Chapter 16
JETT
I hang up abruptly, punching a button to end the call with my finger.
The old man never lets up.
We've barely arrived and the old man is hassling me about an email he sent.
Have I read it?
Can I give it some consideration while I'm here?
This is important, Jett.
I didn't read his email. I skimmed through it late last night.
He's offering me ten million dollars if I agree to this arranged marriage, and he wants my answer by the time I return to New York. It sounds like he’s in a rush.
It would be a real marriage, he says. But with no strings attached. Something fake that we’d need to do for a year, but the specific terms of the deal could be ironed out to suit me.
I shiver in disgust.
I couldn’t do that to Brooke.
But she would have a mother.
I don’t want a mother for her to be bought or temporary. This isn’t what I want for my daughter. Or me. It’s the first time it hits me that money can’t buy everything.
My father’s demands echo in my head, and no matter what I do, it’s never enough. He always talks business, pushing me into meetings I don’t need, deals I’ve already wrapped up. When it comes to control, the man can’t help himself.
I exhale, rubbing my forehead. I’ll deal with this when I return. There’s no point reasoning with him when I’m hundreds of miles away. I’ll kill this idea when I see him next.
As I glance out the window, I feel the heat from the afternoon sun, its rays shining over turquoise waves. This trip should feel like an escape, but it’s already turning into another battlefield—just in a different setting.
I check with my bodyguard. “Has the luggage arrived yet?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve already moved it upstairs.”
“Thank you.”
I head back upstairs. Brooke is still sound asleep in her bed, her little chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful breaths. I lean down, brushing a kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t stir. Good. She needs the rest. Tonight’s barbecue might be more than she can handle.
As I turn, I notice the adjoining door is open. Cari’s standing by the window, staring out at the ocean, completely unaware of me as I observe her. She seems lost in thought, with a dazed expression on her face. I can sense that she feels out of place here, and this might have been too much to put on her. I should have just accepted her resignation instead of binding it to a favor.
Every time we’re in close quarters, something shifts between us. The walls I’ve built around myself are crumbling piece by piece. I clear my throat. “I trust the room is fine?”
She spins around, startled. I didn’t knock. I should have, but there are times when I feel an unspoken connection between us, and I feel it now, on this trip. Sometimes, she just knows I’m there before I say anything. There are too many moments like that lately. Moments I shouldn’t dwell on.
“It’s wonderful.” Her cheeks turn pink like they always do when she’s flustered.
“I gave you this room with the connecting door to Brooke’s. Figured you’d want some privacy, but you’ll still be close enough to check on her.”
Her smile is tight, a little awkward. “This is great. Thank you. It’s … it’s a beautiful place.”
She’s not wrong. The Knight mansion is one of those rare gems, it looks like a spectacular show home but is very much lived in and loved. This place is filled with wonderful memories for being so grand and opulent. The tropical blooms, swaying palm trees, and manicured gardens stretching towards the ocean give it a light and airy feel.
We spent many happy summers here and it makes me think of time spent with my mom, Dex, and Zach. Unfortunately, those memories are faded and blurred. Nothing is in sharp focus. I can barely recall my mom’s face or fine features. It’s all based on what I've seen in old photographs. I do know that it was a happy time. I remember that she looked happy. We looked happy. But all the pictures are of her and us, and our father is not in any of them. There's not a single picture of the two of them together.
Cari lets out a soft, nervous laugh, her hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s so funny?” I ask, tilting my head.
“It’s … just that ... what's not to like? My entire apartment could fit in this room.” She gestures around, her eyes wide and filled with that disbelief I’ve seen so many times.
I remember her apartment well. “You think so?”
She gives me a wry smile. “You have no idea how most people live, Mr. Knight.”
Her bluntness catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always spoken her mind—about business, at least. But she never comments on personal things. On relationships. On me.
I bite back a sharp retort. “I see the luggage is here,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “Good. You’ll need a change of clothes for tonight.”
She frowns. “I will? For what?”
“We’ve been invited to a barbecue.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “A barbecue?”
I nod. “One of my old friends is hosting us. I’ve got some business to handle.”
“Oh.” She hesitates, her voice softer now. “I didn’t realize you would start working straightaway.”
“I know this year has been tough on you. And I haven’t exactly made it easier.” Hell, I’ve probably made it worse. I was so stressed about the Vanhelm deal, and it brought out the worst in me, in the way I treated her. I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.
She blinks rapidly, like she’s processing my words, but then she changes the subject. “Sorry, I’m jetlagged and overwhelmed and hungry.”
“Jetlagged after such a short trip?” It was just over two hours. Brooke has probably worn her out, when she was awake. “Get some rest. If you're hungry, just go down to the kitchen and get the house staff to make you something.”
She looks at me as if I've asked her to land on Mars. “Get them to make me something?”
“They're here for whatever you need.”
“I'm not used to asking people for things.”
“You’re not used to this kind of life,” I say, a half smile forming on my lips. “But get used to it. No one’s going to let you make your own sandwich here.”
Her expression changes, something in her eyes rejecting what I’ve just said. She’s not like the others, Jett. Remember that.
Most women I know—hell, most women I date—are already part of this world. They get it. They thrive in it. But Cari? She’s different. She’s always been different. And it’s becoming harder to ignore.
“Are you okay?” I don’t want her to be uncomfortable here.
“I will be once I’ve gotten my bearings. Do I really need to be at the barbecue?” Her voice sounds a little too hopeful. I sigh. Of course she’d say that . We don’t spend time together outside of work. We don’t socialize. I didn’t think this through. “You do, because of Brooke.”
Her shoulders sag, then she nods like she’s defeated. “Okay.”
I turn to leave, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve said all the wrong things today. Or maybe it’s not what I’ve said—but what I haven’t.
CARI
I shower, then stretch out on the oversized, luxurious bed, but my eyes stayed wide open, fixed on the ceiling. I was waiting for Brooke to awake from her nap.
Every so often, I sit up to stare at the ocean through the huge windows. The view takes my breath away each time. It’s too beautiful to be real.
Being here feels like stepping into a dream, until Jett’s face pushes its way into my thoughts again. Then it all fades.
There’s something happening between us, something strange. I keep saying things I wouldn’t normally say, or overstepping boundaries I shouldn’t. But it’s not just me. Jett’s been ... off, as well.
He mentioned my mom, touched on what a hard year it’s been for me. He even admitted that he hasn’t been easy to be around. For sure he hasn't—he's been an absolute pain in the butt.
Since my mom passed, I’ve felt numb, muted. That numbness is probably the only thing that’s kept me from breaking under Jett’s sharp tongue. But here I am now, trapped in the Knight mansion. Trapped in Aurora . What a pretty name for a house. Being here feels too close—to him, to all of this. I can’t seem to get far enough away to breathe. It’s dangerous, being around him all the time. I miss home. I miss Eliana. I miss Aunt Scarlett.
I hear a patter of footsteps before Brooke bursts into the room, her face lit with excitement. “Cari, can we go to the beach now? I asked Daddy, but he's in a meeting.” She stops her sentence with a pout.
A meeting? Already? So much for him spending time with his daughter. I intend to make sure Brooke has the best vacation, even if Jett Knight can't live up to his promises. I’ll make sure this little girl has the vacation of her lifetime. “Sure we can! Let's get ready.” I've unpacked her clothes and put them away, so I pull her cute pink swimsuit out of the drawer.
“I can get ready by myself,” Brooke insists, snatching the swimsuit out of my hands.
“Good. You do that, and I'll get ready, too.” Just before I leave, I pull out the big bottle of SPF fifty sunscreen from her bathroom. “We need to put this all over us or we will burn. Wait for me. I’ll do it.”
She nods obediently, racing to get ready. I head to my room, deciding a quick swim might be nice—and a good way to explore the area near the house. Opening my suitcase, because I was too lazy to unpack my own clothes, my fingers brush over the plain, conservative swimwear I bought with me. The black tankini top that covers me down to my navel, and the shorts that go with it. “'Your nun's habit,” Aunt Scarlett said, sniffing disapprovingly.
“Packed your chastity belt?” Eliana quipped, before the two of them burst out laughing. I had to shoo them out of my room so that I could pack my suitcase without their eagle-eyed observations.
As I pull out the swimsuit my eyes land on the bikini Aunt Scarlett made me buy.
“You said you wanted to have fun,” I murmur to myself, recalling my resolve from the plane. Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip into the hot pink bikini.
I turn around, inspecting myself in the mirror. It's scandalously skimpy, hugging my curves and leaving very little to the imagination. The bikini might as well be painted on. It offers next to no coverage, the vibrant pink fabric barely conceals my breasts, and that ridiculous teeny triangle barely covers my private parts.
Good thing I got that bikini wax. No stray hairs peeking out from the teensy sides.
Flustered, I turn my back and gaze at my reflection. And blush. It's not quite a G string—as thin as dental floss—but it still exposes a lot of my bottom. I squirm in dismay. I might as well not wear anything.
But … I have a good figure. My breasts are perky and don’t look as small as I thought. The halter-neck gives them a lift. My stomach is flat and my legs are toned. I'm glad so Eliana coaxed me into going running with her in the evenings.
With my hair up in a messy bun, I toss some towels into the oversized beach bag and grab a sheer cover-up for some semblance of modesty. Then I hear a shriek from the other room.
“Brooke?” I rush out in a panic, and abruptly freeze in my tracks.
Jett is there, crouched beside Brooke, rubbing suntan lotion all over her. She’s giggling because it tickles. Then he turns to look at me, and his gaze locks on mine before trailing downward—slowly, deliberately. His eyes darken, shifting from piercing blue to something deeper, hotter, in the span of a heartbeat.
Time slows to a crawl and I clutch the cover-up in my hand. Great help that’s going to be.
His gaze feels like a physical touch, and my skin prickles in response. My nipples harden under the thin fabric, and I fight the urge to cross my arms.
“I-I t-thought you were in a …” I manage to say.
Meeting. Brooke said he was in a meeting.
“Y-you’re … going to the beach,” he remarks, his usual smoothness replaced by a stutter. Jett Knight, thrown off his game—unreal.
“Brooke wanted to.” My chest rises and falls quickly. I pray he hasn't noticed, or heard the beating of my heart, because his sunscreen-covered hands have stilled.
“Daddy, hurry up!” Brooke chirps. He’s suddenly pulled back to focus on her.
“Almost done, sweet pea.”
I stand there, watching. Wondering what he's thinking, knowing I need to put my cover-up on, but I'm still frozen by the thought that my boss has seen me almost naked. Almost.
It excites me more than it should.
“Put some on Cari, Daddy,” Brooke chirps, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.
God. No! “You don't have to. I c-can do it myself ...”
“She’ll burn if she doesn’t, Daddy!”
Jett stands, towering over me, and I still can't move. His expression is unreadable as Brooke thrusts the sunscreen bottle into his hand. “Here, Daddy.”
“I can do it,” I say quickly, reaching for the bottle, but Jett moves it out of my reach. Brooke shrieks. “Her back! She can’t reach her back!”
I frown, trying to figure out what's going on. Why Jett won’t give it to me. The space between us is charged.
“She’s right. I need to do your back. You have the type of skin that’s at risk.” His words send shockwaves through me.
“Where’s Elephant?” Brooke wails, looking around hopelessly.
“I think he’s on the stairs, sprout.”
She runs out of the room.
“Turn around,” Jett orders.
My heart pounds as I turn my back to him, and I’m aware that it’s just the two of us alone. I wish Brooke would come running back. My breath catches as Jett’s fingers touch my skin—cool lotion meeting warm flesh. He rubs the sunscreen in slow, deliberate circles, one hand steadying my shoulder as the other works its way down my spine. My senses go into overdrive. I’m as conscious of his hand resting on my shoulder, as I am of his other hand slathering lotion on my back. I bite my lip to suppress a shiver as the space between my legs begins to throb, and my nipples harden even more.
My breasts feel full and heavy as he rubs the lotion into my skin, his touch firm but careful as his hands move over my neck and shoulders gently before skating all over my upper back, then lower, and lower still.
This is exquisite. Jett’s hand on my body feels intimate. It's what I dreamed of for months. Years. And now my body betrays me. Heat pools low in my stomach, as I squeeze my eyes shut, praying I don't let out a moan.
“There,” he says, “All set.”
“Found it!” Brooke yells, running into the room with her tattered toy in tow.
“Great!” I manage to say. I don't want to turn around. I dare not. Jett will see my nipples through my tiny bikini.
His hand reaches over my shoulder, as if he somehow senses my dilemma and gives me the bottle. I wonder if he’s packing some wood, too. “You need to put it over the rest of you.”
“Th-thank you, Mr. Knight,” I stammer, grabbing the bottle and slipping away before I can embarrass myself further. I close my bedroom door and press my back against it, struggling to catch my breath.
What just happened?
“Won't be long Brooke,” I yell out.
My body hums with arousal, every nerve ending alight. My heart races, my mind reeling with the memory of Jett’s touch. I debate whether to swap the bikini for the safer, nun-level one. But Brooke’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Cari, come on! Daddy says we can only go for an hour!”
That settles it. I throw on the sheer cover-up, hoping it’s enough to tone things down, and I pray that Jett will have had the decency to have left.
But when I step into Brooke’s room, he's still there, almost like he was waiting for me. His gaze traces over me for a quick second before he pointedly looks away, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. I glance down instinctively and catch it—the unmistakable bulge in his pants.
He felt something too.
My face burns. I'm so flustered I can barely think straight.
“Let’s go!” Brooke calls, already bouncing toward the door. I follow, my pulse racing, aware of Jett just behind me. His presence is magnetic and I feel pulled to him.
It's the heat, I tell myself. That, and the flight, and the shock of being here.
But already I can see that this beach trip is going to be complicated.