Chapter Five
Iwake up with pillow creases biting into my cheek and sweat-dampened pajamas clinging to my legs. I blink away the morning light and look at the window. Ugh, it’s closed. I should have slept with it open.
A glob of something white stains one part of the glass. Is that seagull poop?
The stuffy heat of the room gets to me again. If I’d left the window open, would the seagulls have come in and pooped on me? I groan at how juvenile my brain is this early in the morning.
I throw an arm over my forehead and moan.“Why is it so hot?”
“There’s no air conditioner.” Owen walks out of the bathroom wiping his neck with one corner of a fluffy white towel. The rest of the towel hangs loose down the front of his naked body. “Sleeping naked helps.”
He smirks at me.
I jump in surprise and tug the blanket up to my chest. “What are you doing?”
“Drying myself, unless you prefer I drip-dry without the aid of a towel?”
My gaze takes in his tight biceps and solid thighs.
“No.” I smack a hand over my eyes and count to twenty. “Are you decent yet?”
His low chuckle makes my nipples tighten. “Depends on your definition of decent.”
I scissor my fingers open and peek to see his briefs snapping into place. I can see every inch of him clearly outlined in one long length pointing upward.It’s worse than the towel.
I’ve only ever seen a penis in pictures and the occasional porn video I indulged in when curious. Never this close in real life, even covered in underwear.
“Careful,” he warns as he walks to the edge of the bed, “or I’ll give you an up close look.”
He hooks one finger in the elastic band and slowly starts to tug it down.
I want him to keep going, which is insane. He thinks I’m Eloise.
The material tugs tighter around his shaft. One more tug and he will expose himself.
“Seagulls,” I yell.
His brows rise in confusion.
“Seagulls pooped on the window.”
He looks to the window, and I swear that his cheeks color slightly.
He turns to me, his confusion melting away with a smirk. “Are you sure it was seagulls?”
“What else would it be?”
“No idea.” He winks, then walks out the bedroom door.
Sun soaks into my skin, and Eloise’s bikini rides up my ass as I lie on a lounge chair on the deck with a notepad and pen I snuck from a drawer in the kitchen.
Eloise does not draw, so bringing my sketchbook was too risky, but then again, Owen has been on the phone all morning, so I doubt he would even have noticed charcoal smudges on my hands.
He’s so hot and cold, flirting with me one minute and ignoring me the next.
The memory of our kiss makes my belly tighten. I press my knees together, but it’s not enough to ease the ache. I should be relieved that he’s staying away.
I use the black pen to fill the page until my pulse returns to normal. I’d intended to sketch the sandy horizon, but one line curved into another until a pair of familiar lips smirks at me from the page.
The knot tightens, and I bite my bottom lip.
It was just a kiss.
I toss the notepad and pen onto the small wicker table that holds an empty whiskey glass Owen must have discarded after I went to bed last night.
I blush.
I hope he didn’t hear me.
I slip on my sunglasses and close my eyes, but that just brings back the memory of what I did last night in high definition.
“You are very talented.”
Owen’s tone is a little rough from talking on the phone for hours, but the added huskiness works for him.
I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me, sketch in his hand and the constant playful look replaced by admiration.
I squirm uncomfortably. Eloise has been the only person to see my artwork. My father made it clear that my hobby was a distraction from business school.
Or, more likely, too much of a reminder of my mother. “It’s just something I do for fun.”
“You draw like it’s a passion. Is art what you want to pursue for a career?”
Hearing my secret desire spoken out loud adds to the weight of the family obligations hanging on my shoulders. Eloise may have agreed to marry to help our father keep his business, but I am expected to take over and keep it in the family. “I’m doing one class for fun. Business is my major.”
And Eloise’s. At least I don’t have to lie about that.
“You’ll be taking over your father’s business?”
I nod.
A thin line forms between his brows. “Is that what you want?”
Eloise and I grew up knowing that our futures involved business school and keeping our father’s boutique hotel chain in the family. “It’s always been the plan.”
“Your plan?”
I hesitate for a moment. I want to say yes, but that would be a lie, and I don’t want to add another one to my record. “My father’s.”
“Does he make all of your choices for you?”
His question hits a nerve I’ve always ignored to keep the peace. It’s easier to go along with my father’s plans and Eloise’s wild ideas than make them understand that I have wants and desires too.
My thumb finds the edge of the wedding band and spins it, my brows pulling together and my lips tightening. He’s acting self-righteous while doing the same thing—taking away choices. “Do you buy wives in all your business deals?”
His grin is back.
My stomach grumbles, distracting us both.
“Get cleaned up and I’ll order a car to take us to dinner.”
I wait for him to walk inside first. Instead, he stands there, hands in his pockets, watching me.
When I’d put on Eloise’s bikini, I hadn’t worried about the string masquerading as the fabric that was supposed to cover my ass because I’d tied a sarong around my waist.
But I’d taken it off before sitting down so that my legs could soak in the sun.
If I stand, Owen is going to see how little fabric there is.
Eloise wouldn’t care. She’d stand, bend over to pick up the sarong, and make sure she gave him a good view. She wouldn’t even bother putting it back on.
But then she isn’t the sister who steals the last cookie.
We are the same size. You just don’t like to flaunt what you’ve got. Eloise’s voice plays on repeat in my head.
I channel her confidence, swallow the nerves back down, slide my legs over the side of the chair, and stand. I don’t make a fuss of bending over—I can’t fake that type of confidence. Instead, I quickly snatch up the sarong and will my legs not to tremble as I hurry toward the door.
I can feel his eyes on me, watching my hips—that I may be unconsciously swinging a little wider for his benefit. Ugh. I’m supposed to be acting like a brat to annoy him, but the attention is intoxicating, and it’s easy to be confident when I’m channeling someone else.
He curses under his breath.
I bite back a grin.