Chapter 22
BERNADETTE
The public beach location made me nervous from the moment we arrived.
It was much busier than our previous spots.
Tourists lounged under umbrellas, kids ran shrieking through the surf, local vendors walked the sand selling coconut water and fresh fruit.
There were uncontrolled variables everywhere I looked.
I didn’t like it. Maybe I could convince Sebastian to move to another beach. Why did it have to be this one? It was too busy.
A frisbee sailed past one of our lighting setups. A dog chased seagulls through the area we’d marked off with cones. Three teenagers completely ignored our DO NOT ENTER signs and walked right through the middle of our shot.
It was a nightmare.
“Bernadette, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm,” Annika said, watching me frantically update my risk assessment notes.
“There are children everywhere. Children who could trip over cables, knock over equipment, get hit by a frisbee. Anything. Everything! This is not a controlled environment.”
“The frisbee is not going to hit anyone.”
“You don’t know that. Frisbees are unpredictable. Anything that defies gravity is a risk.”
She patted my shoulder sympathetically and went back to organizing swimsuits.
I knew I sounded neurotic. I felt neurotic. Normal people looked at the beach and saw a fun day. I saw disaster at every turn.
Maybe I needed to get laid again. It had worked wonders for me before. Today felt like a nightmare.
But I’m not going to get laid. At least not while I’m here unless one of the camera guys wants to mess with Buzzkill Bernadette.
What was I thinking? No. Absolutely not. I wasn’t going to make my way through the crew because Sebastian awakened some inner beast I didn’t know lived inside me. I felt like a predator on the hunt for more sex.
But not just any sex—Sebastian sex.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
I hadn’t seen him the night before. We agreed it would be one time to get it out of our systems. Then we’d go back to being professional. Plus he’d texted saying he was prepping for today’s shoot and would be working late. Which was fine. Good, even. Exactly what we’d said we’d do.
So why had I felt disappointed when I’d gone to bed alone, listening to the sound of the ocean and thinking about his hands on my skin?
Focus. You have a job to do.
I gathered everyone who’d be working near or in the water. Every model, all the camera operators, lighting crew, and even Sebastian. We needed a quick safety huddle.
“Alright, everyone,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the ambient beach noise. “Water safety protocols. I know some of you think this is overkill, but it’s necessary.”
Half the crew rolled their eyes right on cue.
“Guys, I know it seems ridiculous, but I need everyone to listen. The surf conditions today are moderate, but they can change quickly. Rip currents, unexpected waves, slippery rocks—all of these are real hazards.”
I went through the basics. Sebastian stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, listening intently.
After I finished my little spiel, I looked to him to see if he wanted to laugh at me or tell everyone I was just being my usual uptight self.
“Everything Ms. Simmons just said is important,” he said. “Follow her protocols. If anyone has questions about water safety, ask her, not me. She’s the expert.”
Sebastian backing me up in front of the crew was becoming a habit. A good habit. One that made my chest feel warm and tight and dangerous.
I caught his eye for just a second. He gave me a small nod. I looked away before anyone could see the way my cheeks flushed.
This was fine. We were being professional. No one would suspect that two nights ago I’d been in his bed, learning what he sounded like when he exploded inside me. Or how good he was with that tongue and those fingers.
Stop it. Focus on the work.
The morning shoot went smoothly despite my concerns.
I felt like I had run a marathon with all the running around I was doing.
If I had the ability to put up a forcefield bubble thing, I would do it in a heartbeat.
I felt like one of those sheepdogs trying to herd a hundred sheep on my own.
Granted, the number was much smaller, but the job was just as hard.
But when I did give myself just a few minutes to catch my breath, I had to admire the beauty. The models looked incredible in the surf. Elizabeth’s swimwear designs photographed beautifully against the ocean backdrop, and miraculously, no tourists ruined any shots.
But I kept stealing glances at Sebastian.
Couldn’t help it. The way he directed the models.
They listened to him like he was some god on high coming down to give them the secrets of the world.
I watched him check with the photographers to make sure they were getting what they needed.
And every so often, he would look my way and flash that sexy smile at me.
Me.
Bernadette Simmons.
I’m not falling in love. That would be insane. We barely know each other. It’s only been a few days.
It was just the place. That’s all. There was a reason they chose the island for the shoot. Everywhere you looked was gorgeous and romantic. The sunset-painted skies, the crystal-clear water and even the lush tropical vegetation that hid untold threats were beautiful.
I reminded myself this was just a little vacation from my real life.
A fun story to look back on years from now.
When I’m old and gray and petting my Siamese cat, I’ll think back to the crazy two weeks when I had a fling with a male model on a tropical island.
It’ll be my proof that I had been young and spontaneous once, before I went back to my office and my father and my real, boring life.
That’s all this was.
During the lunch break, I noticed Sebastian wasn’t at the craft services tent with everyone else. I scanned the beach and spotted him jogging along the waterline, his stride easy and rhythmic.
I sat in the shade with my sad salad—some things didn’t change even in paradise—and watched him run. He was pushing himself. I could tell. Faster than a casual jog. Like he was trying to outrun something.
After about twenty minutes, he came back, breathing hard. And then he pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.
Holy shit.
I’d seen him shirtless in photoshoots. I’d seen him naked two nights ago. But there was something about seeing him like this, unposed and unselfconscious, muscles defined from exertion with his skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight. If there was ever a fantasy, I was staring at it.
I wanted to take a bite out of him. Just walk over there and put my mouth on that ridiculous body and then run my tongue over the spot where my teeth had been. I had never licked a man from head to toe, but I wanted to now.
He hadn’t seen me yet, but he would soon enough and I didn’t want to look like a freak ogling him from the bushes.
“Hey,” I called out like a normal person and not a creeper. “What are you doing?”
He looked over, still catching his breath. “Running.”
“I can see that. Why?”
He walked over, and I tried very hard to look at his face and not at his abs that rippled. That was not a six-pack. That was definitely an eight-pack. The billboards were not airbrushed. It was all very real.
“I gained two pounds,” he said, completely serious. “I’m a big fat blimp now. Beer and bacon get me every time.”
I actually laughed. “Oh my God. You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious. Two pounds! At this rate, I’ll need to buy new pants.”
“You look exactly the same as you did when we got here. Better even, with the tan.”
“You’re just being nice.” But he was smiling now. “Although the tan is pretty good, isn’t it?”
There was the cocky bastard I’d first met. It was funny how he could switch between insecure model and confident charmer in seconds. Like neither one was completely real, or maybe they both were.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll have a smoothie instead of actual food. That’s healthy, right?”
“Relatively. A smoothie sounds better than this rabbit food. I can’t believe these women actually live on this. There’s no dressing or cheese or anything. It’s lettuce. Just lettuce.”
He reached out his hand and helped me to my feet. “We usually put lemon juice on it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that definitely makes it better.”
We walked to the craft services tent together. Cookie was there, organizing supplies.
“Cookie,” Sebastian said with his most charming smile. “Can you make me one of your famous smoothies? Something green and nutritious that’ll make me feel like I’m not slowly destroying my body?”
She laughed and started pulling out ingredients—spinach, mango, and protein powder. I watched her blend it all together, the whir of the machine loud in the relative quiet of the tent.
When she handed Sebastian the smoothie, he took a long drink and made appreciative noises. “You’re a goddess, Cookie. A green smoothie goddess.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, but she was smiling.
I waited for her to offer to make one for me. She didn’t. Just went back to organizing supplies like I wasn’t standing right there.
Sebastian noticed. I could see it in the way his smile faltered slightly, the way his eyes flicked between me and Cookie.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I’m not hungry anyway.”
It wasn’t fine. It stung. But making a scene about it would only make things worse.
We walked back toward the shoot location, Sebastian sipping his smoothie, both of us not quite knowing what to say.
“She’ll come around,” he said finally. “She’s just protective.”
“I know.”
“I could talk to her.”
“No. Don’t.” I shook my head. “It’ll make it worse. She needs to come around on her own terms.”
He looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t. We stood there in awkward silence for a moment before he got called away by one of the photographers. I watched him go, smoothie in hand, still shirtless because apparently he was trying to kill me.
The day finished up and we all headed back to the resort. That night, my phone buzzed with a text.
Sebastian: Pool?
I said yes because I wanted to see him. Just to hang out.
As friends. People who happened to have slept together once but were mature enough to move past it.
I put on my one-piece swimsuit. It was boring and black and very conservative.
It was the kind you’d wear to a family pool party. Nothing sexy about it.
The pool area was busy when I arrived. Crew members floated on rafts and models posed for selfies in the shallow end.
Taylor Swift was coming out of a rock. Not the human, but her music.
Shake it Off was blasting and a couple of the ladies were dancing.
It took me a second to realize it was a speaker disguised as a rock. Clever.
It felt like a party, casual and relaxed. Sebastian was already in the water, leaning against the edge in the deep end, away from the main crowd. When he saw me he flashed me a warm smile.
I slipped into the pool and swam over to him, the water warm and silky against my skin.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
We were in the corner, half-hidden by shadows, but surrounded by people. No one was paying attention to us. They were all doing their own thing.
His leg brushed mine under the water. Then his hand found my waist, hidden beneath the surface. His touch was light enough that anyone looking would see two people just talking.
“We shouldn’t,” I whispered.
“I know.” His hand slid over my bare thigh.
My breath caught. “Sebastian.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he said innocently. “Just having a conversation with my safety girl. Very professional.”
“Your hand is on my thigh.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
I should have moved away. Instead, I shifted slightly closer and put my hand on his thigh.
All around us, people laughed and splashed and paid us no attention. Lots of people were flirting out here, touching, canoodling in the water. We weren’t unusual. We were just two more people enjoying the pool.
I had a feeling it was pretty normal for these location shoots to get a little spicy. It was like what happened in Miratoa stayed in Miratoa.
I liked that idea. It made all of it okay.
My body was acutely aware of every point where we touched.
“I still want you,” I admitted quietly. “Even though we said one time. Even though we agreed it was a bad idea.”
“I know. I want you too. It’s like I can’t get enough of you.”
“But we can’t keep doing this. It’s too risky.”
“I know that too.” His hand slid higher on my thigh, still hidden underwater. I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. “Doesn’t change how I feel.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’m in trouble,” he said, echoing my own thoughts from two nights ago. “The good kind.”
We stayed like that, touching in ways no one could see, having a conversation that looked perfectly innocent from the outside.
“My brothers will be here in two days.”
“I know.”
“I’m going for a big idea. Something dramatic for the final shots before the runway show.”
“Okay.”
“I want to run it by you first. Make sure it’s safe. Make sure I’m not being an idiot.”
The fact that he wanted my input and valued my opinion enough to ask before committing to something made me feel all warm and fuzzy.
“Tell me,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere and not just because your hand is holding me in place.”
He chuckled. “Little Bee, you’ve got a death grip on my leg.”
Little Bee.
Oh hot damn.
He had given me a nickname.