Pay up, bitch.” She laughs as a grumbling Sara forks over two twenties. “Told you.”

“Wait.” I watch my friends exchange knowing looks. “You guys made a bet on whether I’d fall for Ash?”

“I mean, to be fair, I did set a precedent.” Eve folds the bills and sticks them in her bra. “I’m telling you, Crystal Bliss weaves some sort of magic spell.”

“Kinda like my snatch,” I mutter.

“What?” Sara gets distracted before I can explain. “Do you think Ashton feels the same way?”

“No! I mean…I don’t think so.” He’s so hellbent on not feeling anything that I’m sure this discussion would terrify him. “It’s just a crush. It’ll go away.”

Eve shakes her head, crossing her arms like she’s ready to lecture. “You’ve spent your last ten years in a relationship that functioned more like a business partnership. I know that’s what you wanted⁠—”

“What you thought you wanted,” Sara interjects. “But you forgot passion. And now that you’ve found it, you can’t live without it.”

Holy shit. Is a twenty-three-year-old virgin seriously schooling me on passion?

“You’re right,” I mumble, reeling a little. “Some fucking sex therapist I am.”

“Stop that,” Eve commands. “We all have blind spots when it comes to our own issues. Even the queen of sexual healing gets a pass.”

That makes me feel just a tiny bit better, but I’m still stewing. Not on my skills as a therapist, either. “I thought passion was superfluous.” What a ridiculous thing to believe. “A distraction. A detriment to a committed adult relationship.”

Eve chuckles and leans back in her chair. “Then Ashton Holyfield fucked that thought right out of your head.”

Jesus Christ, she’s right.

“So now what?” Sara’s determined to keep us on track. “Now that you’ve tasted true passion, how are you planning to keep it?”

“With Ash or with anyone else,” Eve adds. “If it’s not long term with him.”

Leave it to Sara to ask the blunt question. “Do you want long term with Ash?”

All the thoughts I’ve been pushing to the back of my brain come charging at me like rabid goblins. I’m twitchy and flummoxed and maybe a little bit scared. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sara looks dubious.

My mind keeps reeling. “If I tell Ashton I caught feelings, he’ll freak out.”

“Maybe.” Sara folds her arms, too, and I find myself staring down twin professors of passion. “But what’s the worst that could happen if you try?”

“Embarrassment.” That’s honestly not very scary. “You’re right. That’s never deterred me before.”

“See?” Eve smiles. “You’ve got nothing to lose except maybe a blow to your ego.”

“Your self-esteem is healthy enough to take it.” Sara uncrosses her arms and gives me her sweetest schoolteacher face. “I say go for it.”

“Agreed,” Eve says. “Wasn’t it you who coached me on the importance of prioritizing yourself? Your pleasure, your needs, your satisfaction?”

“I hate when you quote me to me.” I don’t really. Sometimes I make decent points. “I’ll think about it.” A call beeps in and I glance at my screen. “It’s Hayden. I should take this.”

Eve frowns. “He’s not being difficult, is he?”

“Actually, no. He’s been surprisingly calm about everything.”

Maybe a little too calm. I’m still embarrassed to acknowledge that his detached, composed response to this breakup kinda stings.

The phone beeps again and I bite the inside of my cheek. “He probably has an update on the house. Can I call you later?”

“Miss you!” Eve blows me a kiss and Sara does the same.

“Be brave, Camille,” she says. “We’re cheering you on from afar.”

God, I love my friends. “Thanks, guys.”

I blow a few kisses, then click off to take Hayden’s call.

“Hey there.” It’s a regular call and not video, so I relax back into my lounge chair. It’s right by the patio door, so I calm myself down by watching the sea. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”

“Good news,” he says. “The appraiser had a cancellation, so he squeezed us in early. I’ll email you the report. I think you’ll be pleased with the findings.”

“Thank you.” I trust Hayden to be fair and meticulous. Qualities I always admired in him.

It’s not his fault I wanted more.

“Hayden,” I start, not sure how to say it. “Are you doing okay?”

There’s a long, pregnant pause on the line. A stiff stretch of silence that fills up with doubt and uncertainty.

Dammit, he’s hurting. I knew behind his emotionless detachment there had to be more going on. “Hayden?” I hope he knows he can say anything to me. A decade together isn’t nothing. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a long, ragged breath. “I’ve gotta be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt stings the back of my throat. “I feel terrible for ending things so ungracefully. I was hurt and angry, but that’s no excuse for⁠—”

“Hold on,” he says. “What?”

“Our relationship.” Is that not what he meant? “I felt neglected and frustrated, but that didn’t give me the right to leave like I did instead of talking things through.” But I need to be clear on this next part. “You and I weren’t meant to be together, but I still owed you a proper goodbye.”

“Oh, that.” He chuckles a little. “I’m totally over it. No sweat, Cam.”

I must fall quiet a little too long because Hayden scrambles to elaborate. “No offense. I mean, we were great while we lasted, but we want different things.”

“You’re right.” What the fuck did he mean about being overwhelmed?

“I’m so busy right now with this merger.” He’s sounding distracted already. “I’ve billed more than eighty hours this week, and next week is more of the same. If we’d stayed together, you’d just be alone all the time.”

And there it is.

Confirmation that feeling alone in my relationship wasn’t just in my head.

Confirmation I did the right thing by moving on.

Clearing my throat, I perk up my voice with friendly interest. “I’m glad business is going well for you.”

“It’s bonkers right now.” He sounds more relaxed now that we’re talking about work. “I’m reviewing accounts for Holyfield Properties. That’s not privileged information, by the way—it’s a public merger.”

Does he even know where I am? “I’m staying at a Holyfield resort right now.”

“No kidding?” He chuckles. “You enjoying it?”

“Very much. It’s quite luxe.”

“That’s great, Cam. You deserve it. How’d you decide to go there?”

He really doesn’t know? “We booked our honeymoon at a Holyfield property. You picked it from the website I shared.”

“I did?” He chuckles again. “I’ve gotta be honest. I probably didn’t give it much thought. My secretary chose for me. I’m sure it’s great, though.”

“I didn’t go to our honeymoon resort. It’s another Holyfield property.”

“Hmm.” Has he tuned me out already? “That sounds nice.”

“It is.” I don’t know what makes me say it. Maybe an urge to see if there’s some part of Hayden that still cares for me?

“I’m here at a Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club resort.” When he doesn’t reply, I keep going. “An entire resort devoted to women’s sexual desires. It’s the same place Eve came when Brock cheated. Kit did that study here, remember?”

“That’s great, Cam.” Is he even listening? A keyboard clacks in the background, but Hayden’s always been good with multitasking.

“I’m really enjoying myself.” The clicking continues, and maybe the sound of a soda being opened. “Really enjoying myself.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Fuck this. “I’m sleeping with Ashton Holyfield.”

The keyboard stops clacking. “Really?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling guilty already. “I didn’t do it to hurt you. And I swear to God, I never met the man while we were still together. I never in a million years would have cheated or⁠—”

“Hey, hey, slow down. We’re cool.” He chuckles a little at that. “I know you’re not like that.”

“Are you upset?” I honestly can’t tell from the tone of his voice. Maybe this should have been a video call. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Excited.”

I blink my eyes open. “What?”

“Yeah, this is great.” He chuckles again. “I’ve been wanting to chat with the guy about some details in these disclosure docs, but his personal number is impossible to track down. You think you could get that for me?”

My mouth hinges open. I’m too shocked to respond right away.

“Camille?”

Why would I be surprised? Hayden is just being Hayden. He was always this guy. A man more focused on his career than the living, breathing woman sharing his home and his life.

I’m the one who changed.

“Cam?” He sounds worried now. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I can’t be angry with Hayden. He’s just being himself. I was silly to think he’d get sentimental now. “Um, let me ask him, okay?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” There’s a pause as he goes back to clacking the keyboard. I’m starting to wonder if he even remembers we’re on a call. I’m about to hang up when he speaks again.

“I’m really happy for you, Cam.”

“Yeah?”

“I am.” He sounds like he means it. “You deserve the best.”

“Thanks, Hayden. So do you.”

“I’ll be well on my way to getting it as soon as I have Holyfield’s number.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I hang up with a weird pit in my stomach. I’m relieved. I’m unsettled. I’m a little bit needy and anxious.

And what I need in this moment, more than anything, is to see Ash.

I send him a text, fingers trembling unexpectedly as I type.

You free?

My belly flutters when reply bubbles float to the screen.

In lndry rm  w/ fucking sfty inspctr.

Gotta admire how he expedites texting with four abbreviated words but meticulously spells out fucking. I type my reply while scuffing my feet into sandals.

Can I see you after?

I know he’ll suggest we meet later at a restaurant. Or maybe he’d rather come here and speak—or not speak—in the privacy of my room.

But I’m not sure I can wait that long.

Done in 5.

I’m already out the door with my key in one hand. I remember a sign for laundry in that hallway near the boiler room. It takes less than five minutes to sprint across the resort, at which point I wonder if I should have checked a mirror before dashing out the door.

No time. I need to see Ash right now.

I weave down the hallway, passing McFly on his favorite branch by the indoor waterfall.

“Felching!” he shouts. “Felching!”

“Not really my kink but thank you.”

The boom of Ashton’s voice guides me to the laundry room. I’m ready to knock when the door swings open.

“Camille.” He’s stone-faced as usual, but the spark in his eyes says he’s happy to see me. “We’re just finishing up.”

A friendly-faced guy in a tan uniform nods, sizing me up like he’s guessing whether I’m a guest or a maid or Ashton Holyfield’s mistress.

“Ma’am.” Tipping his blue and white baseball cap, he maneuvers around me and heads down the hall. Ash turns to face me with a hand still gripping the door. “Did you want to grab a drink or⁠—”

“No.” I launch myself at him, lips finding his as Ash stumbles back into the room. The door shuts behind us as he regains his balance, dragging me tight to his chest.

We’re kissing and tugging each other’s clothes off, desperate and not too concerned with where we land. His hands grip my butt and I twine my legs around his waist as he carries me over to a big industrial washing machine.

“You know,” he says as he boosts me up onto it. “We do provide beds at this resort.”

“Later.” I yank off his tie and toss it aside, working the buttons free at his throat. “Be grateful I’m not destroying another dress shirt.”

“I’m grateful for many things.” He peels my gray sundress over my head and his heated gaze travels my body. “For one, that you’ve chosen to go bare beneath your dress.”

“It has a built-in bra, and I just washed my panties in the sink.” Why am I still talking? “I ran out of clean ones.”

“I see.” He’s kissing his way down my shoulder, making me shiver as his teeth graze the top of one breast. “You’re aware we have laundry services here.”

“Maybe you can show me later.” I unhook his belt and drag down his zipper, freeing his cock from his boxers. “God, you’ve got a great dick.”

I’m aching to have my mouth on it, but Ash has other ideas. Pulling me right to the edge of the machine, Ash lines himself up with my entrance. He looks deep in my eyes, as locked in the moment as I am.

“Camille.” He sinks in slowly, his breath hissing out. “My God.”

“I know.” A whimper slips out of me as he buries himself to the hilt. I cling tight to his shoulders, not sure what’s happening between us right now. Whatever it is, I don’t want it ever to end. “Ash.”

“You feel amazing.” His breath hitches sideways as he draws back and thrusts in again. “You really are extraordinary.”

“I thought I was exquisite.” I’m trying to tease, but my voice doesn’t sound like my own. I’m locked in his gaze, locked in this moment with Ashton.

Then all other thoughts slide out of my brain as Ash begins thrusting in earnest. I cling to his shoulders as he fills me up almost to bursting. It’s a sweet sort of ache, our bodies fused snugly as my ankles lock tight at the top of his ass.

But that’s not our strongest connection right now. It’s not even the space where our bodies are joined, slick and hot and so right.

It’s this eye contact between us, raw and unfiltered. Ash isn’t blinking, and neither am I. It’s like he’s staring straight into my soul.

“You are exquisite.” He groans but doesn’t break eye contact. “And brilliant. And funny. And so fucking sexy I can’t quite believe you walked into my life.”

“Ash.” I feel it too, and so much more. It’s the moment I know it. We’re on the same page, not willing to release this magical connection between us. Not in a day or a week or a month.

We’re meant to be together. He knows it and I know it and—oh my God.

“Ash.” I’m panting now, desperate. My toes start to curl as he slams in harder. “Ash, I want you.”

“You’ve got me.” His hand slips between us, finding the slippery button of my sex. Eyes searing mine, he coaxes me right to the edge of the fire we’re both chasing. “I feel you squeezing me.”

That’s not all I’m feeling as Ash keeps pounding me. I feel passion and heat and so much affection for the man possessing my body. I need him to know how I feel. Right here, right now.

“Ash.” I moan as he hits something achy and deep. “I want to—” What? What do I want?

“Come for me, Camille.”

Pleasure bears down on me, breathing hot on the back of my neck. But I can’t let go until I tell him. “Ash.” I cry out as the first wave hits. “I want to be with you. Not just now, but after—after—oh my God.”

Fear fills his eyes, or maybe confusion, but two seconds later, a raw, ragged roar rattles out of him. He squeezes his eyes shut as I drag my nails down his back. I’m dizzy and dreamy as my eyes go unfocused. A bright haze of images plays through my head. The two of us together on his boat. A kiss on the beach, a hike in the forest near Portland. The two of us saying our vows, which is nuts.

We’ve known each other a week.

But that’s what I feel in that moment; connected to Ash like I’ve never felt anywhere, ever, with anyone. Both of us tremble, coming apart in each other’s arms.

“Holy shit.” I cling to him fiercely, aware that what’s happened here isn’t just sex. This is something else. Something precious and rare and so unlike what I expected when I came here.

Is he feeling it, too?

It takes a while for Ash to open his eyes. He withdraws and zips up, turning to grab me a hand towel from a shelf behind him. I take it in silence, doing my best not to panic. That was intense for us both. We all have different ways of processing.

He’s still not meeting my eyes. “Ash?”

“Yes?” His gaze lifts to mine, and before I can ask, he reads the question in my face. “Yes, I heard what you said.”

My shoulders tense. Dropping my gaze, I mop up with the towel he’s handed me. Taking my time, I slide off the washer and pull on my still-warm dress. Maybe there’s no cause for alarm.

Carefully, casually, I probe. “I take it we’re not on the same page?”

“It’s not that.” His jaw clenches tight as he does up his shirt. “You just caught me by surprise. I need a moment to process.”

I can’t fault him for that. Swallowing hard, I watch his fingers work the buttons. “That’s an impressively healthy response to what I said.”

“Thanks.” He takes back the towel, tossing it in a bin by the washer. Then he draws a deep breath and turns back to face me. “I’m sorry. I’m—not very good at this.”

“It’s okay.” My heartbeat drums in my head. “Whatever you’re feeling, just say it.”

“That’s just it.” Gaze holding mine, he shakes his head slowly. “I’m—not entirely sure.”

“That’s all right, Ash.” I feel like I’m coaxing a timid forest creature who’s likely to startle. “Hey. We don’t need to rush anything.” Maybe I’ve spoken too soon.

Then a warmth fills his eyes and his arms go around me. He hugs me so tight as relief sluices through me.

“I’m afraid,” he says softly.

“Afraid of what?”

“Of feeling.” He squeezes me tightly, then draws back to look in my eyes. “I know it’s not very manly to admit that.”

“It is actually the manliest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I cup a hand to his cheek, hoping he grasps how deeply I mean that. “I’m serious. It takes a big man to admit he’s afraid. Enormous. Huge. Gargantuan.”

His mouth twitches. “I adore you, Camille, in case it wasn’t obvious. You’ve shaken me up in ways I wasn’t expecting. I’ve come to care for you a great deal, and that’s terrifying, to be honest. I just need a little time to think about this.”

“Understood.” I push aside the ache in my chest. This isn’t bad news. It’s good that he’s not freaking out. That he’s taking the time to be thoughtful. To sit with his feelings instead of fleeing or stuffing them back in a trunk. “I’m not in a hurry for answers. I just needed to tell you.”

“I appreciate that.” He kisses me softly, lips brushing mine as his hands tumble over my back. “And I truly am enamored with you, even if I don’t know what the future holds.”

It’s all I can ask for. The most anyone could ask of a man who’s been hurt the way Ashton Holyfield has.

As he kisses me softly, I lose track of worry and fear. I let go of my own insecurities and let myself feel. I bask in the pleasure and joy and steady connection with this man in my arms.

But a mean little niggle of worry wriggles around in my brain. It’s pesky and cruel and I struggle to push it aside. Even as I try, one question squirms to the surface.

What is Ash feeling?

CHAPTER 14

ASHTON

Following a leisurely—albeit, somewhat strained—dinner date under the stars, I bid goodnight to Camille at the marina.

“I wish you could stay.” She stretches on tiptoe to plant a warm kiss on my jaw, the Shalimar scent of her flooding my senses.

“I wish I could, too.” I cling to her longer than any reasonable hug ought to last. When I let go, my arms feel like lead.

“Duty calls,” she says, trailing a hand down my chest. “I’ve already kept you from work so much this week.”

My heart squeezes tight as I stare into her wide, hazel eyes. “It’s not you, I promise.”

“I know.”

I need to make sure she believes me. “I’d kill to spend the night with you, but I only have twenty-four hours to get through an enormous amount of documentation from⁠—”

“I understand, Ash. I do.” There’s a sadness I’ve sensed in Camille since I told her I need time to process. But she’s wearing a smile that looks real, so maybe my guilt is misplaced. “Finding work/life balance is important,” she says. “We don’t need to stay tethered at the hip.”

Brushing the hair from her face, I let my hand linger on her cheek. “I swear I’m not a workaholic.” Some ego-driven urge prompts me to insist I’m not like her ex. “In a choice between spending the night with you or my laptop, you win nine times out of ten.”

Her perceptive smile says she sees right through me. “Trust me, I know you’re not Hayden. Oh!” Her eyes go wide. “I just remembered something.”

That she lost her mind when she said she’d like to keep seeing me? “What did you remember?”

“Hayden asked for your number.”

“Hayden your ex?” What the hell does he want?

“I told him we’re sleeping together, and he asked for your personal contact info.” She must read the alarm on my face. “Not to call you about that. He couldn’t care less that we’re having sex. He seemed happy for me.”

“He did?” That seems unlikely. “He’s a bigger man than I am.”

“Debatable.” She darts a meaningful look at my groin. “He had questions about the disclosure documents. I think it had something to do with an upcoming meeting?”

“That’s later this week.” I’m impressed by the signs that he’s taking it seriously. “My current legal team let me know the new firm sets up corporate clients a bit differently.”

Camille looks concerned. “I hope it’s nothing bad.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I can’t seem to stop touching her face. I’m pretending I’m tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, but the truth?

She looks stunningly lovely bathed in moonlight. My hands ache to touch her, to memorize the contours of her cheekbones. There’s a freckle at the edge of her lip that I’m dying to dip down and kiss. And the softness of her hair, the faint scent of bergamot and spice⁠—

“You okay?” Turning her head, she kisses the side of my thumb. “What’s going on in your head?”

“Contemplating a live band for the welcome-back event Saturday.”

She smiles at the lie. “I love how well you treat your staff.”

Guilt pokes my ribs with a sharp, icy finger. There’s no way I can share what I’m really thinking. I’m so goddamn in love with Camille that it’s physically painful.

Yes, love.

I fucking said it.

Not out loud. I’m not insane.

What she said about keeping in touch once she leaves here? I want that so much that every bone in my body feels brittle. I picture us together tomorrow, next month, next year, next decade. I’ve had the same thoughts since the first day we met.

Which should be a warning right there.

“I really should go.” Waves slosh the boat dock beneath us. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it.” She kisses me again, more gently this time. “I’ll text you Hayden’s number and you can decide whether to reach out.”

“That’s fine.” Sliding a hand to her cheek, I kiss her back with a tenderness that opens a raw wound inside me. When I draw back and look in her eyes, the knot in my chest squeezes tighter. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“For kissing you?”

“For sharing your feelings earlier. For having the courage to tell me what you want.” Starlight glitters in her eyes, or maybe sadness?

Perhaps I put it there by not responding like she’d hoped. “You are an uncommonly brave woman.”

Camille laughs. “I prefer exquisite.”

Turning her head, she kisses the hand that’s still touching her cheek. Then she steps back and leaves me cupping thin air. “Good luck with everything.”

“Thank you.” A breeze stirs her sundress, whipping the wispy pink cotton around her legs. “Have a good night.”

Have a good life.

The words nearly slip out, but I swallow them back. That’s absurd. It sounds like I won’t ever see her again, but I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.

I’ll only be gone a few hours.

So why does this feel like goodbye for good?

“Sweet dreams, Camille.” I turn to my boat, climbing aboard without looking back. If I see her before I set out, I won’t have the courage to leave.

And I really do have work to get done tonight. That’s why I’m leaving. Not because her confession left me feeling like somebody flayed open my chest with a scalpel.

It’s not until I’ve steered through the channel leading out onto open water that I allow myself a glimpse back. She’s standing alone, her arms bathed in moonlight, waving from the edge of the water. There’s something so lonely, so unbearably sad in her posture, that I force my gaze back to the water.

It doesn’t ease the ache in my chest.

By the time I get home, I’m almost too groggy for work. But I power through two dozen emails and a backlog of documents requiring my signature.

It’s nearly midnight when I head to my room. I’m keyed-up and restless and not sure I’d sleep if I turned in now. Something weighs heavily on my heart. It’s not just Camille, or even the fact that imagining life without her feels like someone’s been rubbing my heart on a cheese grater.

There’s something else. Something I’ve put off all day.

Time to face it now.

Easing down gently on the edge of my bed, I stare at the blue and white picture frame. As I draw in a breath, my hands start to shake. They’re trembling still as I pick up the photo and polish the glass with my sleeve.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” My wife and young son smile up from behind dusty glass. “I know you can’t forgive me. I haven’t forgiven myself.”

Twenty years.

That’s precisely how long it’s been. Down to the minute, almost.

This is the grim anniversary of the day my whole life went to Hell.

Maybe I should have told Camille. She would have known what to say. How I should mark this macabre occasion.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have said anything at all. She might’ve just held me, letting the warmth of her body soothe the ache in my heart.

But I’m not accustomed to leaning on anyone like that. She came here to leave her own worries behind. To find gratification in a place devoted to her pleasure. She may not have gotten the full Crystal Bliss experience, but I hope I’ve provided some of the joy she’s given me. It’s a memory I’ll cling to for the rest of my miserable life.

“Enough wallowing.” I set down the photo and glance at the clock on the wall.

Midnight here means nine p.m. back in Portland. I’d normally never phone a professional contact at this hour, but Camille did say Hayden works day and night. If the man’s at his desk, he can answer the phone. If he isn’t, he’ll at least have my number to call at his earliest convenience.

The phone rings twice before a jovial voice answers. “Hayden Marx.”

“Hello, Mr. Marx. This is Ashton Holyfield. I understand you have some questions for me.”

“Mr. Holyfield!” He sounds authentically thrilled by the call. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“Is now a good time for you?”

“It’s great, hang on.” There’s some rustling around, and he speaks as he shuffles. “I’ve gotta say, I really admire your work. I’ve been reading through disclosure docs for Holyfield Properties. The way you’ve structured your company between for-profit initiatives and charitable endeavors is really something. Speaks volumes about your character.”

“Thank you.” I don’t want to like him, but he sounds quite sincere. “Social causes are important to me. Tending to others who don’t share my good fortune.”

“Well, it shows.” He sounds so cheerful for a guy who’s still working at this hour. “Mad respect, my friend.”

I’d normally bristle at being addressed so informally by someone I don’t even know. But something about Hayden Marx sets me at ease. I won’t say I find myself liking him, but I definitely don’t hate the guy. “What questions can I answer for you, counselor?”

We spend the next thirty minutes going over dry tax details and some of the nuances of our corporate structure. Hayden asks intelligent questions, and the clack of his keyboard suggests he’s taking copious notes.

“This is great,” he says once I’ve provided all the information he needs. “I really appreciate you filling in some blanks. Helps me head into this week’s meeting prepared.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Hayden clears his throat. “I’m assuming Camille gave you my number.”

“She did.” My shoulders tense as I glance out the window. “She tells me you’ve been informed about our…involvement.”

He chuckles and I picture him pushing away from his desk. I can almost see him leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you had the balls to bring it up. I wasn’t gonna go there. But since you did, let me just say there are no hard feelings. Truly, I’m happy for her.”

His sincerity rings through the line. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. Camille’s an amazing woman, as you’ve no doubt discovered. She deserves an incredible life, and if you’re the man who can give her that, I wish both of you well.”

“I—thanks.” Something rolls over in my gut. “It’s all very new.”

“Yes, but I can tell by her voice she’s nuts about you.” He chuckles again, and I’m right back to hunching my shoulders. “I know that should be a blow to my ego, but you know what? She wasn’t happy with me. Not like she deserves.”

I’m taken aback by his candor. “I’m sure she cared about you a great deal.”

“No doubt, and I’m glad for all the great years we had together. But Camille needs a man who can open up to her. She’s a shrink, so the touchy-feely stuff matters. She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing. Someone who won’t let her down. Someone who makes her the center of his universe. That wasn’t me, you know?”

“I—” My mouth feels dry as I drag my gaze off the moonlit sea. The framed photo catches my eye, and my throat squeezes shut when I try to swallow. “Indeed.”

“Anyway, I wish you the best.”

“Thank you.” My heart’s pounding hard and the lump in my throat makes it impossible to swallow. “I should go.”

“Good luck to you, Holyfield.” He’s back to clacking his keyboard keys again. “Looking forward to our meeting.”

I hang up the phone and stare at the photo of my dead wife and child. Hayden’s words ring in my ears, bouncing with a sharp, hollow echo on the inside of my brain.

Camille needs a man who can open up to her.

She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing.

Someone who won’t let her down.

None of those phrases describe me.

I broke my wife’s heart. I lost my sweet boy. I set in motion a sequence of events that destroyed my whole family.

And why?

Because I’m a self-centered, surly, egotistical asshole. That’s who I was twenty years ago. As much as I want to believe I’ve changed, that’s who I always will be. There’s no escaping it.

My mind starts to whirl, displaying the image of Camille’s sad face. She looked so forlorn at the marina. Doesn’t that prove I’m no good for her? The woman professed her wish for a full-time relationship, and what did I do?

I blew her off. I dodged the question, then left her standing alone in the moonlight. Only a buffoon would handle a woman’s heart so carelessly.

That’s what I did, though.

Camille bared her soul, sharing her feelings with courage and honesty. And there I stood, putting my walls up around me, not even brave enough to tell her today marked a milestone of grief in my life.

What kind of asshole does that?

“You.” I jerk my unsteady gaze to the mirror. “You are exactly that kind of asshole.”

My own face stares back, haunted and pale and destined to remain alone forever. What I fool I’ve been to even entertain the thought of tying her down to my darkness.

Camille needs a man who can open up to her.

She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing.

Someone who won’t let her down.

I could never be the kind of man Camille needs. The problem, of course, is that she won’t believe that. She’ll think she can save me, convinced I’m a good man at heart.

What a joke.

But she’ll hold on to me like she held on to Hayden, wasting herself on a dead-end relationship. Wasting her life on a man who could never deserve her.

I can’t do that.

I can’t break the heart of a woman who deserves so much better.

Snatching my phone off the dresser, I pull up her name in my contacts. My hand shakes again as I type out a message that feels like I’m tearing my heart with my teeth.

I’m sorry, Camille. I care about you, but I can’t be what you need. It’s best if we break this off cleanly. At 10 a.m., my jet will be waiting at the airstrip. Kora will escort you, and the pilot is prepared to take you wherever you wish to go. Travel safely, Camille. You are truly exquisite.

I read the words closely, making sure I’ve been clear. That I’ve said what I needed to say.

It’s not what I want, but since when do I deserve to have that?

It’s better this way, in the long run. Camille can find someone more worthy, more stable. A man who can guarantee happiness and fulfillment and a million other things I’m not equipped to provide.

And I—well, I’ll go back to being the lonely, miserable, selfish prick I’ve always been.

The swoop as I send it rips a fresh hole in my chest, but it’s done. The only thing left is to tie up loose ends with the pilot and Kora. They’ll take care of her. Both can be counted on for kindness and compassion. That’s more than I can say for myself.

Once I’ve confirmed all the details, I power my phone down and set it aside. Facing the photo of my dead wife and child, I lie down in my clothes and plunge into fitful, wretched sleep.

CHAPTER 15

CAMILLE

“Motherfucker.”

I read Ashton’s words for the ten-millionth time. Nothing’s changed since I saw his message the moment I woke up at seven. He’s still not responding to texts or to phone calls, and there’s no other way I can reach him.

If I could just speak to him, I could turn things around. He’s panicking now, and that’s perfectly normal, given the grief-induced trauma he’s grappling with. That’s at the root of Ash’s response.

It doesn’t make this hurt any less.

Since I first read his text, I’ve had two lengthy crying jags. My chest aches like someone spent all night kicking me squarely between the tits.

From a clinical standpoint, it’s intriguing to note that I’ve wept more these past couple hours than I cried for the man I lived with for nearly a decade. A peculiar response, considering I’ve known Ash less than a week.

Checking my phone for the ten millionth time, I see nothing new from him. No texts, no missed calls. I don’t even have the man’s email. Could McFly serve as a courier pigeon?

“Stop it.” I’m getting loopy, and no good will come of that.

I’m packed and ready to get on that jet. My gym bag is stuffed with the few things I brought and the dresses and panties I’ve acquired here. I’ll leave Crystal Bliss with memories and a full-body tan, but also a hole in my heart.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Will Kora come here to get me, or should I go track her down? How long does it take to get to the airstrip? I don’t even know if we’re walking or driving, but I’ve seen several golf carts zipping around as the staff all return from vacation. It’s just after nine, so I probably have a few minutes.

Grabbing my phone, I dial Sara’s number. She’s the earliest riser among all my friends and even on weekends, she can’t shake the habit of getting up at four or five. There’s a risk I could wake her, given the time difference, but I desperately need my sweet friend.

“Camille, hi.” She’s wearing a robe, and her friendly smile falls the instant she sees my face. “Oh, honey—what happened?”

“Ash doesn’t want me.” I burst into tears, delivering the story between sobs.

With how I keep blubbering, there’s no way Sara could catch every word, but she’s nodding and tsking and making mad faces at all the right spots in my story.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” She looks like she might cry herself. “I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Same.” I’d give anything for one of Sara’s lilac-scented hugs. I snatch the last tissue from the box by my bedside, blowing my nose with a honk. “It’s just so stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“If I could just reach him, I know he’d come around.” I ball up the tissue stalk to the waste basket, tossing it in with a vengeance. “He’s been through so much, and the way he’s pushing me away is a textbook trauma response.” A niggle of doubt worms into my brain as I pace back and forth by the bed. “Not that I couldn’t accept it if he’s truly not interested in me—I could handle that. I could.”

“I know you could. You’re so strong, sweetie. And way more clear-headed than I’d be in your shoes.”

“Thanks.” Aside from my choice to come here, I’m normally calm in a crisis. All the more reason I want to see Ash. To look him in the eye and talk things through so I can figure out if he truly does care, or if I’ve merely misread the signs.

That possibility sends me staggering back to the bed.

“I don’t know.” My shoulders sag as I drop to the edge of the mattress. “Maybe he really doesn’t want me.”

“If that’s true, he’s insane.” Sara sounds fierce and protective. “You’re beautiful and bright and fun to be around. If he can’t handle it, that’s his loss.”

“Thanks, Sar.” I sigh and look down at my hands. “Maybe I just read it all wrong. Maybe it really was just a fling to him. Not the first time I’ve misjudged a relationship. Or a man.”

“You didn’t misjudge.” She gives me her stern schoolteacher look. “From everything you told me, Ashton sounds like a good man. Maybe too good.”

“What do you mean?”

She nibbles the edge of her lip. “I mean, he thinks he’s doing you a favor. He thinks this is the right thing. That he’s helping you out by saving you from him. Somewhere in his admittedly very mixed-up brain, he believes that’s what a good man would do.”

“But that’s just nuts.” I fish a hand into the tissue box, but there aren’t any left. Sliding off the bed, I head for the bathroom where I abscond with a fresh roll of TP. “I mean, yes—he has issues. Things he could work through in therapy. But we could handle that stuff together. If we could just sit and talk this through, face to face⁠—”

“Sweetie, I love you.” Her expression transforms to the mask she wears when she’s preparing to deliver hard truths. “But not everyone’s comfortable talking about their feelings. And some people really aren’t comfortable with therapy.”

“I know that.” But part of me thought I could heal him. That caring for Ashton might be enough to convince him to give us a shot. “It’s been two decades. I know there’s no timeline on grief, but he’s punished himself enough.”

“Some men are wired like that, honey.” Her face scrunches up like she’s deciding whether to say something. “Look, it might not be my place—you can tell me if what I’m about to say feels out of line. I don’t know Ash, and I’m not a therapist, but there’s something I’ve observed⁠—”

“Spill it, girl.” Sometimes we all need an outsider’s perspective. “I can take a hard truth.”

“Okay.” Sara goes quiet a second. “I know I don’t talk much about Trent. About the things he does while deployed. The thing is, he can be a little…closed off.”

“It’s understandable.” Her fiancé is a Navy SEAL, a job that requires a staggering level of secrecy. He can’t even tell Sara where he’s going most of the time. “It makes sense Trent would be a bit withholding.”

“That’s just it. I know he loves me. That he wants to take care of me and keep me safe. It’s his protective nature that made me fall for him in the first place.”

“Probably doesn’t hurt that the man has the body of a God.”

Sara smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re right. But he’s also kind and smart and just a really, really good man.”

“You’re right.” So why does Sara sound worried? “Trent would never hurt you, hon.”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t. Not on purpose. But if Trent got it into his head that being with him might hurt me, I have no doubt he’d break things off. He’d leave me in a hot second if he thought our relationship was harming me in some way. And part of me wonders if that’s what’s happening with Ashton.”

I process her words, which make total sense. But it’s Sara’s expression that concerns me. “Honey?”

Sara bites her lip. “I’m sorry. Did I overstep?”

“Not at all. I see your point.” And I also see worry lines on Sara’s glass-smooth brow. “Are you worried about Trent leaving you?”

“No! Absolutely not.” She’s shaking her head like I’m barking up the wrong tree, so clearly my therapist Spidey senses aren’t firing right. “My point is that certain men—men with an overdeveloped sense of valor—tend to believe it’s their job to take care of the women they love. Even if that means saying goodbye.”

I swipe at my eyes with a fat wad of toilet paper. “You’re suggesting Ashton dumped me because he loves me?”

“You’re the therapist. I’ve never met Ashton.” She’s choosing her words with such care. “Your judgment’s probably better than mine.”

“Hardly.” I snort. “I’m the one who fell in love with a man who refuses to let himself be happy.”

Sara blinks. Her mouth hinges open. “You—love him?”

“I—”

Wow, I just said it, didn’t I?

“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess I do.”

She nods like she knew all along. “Then I’ll tell you something you might not know about men like Ashton and Trent. Men who’d rather cut off their own testicles than lie down on a therapist’s couch and share all their feelings and fears.”

“Tell me.” I find myself leaning in closer. Holding my breath for the wisdom of a sweet, twenty-three-year-old virgin. “I want to know.”

“That kind of man,” she says softly, “needs space to figure things out on his own.”

“Okay.” That tracks with my training, but still. “But if I could just make him see that⁠—”

“Honey, you can’t.” She shakes her head sadly, remarkably wise for her years. “Ash has to do this alone. If you care about him, you need to let him go.”

Swallowing hard, I accept that she’s right. That my sheltered young friend might understand Ash better than I do. “Okay,” I say softly, feeling my heart break all over again. “You’re right. I’ll get on that plane.”

“I know it hurts,” she says. “But it’s what you need to do.”

“You’re right,” I say softly. “I’ll go.”

I don’t say the hard part out loud. I don’t tell Sara the thing I fear most.

That after this long grieving his dead wife and child—after two decades of self-imposed exile—there isn’t much chance Ashton Holyfield will come around on his own.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. I’m washing my face at the sink, and I dry myself quickly as I hustle to answer. I know it’s not Ash. It can’t be.

But some silly part of me won’t give up hope.

“Dr. Plier?” It’s a tall, slender woman with sleek, dark hair pulled back in a stylish ponytail. She’s even got strands of her hair coiled neatly around the elastic, a look I’ve always wished I could pull off.

“You must be Kora.” It’s a struggle to hide my disappointment. “Call me Camille, please.”

“Of course.” Her expression is a perfect mask of professionalism. “I’ve heard lovely things about you.”

“That’s good.” From Ash or from Sybil? She doesn’t say, and I decide not to ask. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“You’re welcome.” She looks at her watch. “They’ll be announcing an end to the pilots’ strike in about two hours.”

“Oh.” I blink as I try to regain my bearings. “So it’s over. I—um, should I try to get rescheduled on a commercial airline?”

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. Holyfield insisted you be flown on the private jet.”

“Oh.” I guess he really wants me gone. Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them back hard as Kora holds out a hand.

“I can take your suitcases.”

“This is it.” I point to the gym bag at my feet, then turn to head back in the room. “Just let me grab my shoes and⁠—”

“Oh, honey!”

I spin to see Sybil push past her, barreling into the room to pull me into a sweet-scented hug. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Tears fill my eyes as I sniffle into her hair. “Um, what did Ash tell you?”

“Not a damn thing.” She glances at Kora. “And my wife is a master of discretion, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out which ‘VIP guest’ she’d be driving to the airstrip at this hour. You’re the only one here.”

“Sybil.” There’s a warning in Kora’s tone, but also affection. “Let’s not make this harder on her.”

“I’m okay.” I’m sure they can see by my tear-streaked face that I’m not. “I’ll be okay. It’s been an emotional morning.”

Kora’s eyes soften as her wife helps me locate my shoes. Sybil loops an arm around me, lending me strength as she guides me back to the door. As she scoops up my bag, she leads me outside to a rose-gold golf cart with a crisp white canopy.

“Water?” Kora reaches inside and pulls out two bottles. “Or kombucha?”

I’m not thirsty, but given how much I’ve been crying, I should probably drink something. “Thank you.” I take the kombucha as Sybil slings my bag into a luggage compartment.

“I promise not to dwell on this,” she says as she climbs in the back beside me. “But I really thought you’d cracked the code to The Fortress.”

“Sybil.” Kora’s warning sounds sterner this time as she steers the cart down the leafy, vine-twisted path. “Give the poor woman some space.”

“It’s okay.” I lean against Sybil, enjoying the comfort of her arm pressed to mine. “Ash has some things to work through and I—” What do I need, exactly? “I need someone who knows with one hundred percent certainty that he wants to be with me. I can’t fault him for not feeling it.”

“Mr. Holyfield is a complicated man.” Kora tightens her grip on the wheel, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “A good man, but a complicated one.”

Sybil makes a face. “That’s my wife’s kindhearted way of saying he’s an ass-hat.”

I laugh in spite of myself. As Kora turns the corner, I catch what looks like a smile and an eye roll.

“The jet’s on the way, but it’ll need to refuel.” Kora steers the cart onto a gravel-lined path at the edge of the jungle. “I provided your city of origin to the pilot. I assume you’re hoping to return to Portland?”

“I suppose.” That’s not what I’m hoping at all, but I don’t have much choice.

“The pilot has those details.” She steers us around a large palm tree. “She’ll map out the appropriate course.”

“Thank you.” I don’t know a thing about private jets. I assume we’ll need to refuel between here and Portland, but I don’t have a clue how that works. “I’m just grateful for the ride.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Kora says mildly.

Sybil squeezes my hand and mutters under her breath. “After this chickenshit move, Ash owes you more than a ride home. Maybe hit him up for a pony?”

I snicker again, grateful she came on this ride. Kora seems nice, but there’s nothing as comforting as a girlfriend with snark. “Ash is a big boy,” I mumble. “If he’s ready to say goodbye, I need to respect that.”

Sybil snorts. “Know what I respect? The balls to proportionately match a big dick.” She screws up her face. “Not that I saw Ash’s cock. But I’m assuming⁠—”

“We’re almost there.” Kora sounds pained, though she’s probably used to her wife’s unfiltered commentary.

“Really?” I peer through a clearing in the jungle, surprised to spot an airstrip up ahead. “So close?”

Biting her lip, Sybil nods. “I’m afraid so.”

I can’t believe it was here all along. There’s a small, red and white plane parked off to the side, so I guess that’s it. “I expected a jet would be bigger.”

“That’s Mr. Holyfield’s twin-engine.” Kora sets the brake and turns to face us. “The jet should be here any minute.”

“Ash has a twin-engine?” I’m not even sure what that means.

Kora nods tightly, watching my face like she’s telling me something besides what she’s saying out loud. “He rarely flies. Just enough to keep his license current with a flight review every two years.” Her cool green eyes hold mine. “But he can fly.”

“He chooses not to.” Sybil crosses her arms. “Like he’s choosing not to man up with you.”

I’m not sure why they’re telling me this, but it does raise some questions. Why didn’t Ash use the small plane to get me back to Negril that first day? He mentioned he gave up flying to punish himself for not taking his wife to her tryst. But if his license is current and he has a small plane⁠—

“There’s the jet.”

I look up as a sleek, blue plane soars into view. We all watch it land, not trying to talk over the roar of the engines. Once it comes to a stop, Kora speaks again. “You have to hand it to Mr. Holyfield.”

I frown. “Hand him what?”

“All alone in that big mansion by himself.” She stares out at the jet, watching the pilot stride onto the runway. “His only occasional company is a house cleaner who comes twice a week.”

Why is she saying this? “Don’t forget Lars, the chef.” I guess I’ll go home having never met the man. “He must be reclusive, too.”

“Lars?” Kora tilts her head. “I’m not aware of a Lars on Mr. Holyfield’s staff.”

“Really?” That’s odd. “Don’t you manage all of Ash’s personal and professional staff?”

“That’s correct.” Kora just looks at me.

I don’t get it. “Who made all those meals that kept showing up at my⁠—”

“Honey.” Sybil squeezes my hand. “What my wife is too tactful to say is that the beautiful, billionaire moron you’ve been boning has been lovingly preparing your meals. And at any point in the last week, he had the ability to fly you away from here. He chose not to do that.”

I stare at her blankly, struggling to wrap my head around what she’s just said. “Why?”

“Because he loves you.” Her silvery eyes search mine as she gives me a sad little smile. “He might be awkward about showing it, or maybe he doesn’t know how. But trust me when I say that if he didn’t want you here, he’d have handled you the same way he did another guest who got here without reservations last year and made a big stink about the resort being closed.”

Kora sighs. “Sybil.”

“What?” She gives me a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I didn’t say a word about Mr. Holyfield having her arrested.”

“Seriously?” I don’t know what to do with this information. Does it feel nice to hear, on some level? To know that Ash treated me differently?

Yes. Yes, it does.

But it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s sending me away now.

“You should go.” Kora nods toward the plane, where the pilot is waving me over. “She’ll want to go over the safety briefing before you board.”

“Okay.” My mind is still reeling, trying to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

I get out of the cart, reaching back to pick up my gym bag. Sybil gets out and walks around the cart to enfold me in a hug. “He really does love you.” She squeezes me tighter. “That’s what Kora was trying to show you.”

Gripping my bag, I scoff. “Does it really matter if he can’t face it?”

Sybil lifts a shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I always think love matters, but I’m a romantic.” She steals a glance at her wife with a look so loving I get goosebumps. “Passion’s my reason for living.”

“I tried being passionate.” Maybe that’s why this hurts so much. “But I think I’ll go back to being practical and pragmatic.”

“You?” She snorts like that’s a foreign concept. “Practical and pragmatic?”

“It’s how I was in my last relationship.” I know in my heart that I don’t belong with Hayden. But the breakup with him sure hurt less than this one.

Practical and pragmatic kept me from feeling like this.

“I see.” Sybil tucks her hands in the pockets of her cutoff shorts. “Which Camille did I meet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Passionate, impractical Camille? Or pragmatic, practical Camille?”

I laugh at her earnest expression. “Impractical and passionate for sure.” That’s a no-brainer. “From the moment I got on an airplane to come here, I wasn’t behaving like my practical self.”

“I see.” A warm gust of wind whips her corkscrew curls into a frenzy as she gives me a sad little smile. “Just do me a favor, okay?”

“Okay.” I don’t even ask what it is.

“Don’t give up yet.”

“On passion or Ash?”

“Yes.”

I glance at the jet with an ache in my chest. Ash is the one who gave up on me. The moment I get on that plane, it’s over.

Drawing a breath, I turn back to Sybil. “I’m not sure I can promise that.”

She nods and there’s sorrow in her eyes. “I understand.”

Does she? Sybil has Kora and a life filled with passion and love and desire. I have a big, hollow hole in my chest.

I’m being dramatic, but that’s how it feels. Swallowing hard, I hug Sybil again. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She squeezes me hard, then takes a step back. “Tell Eve and your brother hello.”

“I will.”

“And Camille?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, I adore impractical, passionate Camille.”

“Thanks.” For what it’s worth, I loved her, too.

As I walk to the jet, I bid her goodbye with tears in my eyes.

CHAPTER 16

ASHTON

I’m sitting in the air-conditioned consort office, sulking like a giant man-baby behind Kora’s filing cabinet, when she and Sybil pull up in the golf cart. I stare through the window, hunched in my chair as I watch them walk past the pool to the office.

The two women converse, Sybil wild-haired and animated, Kora with a stride that suggests she’s eager to get back to work. They hold hands as they walk, Kora pausing to open the door for her wife.

Sybil blows through with her curls all askew, and her voice jars me back to our X-rated zoom chat.

“—just think it’s an asshole thing to do,” she says before skidding to a stop. Her sparkly gray eyes go wide and she looks at her wife like she’s pleading for rescue.

“Sir.” Kora falters for only a second before marching to her desk. “We’ve just finished escorting Dr. Plier to her flight.”

“Good.” I get to my feet, not wanting to add rude prick who doesn’t stand when a woman enters the room to my list of asshole offenses. “Thank you for taking care of that.”

“Certainly.” She glances at Sybil. “Would you give us a moment?”

Sybil looks grateful for the chance to escape, though she throws me an insolent look as she moves to the door. Catching Kora’s arm, she leans in to kiss her wife’s cheek. I don’t hear what she whispers, but I’m fairly certain I make out the word “dickhead.”

I deserve that.

Kora waits for the door to swing shut before she sits down behind her big desk. “Sir.” She wears a crisp silk blouse and a puzzled expression. “Were we scheduled to meet?”

“No. I just—” God, I’m an asshole. I pace the length of her desk, not sure what to do with my hands. “I wanted to make sure that Camille—er, Dr. Plier—” Fuck, I’m botching this. Dragging my hands through my hair, I pace back the other way. “Did she make it out okay?”

There’s an extra-long pause, and I turn to see Kora regarding me with the same wary look she’d give a crazed bat. Folding her hands on the desk, she nods to the chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

What I’d like is to kick myself in the testicles. Since that’s physically impossible, I settle for taking a seat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Compassion creeps into her voice. “What is it you wanted to know?”

I must be so fucking transparent. “How did Camille seem?”

“It was my first time meeting her, sir.” She looks at my face for a moment. “Sybil knows her better than I do.”

“And?” I wonder what Sybil told Kora. I trust their discretion with others, but I’m guessing there aren’t many secrets in that marital bed. “Did Sybil share any observations about Camille’s state of mind?”

Kora gives me a long, thoughtful look. “With all due respect, I think you’d be better off discussing that with Dr. Plier.”

Dragging a hand down my face, I sigh. “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

Her expression softens. “Far be it from me to pry into your personal life,” she says softly. “But is there something you’re needing to get off your chest, Mr. Holyfield?”

“No.” Except this gigantic weight that hasn’t lifted since I sent last night’s text.

“You’re sure?” Kora tilts her head. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

I absolutely, positively do not want to talk to anyone about anything. Not Kora or Camille or even a licensed, professional therapist with whom I haven’t exchanged bodily fluids.

But this fierce, hollow ache isn’t going away. And Camille has already.

“Sir?” Kora’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Are you okay?”

I open my mouth to say—what?

I haven’t a clue.

And I’m saved by the door flying open. In walks Logan Wilder, looking tanned and relaxed and intent on speaking with Kora. “Ms. Neville,” he says, “we need a new location for the support group. The fresh paint in that office smells—Sir.” He snaps to attention as his eyes dart to me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holyfield. I didn’t see you there. I’ll come back later.”

He’s edging away as I hold up a hand. “Stop.”

In a display befitting a former US Marine, he obeys. “Sir?”

Folding my arms, I give him my full attention. “What support group?”

He glances at Kora, then back to me. “A support group for former military personnel, Mr. Holyfield.” Logan clears his throat. “Quite a few consorts—both women and men—served in their countries’ armed forces.”

“I’m aware.” I’m never sure why, but all of my Jilted Brides properties have an unusually high number of consorts with military backgrounds. “There’s a support group?”

Kora comes to the rescue. “I approved it, sir. I know how seriously you take the consorts’ mental health.”

Logan is nodding, still looking edgy. “It’s been a tremendous help for so many members of the team. Gives us a place to talk through our issues, you know?”

I had no idea. “What sort of issues?” That was incredibly crass. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to pry.” I turn back to Kora. “See that they get whatever they need for space.”

Logan clears his throat. “It’s fine, sir. I don’t mind talking about it.” He chuckles. “The support group saw to that.”

I turn back to the stoic young man with a scar snaking down his right leg. I’ve noticed before but never thought to ask what happened. The US Marines tattoo on his shoulder suggests the story involves his time in the service.

Another piece of intel to which I am not entitled. I get to my feet, not wanting to make him self-conscious. “You’re under no obligation to stir up bad memories by sharing your personal story with me. I’ll leave you alone to⁠—”

“Actually, sir.” Logan looks thoughtful as he watches me shove in the chair. “I’ve found that talking about trauma helps.”

“It does?” That seems odd.

“Yep.” His pale hazel eyes track my movements. “Learned that the hard way after keeping things bottled up nearly killed me.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stare at this man with biceps the size of watermelons. “What happened?” My voice sounds scratchy and strange. “If you truly don’t mind sharing, that is.”

“Not at all.” He shifts his stance with his feet spread apart and his hands clasped behind him. A perfect model of military parade rest. “My team and I were dispatched to a covert operation off the coast of Somalia. We got intel on a ship smuggling illegal weapons—cruise missiles, warheads, you name it. They were en route to a terrorist cell in Yemen, and it was our job to intercept them.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous.” I can’t even fathom that being my job.

He gives a curt nod. “That’s an understatement.” He’s relaxing a little, getting into the story. “Ten of us were commanded to take over the ship at zero-one-hundred hours. Er, one a.m.” He shifts on his feet and continues. “The plan was to seize the vessel and weapons and turn any terrorists over to authorities for prosecution.”

I can tell by his haunted expression that the mission was not a success. “Something went wrong?”

“Very.” He draws in a long, shaky breath. “It was pitch black and the water was choppy as hell. We were using a tactical ladder chucked over the other ship’s railing. Eight men made it safely on board. I made my attempt and—” He falters, breath hitching. “To this day, I’m not certain what happened. I lost my grip and went into the water. Ripped a gash in my leg on the way down, so now there’s a shark risk on top of everything else.”

“Jesus.” I’ve never set foot in the Gulf of Aden, but I don’t imagine it’s bathwater warm. “Were you wearing a life vest of some sort?”

“I deployed my floatation device when the weight of my gear started to drag me down. But something malfunctioned and—” He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “The teammate behind me dove in to help.”

Oh, God. “He drowned?”

“No.” His throat makes a click as he swallows. “Both of us survived.”

I blink. “He survived?” This must be a close-call story. Still terrifying, nonetheless.

Reading my confusion, Logan continues. “By then, the target vessel was out of reach, so my teammate and I returned to our ship.” Another deep breath keeps him going. “We’d just climbed on board when the terrorist vessel exploded.”

“My God.” I didn’t see that coming. “Was it booby trapped?”

“That’s the assumption.” Pain fills his eyes as he speaks. “The incident report suggested the tangos knew we were coming. That they blew up their own vessel in some anti-American military revenge scheme.”

I’m almost afraid to ask this next question. “What happened to the men who’d made it on board?”

Logan looks into my eyes as he answers. “All eight men died in the explosion.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I don’t have a clue what to say. “Survivor’s guilt isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

“It’s not just that.” Logan closes his eyes, drawing the strength to continue. “I was the team’s demolition expert. My job was to scan for explosives. To defuse any booby traps and ensure the safety of the rest of the team. But my careless misstep cost those eight men their lives.”

Kora looks stricken. “Oh, Logan.” She snatches a tissue from the box on her desk. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Logan looks at me. “For a long time, I hated myself for surviving. For failing my teammates. For not watching my footing more closely.”

I’d probably feel the same way. “Logan, you can’t⁠—”

“I could and I did.” He shakes his head slowly, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “Believe me, I found every way in the book to beat myself up. To destroy myself like I destroyed those men’s lives. Booze, pills, fast cars—you name it, I tried it. None of it made me stop hating myself.”

My whole body aches for this man. He’s ten years my junior, but what he’s endured would be inconceivable to most men. “How did you stop?” I clear my throat. “Hating yourself, I mean.”

“Who says I have?” One edge of his mouth gives a wry, crooked quirk, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s joking.

“Have you?”

“Mostly.” One massive shoulder lifts in a shrug. “We all have our moments.”

“H—how did you get through the worst of it?”

“Therapy, for one thing.” A chuckle rolls out of him, surprising me. “Yeah, I see that look. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. If I hadn’t, I’d never be strong enough to lead a support group like we’ve got here. And I sure as hell couldn’t have saved my own sorry ass from my mission to self-destruct.”

I’m a bit stunned that he just called me out. What look was I giving? Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

Because I’m suddenly driven to understand more.

“But—” I don’t even know what to ask. “What was it that made you switch paths?”

“Forgiving myself, for starters. It sounds simple, but nothing I’ve done in my entire fucking career compares to how hard that was.” He shakes his head slowly as his gaze drifts over the pool. Someone’s setting up lounge chairs in advance of guests returning to the resort, but I’m not even sure Logan sees them. He’s miles away now, lost in his own private grief.

“When something horrible happens, it’s human nature to want someone to blame.” His voice is a low, raspy hum. “It’s a relief, in a way—a way of explaining something that doesn’t make sense. And when you’re trapped in a pit of self-loathing, the only person you can really blame is yourself. It means the one thing you’re counting on to give you relief just makes you feel worse in the long run. It’s a completely fucked up cycle.”

“I—” My mouth has gone dry as my pulse thuds my eardrums. “I can imagine.”

“Kicking my own ass used to feel good. Like if I didn’t do it, there’s no one being punished for what happened. And if no one’s being punished, those men died in vain. But that’s bullshit thinking.” He’s shaking his head as his gaze swings back to this room. His eyes lock with mine, and I find myself holding my breath.

“Sabotaging myself from leading a happy, meaningful life wasn’t doing my friends any favors,” he says. “It’s an insult to them for me to go wasting my life. What kind of tradeoff is that? How pissed would they be, knowing they died so I could…what? Be a lonely old bum?” He scoffs and keeps going. “Making myself suffer doesn’t bring back the people I loved. It just makes it worse because now their deaths are senseless. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

“My God.” The words hit like blows to my ribcage.

There’s no way Logan could possibly see the common thread linking our stories. And yes, I’m aware of the egotistical acrobatics of comparing myself to a true fucking American hero.

But Jesus.

How did this man—this virtual stranger—know exactly the words to wake up my idiot brain?

I glance over at Kora, who’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Thank you for sharing that, Logan. I can’t even fathom what you’ve been through.”

“Ma’am.” He gives her a tight nod. “I appreciate your assistance on behalf of the support group.”

“Yes, thank you. Both of you.” I turn back to Logan, swallowing hard as I struggle to locate my voice. “Thank you for your service and—and for telling your story.”

A self-deprecating chuckle rolls out of him. “Didn’t mean to go into all that detail.” He glances at Kora. “Ma’am. I’ll check back about the office space?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “I believe conference room A is open on Tuesdays and Thursdays after noon.” She glances at me. “I presume you won’t have a problem with that?”

“Certainly not.” Hell, they deserve more than a temporary room. “Let’s look into creating a designated space for this. A permanent sanctuary for consorts and others to gather.” We could bring in guest speakers, maybe PTSD experts.

I turn back to Logan. “Give some thought to what sort of space you’d envision. Write it up and send it to Kora and me. I’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he takes a step back. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

He moves to the door, then stops with one hand on the knob. “You know what makes me feel better?”

Given his job, I might have a clue. “Having sex for a living?”

His belly laugh rings off the walls. “More or less. It’s reminding myself I get paid to kiss and touch and make love to women of all shapes and sizes. So many guests come here not feeling great about themselves. I get to play a small role in sending them back into the world knowing there are decent men out there. Men who care about their happiness and pleasure.”

“That’s it exactly.” The man just described the whole reason I built this resort.

He chuckles again, hand on the door. “I won’t lie—the sex stuff feels good, but making them feel good?” Logan grins. “It’s the best goddamn feeling in the world.”

Before I can answer, he pivots and pushes his way out the door. I stare at the spot where he just stood, thinking of tragedies and self-destruction. About trauma and loss and all the goddamn mistakes I’ve made.

Most of all, I think of Camille.

“Sir?”

I turn to see Kora regarding me curiously. “Yes?”

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

Is there? I no longer recall why I came here.

Talking about it helps.

Logan’s words bounce off my eardrums. What if that’s the first step for me, too?

Closing my eyes, I clench both my hands into fists. Then I speak the words I’ve rarely ever said.

“My wife and young child died twenty years ago.” The instant I say it, Kora gasps. “I’ve been blaming myself, and it’s true that the accident might not have happened if I hadn’t been such a selfish prick.”

“Sir.” As I open my eyes, I see she’s gone pale. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” But earning her pity isn’t why I just shared. “I’ve been punishing myself for so fucking long that I came to believe I didn’t deserve anything good. That being with me would only cause pain for the people around me.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she nods. “You’ve done so much good here, sir. And there’s still more to do.”

“There is.” I move to the door as an idea unfurls in my mind. A completely insane idea. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s one very important thing still to do.”

“May I assist in some way?”

“Yes.” I draw a deep breath. “I need help stopping a flight.”

By some stroke of luck, Camille’s plane got a later start than planned. The pilot observed a dent on one wing that concerned her. By the time she’d finished inspecting it, they had less than an hour’s lead on me.

That’s still a lot of miles to make up in the air, and while my license is current, I never fly for pleasure. Never.

That’s one way I punished myself for failing to fly my own wife where she needed to be. If I’d only stopped work and flown that damn plane, Brigitte and our son would still be alive.

But I can’t dwell on that now.

I’m in the cockpit, en route to the Grand Cayman Islands where I’m determined to chase Camille down. I ordered her pilot to land where she’s able, which turned out to be in the Caymans.

And yes, I toyed with the notion of ordering them back to Crystal Bliss. That didn’t sit right for me. Refueling concerns set aside, it seemed wrong to force Camille to come to me. It’s my turn to show up for her.

Adjusting my headset, I cue up the channel to speak to her pilot. “Were you able to secure clearance for a landing at Owen Roberts International?”

“Yes, sir.” She sounds cool and composed over the hum of the engine. “The passenger grew suspicious when she realized we were descending so soon.”

“What did you tell her?”

“At the risk of alarming her, I explained that I’d like a mechanic to look at that dent on the wing. I assured her it’s a routine procedure.”

Poor Camille. On top of everything, I’ve left her concerned about safety. “How did she handle it?”

“As calmly as possible, sir.” She pauses. “I believe her exact words were, ‘just my fucking luck.’ But she doesn’t appear to be panicking. She’s got her earbuds in, listening to a guided meditation.”

“Well done.” I reduce engine power, adjusting the angle as I start my own descent toward the southwestern tip of the island. “I’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” There’s another short pause. “And may I just say, it’s an honor to be part of this mission. Over.”

An odd little frizzle of joy rolls through me. While I made preparations for my flight, Kora coordinated the jet’s unscheduled landing.

“Tell the pilot whatever you need to tell her,” I said as I hurriedly packed for the journey. “Anything it takes to get that plane on the ground in a place I can speak with Camille.”

Kora’s brow furrowed. “Will you permit me to share some more personal details?”

“Whatever it takes.” And I meant it.

Which means Kora quite likely told the pilot a story of love and loss and the missteps I’ve made. Some small, private part of me feels self-conscious and exposed, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

If winning her back means professing my love by writing the words on my forehead, I’ll grab a damn Sharpie right now and ink it myself. I’d tattoo it if necessary.

First, I should focus on landing the plane.

As I taxi to the end of the runway, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Whatever comes next, I’ll have given it my best shot. I’m determined to win back the trust of the woman I love. To open myself up to passion and joy, and hope to God Camille wants the same. I know I hurt her badly, and I won’t blame her if she’s already given up on me.

But I have to try. I owe it to Camille, the woman I love more than anything.

I owe it to my son and late wife.

I owe it to myself.

As I switch off the engines, I unhook my seatbelt and turn to the back of the plane. My passenger sits in an oversized cage looking pissed off and ruffled and edgy.

“Are you ready, McFly?”

The bird shakes his feathers. “Triceratops.”

“Perhaps later.” I stand and pick up his cage. “Right now, we’ve got a woman to win back.”

CHAPTER 17

CAMILLE

“Is something wrong?” I unbuckle my seatbelt as the pilot shoves open the door. “Should I get off, or⁠—”

“Wait here.” She scans the horizon, pausing her gaze on a red and white plane that must’ve just landed. “I need to speak with someone.”

She descends the steps before I reply.

“Okay.” My heart’s pounding hard, despite spending the last twenty minutes with my meditation app. I check for a wifi signal. Maybe watching cat videos can help take my mind off things.

My palms feel clammy and my whole body’s sticky like I just ran a mile. I stress-ate an entire pack of Skittles, and the deodorant I put on this morning has been working overtime. I should write a testimonial for Secret Invisible Solid.

On the bright side, worrying about crashing and dying distracted me from heartache. From the fact that Ashton couldn’t find some way to want me. Or to work through his issues and give us a shot at a future together. But now that I’m here all alone⁠—

Huh. Where is that music coming from?

It sounds like Whitney Houston.

The opening notes of I Will Always Love You drift through the open plane door. As the music gets louder, footsteps thud up the steps.

Then a familiar voice rings out.

“Frenulum.”

“Shut up, bird,” says a more familiar voice. Ash steps through the door, a bright silver cage gripped in one hand. As his eyes lock with mine, he sets down the cage.

McFly flaps his wings and squawks. “Labia.”

Since I’m wearing panties and I’m five feet away, I doubt he can see up my dress. But I jump to my feet, pressing my legs tight together at the sight of Ash looking sweaty and frazzled and so goddamn handsome.

“Wh—how—” I swallow hard, finding my bearings. “You’re here.” I glance at the bird. “With McFly?”

“I know he’s not a dove, but this is the closest I could get on short notice.”

“A dove?” Has the man lost his mind?

“What you told me the first day we met.” He fishes his phone from a pocket, propping it up in a seat pocket as Whitney wails the first golden notes of the chorus. “You described the proposal you didn’t get. With doves and a boombox and—” He glares at his phone like he’s mad that it isn’t a boombox. “And maybe you were joking, but I heard you, Camille. And I don’t have a ring because it’s nuts to ask you to marry me when we met a week ago. But maybe I’m nuts, because I can tell you right now that I will marry the fuck out of you the moment you give me the word it’s what you want. Because that’s what I want. You. Me. I—” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not very good at this.”

“Um, you’re doing pretty great.” I stare at the rumple-haired billionaire who has possibly lost his mind. “Are you high?”

Ash takes a step, moving around McFly’s cage. He’s two feet in front of me, but stands there a moment like he’s afraid he might scare me away. “I’m not high or drunk or even sleep deprived.” He drops to his knees on the airplane’s carpeted floor. “What I am is utterly, completely, insanely in love with you.”

“What?”

Did he just say what I think he did? My eyes start to sting as I stare down at Ash. “I don’t understand.”

“I love you, Camille. That’s what I came here to say.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m here on my knees, begging you to give me another chance. I made an unforgivable mistake by sending you away, and I wish I could go back and undo that. But I can’t rewind time. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am. How I plan to move forward from a healthier place if you’ll give me a chance to start over. To be the man I know I can be for you.”

Tears blur my vision and I blink them back, hard. Holy shit. Is he really saying these things? And does he honestly mean it?

My hands start to tremble, so I tuck them away in the folds of my dress. I speak from the heart, since that’s all I’m equipped to do in this moment. “You hurt me,” I say. “It happens in relationships, and I’d understand if you really didn’t want me. But to cut things off so abruptly, like the last week meant nothing to you, was unnecessarily cruel.”

“I know, and I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s still on the floor, which has to be killing his knees. “And I wish I could promise I’ll never hurt you again, but let’s be honest, here—I’m hardly the poster child for emotional stability. I’m going to make mistakes. But I’m willing to put in the work, Camille. To talk through my trauma and grief and the bullshit I’ve been telling myself about how I could never make you happy. I can and I will, and do you want to know why?”

“Why?” A tear rolls down my cheek. I dash it away with the back of my wrist and look into Ash’s blue eyes.

“Because you deserve to be happy. You deserve doves and love songs if that’s what you want, or unbridled passion in the bedroom or boiler room or the top of the goddamn Eiffel Tower. Whatever you want, wherever you want it, Camille. You deserve someone who recognizes you’re the smartest person in the room and the kindest friend in the world and the best goddamn therapist on the planet.”

My heart thuds so hard that I’m sure it’ll burst. “I don’t know that I’d go that far⁠—”

“I would. I’d go to the ends of the Earth to deserve another shot at what you asked for in that laundry room. What I was too terrified to acknowledge I want, too.” He draws a shuddery breath and I feel something melt in my chest. “I’m ready to show up for you. Now that I’ve had some assistance in removing my head from my posterior, I can promise I’ll do what it takes to be the man you deserve.”

Everything he’s saying sounds good. Amazing, honestly. My lungs ache from holding back sobs of joy and relief.

Meanwhile, my brain replays his words. “Someone pulled your head out of your ass?” I think that’s what he said. “To whom do I owe a debt of gratitude?”

“Logan. And Kora. And Sybil. And—you know what? They only helped me to see what you’ve pointed out plainly for days. I’m allowed to fuck up. People make mistakes and sending you that text was one of my worst. Learning from mistakes is goddamn hard work. Work I’ve never been willing to put in until I met you. You make the work worth doing, Camille.”

Another tear rolls down my cheek. This is almost too good to be true. “You’re saying you want a relationship.” I need to be crystal clear what he’s agreeing to. “That you want to try being together outside the confines of a closed-down sex resort.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He looks a little relieved that I get it. “I want to be with you, Camille. If you give me a chance, I’ll never let you go again. Unless you tell me that’s what you need. I swear to God, I won’t let you out of my sight for as long as we live.” He frowns. “Except when you go to the bathroom. Or to work. Or out with your friends or⁠—”

“Ash?”

“Yes?”

“You can stop groveling now.” I swipe at another warm tear. “You had me at labia.”

“Really?”

“Maybe even frenulum.”

Ash darts a look at the bird. “You mean I could have just sent McFly?”

Hearing his name, the bird squawks again. “Clitoris.”

“Later,” I say, holding a hand out to Ash. “How about you stand up?”

His icy blue eyes fill with hope as he places his hand in mine. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“You’re forgiven.” I wait ‘til he’s upright to say the next part. “I love you, too. And not for the grand gesture, though that was a nice touch.”

Almost on cue, Whitney Houston hits the crescendo of the song, wailing from Ash’s phone speaker. When I wince, he grabs it and turns down the volume.

“As I was saying,” I continue, “I love you. I know it’s nuts. We haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve never met anyone with a bigger⁠—”

“Penis!” squawks McFly.

“Shhh.” I glare at the bird, then soften my gaze back to Ash. “Heart. You have a big heart, even if you don’t always show it. You’re kind and you’re funny and I feel like the best version of me when I’m around you.”

“Same.” Ash’s throat bobs as he swallows. “I’ve loved you almost from the first moment we met. You barged right in and turned my life upside down and I’ve never felt so fucking grateful. Because without you, Camille, my world was an awfully gray place. You reminded me there’s a great big universe out there full of laughter and love and light and⁠—”

“Lube!” shouts the bird.

“And lube.” Ash’s mouth twitches. “Never forget lube.”

“I won’t.” Lust fills my veins as I glance at the long, thick, cylinder that trails down the leg of his loose linen pants. “Hey, Ash Hole?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a can of Pringles in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

A broad smile spreads over his face. “I am very happy to see you.” He drops a hand to his pocket and pulls out the familiar red can. “And also, I brought Pringles.”

“Did I mention I love you?”

“You did.” He places the can of potato chips on the seat, then pulls me into his arms. “Can you forgive me?”

“Already done.”

“Will you come home with me?”

“To your house or the resort?” I’m not even sure which I’d want.

“Wherever you like. As long as we’re together.” He brushes the hair from my face. “There’s one more item on my grand gesture itinerary. Something that’s probably best performed at the resort.”

“Performed? I’m intrigued.”

“You should be.” He kisses me softly, so slow and sweet.

Clutching his shoulders, I get lost in the heat of his arms. The glide of his tongue, the sea-salt scent of his skin, the way his hand trails down to cup my ass. All of it adds up to Ash.

When we break apart, he looks into my eyes. “Come home with me, Camille.”

“Anytime, Ash Hole.”

“Thank God.” Taking my hand, he gives me a smile that singes my panties. “Because I studied your intake forms carefully. There’s one fantasy left to fulfill.”

We don’t immediately bang like bunnies in the back of the plane. Shocking, I know.

But we do make love for half of the night in Ash’s grand palace on his own private island. It’s gentle and sweet and everything I dreamed it could be. Filthy is fun, and so are quick, dirty flings in unexpected places. But lovemaking with a man who moves mountains—and a parrot—to be with me?

Priceless.

I wake in the morning to Ash kissing me gently. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Ready for the barbecue?”

“Barbecue?” I glance at the clock. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“I know.” He kisses me again, tugging the sheet back as he works his way over my collarbones. “But the welcome back party for all the consorts starts at eleven. I thought you’d like time to get showered and dressed and⁠—”

“Pick out something cute to wear for choosing two men to bang me?” Because yeah, that’s the plan.

Ash smiles and drags down the sheet. “Cute clothing might be beside the point, since we’ll all wind up naked eventually.”

“Good point.” My skin starts to tingle as he kisses his way down my belly. “Aren’t you worn out yet?”

“Never.” He’s almost to my hip bone, and I gasp as his teeth drag my skin. “I will never, ever get tired of devouring you.”

“Good to know.” I shudder. “But you’re right. I should really shower and get dressed. And you should save some stamina for later.”

With a sigh, he sits up. “I’m only stopping because you’re right. At my age, I want to make sure I can keep up with whomever you choose to invite to the bedroom.”

I snort. “Says the man who fucked me for three hours straight last night.” I pat his arm as I roll out of bed. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that department.”

“Still,” he muses, watching me walk nude to the bathroom. “A man must conserve his resources.”

We shower together as Ash goes over the plan. With the pilots’ strike over, most of the consorts have returned to the resort and are planning to be at the barbecue. I’ll mingle all day and gradually get to know them. There’s no pressure to choose anyone if I’m just not feeling it. But if there’s someone—two someones—who I happen to click with, Ash will ensure I fulfill my fantasy of being with three men at once.

By the time we boat over to Crystal Bliss, the party is underway. Music booms from a sound system at the edge of the shore, and four shirtless men are playing a game of beach volleyball. A man who is decidedly not Lars the chef stands grilling at a gigantic barbecue by the pool. The smell of charred meat and sunscreen swirls together with laughter and loud claps on the shoulder as the consorts welcome each other back.

I catch a few surprised looks as Ash and I stride across the pool deck holding hands. A few people greet him, including two members of the housekeeping team who rush up to thank him for their vacation bonuses.

Another good deed the man never mentioned.

“I was able to pay off my medical debt,” says a sweet-faced woman who makes the sign of the cross. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Ash grips my hand with an embarrassed smile. “Thank you for all your hard work, Selena.”

As soon as she leaves, I look up at Ash. “That’s hot.”

His brow furrows. “I can have a few fans brought out to⁠—”

“Not what I meant.” I tip my chin toward the retreating employee. “The fact that you know your whole staff by name. That you take such good care of your employees.”

Ash looks confused. “I’m just doing what’s right.”

“Exactly,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Remember that the next time you start telling yourself you’re not a good man.”

“Camille!” Sybil breaks free from a small pack of consorts by the bar, launching herself at me like a blond, curly missile. She hugs me so hard that I hiccup.

“I’m glad he got out of his own way,” she whispers, glancing at Ash with a smile. “I still think you should have hit him up for a pony.”

“The parrot was plenty.”

She addresses Ash with a knowing expression. “Mind if I steal your girlfriend for a few minutes?”

“Only a few?” His blue eyes go molten. “I seem to recall it takes a bit longer than that.”

“Cute.” Sybil tugs me away by the hand. “I want to introduce you to some guys. Ash asked me to show you around a bit.”

How much does she know? Is she aware that I’m here to pick out two men who will join Ash and me in the bedroom?

The answer grows clear as she drags me toward a quartet of attractive men near the edge of the pool. She lowers her voice as we draw close. “I’ll point out the men who get the best marks for the triple-male foursome.”

“Marks?” I trip on the toe of my sandal, but Sybil keeps me steady. “Do guests actually grade them?”

“It’s a figure of speech, but I did read a number of guest reviews.” She waves to a man with pretty brown eyes and skin the color of warm honey. “Working here as long as I have, you get good intel on who’s skilled at what. Plus, I’ve done my own research⁠—”

“God, I love you.”

“I know.” She laughs. “So does my wife.”

For the next several hours, I make the rounds with Sybil. We rarely stray far from Ash, and he checks in every few minutes to see how I’m doing.

But mostly, he’s giving me space to explore and feel comfortable. It’s a welcome relief, given the delicate nature of what we’re planning. It’s not every day that I navigate the nuances of asking two strangers to fuck me alongside their boss.

I chat with a consort named James about his favorite hikes near his hometown in Brisbane, Australia. A gentle-voiced consort named Ivan tops off my soda and tells me about his favorite coastal village in Croatia.

“Very beautiful,” he says. “Your eyes, they’re the exact color of north Adriatic where it kisses the shoreline in Rovinj.”

I smile at his earnest expression. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” he says, kissing the back of my hand. “And I hope Mr. Holyfield knows just how lucky he is.”

Sybil walks by and throws me a wink. I take that to mean she’s been spreading the word. That she’s nudging me toward prospective partners who won’t feel intimidated banging the boss’s new girlfriend.

It takes a certain sort of man to be comfortable with that, particularly when said boss will be part of the action.

“What do you think?” Sybil murmurs when we’re finally alone. “Anyone jumping out at you?”

“A few.” I survey the crowd, earning a few friendly waves and some smiles. “I really like Logan.”

“Isn’t he the best? Great guy.”

“Yes, but something tells me he’s not the right guy for me.” It’s the weirdest feeling, but I have an odd hunch Logan Wilder is meant for a different sort of woman. “Zane seems great. I think I’ll ask him.”

“Ooh, good pick.” She grins. “A man with an impressive sexual vocabulary who isn’t afraid to share his knowledge with parrots.”

I laugh and sip from my soda. “I’m thinking about Nico.”

“From Italy?” Smiling, she winks at the wavy-haired consort across the pool. “He was hoping you’d pick him. Holyfield doesn’t intimidate him like he does some of the other guys. And he won’t stop talking about how much he wants to taste all your freckles.”

I shiver with pleasure, grateful to know there’s a mutual attraction. It’s one thing to have a four-way unfold organically. But making it happen like this has me a little unsteady.

“Relax, Camille.” Sybil leans in and kisses my cheek. “Every man here and most of the women want to lick every inch of your body. No one does this job unless we are completely obsessed with the female form. And no consort says yes to an enchantment they’re not one-hundred percent enthusiastic about.”

“Thanks.” That puts me at ease and turns me on at the same time. There isn’t much hotter than an enthusiastic lover.

I catch Ash’s eye from across the pool. He gives me a smile that rattles my bones like lightning. As he starts heading toward us, my heart begins thumping. “What happens now? Do I proposition the guys, or⁠—”

“Leave it to us, sweetie.” She feathers another soft kiss on my cheek. “The Fortress and I will take care of everything.”

CHAPTER 18

ASHTON

Having Sybil confirming the men are on board with what’s happening dissolves some of the tension from the situation.

But I still take a moment to speak with Zane and Nico before Camille arrives. We’ve decided to do this in one of the resort’s deluxe suites. That seems more neutral than staging it in my home, plus these rooms were quite literally built for sex.

“Gentlemen.” I tug at my tie, then remember I’m not wearing one. I settle for fiddling with the top button on my white linen shirt. “I appreciate you joining me to fulfill Camille’s fantasy. I know it might feel…unusual to have the resort owner be part of an enchantment.”

“Unusual is my jam.” Zane grins broadly, bumping Nico with his elbow. “The last enchantment I did before break was the Sizzle and Zing.”

“Oh yeah, I got one of those last month.” Nico laughs. “I also had the Baby Blue twice in one day.”

So…electrostimulation and the enchantment where a guest swaddles the consort and treats him like a baby? Clearly, these men can handle a broad range of play.

But this is Camille we’re talking about. “I want her to leave here feeling like the goddess she is. I know you’re professionals, and your guest feedback has been impeccable. But this woman is exquisite.”

At that, both men nod. “We know,” Nico says. “With all due respect, your girlfriend is hot.”

Girlfriend.

I like how that sounds. In the forty-eight hours since I won Camille back, I haven’t stopped smiling about it. I’m in love with the thought of spending my future adoring a stunning, intelligent, hilariously clever human. I love her laugh, her quick wit, her gentle compassion.

I love her.

A knock at the door alerts me it’s showtime. “Gentlemen.” I start toward the door, feeling my heart start to pound. “Everyone ready?”

The men both nod as I pull open the door. Camille stands smiling, holding a bottle of wine. “I’m here!” She hands me the bottle and steps into the room, looking a little bit nervous. “This is my first official enchantment, so I wasn’t sure about the protocol. Seemed wrong to show up at a party without a hostess gift. Am I the hostess?”

God, she’s adorable. And sexy. And funny. “Would you like a glass?”

“Yes, please.” She strolls into the room and greets Zane and Nico. “Thanks for agreeing to fuck me.”

Both men burst out laughing. They begin to make small talk as I head to the bar for a corkscrew and glasses. Camille takes a seat on a sofa that faces the sliding glass door, which I’ve cracked to let in a brisk ocean breeze. Zane claims a spot on her right, while Nico makes himself comfortable on the loveseat.

“I can already tell this is going to be fun.” Zane drapes an arm on the back of the couch, fingertips grazing her shoulder. She smiles and he glances at me to make sure it’s okay.

It is. I love watching her easy rapport with the men. Seeing her sunshine spread over everyone else sets me at ease.

Nico’s long legs sprawl out in front of him. “Guests with a sense of humor have a lot more fun with these kinds of enchantments.”

“In that case,” she says, “Ash Hole and I will be a goddamn barrel of monkeys.”

Zane cocks an eyebrow. “Ash Hole?”

I return to the sitting room with four glasses of crisp Sauvignon Blanc on a tray. “Among other things, that will never leave this room.”

“Our lips are sealed.” Nico grabs a glass and grins at Camille. “At least until we put them all over your body.”

I wait for the sharp sting of jealousy, or for this to feel strange. It’s not every day a man sits around with the woman he loves and two men they’ve invited to join them for sex.

But Camille’s gentle smile and the men’s easy chatter makes it all feel quite normal. Like things will unfold exactly as they’re meant to.

For ten or twelve minutes, I tune out their chatter and just watch Camille. She’s unbelievably breathtaking. The curve of her shoulder, the bergamot scent of her hair. The petal-soft skin I’m aching to touch as she crosses her legs. As her pale-yellow sundress slides over her knee, my mouth starts to water.

The instant she grazes my arm with her fingers, my whole body hums with desire. I’m watching her mouth as she speaks, detailing the story of our first meeting.

“And then he let me stay,” she concludes, taking a sip of her wine.

Nico grins. “Can you blame the guy?”

“I’d have done the same.” Zane glances at me, his hand now resting on her bare knee. “Easy to see why you fell for each other.”

Camille takes a sip of the wine, then sets down her glass. “Hard to believe I’ve had such an outstanding time at a sex resort that wasn’t even open.”

“God, I want to kiss you.” I blurt it so suddenly that my own words surprise me.

A slow smile spreads over her face. “Well then kiss me, Ash Hole.”

I set down my glass and slide my hands through her silky-soft hair. Cupping the base of her skull, I claim the sweet mouth I’ve kissed dozens of times. The lips I intend to kiss twelve million more. She tastes like white wine and sunshine and desire, and I find myself pulling her onto my lap.

With a small gasp of pleasure, she grabs hold of my shoulders. Her legs wrap around me as I scoop my hands under her ass. As I slide off the sofa and stand, Camille breaks the kiss.

“Well, that escalated fast.”

“So often the case for us.” I hope I’m not moving too quickly. “Do you mind?”

“That we’re moving from the small-talk stage to the Camille-gets-fucked stage?” Grinning, she grinds on my growing erection. “What do you think, Ash Hole?”

“I think we should move this to the bed.”

“Excellent plan.” As she clings to me like a sexy koala, Nico and Zane knock back their wine, then follow us to the bed.

I lay her back gently as they strip off their shirts and prowl to the edge of the mattress. I sink to my knees on the floor right in front of her, kissing my way up the curve of her calf.

“Exquisite,” I murmur, tasting the back of one knee.

Zane coasts a hand up her arm and she shivers. “I feel like you need to be naked.”

She giggles. “I feel like your instincts are good, Zane.” Her giggle shifts to a groan as my lips skim the inside of her thigh.

“Allow me.” Nico undoes the strap on one side, while Zane takes care of the other.

They’re caressing her arms and her shoulders, tugging the dress off as they go. They move like two men determined to savor every inch of her body.

I can relate.

Nico sinks onto the bed right beside her, nuzzling the side of her neck. “Mmm, you smell good.” He shifts her hair to the side, fingertips tracing the line of her bra strap. “I’m nuts about freckles.”

Proving his point, he licks his way over her shoulder. She purrs like a kitten as Zane unhooks her bra, devouring the slope of her breast. Nico’s intent on those freckles, kissing and nipping at each tiny cinnamon spot.

This is turning me on.

From my place on the floor, worshiping one shapely calf, I watch it unfold with desire throbbing through me. God, she looks beautiful blissed out like this. Hands cup her breasts, kneading, adoring, as I continue my slow, reverent journey up the inside of her thighs. The taste of her skin, her soft little moans, are driving me wild with desire.

I lose track of their whispers, of the men’s adulation, as I kiss a slow path up from her knee to the thin wisp of lace between her legs. Their voices get lost in the buzz of desire in my brain.

Sexy.

Gorgeous.

Stunning.

Delicious.

That’s my girl they’re describing. The woman I love who’s writhing beneath me as I slowly peel down her panties. Sitting back on my heels, I take in the feast that’s spread out in front of me. Her delicate folds glisten with arousal.

“My God.” I still can’t fucking believe it. “How are you mine?”

Her laugh slips out on a whimper as Nico and Zane lavish attention on her breasts. As her eyes scan my face, she smiles. “Maybe because you’re mine?”

“That’s fair.” I bury my face in her thigh, hungry for her swollen sex beckoning me just inches from my mouth. I’m dying to taste her, to trail my tongue along that slick seam.

Nico comes up for air and watches me. “Want a hand?”

I’m not sure what he means, but the two men move like synchronized clocks. Zane catches her left leg and Nico her right, kissing her ankles as they gently ease her open.

Oh.

My.

God.

My heart pounds a mallet on my ears. I’ve never seen anything sexier than Camille spread out like this. She’s open and slippery and waiting for me.

“Beautiful.” I plant a light kiss on those slick, swollen lips and she shudders.

“Oh.” She gasps as Zane kisses her ankle, while Nico devours the right one. “It’s gravity-free cunnilingus.”

Zane chuckles and kisses her shin. “There’s my next phrase for the bird.”

As much as I enjoy their easy rapport, I’m keener on knowing Camille can let go. With both legs supported, she leans back on her elbows and watches my tongue spread her open.

“Oh, Ash.” She tunnels her fingers into my hair. “I love seeing you do that.”

“This?” I do it again and she trembles, crying out as I circle her clit. I sip on that tight little bud, loving the way she bows up beneath me.

“Does that feel good?” Zane asks her, kissing the curve of her ankle. “You like how he’s eating your pussy?”

“Yes,” she gasps, fisting the blue and green bedspread. “Oh God, Ash.”

Hearing my name spurs me to bury my tongue deep inside her. She’s so fucking sweet as I lose myself in the luscious, warm squeeze of her body.

I’m barely aware of the other two men kissing her arches, her calves, the delicate curve of her knees. All I can feel is the velvety vise of her sex as I slide two fingers inside her.

“Sweetheart,” I breathe, rolling her clit with my tongue. “I want you to come for me.”

She cries out and tosses her head back, her tight little body clenching around me. “Right there,” she pants as my fingers thrust into her. “Ash, oh God.”

I deliver a long, languid lick to her clit, and that’s all it takes. Camille breaks apart, bucking and gasping and riding my face as she comes. The other men praise her, telling her how fucking gorgeous she is. What a good girl, what a sexy fucking woman.

Breathless and tousled, she leans back on her elbows and gives us a dazed little smile. “Damn, guys. You know how to treat a lady.”

All three of us chuckle, shifting to join her on the bed. Nico brushes the hair off her face, dusting a kiss on her cheekbone. “You’re stunning.”

Zane plants a kiss on the slope of her breast, and I watch her pupils dilate. “Need a moment to catch your breath?”

“Nope.” Her eyes shift to mine and she smiles. “I need you all naked.”

I stand up to do her bidding. “Consider it done.” I peel off my shirt and reach for my belt. “What else?”

Licking her lips, she glances from Nico to Zane. “I need three cocks inside me as soon as it’s convenient for you boys.”

CHAPTER 19

CAMILLE

I’m dazed from that insane orgasm Ash just delivered with his mouth. So how am I still craving more?

It might be the heat in his eyes as he crawls up my body, covering me with kisses as he moves. “Anything in particular you want, Camille?”

I love that he gives me the option. Some women might want the men to seize control, and that’s true for me on occasion.

But right now, I have an agenda.

“I want to ride you,” I tell him, then glance at the other two men. “And I want to suck you two at the same time.”

Zane grins like a kid with a squirt gun. “Twist my arm.”

I smirk at the oversized bulge in his pants. “It’s not your arm I’m after.”

Nico laughs and strips off his pants. “Whatever the lady wants.” He points to an old-fashioned fainting couch parked near a window that’s framing a perfect sea view. “That’s pretty good for what you have in mind.”

Ash looks unexpectedly pleased. “I hoped those were serving a purpose. We put one in each room for a reason.”

Zane scoops me up in his arms and strides toward the couch. “They come in handy.” He glances at Ash as I cling to his neck. “Mr.—uh⁠—”

He falters with how to address Ash, and it’s the first time this setup has felt awkward. I wondered how the weird power dynamic might play out.

But Ash takes the whole thing in stride. “Ash is fine,” he says. “Or Ashton if you prefer.”

“Not Ash Hole, though.” I’m still holding tight to Zane as the other two men finish undressing. Their bodies look muscular and lean, a treat for my eyes as well as my body. “Only I get to call him that.”

Nico chuckles as he joins us by the fainting couch. “Definitely won’t be calling the boss an asshole.”

Ash’s brow furrows as he takes a seat on the sofa. “In here, I’m not your boss.” He looks at me, wrapped up in Zane’s arms. “Except for you. Take a seat, Camille. On my cock, if you don’t mind.”

A shiver rolls through me at the command. “I’d be ever so delighted.” I gaze at his dick, which is already huge and engorged.

Zane stoops to lower me onto him, pausing mid-air with a question. “Facing him or reverse cowgirl?”

I look down at Ash, feeling dizzy with options. I do love the angle of facing away, but the urge to look into his eyes wins out. “Facing Ash.”

“Atta girl.” Zane lowers me onto him as Ash grips the base of his own meaty cock. “Nice and easy.”

I gasp as his thick cock slides into me. Blood throbs in my ears and I groan as he fills me completely.

“Slow,” commands Nico, his hands slowly stroking my breasts. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

But I can’t resist rolling my hips, drawing Ash deeper into my body. This feeling of fullness, the curve of his cock, the tick of my pulse in my ears—I’m entranced by every last detail.

Especially his gaze as he watches me sink down onto him.

“She can handle it,” he says, gentle thumbs strumming my hip bones. “Can’t you, Camille?”

“Yes.” I start riding him fully, knees planted on each side of his body. He feels so fucking good at this angle, anchored inside me all the way to the root.

Ash lets me set the rhythm. I’m rolling my hips, rising up so he nearly slides out of me, then sliding back down his impressive length. Hands on his chest, I sync my movements with the beat of his heart.

“That’s it,” Zane murmurs, fisting his cock as he watches me move. “God, you look hot.”

I open my mouth to say something, then promptly forget what it was. All I can think about is having a mouthful of dick. “Come closer,” I breathe, rising up on my knees before gliding down again. “Let me suck you both.”

Nico moves in for the kill, shoving my hair back from my face. He’s gripping his shaft, sliding thick fingers up and down it. “Is this what you want?”

God, he’s got a big dick, too. It must be a job requirement? I doubt I can deep-throat two men at once, but I’m game to give it a shot.

The guys touch my torso, caressing my breasts and keeping me steady as I rise up over Ash. Coming down hard, I catch Zane’s thick shaft in one hand, copying the way I just watched him stroke it.

He lets out a guttural groan. “Yeah.” He watches my hand glide over that thick, swollen head. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

My left hand snakes out to grab Nico, and I stroke them both at the same steady cadence. A thrill ripples through me at the novelty of what we’re all doing. The feeling of fat, throbbing shafts in both hands while the man I adore thrusts up beneath me.

“Fuck.” Ash grips my hips even harder. “Look at you, taking all that cock.” His voice is a low growl beneath me. “Be a good girl and show me how you suck them.”

I fucking love it when he’s bossy. With two gentle tugs, I bring both men right to my lips. My mouth starts to water as I open up wide. My tongue paints a slow, languid circle around Nico’s head. He sucks in a breath as his fingers lace into my hair.

“Fuck.” He’s gritting his teeth as I draw him in deeper. “That’s it.”

I’m still stroking Zane, gripping his shaft as I keep riding Ash. He releases my hip with one hand, fingertips teasing their way to my clit. My whimper of pleasure gets smothered by my mouthful of Nico.

“Fuck, Camille.” Ash moans as I grind on him. “I wish you could see how fucking sexy you look.”

Part of me kinda does, too. I suck Nico a while, then turn my head and take Zane in my mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, I lick and suck and torment these men with my tongue, my teeth, my lips. Their moans get louder with each slippery twirl of my tongue.

I feel so fucking powerful right now.

Still strumming my clit, Ash drives up hard and hits something insanely delicious inside me. I moan with a mouthful of cock.

“Make her come, Ash.” That’s Zane on my right and he’s looking a little bit flushed. “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”

Nico pulls back, dragging his cock from my mouth with a pop. “That was close.” He chuckles and takes a few calming breaths. “You’re too fucking good at that.”

Watching his face, I drag my tongue slowly down the length of Zane’s shaft. I do it again, root to tip, tip to root, slowly circling the fat, throbbing head. “Please,” I beg Nico. “Just one more lick.”

My climax is building, swelling inside me like a water balloon set to burst. The handsome Italian steps closer and I part my lips as wide as I can. Slowly, gently, both men ease themselves into my mouth at once. They’re velvety smooth and so gentle as they glide down my tongue.

“Fuck,” Zane grits out, squeezing my breast with one hand. “It’s too goddamn good.”

“No joke.” Nico closes his eyes. “I can’t even look at how hot you are.”

A string of saliva snakes down my chin as I slurp and suck and squeeze them. I’m dizzy and so close to coming. My heart pounds my eardrums as sharp, sticky heat rolls through me. Then Ash drives in hard, and I lose it.

“Oh, God!” I try to cry out, but it sounds like I’m choking.

The two men pull back, gasping like divers who’ve come up for air. Spasms of pleasure roll through me, and three sets of hands stroke and caress me. I ride Ash’s cock through it all.

“Holy fuck.” I start to collapse, but strong hands help me stay upright.

Nico chuckles, shaking his head. “That was badass.”

“Thank you.” I wipe my chin with the back of my hand. “Could I please have some water?”

Zane and Nico hurry away, practically fighting to fetch me a glass, and Ash wraps both arms around me, shifting my weight so his cock slips out of me. He rolls to sit up, cradling me tight to his chest.

“God, I love you.” He uses his thumb to swipe at the edge of my mouth. “Want to keep going?”

“Yes, please.”

Looking into my eyes, he lowers his voice. “You have an extremely talented mouth.”

“Thank you.” I’m not sure how he’ll feel about kissing me considering what it’s been up to. I settle for brushing my lips over his earlobe. “Will you come inside it?”

I draw back to watch his reaction. Ash studies my face. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes.” We talked over several configurations for this foursome last night and agreed to decide in the moment. “How does that sound to you?”

“Outstanding.” Smiling, he brushes the hair from my face. “You are exquisite.”

“I will never get tired of hearing you say so.”

“Good. Because I plan to tell you every day for as long as I’m still breathing.”

Zane and Nico rejoin us, each of them holding two glasses of water. “Thought we could all stand to rehydrate.” Zane hands one to me, and Nico gives Ash the other.

I climb off his lap and gulp it all down, setting the glass on an end table. Then I turn and face the three naked men. God, they look yummy, all ripply and muscled and all of those cocks still half hard.

They’re watching me over the rims of their glasses, hunger apparent in their gazes. “Hey, Camille.” Zane grins. “You look like you’re up to something.”

Nico sets down his glass. “Something good.”

Ash downs the last of his water. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

I was hoping he’d say that. A super-charged sizzle zings from the back of my neck to the tips of my toes. Nipples tingling, my sex still throbbing and wet, I find myself aching for more.

“Gentlemen.” I point to the floor and watch their eyes drop. “How clean is this carpet?”

Ash decides to field that one. “Every room in this building was thoroughly cleaned over the break.”

“Wait.” Zane sets his glass down and goes to a tall, narrow closet. “I think I know where this is going.” He pulls open a door and drags out a soft-looking blanket that’s sealed up in plastic. “Is this any better?”

“Perfect.” I’m guessing this isn’t Zane’s first rodeo. “Could I please have you lie down on it?”

“Yep.” Zane grins and spreads out the blanket, coming to rest on his back. “I like where you’re going with this.”

So do I. Now that I’ve gotten a close look at everyone’s junk, I know who I want to go where. Ash seems to know what I’m thinking and goes to the nightstand for condoms. He hands one to me and I kneel on the floor beside Zane’s outstretched body. He’s already half hard, and my mouth and hands get him the rest of the way there.

Nico watches, stroking himself back to stiffness. Does he know what I’ve planned for him?

“Here we go.” I roll on Zane’s condom as he watches my hand stroke his length. Swinging one leg over him, I make myself comfy straddling him.

Big hands slide over my hips, coming to cup my breasts. Zane strokes my nipples and I gasp. “I think I won the jackpot.” He smiles and keeps stroking my nipples. “I get to fuck that pretty little pussy?”

The dirty talk sends a slick rush of heat to my core. “That’s the plan.”

There’s a rustling behind me as Nico tears open his condom. I focus on gliding Zane’s cock through my folds. He’s hard and ready, and I sink down slowly with a moan.

“God, Camille.” Ash stands above us, watching with heat in his eyes. “So fucking sexy.”

Lifting my eyes to his, I smile. “You like watching?” I slide up again, fucking Zane slowly as he stares with a lava-filled gaze. “You like seeing me take this big cock?”

“I do.” He takes a step closer, his thick, swollen shaft coming to rest on his thigh. “I like participating even more.”

“Good.” I lick my lips. “Then get over here and fuck my mouth.”

He’s the only guy not wearing a condom. Ringing the base with the O of his fingers, he gently brushes the head on my cheek. It’s velvety smooth and I shudder with need. “Open for me, sweetheart.”

I do as he says and Ash slides his cock down the length of my tongue. I keep my eyes open, peering up through the lace of my lashes. Wrapping my lips snug around him, I draw him back into my throat.

“Fuck.” His breath hisses out as he draws back, withdrawing completely. He curses and slides in again. “Watching it sink inside you is the hottest thing ever.”

Zane thrusts up beneath me, squeezing my breasts in his palms. “Agree to disagree.” His talented fingertips play over my nipples, making me shudder. “I think I’ve got the best seat in the house.”

“I beg to differ.” Making his case, Ash hits the back of my throat.

My gag reflex triggers, and he eases back. “Good?”

“Keep going,” I pant. “Fuck my mouth harder, please.”

He does what I ask, threading his hands in my hair. His expression turns feral as his eyes shift to Nico behind me. I can’t see the man, but I feel his hands catching my hips. Kissing my neck, he breathes into my ear. “You’re going to feel something cool and wet in just a⁠—”

“Oh.” I gasp as he dribbles the lube through my crack. Fingertips probe at my backdoor as Ash resumes fucking my mouth. Zane props me up at an angle, palming my tits as he thrusts up beneath me.

“You like that?” Zane growls, watching my face. “You like how he’s teasing your ass?”

I nod and Ash slips from my mouth. “Yes.”

Nico tips me forward, lubing me up so I’m ready. My breasts spill onto Zane’s face and he chuckles. “Didn’t think this could get any better.” His tongue laves my nipples and I moan.

Ash strokes himself, watching. Waiting his turn with his eyes on the scene that’s unfolding before him. “Camille,” he breathes softly, dragging a fist down his shaft. “You look good on all fours.”

Nico chuckles, easing his fingers inside me. “Doesn’t she? And her ass is so tight.”

I groan as he stretches me wider. It’s so fucking snug, but it’s going to get even tighter the second he slides in his cock. I’m eighty percent ready, twenty percent terrified.

Then my gaze shifts to Ash and I zoom to one hundred percent. “How does that feel?” There’s gravel in his voice and lightning in his eyes. “You like how he’s working your ass with his fingers?”

I nod and hold still on Zane’s cock. This isn’t the time for thrusting. We’re all breathing hard, adjusting to what’s yet to come. I order myself to breathe slowly. To relax as Nico slides another finger inside me.

“How’s that?” he rumbles behind me.

“Good.” I take two more breaths and smile up at Ash as he watches. “Really good.”

With a chuckle, Ash widens his stance. He’s bending his knees and guiding his cock back to my mouth. It’s one helluva quad workout for him, but Ash isn’t breaking a sweat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, guiding that thick, swollen head to my lips. “You ready for this?”

I open my mouth in response, drawing him into the curl of my tongue. Nico dribbles more lube as he eases his fingers out of me. When I whimper in protest, he chuckles.

“Almost ready, sweetheart.” Nico grips my hips as his lips skim the back of my neck. “Fuck Zane nice and slowly. Just like that. You’re doing great, baby.”

The praise sends a sharp jolt of energy through me. As I slide up Zane’s shaft, Nico nudges my ass with his cock.

I start to tense up, but his gentle neck kisses keep me relaxed. “Nice and steady. Such a good girl.” He slides the tip in, and the sensation of fullness overwhelms me. “Here we go.”

Zane groans beneath me as Nico coaxes his way into my ass. “Fuck, man,” Zane growls. “She already feels too fucking good.”

Nico holds still, offering his fellow consort a chance to catch his breath. It gives me a moment to check in with Ash. He’s watching my tongue swirl the head of his cock.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, threading his hands through my hair. “Look at you.”

I tip my head back, taking him into my throat. Zane grips my hips, setting the rhythm that seems to work best for all three of them. I’m panting with need, achy and wild with the feeling of being this full.

Moaning, I wiggle my hips. I wish I could watch this. I’m dying to see if the sight is as hot as I think.

“Camille.” Ash drags his cock from my mouth, letting me catch my breath. “You look so goddamn hot right now.”

“I wish I could watch.”

“Look to your right.”

I do what he says and oh my God.

The full-length mirror gleams in the light from the sliding glass door. In beautiful detail, I watch the whole scene unfold. I see Nico’s knees anchored on the outside of Zane’s legs, tanned and flexing with muscle. He’s pumping my ass with a gentle, slick rhythm and I’m mesmerized watching him move.

Zane’s spread out beneath me, cupping my tits as I ride him. The reverence in his eyes makes me grind down even harder.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “So goddamn tight.”

I’m dizzy and panting as my eyes lift to Ash. Flaming blue eyes lick my body like he wants to consume me. Like I’m the most beautiful creature on Earth. His hands in my hair, the love in his eyes; they’re pushing me over the edge.

“So close.” Is he talking about me or himself?

Zane takes his cue, gliding two fingers to my slippery clit. Gentle, soft circles serve as a contrast to how Nico’s pounding my ass from behind. Zane’s gritting his teeth and I’m certain we’re all on the brink of exploding.

“That’s it,” Ash murmurs, watching me writhe. “Slow little swirls on her clit.”

Oh, God. I can’t take it. Pleasure slams into me with the force of a cyclone as my eyes open wide.

“Do it,” Ash urges, fucking my mouth. “I’m right there with you.”

That’s what undoes me, this connection with Ash. His eyes searing mine, the link between body and soul. His heart, my heart, our bodies connected by bliss.

I let out a scream with his cock in my mouth. Zane growls beneath me, thrusting up the same exact moment Nico plunges into me.

“Oh, God.” Gripping my hips, Nico draws back. He slams in again with a roar. “Fuuuuck!”

Zane spasms inside me, squeezing my tits as my gaze locks with Ash’s. I witness the moment it all comes apart. His mouth falls open and his blue eyes go hazy. He lets out a roar and a warm, salty stream hits the back of my throat. I swallow him down, coming so hard I collapse.

Panting and dazed, I start to pitch forward. Three sets of hands ease me down from the peak. My eyes flutter shut, and I lose track of time. The only thing now is the sensation of fingers and palms as they bring me down gently. They’re petting and praising, filling my ears with words that sound foreign.

Someone gets up and walks to the bathroom, returning a few moments later with washcloth. “Here.”

I open my eyes as Ash takes the cloth. Eyes locked with mine, he sponges me off with love pooling warm in his gaze. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hey there.” I manage a wobbly smile. “That was intense.”

“It was.”

Nico strides to the sink and refills water glasses while Zane gets rid of a condom. Ash stays with me, holding my weight on his chest. “You okay?”

A breathless laugh flutters out of me. “You’re joking, right?” I stretch and sit up, not sure which body part feels best. “Every single nerve is singing right now.”

Ash quirks a brow. “Opera or death metal?”

“Hmm.” I lean up and kiss him, letting him hold all my weight. “I think I hear Whitney Houston.”

He chuckles and hands me the glass Nico passes him, watching me drink it all down. As soon as it’s empty, he takes it. “Want to get up off the floor?”

“I’m not sure my legs work.”

“Say no more.” Scooping me up, he carries me gently to the bed.

Zane hurries over and peels back the covers as Ash slides me under the sheet. He crawls in beside me as the other two men begin dressing.

“We’d normally cuddle,” says Nico as he pulls on his t-shirt. “But I think you’ve got it covered.”

“Yep.” Zane finds his shoes and stoops down to grab them. “Looks like you’re in good hands, Camille.”

“I am.” I snuggle closer to Ash, burrowing against his chest. “Thank you for everything.”

Zane plucks my hand off the pillow, planting a kiss on my knuckles. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Thank you.” I giggle. “You guys are pretty great, too.”

His eyes slide to Ash and he nods. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

“No joke.” Zane straightens his shirt. “Take care of her, man.”

“I will.” Brushing back hair from my face, he feathers a kiss to my temple. “And I am, indeed, the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth.”

Nico kisses my hand like Zane did, which makes me giggle again. I must be delirious, since I’m not normally much of a giggler. As soon as the door clicks shut, I look up at Ash.

His eyes don’t look icy in this light. They’re full of warm sunshine and affection so strong I can feel it. “Thank you for making that happen.”

“I think we both made it happen.”

“We’re a good team.”

“We are.” He’s quiet a moment, stroking my hair. “I know it’s soon. We haven’t known each other that long.” Searching my eyes, he swallows. “But would you be willing to⁠—”

“Yes.”

He blinks. “I haven’t asked you the question.”

“I know, but I’m preemptively answering.” That’s how sure I am about Ash.

One edge of his mouth quirks. “Maybe I planned to suggest you tattoo my name on your forehead.”

“I know a great artist.” I trace a fingertip over his forehead, forming a series of curlicue lines. “One of my sisters does beautiful linework. I’ll get us a deal and you can have my name right here.”

“Perfect.” Turning his head, he kisses the tip of my finger. Then he captures my hand and holds it between us, pressing it over his heart. “I wanted to ask if you’d consider staying. Another week. A year. Forever. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

I already knew that’s what he’d be asking. “My schedule is clear for another ten days, so I’ll stay that long at least.” Pressing my palm between his pecs, I savor the beat of his heart. “We can see how things unfold from there.”

“Perfect.” The warmth in his eyes spreads to the rest of his face. “I have properties all over the world and a great deal of flexibility in my routine. I’ll go wherever you want.”

“Let’s start with the tropical paradise.” Tipping my chip up, I feather my lips over his jaw’s silver stubble. “I’m glad you came after me.”

“I’m not.” He kisses me fast as I open my mouth to object. “I never should have put you in that position to begin with. But I’m dedicated to moving beyond regret, so I’ll simply say I’m glad you’re here. That we’re together.”

“Same.” My body’s still buzzing with bliss in the aftermath of what just happened. Will I ever stop feeling this good? “I’m glad I crashed your sex resort.”

“So am I.” He kisses the tips of my fingers. “And I’ll tell you right now that I lied to you.”

“Oh?” I’m struggling to keep my voice even. To treasure his honesty, even if it hurts. “How so?”

“When I said feelings weren’t part of the equation.” His lips brush my fingers again. “When it comes to you, feelings are the whole equation. They’re everything, Camille. You’re my solution set.”

I give him a blank stare. “Say what now?”

“Solution set.” One edge of his mouth quirks up. “The set of all variables that makes the specified equation true.”

Oh, my heart. “I hate math,” I murmur, “but God, I love you.”

Ash chuckles and buries his face in my hair. “Not as much as I love you.”

“I beg to differ.”

“As do I.”

“We could argue about this all night.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Drawing back, he looks in my eyes. “Want to hear it?”

My heartbeat ticks up again. “I’d rather you show me.”

“I will.” Ash kisses me deeply, fingers tunneling into my hair. “For as long as you’ll let me, Camille.”

That sounds like a fine plan to me.

EPILOGUE

ASHTON

3 months later

“Fiona?” Camille holds a fig in her palm, stretching to place it near the bottom-most branch on the tree. “This is for you, sweetheart. I’ll leave it here so you don’t have to take it from my hand.”

“Handjob!” McFly flaps his wings and performs a prideful strut on a low branch. “Handjob!”

Camille lays the fig on the branch just below him, then steps back and wipes a hand on her skirt. “Do you think he has any idea what he’s saying?”

“Probably not.” I watch him jump down and snap up the fig before flying it up to a high branch. “But now that he’s got a girlfriend, I like to think he’s putting his carnal wisdom to good use.”

We watch as McFly bustles up to his nest with the fig in his bright-yellow beak. A second beak pops over the edge, opening wide in invitation. Camille and I watch, transfixed, as McFly feeds the treat to the pretty young parrot that Camille named Fiona.

Based on how long the bird has been sitting here and our consultations with a local ornithologist, we suspect Fiona is sitting on a small clutch of eggs. We’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, McFly is behaving like a proud, doting dad.

“That’s so sweet.” Camille looks at me. “Would you bring me figs if I got pregnant?”

“I might question your nutritional judgment first.” The thought of Camille round and lush with my child puts a pleasurable buzz in my chest.

Someday.

“But yes,” I continue, “if you wanted figs, I would bring you every fig I could find. Fig Newtons. Figgy pudding. Fresh fig salad with bleu cheese and crispy prosciutto.”

“Mmm, that sounds like a dish Lars should make.”

“I’ll suggest it the next time we speak.”

It’s one of many inside jokes between us. If Camille craves scallops or fresh papaya poached in spiced rum, she suggests Lars prepare it for us. And if I’m moved to surprise her with some culinary delight—which happens quite often, I’ll admit—I give credit to my imaginary personal chef.

But back to the birds.

As Camille and I watch, proud father McFly watches his sweetheart gulp down the fig, then positions himself on a branch by her side.

“Good job, buddy,” Camille says. “We’ll come back later with more.”

McFly shakes his feathers and squawks. “Queening.”

Camille looks at me. “Is that new?”

“Zane taught it to him after we added the face sitting enchantment to the menu.” I’ve considered suggesting he stop teaching dirty words to the bird, but our guests seem to love it. “Kora said she’s had three guests request the ‘Queen on Her Tongue Throne’ after McFly suggested it.”

“Good job.” She gives him a mocking thumbs-up. “Way to sell it, McFly.”

“Mastuwaiting!”

That’s a new one to me.

“I know that one.” Camille laughs. “He said it last week and I had to ask Sybil.”

I love that those two have become close friends. “What did she say?”

“It’s when you’re watching pornography while diddling yourself, but you have to wait for the video to buffer.”

Good lord. “Are we nearing the vocabulary limits of a Yellow-Billed Amazon yet?”

“Let’s hope not.”

Taking her hand, I guide Camille back up the path that leads from the dock to our home. It’s a lovely warm evening on the island, and I don’t blame the birds for settling here instead of at the resort. The privacy comes in quite handy when one wishes to skinny-dip alone with a partner. Or sunbathe nude. Or have sex on the beach beneath the stars with gentle waves licking our toes as we⁠—

“Whatcha thinking?” she asks as we stroll up the path.

A smile tugs the edge of my mouth. “You know, four months ago, I would have been terrified by that question.”

“And now look at you.” She squeezes my hand. “Going to therapy, expressing your feelings, sharing your thoughts and your fears⁠—”

“Don’t forget fucking you senseless each night.”

She laughs. “My knees are still shaky from sex in the shower this morning. Trust me, I’ll never forget.”

She allows me to steer her past the gate that leads to the front of our property. We take this route sometimes when we’d like a long walk, but tonight there’s a reason I’m guiding her to the back of the house.

A reason she’ll see momentarily.

“Are you dodging the question?”

“Question?” I’ve already forgotten she asked one, thanks to the distraction of my surprise. “You asked what I was thinking. I was fondly recalling making love to you on the beach last night.”

“Mmm, that was lovely.” She tugs at the back of her dress with only the slightest wince. “Worth getting sand in my snatch.”

“Sorry about that.” Perhaps not as sorry as I should be. It really was fantastic. “Next time I’ll bring a bigger blanket.”

“I can always count on you to look out for my coochie.” She gives a satisfied sigh, swinging our hands as we walk. “Did you mark yourself out of the office next week?”

“What for?” I wink when she looks up and glares. “Of course I remembered. I wouldn’t miss Sara and Trent’s bachelor and bachelorette party weekend for anything.”

“Good.” Worry lines wiggle their way through her brow. “I still think something’s up. Trent hasn’t said anything to you?”

“Not a word.” I’ve grown oddly close to the rugged young SEAL over a few dozen visits with Camille’s friends. We flew Sara and Eve and their partners to Italy last month to celebrate Kit’s birthday. I’ve enjoyed spending time with them all, but I’ve clicked most closely with Trent. He reminds me of Logan in a way, what with the military background. I imagine the two would get on swimmingly if they ever were to meet.

But back to Camille’s question. “Maybe Trent’s just nervous about the wedding? I can understand not wanting to be the center of attention.”

“Could be.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I just hope he doesn’t break Sara’s heart.”

“He won’t.” I hope I’m right. He’s a good man, even if he has issues.

Don’t we all?

We walk for a while in silence, bathed in saltwater breeze and the perfume of tropical flowers. It’s become our routine a few days a week, taking the yacht to the resort for a meal. Sometimes we’ll spend time with Sybil and Kora or grab burgers with Logan or Zane or Nico or other consorts whose company we enjoy.

Afterward, we’ll return home for a walk or a swim or a kayak paddle in the cove of our own private beach. I never thought I could be this happy. I only hope I’m giving Camille even a fraction of the joy she’s brought me.

“I’m almost embarrassed by how much you’ve been spoiling me.” She smiles like she’s just read my mind. “The home office is incredible.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I still can’t figure out how you kept a whole freakin’ construction project a secret.”

“It wasn’t easy.” It helped to time out the bulk of construction with one of our visits to Portland. “I knew how important it was that you have a dedicated space for your telehealth patient consultations.”

“It’s a palace in there, Ash.” She’s glowing with gratitude, so I know she doesn’t object to the opulence. “Most therapists just run a white noise machine outside to muffle sound.”

“I thought having your own waterfall would be soothing.” I also made sure she can switch it off easily if it’s ever distracting. “And the sea view from that space is my favorite in the house.”

“It’s amazing, thank you.” She shoots me a teasing look. “Who knew Squirrel Appreciation Day was a gift giving occasion?”

“One that requires no involvement from squirrels.” God, I love making her smile.

“Almost as meaningful as the time you insisted we celebrate National Eggs Benedict Day by going down on me for an hour.”

“I made breakfast that morning.” It was French toast, rather than benedict, but the sentiment was there. “Don’t forget Put a Pillow on Your Fridge Day.”

“I still can’t believe that’s a real thing.” She always Googles to make sure.

“Better mark your calendar for next year.”

“Already did. Along with International Goof Off Day, which apparently calls for a trip to Paris?”

“Oui.” I’ve booked it for March, which is when the blessed occasion occurs. “It seemed imperative to fulfill our bucket list wish of sex in the Eiffel Tower.”

“A thing I didn’t know was possible until I started banging a billionaire.”

“Money has its perks.” We’re almost to the back of the house, which means she’s about to see my latest surprise. Kora helped coordinate the delivery while Camille and I lunched at the resort.

We’re approaching the pasture when a low whinny confirms we’re all set. I glance at Camille, not sure she heard it.

“Wait.” Her forehead crinkles as she looks at me. “Was that a horse?”

“Not precisely.” Rounding the corner, we come to the edge of the paddock.

A paddock where one russet mare looks up with a whinny, then trots to the edge of the fence. “A pony.”

“A pony?” Camille gasps and runs to the edge of the fence. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sybil said it would be a nice surprise.” I watch as she holds out her hand and the sprightly brown mare ambles over. “They left you a basket of apple slices by the gate.”

“Oh my God, Ash.” Beaming with glee, she bends and picks up a slice. Slowly, gently, she holds out the fruit on a flattened palm.

The animal flutters her mouth over the treat, then plucks it from Camille’s hand and munches it down. Pawing the ground, she gives a soft nicker of approval.

“What a sweetheart.” Camille picks up another bite of apple. “Her lips are so soft.”

“She came from a rescue group that rehabilitates farm animals from difficult circumstances.” I’ve got a complete dossier on this little mare, which I’ve tucked on Camille’s desk to read later. “We’ve been corresponding for a month to find just the right pony.”

“I love her.” Camille strokes the crooked white starburst on the mare’s nose. “She’s so sweet.”

Making this woman happy will never stop bringing me pleasure. Afternoon sunlight gleams in her hair as she scratches the pony’s curved ears. Her laugh feels like fizzy soda in my chest cavity.

God, I love her.

“One more thing.” I clear my throat. “It occurred to me your pony might get lonely, so⁠—”

“Holy shit.” She squeals so loudly the mare skitters back. Pointing at the far end of the paddock, Camille bounces on her heels. “There’s another one!”

The shaggy white stallion stands hunched in a corner. He paws at the earth as he glances our way, in no hurry to greet us.

“Is he okay?” She frowns. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“Just a little standoffish.” I can relate. “The rescue group said he takes time to warm up.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” She smiles and kisses my cheek. “I love them. Thank you.”

“I’ve hired a stable hand to tend them.” I don’t want Camille fretting that she’s forced to learn horse care. “And based on your weight, I’m told you can ride either pony once they’ve gotten used to you. If you’re interested, of course.”

“I’ve never ridden a pony.” She sounds thrilled by the prospect.

At the murmur of our voices, the stallion creeps closer. Camille bends down and picks up another apple slice. She feeds it to the mare while keeping one eye on the reluctant stallion.

“Good girl,” she coos. “You like that? There’s more we can share with your friend.”

The mare makes a soft little snuffling sound, which triggers the white pony to relax. He’s inching closer, and I avert my eyes in case it makes him nervous.

“Do they have names?” Camille asks.

“They do, and you’re welcome to change them. The rescue group called them Marey Poppins and Sir Trots-a-Lot.”

“That’s perfect.” She picks up another thick apple wedge as the stallion approaches. He’s nearly close enough to touch. “That’s it, good boy,” Camille murmurs. “Just a little bit further, sweetheart.”

The white pony pricks up his ears, hooves shuffling as he inches along the fence. He’s stirring up dust, snorting as though he believes it can make him sound tough.

“You’re just a big softy, aren’t you?” Camille holds out her palm with the apple, whispering sweet words to the stallion. “I promise you’ll love it.”

God, she’s amazing. The rescue group cautioned it could take weeks for Sir Trots-a-Lot to let anyone get close. And here goes Camille, taming the timid white beast in minutes.

“There you go,” she murmurs. The pony snuffles her palm, gently plucking the fruit with its whiskery lips. “What a sweet boy.”

He flutters his lips in response, making a rumbly sigh that surely has a name in equine circles. I haven’t consulted the documents. We’ll get to that later, but for now⁠—

“You like them?”

“I love them, Ash.” Camille turns to face me, her face bathed in joy and afternoon sunlight. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” There’s one more thing I should mention. “Since it’s a special occasion and all⁠—”

“It is?”

“Certainly.” I force myself to maintain a perfectly straight face. “It’s National No Pants Day.”

Camille glances down. “I’m in a skirt and you’re wearing shorts.”

“We’re such overachievers.” Also, may I just say, my wardrobe is considerably more casual these days. Camille sets me at ease in more ways than one.

I fish a hand in my pocket, fingers closing around a small metal circle. “I know we agreed it’s too soon for engagement,” I continue. “But I wondered if you might allow me to gift you a promise ring.”

Camille draws a breath. “A promise ring?”

I pull out the shiny gold band, which features an oval parti sapphire in shimmering moss green. It’s flanked by two half-moon cut black diamonds set in rose gold.

“Oh my God, Ash.” Camille starts to cry. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It belonged to my mother.” I slide the ring onto her right hand. A perfect fit. “My childhood wasn’t the best, as I know you’re aware.”

Until Camille came into my life, I never spoke about my parents. About decades of emotional abandonment and an upbringing delegated largely to nannies and au pairs.

But thanks to Camille and my therapist, I’ve been opening up just a little.

“Anyway,” I continue, clearing my throat, “this belonged to my mother. Out of hundreds of jewels in her collection, this was her favorite.”

“I can see why.” She wiggles her hand, watching the stone catch the light. “It’s absolutely stunning. Like a sparkly dragon’s egg or something.”

Her joy makes me smile, just like it always does. “It’s exquisite.”

Camille looks up, sensing a shift in my tone. “It is.”

“No, I mean, that’s what my mother used to say about it.” I manage a smile despite the rather dull ache in my chest. “That’s where I first learned the word. She’d take it from her jewelry box and slide it onto her hand, fluttering her fingers like this.” I demonstrate as Camille’s eyes glint with unshed tears. “She’d say, ‘Have you ever seen anything so exquisite?’ And I’d tell her I hadn’t, even though I had no idea what the word meant.” I swallow hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “All I knew is that ‘exquisite’ must mean the most precious, priceless treasure imaginable. That’s why I want you to have it.”

“Oh, Ash.” Tears roll down her cheeks as she throws her arms around me. “I love it so much. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her lithe little body curves against mine as we stand there holding each other. The slosh of the sea, the stir of a tropical breeze, the nicker of two happy ponies—all of it together makes this moment more perfect.

“Thank you.” She draws back and sniffles, admiring the ring on her finger. “And you’re right, we agreed that it’s too soon for engagement. But for the record, I will marry the fuck out of you the moment you ask me for real.”

“Good to know.” I already knew, to be honest. We’ll get there in our own time.

But for now, we’ll just savor the start of this journey together.

***

Swooooooon!

Oh, man…grumpy billionaires sock me in the feels every time, especially when sunshiney women bring them to their knees. Did you fall for Ash and Camille as hard as I did?

Up next, we’ve got Sara and Trent’s story and you definitely haven’t seen the last of Logan the ex-Marine consort. Their story comes next with The All-Inclusive. Here’s an exclusive peek just for you…

YOUR EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK AT THE ALL-INCLUSIVE

SARA

“We’re here!”

I’m swilling the last of my champagne when Eve makes the announcement. As I lower my glass, I sway in my seat. It’s mostly from our limo lurching to a stop, but Eve shoots Camille a bemused look.

“You okay?” Camille plucks the empty flute from my hand and gives it to one of her sisters. The pregnant one—Courtney or Caitlynn or Clara or whichever one volunteered as our sober chaperone.

And before you go thinking my muddling the names is a sign that I’m smashed, I swear that’s not it. My friend has a fuck-ton of sisters.

“Fuck-ton.” I hiccup, then giggle. “You ever wonder how much a fuck-ton weighs? Like, do you measure in pounds or stones or kilograms? And is a fuck-ton less than a shitload?”

Okay, maybe I’m a little tipsy.

But not so drunk that I miss the knowing smiles my pals exchange. Eve and Camille spent my bachelorette party watching over me like tipsy mother hens, which is kinda their thing.

“Trent’s already here.” Camille tips her head toward the walkway leading to his Airbnb. “Ash says they dropped off your groom forty minutes ago and Trent’s very excited to see you.”

“And I’m reeeeeallly excited to see him.” I hiccup again, which turns into a fresh round of giggles. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen the long-distance love of my life and I’m giddy to greet him tonight. “Naked, I mean. Did you know I get to see his penis for the first time in just—” I pause to count out the days and hours until our wedding. “Soon,” I declare, abandoning the math to smooth down my hair. A shower of glitter rains down on my lap and I giggle again.

“I bet it’s huge. Trent’s penis, I mean.” I lower my voice in case the other women in this limo aren’t as enlightened as Eve and Camille. “I know I’m supposed to be all meek and scared and hoping my first time doesn’t hurt, but you want to know a secret?”

Eve tucks a shock of hair behind my ear. “What’s that?”

“I want him to fuck me so hard that I feel it for days.” Whoops, that came out louder than I meant it to. Camille’s sister snickers, along with my cousin and a bridesmaid I’ve known since church camp in third grade.

But I’m serious. “I’ve waited sooooo long to have sex with Trent.” With anyone, really. Purity culture is big in my family. “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t want to get grabbed by the hair and pounded into the headboard until I see stars.”

Camille laughs and hands me a bottle of water “Good plan. You should make a pledge to yourself that you’ll always tell Trent exactly what you want.”

“Okay.” Twisting the cap off the water, I gulp half of it down.

“I’m serious,” she says as I finish the rest of the bottle. “That’s really important.”

“I understand.” And I tend to listen to my sex therapist friend when it comes to stuff like this.

“Come on,” Eve says. “We’ll walk you to the door.”

“I’m okay.” Grabbing my purse, I try to crawl over Camille. “Maybe I’ll try one of those tips from the sex guide you gave me. That thing where I greet him naked at the door?”

“Um, sweetie?” Eve grabs my hips to hold me in the limo while Camille gets out ahead of me. “I think that’s only for when you’re on the other side of the door.”

“Right.” I unhook my bra and wriggle it out through the sleeve of my dress as Eve helps me exit the limo. I hand her the offending undergarment, along with the sparkly bride sash I’ve worn all night. “I’m good, I swear.”

“You’re adorable.” Camille puts an arm around me. “Let’s go, girl.”

The door of the rental cottage swings open, and Oh. My. God.

Trent stands in the doorway, shirtless and rippling with muscle. My mouth goes dry at the sight of my groom, who gives me a smile that could melt off my panties. I mean, I’m not technically wearing panties, since I ditched them in the bathroom of the last bar we hit.

What? It’s easier to pee without underpants. Efficiency, baby.

“I’ve got her.” Trent strides down the walk and loops a big arm around my waist. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi.” God, he smells good.

From inside the limo, I hear gasps and some whispers.

That’s him?

So hot!

He’s a Navy SEAL.

Trent ignores them, smiling down into my eyes. “You had fun?”

“So much fun.” I hiccup, then giggle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Smoothing some flyaway hair from my face, he nods to my friends. “Thanks for keeping her safe. And for showing her a good time.”

The order of those two priorities pings something in my brain, but it’s gone in a gin-soaked instant. I turn to my friends and give them a wobbly wave.

“Bye, guys! Thanks for the fun night.”

“You, too.” There’s a chorus of cheers and a jumble of voices wishing me good night and good luck and good tidings for tearing off Trent’s clothes with my teeth.

That last one might be just in my head.

“Hey, Sar.” Trent holds me close as he guides me inside and eases me onto the sofa. “Got you a big glass of water right there and a couple Advil.”

“But my head doesn’t hurt.” I toss them back anyway, since Trent has more experience with this sorta thing.

The affection in his smile makes my chest feel full of melted butter. “And now it won’t hurt tomorrow.” He sits down beside me and pulls my bare feet onto his lap. My shoes must have vanished somewhere between the limo and the couch, but I don’t care about that right now.

I groan as his thumbs stroke my instep, sending bright sparks of desire up my legs. They zing through my bare thighs to the space right between them, and since I’m not wearing panties⁠—

“Hey!” I sling myself over his lap, coming to rest with a knee on each side of his hips. Pressing my forehead to his, I watch his familiar gold eyes flash with intrigue. “Where’d your shirt go?”

“Someone spilled beer on it.” He smiles and slides his hands down my back. “Where’d your shoes go?”

“Dunno.” With a devilish grin, I wiggle on his lap. “Same place my panties went, maybe?”

His eyes go molten as he squeezes my ass. “Are you trying to tempt me?”

“Maybe.” I wiggle again. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” He drags out the word so it feels like a feathery caress.

His hands on my ass make me bold, so I wiggle my hips again. “Did you have fun at your bachelor party?”

“I did. Ash took us whisky tasting.” He chuckles. “My SEAL buddies paid him back by taking us to that divey vegan strip club.”

“The one where the guy got stabbed?” You know it’s Portland when you have to specify which vegan strip club.

“That’s the one.” He kisses me softly; once on the cheekbone, once on the tip of my nose.

But that’s not the kissing I crave now. Finding his lips, I fuse us together, teasing his tongue with my own. Groaning, he tightens his grip on my ass. I’m rolling my hips, grinding against him like we’re fucking through clothing.

Dry humping’s kinda our thing since we’ve pledged to save sex for our wedding night.

But something feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the commanding squeeze of his hands on my ass. Maybe it’s my lack of panties. Things heat up in a hurry as our kissing turns hungry and a little bit feral. His tongue stroking mine feels fierce and masterful and I groan as I grind down against him. I’m probably soaking the front of his pants, but this feels too good to stop.

What would it feel like to slide Trent inside me?

To give in to these urges and finally have him for real.

Trent comes up for air, golden eyes hazed with a look I can’t read. “We should stop.” His oversized thumb skims the blade of my cheekbone. “I don’t want to, but we should stop.”

Licking my lips, I grind myself onto him. He’s hard as a rock and I’m aching to sink him inside me. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop.”

Those golden eyes widen but Trent doesn’t speak. I kiss him again, harder this time, as one of his hands glides up my side. When he gets to the edge of my breast, he lets out a low, strangled moan.

“Jesus, Sara.” He drags in a ragged breath. “You’re braless, too?”

“Yep.”

His big palm cups me over the top of my dress and he whispers a low, reverent curse. Testing the weight of my breast in his palm, he looks like he’s worshiping something. “So fucking sweet.”

Not that sweet.

I feel reckless and eager and aching for something I’ve never felt before. “We should have sex.”

Trent blinks, then blows out a breath of his own. “You’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk.” I kiss down the column of his neck, dragging my teeth to the spot on his shoulder that drives him wild. His skin is on fire, filling my senses with heat and desire. “Come on, baby.” I’m not ashamed to beg. “We’re so close to our wedding and we’ve waited this long⁠—”

“And we can wait just a little longer.” His fingertips tease at the edge of my breast. “I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”

My only regret will be not feeling Trent sink into me soon. Tonight, this minute, not in four weeks.

Right fucking now.

But if I say that out loud, it’ll only convince him I’m drunk.

“How about this?” I kiss my way back to one rounded bicep, still riding the hard, solid shaft in his pants. “We sign the marriage license right here, tonight.”

A low groan from Trent is his only response, which I take as a good sign from him. That, and the pad of his thumb caressing my nipple through my dress.

I keep going. “Your buddy—the one who’s a military chaplain?” I happen to know he’s in town for Trent’s bachelor party. “We ask him to marry us in a real ceremony tonight. We could get a couple neighbors to be witnesses and⁠—”

“God, baby.” Squeezing my breast, he breathes into the hollow of my throat. “If you don’t quit grinding on me like that, I’m gonna come in my pants.”

Trent’s not a dirty talker, so hearing him lose it spurs me on. “Let’s do it,” I urge. “It doesn’t even have to be the chaplain.” I always imagined a religious ceremony, but I’m so damn desperate. “Camille got ordained on the internet. They’ll come back here if I ask them to. She and Eve can be witnesses.”

I’m not even sure if he’s hearing me, since he’s kissing his way to the back of my ear. He nibbles my lobe, warm breath coasting over my skin. The hand on my ass grips me tighter, while the one on my breast makes me mindless.

Fuck, that feels good.

“Sara, sweetheart.” The need in his voice lights a fuse in my core.

“Right there with you, babe.” I grind on his fly, chasing my climax. I’m already so close to coming. “We’ll get married in secret,” I breathe. “Then we’ll spend the rest of the night fucking like rabbits. No one will know. We’ll have the wedding we planned in just a few weeks, but in the meantime, you and I will have this delicious, dirty little secret just for us.”

“Wait.” He jerks back and searches my eyes. “You’re serious right now.”

“Dead serious.” This isn’t the first time I’ve suggested not waiting for marriage.

But it’s the first time I’ve had such an excellent workaround. The first time I’ve wanted him this badly.

The twitch of his cock tells me Trent wants it, too. Shifting my hips, I give him a taste of what could be. What could happen tonight if only he would agree to my plan.

“Please, baby.” Biting my lip, I slide my hands up his bare chest. His heart drums my palms as I look into the eyes of the man I’ve loved since I was fourteen years old. “I want you so much.”

Trent closes his eyes and I watch his throat roll as he swallows. “I want you, too.”

“Then let’s do it. Please. It’ll be our little secret. We’ll sign the license and have our own little private ceremony right here. When we walk down the aisle in four weeks, we’ll have this naughty little hush-hush dirty secr⁠—”

“Sara, no.” When he opens his eyes, I see the fierce Navy SEAL who’s conditioned for order and discipline. “We can’t.”

The rejection stings, but the throb of his cock says he wants me. Maybe he needs just a little more coaxing.

“I’m not that drunk.” My sex-addled brain scrambles to fend off his arguments. “And if we make it legal first⁠—”

“Secrets are poison.” He shakes his head slowly, looking tortured and hollow. “Secrets wreck lives.”

I blink.

That’s his argument?

“But—”

“Sara, I want you.” He squeezes his eyes shut and cradles my hips, shifting me off his lap. I scramble to tug down my dress and stay upright. “I’ve always wanted you,” he continues. “I’ve wanted you since marshmallows.”

Marshmallows.

He means the first day we met. Trent was the cadet colonel of our school’s Junior ROTC and ran an orientation icebreaker pairing seniors with incoming freshmen. I didn’t discover until months later that he ordered another cadet to switch spots for the privilege of building a marshmallow structure with me. We won first place and Trent got my number.

But back to this current rejection.

Reseating myself right beside him, I put a hand on his bicep. “Trent?”

“Yeah?” He’s not making eye contact now. He stares at my bare thigh, which his big hand covers like he’s claiming me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Still no eye contact. Something’s very wrong.

“Honey?” My heart starts to gallop, and not for the reasons it’s raced since I got here. “Talk to me, Trent.”

He draws in a breath and looks up. His golden eyes look tortured, but sincere. “You have no idea how badly I want you right now.”

“Uh, I might have a clue.” I glance at the damp spot I left on his pants. “I was just trying to get creative with when we’re legally married.”

That’s how it works here in Oregon. We just need the license, a ceremony of some sort, and two witnesses. Totally do-able tonight.

Since Trent isn’t speaking, I try pleading my case one more time. “If we’re secretly married a few weeks before⁠—”

“I can’t.” He bolts off the couch, raking both hands through his buzzcut. As Trent starts to pace, his breathing gets labored and rough. “Secrets are no way to start off a marriage.”

My gin-addled brain feels sluggish and weird. I watch the man walk back and forth in front of me, a reaction that seems so bizarre.

Something’s not adding up here.

“Um, Trent?”

“Yeah?” He keeps right on pacing.

“Did something happen with one of the strippers?” It’s a wild guess, but he freezes like I’ve accused him of spying for foreign enemies.

“Absolutely not.”

I believe him. “Okay.”

So what is it? What’s wrong?

“Honey?”

“What?”

“Could you stop pacing and talk to me?” This is starting to scare me. “I hear you, okay? We can wait another four weeks. Let’s just—fool around a little.”

I hold out a hand, hoping to coax him back to the couch. “It’s all right,” I insist. “I can wait a few weeks for the full-meal deal.”

Trent stops pacing and stares at my hand. Slowly, like it pains him to look at me, his eyes lift to mine.

I’ve never seen such a haunted expression. Not even the time he returned from a mission in Yemen that I knew had gone wrong. He’s never allowed to share details, but a woman knows.

Which is how I know what’s coming. I feel it in my bones, an ache that almost doubles me over.

Then his eyelids fall shut and he utters the words that flip my whole world upside down.

“I can’t do this, Sara,” he says as his throat bobs. “We can’t get married.”

***

Three weeks later, I’m sitting with Eve and Camille in our favorite spot at Olive or Twist. They’re drinking cocktails while I sip kombucha and frown at the app on Camille’s phone.

“What’s this?” I tap a pink nail to one menu selection, turning the screen so she can read it. “Shibari—what is that?”

“Bondage.” Camille takes a sip of her drink. “It’s an ancient form of Japanese bondage using silk ropes and artful tying skills. It’s uh—maybe not where you want to start out.”

“Oh.” I’m getting a peek at the app that’s only available to guests of the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. Registered guests, or women who’ve been there before.

I’m still deciding whether to join their ranks.

Eve touches my arm as sympathy fills her green eyes. “Did you like what you read about the virginity packages at Crystal Bliss?”

Shrugging, I set down my glass. I’ve laid off the gin since the night of my party, but the back of my tongue tastes sour.

“The packages sound fine,” I mumble, setting Camille’s phone on the table. “I feel weird about the resort’s requirement that I meet with someone beforehand to discuss my issues.” That’s my word, not theirs, but the implication’s there. “Can’t I just go to the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club and get banged senseless like you did?”

Camille answers that one, since she’s engaged to the owner of the luxury sex resort. “Ash says they take extra precautions to make sure virgin jilted brides are emotionally prepared for the experience.”

“Fuck that.” Gritting my teeth, I glare at her phone. “I’m so tired of other people controlling my sexual decisions.”

“Totally understandable.” Eve squeezes my arm, then picks up her drink. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

Except I kinda do. “My parents bought us the honeymoon package. They agreed to let me keep the credit, but⁠—”

“Ah,” Camille says as understanding dawns. “You’re afraid they’ll take it back if they know how you plan to use it?”

“Pretty much.” I still can’t believe I’m considering it. Me, a woman engaged to my best friend since forever. A woman who did everything right.

How could this happen?

Trent couldn’t explain. Wouldn’t is more like it.

The very next day, he flew out for a last-minute op. Some top-secret mission he couldn’t tell me about. Nothing new there, except for the text that came the next day confirming our wedding was off. That he intended to pay all the bills for it, but that I shouldn’t try to reach him. He said he was sorry.

Fucking sorry. After nearly a decade together.

Eve sets down her glass. “How are your parents doing, anyway?”

“They’re heartbroken.” They loved Trent like a son. “Kinda mad. A little confused that I’m talking about taking a trip by myself.”

I haven’t exactly told them about the sex resort. As far as they know, I’d be using the credit for some run-of-the-mill tropical trip.

“Trent’s already paid for the photographer and the church.” I pick up my glass and mutter the words into my kombucha. “We’re still haggling with the caterer and one of the musicians and—” Tears spring to my eyes as I face the finality of it all. “I still can’t believe it. I don’t even know where he went.”

Camille hands me a tissue. “I know it’s not easy,” she says softly. “But at least you’re used to that part. Trent’s never been able to tell you where he’s deployed.”

That’s true. “I thought I was used to the secretive nature of being married to a Navy SEAL.” I wince. “Not married. You know what I mean.”

“We do.” Eve’s smile is gentle. “Makes sense he’d have to keep secrets about taking down terrorists and spying on bad guys.”

“I guess.” There’s that word again.

Secrets.

I still don’t get why that word seemed to trigger him.

Swiping my eyes with the tissue, I take a fortifying sip of kombucha. “You know what felt so good about that last night with Trent? I mean, before he said he couldn’t marry me.”

Camille offers another tissue. “What’s that?”

“Coming up with a workaround for premarital sex.” I still think my plan was a good one. “It felt amazing to take charge of my sexuality. To say ‘fuck it’ to letting our parents feel smug and superior for ushering two grown-ass virgins down the aisle like it’s some kind of parental achievement.”

Eve frowns. “I thought you said Trent wasn’t a virgin.”

“Whatever.” Waving a hand to dismiss this small detail, I accidentally signal a waiter. “Gin martini,” I call before lowering my voice to explain more to Eve.

“We agreed we’d never share details of what happened when we were apart during boot camp and BUD/S and pre-deployment training.” I had three years of high school to finish, so I urged Trent to sow some wild oats. At the end of that stretch, he came home and went straight to church with his mom. “We’ve also split up a few times for his longer deployments.”

“That’s right,” Eve says, snapping her fingers. “And after that last one, he came back and proposed.”

“Exactly.” Trent knew from the start that I wanted to wait until marriage. “We always said saving sex for our wedding night would make it special.”

Camille knows all this, and as a sex therapist, she tries not to judge. “Sweetie.” That’s her not-judging voice. “You know I respect your choices one thousand percent. I supported you waiting until marriage, and I support you now that you’re considering flying off to the Caribbean on some deflowering quest.”

I don’t miss her wince at that word choice. “I know ‘deflowering’ is a gross concept.” I get it, I do. “Virginity as a commodity in women feels sexist and old-fashioned and I’m a little embarrassed by the whole thing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” That’s Eve with her hand on my arm. “I grew up like you did. It’s hard to shake the notion of what you’re supposed to do.”

That’s exactly how I wound up a twenty-three-year-old virgin. “I thought Trent was the one.” I swallow back tears, along with a sip of the icy martini that magically appears in front of me. “It felt special to wait for each other. But if he doesn’t want me, then it feels like I need to reclaim my sexuality.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” Camille considers me. “Just please keep in mind that sex isn’t only about putting a penis in a vagina.”

“Ugh.” I suck down more gin. “Can we please not talk like we’re in eighth grade health class?”

She chuckles and picks up her own drink. “You’re right. My point is that ‘sex’”—she makes air quotes on that one—“runs a huge gamut from oral to anal to digital penetration, or even no penetration at all. There are so many gender expressions and sexual identities and ways to rub two bodies together.”

“Or three bodies.” Eve smirks over the rim of her glass. “Or four. Or⁠—”

“I know.” It’s thanks to these friends that I’m even aware there’s so much to explore. “I also know my Aunt Ava’s ‘roommate’ isn’t really her roommate, even if my parents pretend she is.” My dad’s oldest sister has a chilly relationship with the rest of the family, but I adore Ava and her partner. “I wouldn’t call her a virgin, even if she’s never had sex with a man.”

“Exactly.” Camille looks pleased that I get it. She hands me her phone and restarts the app for the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. “All I’m saying is you don’t have to jump on the first dick you see when you get there.”

Eve snorts into her glass. “The oral enchantments were some of my favorites. And the happy ending massages…” She trails off with a wink at Camille. “I’ll stop now.”

“It’s fine.” Camille snorts. “I’m fully aware you’ve explored all your sexual fantasies with my brother. And that’s what I’m hoping for for Sara.”

I frown. “You want me to bang Kit?” Eve might have something to say about that.

“I want you to explore. To discover what you want and how to go after it.” Camille folds her hands on the table. “Don’t rush right to the main event. Give yourself time to find out what truly excites you.”

“I do like the sound of that.” That’s why, if I go, I’ll book more than a week. Maybe ten days or two weeks.

Lifting my gaze, I look from Eve to Camille. “Okay.”

Eve brightens. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I’m going.” I swallow and wait for the words to sink in. A bright little tingle starts at the base of my spine and swells up. “I’m going to the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.”

Camille puts her hand over mine. “You call the shots, Sara. This is your chance to learn what you want.”

Trent.

I don’t say that out loud, but he’s what I want. Deep down inside, for as long as I’ve lived, I’ve only hungered for him.

But Trent’s not an option, so I pick up my drink and draw back my shoulders. “I’m ready,” I tell them. “Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

The clink of our glasses sends the sharp sting of tears to the back of my throat. But I swallow them down, steeling myself for whatever’s to come.

For a future I can’t wrap my head around now.

***

Want to keep reading? Grab The All-Inclusive right here:

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Oh, and if you’re wondering where you might’ve seen Camille before, she was the heroine’s bestie in my rom-com, Ask Me. While not nearly as spicy as the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club, my Cherry Blossom Lake series promises plenty of laughter, tears, and tingly bits. Here’s a peek at Ask Me, including the opening scene where you kinda sorta meet Camille…

YOUR EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK AT ASK ME

BROOKE

This is the moment. The one I’ll reflect on as my big aha. The day the clouds parted, sunlight streamed bright, and my path forward flowed clear and certain.

“Wipe the duck poop off your face.” My assistant, Maxine, offers a towel, and the kindness of feigning she didn’t just see me flop face first into the lake. “And, um—your dress is tucked in your underwear.”

Spitting a mouthful of mud, I take the towel with gratitude. “You’re an angel.”

She looks at her watch. “Don’t kill me, but we’ve got twenty minutes until your interview with Vanity Fair.”

“Thank you.” I mop my face and stealthily yank some gauzy purple tulle from my ass. “May I please have one minute alone to collect myself?”

Max nods, though she looks unsure. “I’ve got a brand-new iPhone on its way to the house now.” She’s backing toward her rental car like I’m a fugitive who might escape. “By the time you get showered, I should have it synced with your old one.”

“I appreciate that.”

She holds out her hand and I fish in the pocket of my gown for the waterlogged phone. At least I got pockets. That’s all I asked for when my publisher hatched this plan for publicity shots of me, looking pensive and wise in a lavender dress, cloaked in fog at the helm of a red rowboat.

Never mind that no wise woman rows in the rain wearing Givenchy. I wanted those pockets. Something to blend beauty with whimsy and practicality. Something approachable. Much like the advice I dish out in books and podcasts and my globally syndicated column.

I’m regretting those pockets since my car keys now rest at the bottom of Cherry Blossom Lake. At least I held on to my phone. As I drag it from folds of wet tulle, dripping and wrapped in water weed, that’s not much comfort.

Max accepts it stoically. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Thank you.” I draw a breath and turn to face the lake. It’s lovely here. Ducks thread their feathered bodies through the fingers of a willow as sunbeams sweep away morning mist. A gentle breeze lifts the ocean’s roar over the highway and across to the lake, carrying damp strands of moss and pine that cloak the shore in a fragrant lace.

Grace loved the smell of rain in the forest.

My heart twists as I turn my back on the lake. With as much dignity as I can muster, I pick kelp from my hair and make my way to Maxine’s car.

She’s already got the engine running. “I’ve called a tow truck to handle your car, and I sent you some talking points for the Vanity Fair interview.” Max steers us away from the lakeshore back to Driftwood Drive, eyes on the road. “And I know you think the shoot was a disaster, but the art director sounded thrilled.”

“They called?” That was quick.

Maxine turns left on Oceanlake Terrace. “Preston Publishing already got the raw shots. They’re ecstatic we captured that ethereal, melancholy mood they wanted.”

“Great.” That sounded sarcastic, so I try again. “I’m happy if they’re happy.”

Max glances over. “You’re happy?”

I consider that. “Working on it.”

Because let’s be honest: It’s hard to be cheerful with my publisher pushing for a book about grieving my dead sister.

“Here we are.” Max pulls through the horseshoe drive at the front of the lakefront mansion. The driveway’s lined with crushed seashells, bleached by the sun or maybe some chemical that keeps it all sparkling white. The house hunkers over us like a prehistoric beast. With six suites and stunning views from each room, it’s much too big for one person. Thank God Max plans to stay, at least for the first month.

I stare at the house, not ready to go in. This isn’t home, not even close. The mansion was built by some aging pop star who sold it a month later. Rumor has it he went straight to rehab and hasn’t emerged. The place boasts a stellar security system and a state-of-the-art recording studio where I’ll do my podcast for the next few months. When my publisher found it, that felt like a sign.

But as lake water leaks from my ears, I’m rereading the sign. Caution, it might’ve read. Do not Enter.

Maybe Slippery When Wet.

“There’s a smile.” Max sounds relieved as she sets the brake. “Go in and get cleaned up. I’ll have the reporter wait in the study.”

Tears fill my eyes unexpectedly. I’m so very lucky. I am. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?”

“Yes.” She squeezes my hand. “But it’s nice to hear.”

As she hops out to catch the courier bringing my new phone, I drip up the driveway and into the house for a shower. Ten minutes of suds and steam leave me feeling half human instead of like a swamp creature.

Progress.

I blow-dry my hair, slick on some tinted lip balm, and touch my lashes with mascara. My agent assured me there’s no photographer at this interview, but I still pick my outfit with care. A flowy linen top in pale cream with faded jeans. No shoes, mostly because I’m not sure which box I packed them in.

I can already guess how the article will describe me. “Comfortably barefoot and fresh-faced, Brooke Braham looks every bit her part as America’s most trusted friend.”

As I pad down the hall to the study, I pause to fix a vase of lilies from Preston Publishing. “Best wishes!” the card proclaims in neat, scripted font.

Translation: Finish the book, you overhyped flake.

Drawing a breath, I slip through the study to find Max looking grim. “I’m so sorry.” She hands me a brand-new iPhone. “Vanity Fair had to postpone.” She sets a mug of tea on the desk. “They canceled this morning, and I didn’t see the email and I’m so, soooo sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I honestly feel like an asshole for having an assistant in the first place. “I should be checking my own email.”

“But—”

“Max, it’s a relief.” I manage a shaky smile. “Truly.”

“If you say so.” She points at the phone in my hand. “I got your data ported, but your contacts are still loading. The cell service says it might be a couple hours.”

“Thank you.” I look out the window and ponder a walk on the beach. I should be writing, but I’m hardly in the right headspace after my unplanned dip in the lake.

I turn back to Max. “Take the afternoon off,” I say. “Go get yourself one of those muffins you love from Weirdoughs.”

Her eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“You haven’t stopped talking about them since we rolled into town.” A muffin’s the least I can do for her. “Get whatever you want. Lunch or a whole chocolate cake. Charge it to Preston Publishing’s account.”

She searches my face. “Do you want anything?”

I don’t, but she’ll fret if I don’t eat. “A sandwich would be nice.”

“Great.” She grabs her keys and hurries for the door. “There’s a new pile of fan mail on the table.”

“Thank you.” I listen for footsteps and the crunch of her tires on the driveway. Then I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Alone with my thoughts, I flop in the overstuffed chair by the window. I dragged it here last night, to the only spot facing the ocean. I sat here until two in the morning, watching the twinkle of lights on distant fishing boats.

God, this feels weird.

My new phone dings and I glance at the screen.

UNKNOWN: I’m here for you.

Tears fill my eyes. What would I do without Maxine? Even minus a contact name, I’d know her compassion anywhere.

ME: Thank you.

I hesitate, knowing I owe her much more.

ME: That means a lot to me, especially now.

Feeling the love, I read back through her message. That’s when I catch it. A tiny emoji that looks like a tool. Pliers?

Oooh.

This isn’t Max. It’s Camille Plier, my best friend from grad school. My oldest and dearest pal who pledged to check in on me this morning.

I reread my reply and decide it still fits. Just to be thorough, I type out another response.

ME: I’ve had a rough morning, so your text came at exactly the right time.

The bubbles appear, indicating Camille’s reply.

UNKNOWN: Glad to help. Sorry your morning sucks.

I laugh because that’s so Camille. She cuts right to the point, no glossy words or flowy shrink-speak. It’s what I love best about her. Our friendship’s seen me through some rough stuff.

Thinking of that gets me thinking of other tough times. Some happy ones, too. There’s been plenty of joy in my life. Even some silliness.

ME: Remember that party in El Cerrito? When I drank too much sangria and took off my top?

Of course she remembers. Camille’s the one who dared me to get up on that table and strip to “One Hot Mess,” by Malea. God, I was young. So young and reckless and completely clueless where my life might be headed.

Wistfulness twists in my chest as I type out more of the memory.

ME: I will never forgive you for gifting me those pink nipple tassels. I still can’t believe I did that.

Or that Camille took pictures. Like a very good friend, she deleted them that night. I watched her do it, never fearing they might reappear in some tabloid rag. She’s loyal like that.

Camille’s not responding, but I’m on a roll now.

ME: Call when you get a sec. I feel like I’m cycling through the next stage of grief, which you’ll say is a sign I should get laid.

She’s not wrong. My sexual appetite was always strong. But ever since Grace died, I haven’t had the heart for casual sex. It’s too soon, I know that, but a girl can dream.

Or feign spunk for a worried friend, which is what I do now.

ME: Lots of hot men in this town. I should find a fling. Some hot Oregon lumberjack with tattoos and a really huge⁠—

I pause to go hunting for the eggplant emoji. That’s the symbol for penis, right? My emoji game isn’t strong like hers, but I’m smiling as I hit send.

God, I miss my friend. My sister, too. I know I came here hoping for a fresh start. For a chance to clear my head and write this book near the place where Gracie took her last breath.

But until Camille texted, I didn’t know how homesick I’d be.

She’s not responding, which means she’s on a call. Camille does telemedicine and typically books her appointments in the morning. Just to be cute, I send a longer string of eggplants, then a peach emoji and that sequence I’ve seen with a finger poking at the circle of a hand looped in an OK sign. The universal symbol for finger bang? I think that’s it.

It’s childish, I know, but it’s making me laugh, and how long has it been since I’ve done that?

My phone pings in my hand. Another text?

No, Camille’s calling. Max set a ringtone I don’t recognize. Lifting the phone to my ear, I answer with a smirk.

“This is Brooke Braham speaking, but you can call me Sparkle Tits.” That’s what she dubbed me the night of that party. “How may I help you?”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. Then a gruff rumble.

“Lady, I’m gonna stop you right there.” A man clears his throat and I nearly drop the phone. “Not sure who you think you’re texting, but this is your tow truck driver.”

The blood drains from my head. My hand starts to shake, and I really do drop the phone. Snatching it up, I scroll to that very first text.

UNKNOWN: I’m here for you.

Oh.

My.

God.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lift the phone to my ear. “I am so unbelievably sorry.” My voice sounds shaky and weird. “Truly, I have no words. I want you to know I would never intentionally address a stranger like that and I⁠—”

“Ma’am, it’s fine.”

Ugh. Ma’am? He’s probably eighty years old. I’ve sexually harassed someone’s grandpa.

“I just—” Should I try to explain? “It’s a new phone, and I saw the pliers and thought⁠—”

“Pliers?”

“The emoji in your first text.”

Another pause. “That’s a wrench.”

“A wrench?” I shouldn’t ask. “What’s the difference?”

The man has the patience of a saint. “A wrench is used for turning objects like lug nuts in a circular pattern,” he informs me. “Pliers are hand tools for gripping and twisting objects. Pinchers, if you will.”

I’m so embarrassed. More than I was ten seconds ago, and that’s saying something. “May I apologize again, please?”

“No need.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

Like that’s possible. “I can’t believe I texted all that.” Except I kind of can. Given the morning I’ve had—the year I’ve had—I’m not quite myself. “Please forgive me, um—” Did he tell me his name?

“Kaleb,” he says, and he’s definitely chuckling now. “It’s not a problem.”

If he speaks to the press, it might be. But that’s the least of my concerns. “Kaleb,” I say, still kicking myself. “Can you give me five minutes to find some shoes and a sweater?” I hesitate, then roll the dice on that chuckle. On him having a sense of humor. “While I’m at it,” I add, “I’ll search for my dignity, too.”

This time he laughs. A throaty sound, a rumble I feel from my toes to the tips of my fingers. Maybe some other parts, too.

Kaleb isn’t eighty. Mid-thirties, I’m guessing. Credit a million podcast call-ins for my ability to read voices, even if I missed the mark at first.

“Don’t search too hard.” He’s still laughing softly, a tone that sounds sexy and rough. “But keep me posted if you find those nipple tassels.”

He clicks off as my face bursts into flames.

***

Want to keep reading? Grab Ask Me right here:

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It sometimes feels weird to drop anyone’s name in a story so jam-packed with sexy stuff, but I can’t not thank the following amazing folks.

Huge, heaping gobs of thanks to David Michael of Encompass Press LLC for your editorial guidance throughout this series. I promise you’ll get what you asked for in book #3!

Thank you to Jaycee of Sweet ’N Spicy Designs for the swoon-worthy covers. You’ve perfectly capturing the luxe, suggestive vibe I wanted for the Jilted Brides Honeymoon collection and I can’t gush with enough gratitude.

I’m incredibly grateful to the amazing crew of influencers and reviewers helping to spread the word about this series. Your Goodreads and Amazon reviews make me squeal like a girl each time I read one, and all your posts and reels have helped move the needle so much! I couldn’t do this without your support.

Big thanks to my street team, Fenske’s Frisky Posse, for your name suggestions, ARC reading, and other support along the way. Special thanks to everyone who went the extra mile wrangling typos in the ARCs, including Judy Wagner and Leslie Blaisdell.

Most of all, thank you to the best business manager I’ve ever banged. You keep the manuscripts organized, the promo campaigns booked, and the author calm and happy and fed. I’ve adored being married to you for more than a decade, but more than that, I love running this business together. And in case I wasn’t clear, I love the hell out of you, Craig Zagurski. Let’s grow old disgracefully together?

DON’T MISS OUT!

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https://tawnafenske.com/bonus-content/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”

Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.

ALSO BY TAWNA FENSKE

The Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club Erotic Romance Series

The Upgrade

The VIP Package

The All-Inclusive

The Cherry Blossom Lake Romantic Comedy Series

Try Me

Charm Me

Hold Me

Ask Me

Take Me

The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy Series

Studmuffin Santa

Chef Sugarlips

Sergeant Sexypants

Hottie Lumberjack

Stiff Suit

Mancandy Crush (novella)

Captain Dreamboat

Snowbound Squeeze (novella)

Dr. Hot Stuff

The Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedy Series

Show Time

Let It Show

Show Down

Show of Honor

Just for Show

Show Off

The Assassins in Love Series

Killer Looks (free prequel novella)

Killer Instincts

Killer Moves

Killer Smile

The Sugar & Spice Erotic Romance Series

Eye Candy

Tough Cookie

Honey Do

The Where There’s Smoke Series

The Two-Date Rule

Just a Little Bet

The Best Kept Secret

Standalone Romantic Comedies

At the Heart of It

This Time Around

Now That It’s You

Let it Breathe

About That Fling

Frisky Business

Believe It or Not

Making Waves

The Front and Center Series

Marine for Hire

Fiancée for Hire

Best Man for Hire

Protector for Hire

The First Impressions Series

The Fix Up

The Hang Up

The Hook Up

The List Series

The List

The Test

The Last

Standalone novellas and other wacky stuff

Going Up (novella)

Eat, Play, Lust (novella)