Chapter 8
eight
. . .
HONOR
Jesus. Christ.
Why did the universe hate me?
From the moment we got to the beach and Blake took off his shirt, I knew I was in for a world of pain. His body was a work of art, and it took all of my concentration not to stare at him every second.
Volleyball. That’s what we were doing.
But who cared about volleyball when that perfectly sculpted body was striding around the beach? Tanned skin, toned arms, and that V that disappeared into his shorts like a female stairway to heaven. I wanted to lick the sweat from the curves of his perfect biceps with the desperation of a feral cat.
I’d been so cocky swaying past him in my skimpiest bikini and joking that I’d blow him if he won the point. If he’d asked me to make good on that promise, I probably would have dropped to my knees on the beach.
Okay, probably not , because I was a lady and I was still quietly annoyed at him in a way I had no right to be for his secret meet-up with Reyna last night. And again for so blatantly checking out her ass earlier.
But I definitely would have thought about it.
Holy hell, I had to get a grip on my lust. I wasn’t some sex-starved teenager with raging hormones. I should be able to resist the six-foot-plus, smoking hot billionaire because I was a professional and he was a client.
I’d never reacted this way before. Well, at least not for years now.
Sex was always off the table with my clients because that wasn’t the kind of business I was running, and I didn’t need the blurred lines for my professional reputation. Least of all with Blake. Not when my body clearly wanted to be pressed up against his so badly I’d nearly thrown down with him in the sand in front of all his friends because he’d high-fived me.
God, I was so pathetic.
It was for show, we were faking it. But sweet Jesus, he was good at pretending. For a moment, I’d really thought he was going to kiss me because he wanted to and couldn’t hold himself back.
And I’d wanted it. Wanted it with every lust-fueled part of me.
Jealousy had clawed at my insides when I’d caught him staring at Reyna. She was beautiful, and her body was the stuff of supermodels. But how could he even entertain the idea of being with her when she’d ripped his heart out so cruelly? Why had he gone to meet with her last night?
I wanted to ask, but knew I had no right to.
So instead, I bailed out on the volleyball game at the first opportunity that wouldn’t raise suspicion. I’d claimed I’d had too much sun, and ran back to the room to hide and pull myself together.
I was sprawled out on the sun lounger on the porch, with a book beside me and giant sunglasses hiding my face, when Blake strolled in an hour later.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting on the edge of my lounger.
I grinned back at him, desperate to cover up just how much our almost-kiss had rattled me. “Yep, I’m good. How was it? Who won the game?”
“Spencer claims we won, but Hudson declared it a tie.”
“His wedding, his rules,” I said earnestly. “It’s matrimonial law.”
A corner of Blake’s mouth lifted in what you could almost call a smile. “I guess it is.”
Silence fell between us, and I bit my lip, racking my brain for something to say. Something cool and aloof that would prove I wasn’t a writhing mess on the inside after our moment on the beach.
“So, I was thinking you and I could spend the day by the pool tomorrow, just the two of us,” Blake said casually, and I almost choked on my own tongue.
Mr. Serious wanted to spend the day together? Just the two of us?
“Um, sure. Sounds great,” I said weakly, because apparently I’d dropped my entire personality somewhere on the tree-lined path during my desperate bolt back to the suite to avoid the totally inappropriate things I was feeling for a client.
Blake went to stand, then paused. “Sounds great? You sure you’re feeling okay?”
I forced out a smile and nodded.
“No sassy comeback about how billionaires don’t waste time poolside?”
I shrugged. “Fresh out of snark today, I guess.”
His hand landed on my knee. The gesture was casual, but apparently every nerve ending in my body now resided in that very knee, setting my body alight.
“Shame,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I was starting to like it.” He paused, pensive. “Or at least get used to it.”
He strode inside, and I scrambled to sit up, staring after him.
Who the hell was this man and what had he done with the buttoned-up grump who’d greeted me at the airport?
Maybe this was Vacation Blake.
Vacation Blake was fun. Kind. Flirtatious.
He was a man I could get on board with, and that was a very dangerous thing.