3. Three
Five Years Ago
“What do I pack for two weeks in the Maldives with a man I barely know but want to climb like a tree and live in his branches like a granola hippie activist?” I ask Paloma as I throw open my closet and haul out my suitcase. It’s seen the world with me as I live the crazy nomadic life of an international supermodel that I’ve been swept up into the last six years since being discovered by a talent scout in Atlanta while out shopping with my mom.
Yeah, that’s a weird little only-in-the-movies moment I never thought would be my real life, but here I am, on more magazine covers than I can keep track of, letting my manager book my next deals for brands that wouldn’t have given me a second look just a few years ago, and being invited by a billionaire to accompany him on a two-week trip to the Maldives.
“Lots and lots of bikinis. I don”t think you need to bring anything else. You already know he is going to rail the ever-living hell out of you, so lingerie is a waste of space unless you think he’ll get bored and you’ll need to spice it up. Two weeks is a long time for a renowned fuckboy like him,” she muses, pulling open a dresser drawer and grabbing a handful of silk and lace pretty things thoughtfully.
Those pieces probably came home with me from the countless photoshoots, fashion shows, and campaigns I’ve shot for various lingerie brands. I was blessed with a body made for the likes of Agent Provocateur and La Perla, brands I’ve become well acquainted with at this point, and a face that cosmetics companies can’t wait to book. I’m lucky, so damn lucky, but sometimes I feel like the only thing I’m good for is being pretty, or having a body that turns people on. Zander Olsen is just the latest to be fascinated by my bangable body and pretty face.
“You mean if I get bored. He’ll have his hands full with me, fuckboy or not,” I joke.
I can be whatever flavor of plaything Zander Olsen wants for this trip. I know what this is. He’s a bored billionaire who’s interested in fucking me, and I”m just as interested in fucking him. It”s mutually beneficial and I’m perfectly content to take a few weeks off to see if he can back up the reputation he’s built for himself among the modeling community for being a spectacular lay and a pretty interesting guy in the small amount of time he’s given women before and after taking them to bed.
I’ve met him a few times at industry events. He’s hot, he’s made me laugh, and I finally agreed to go to dinner with him after making him work for it. I wasn’t going to be the typical model who went willingly to his bed, or even into his DMs. I would make him come to me. And he did, like a very good boy.
At dinner last night he offered to take me on this trip and ensured I knew there would be no strings, no attachments, just the two weeks. I know that’s already way more than anyone else has been given. So I accepted. And here I am, hastily packing my suitcase and ready to see what Zander Olsen is really packing.
“Some of these pieces are so pretty,” I say, picking up a strappy purple number I remember being a bit hard to get into, but was a total knockout. I purse my lips and toss it back in the drawer, knowing I want easy pieces to get into and out of. Easy access, and all that.
Paloma holds up an armful of bikinis in every color and dumps them on my bed. “Lolo, no one could get bored with you. Just look at you.” She waves her arm up and down my body for emphasis. “I’m sure you two will be having too much fun and sex to care about much else.” She sighs before she turns and scowls at me. “I’m not jealous at all. Nope. I don”t need a rich as sin, hot as hell, tall drink of water to offer to take me away on a tropical vacation for two freaking weeks. I won’t be having vivid fantasies imagining just this very thing the whole time you’re gone. Not jealous one bit,” she says, her voice growing more strained as she speaks.
I laugh as I throw in a wardrobe of designer dresses, shorts, skirts, and tops. “I’ll be sure to bring home a beautiful souvenir for you.”
“Business casual, even for vacation? You’re taking this seriously, I see,” I say with a smile, taking in Zander’s charcoal slacks and crisp white shirt as he extends his hand and helps me out of the car he sent to collect me, pulling me onto the tarmac of the private section of the airport. He flew to LA from his home in Atlanta and we’ll head to the Maldives from here.
He looks incredible, as usual, but he could be headed to a business deal in that outfit. At least he lost the tie and jacket. I’m wearing a bright yellow halter dress from the Chloé resort collection I shot last spring, and the suitcase that is being unloaded by the driver is full of fashionable clothing all suited for the tropical vacation we are headed on. I’m nothing if not the consummate model, always prepared for the job at hand, and this particular job is to be the beautiful, willing companion to this sexy as hell man who is whisking me off across the world. I know my role. I’m ready for it, not a hair out of place, and a wide smile already on my face just for him.
“Only the best for you,” he says with a grin.
He wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me against his firm body. Even in my tall espadrilles, he’s still a few inches taller than me, but I can look him in the eyes, and those gray depths are sparkling with sexy challenge.
“Are you ready for two weeks of escaping from reality?”
“Are you ready to spend two weeks keeping up with me?” I toss back, sliding my hand up his neck until I can cup his jaw and run my thumb over his full bottom lip. I may know my role, but I can still keep him on his toes.
“Full of surprises, aren’t you,” he growls, his lip brushing my thumb with the movement before he sucks it into his mouth, and I smile at the sensation.
He catches my wrist in the iron grip of his own hand so I don’t pull away until he’s finished swirling his tongue around and nipping at the pad. He uses his grip on my wrist to pull my thumb out of his mouth with a pop, brings my hand down behind my back, and keeps it there where he laces our fingers.
“I like a challenge, Harlowe. Keep it up. We’ll have fun either way, but this way, it’ll be even better.”
His words are a hot promise spoken directly against my mouth, and I smile coyly at his words. I let my eyes close and run my nose along his cheek in a soft caress. “Promise?” I whisper into his ear before I bite the lobe gently and pull.
“Fuck,” he swears roughly, giving into the temptation and turning his face to catch my lips with his.
Suddenly, it’s like my new reason for living is to have his lips on mine, because holy shit can this man kiss. One of his arms is still around my waist, our fingers entwined together at my lower back, keeping our bodies pressed tightly together. His other hand has found its way to my throat, thumb and forefinger directing my jaw just so as he claims my mouth. I swallow against the tight hold he has on me and shiver, fully aware of how in control of this kiss he is while I’m plundered for his pleasure. He gives as much as he takes, and when he pulls back, I feel hazy, lust-filled, completely out of sorts and off my own game.
“You’re going to be trouble,” I say, hating the slight shake in my voice that gives away how affected I am by that kiss and the interaction so far.
“I was just going to say the same fucking thing about you,” he says, giving me a look I’d call calculating, but it’s quickly replaced by one that looks a whole lot like fuck it.
That second look is the one that gives me the confidence to lace my fingers in his again and pull him toward the waiting plane. “Think they will serve us champagne as soon as we hit cruising altitude?” I ask.
“Of course,” he answers, sounding a bit curious.
“Good. Champagne always makes me want to suck a fat cock, and from what you had pressed against me just now, I”m pretty sure you’re going to make my champagne dreams come true, and I want your eyes rolling back in your head before we’re above open ocean.”
The groan of longing that meets my ears has my smile curving up just as I’m about to hit the stairs to the jet. He pulls on my hand and stops me from climbing the stairs before he pulls me back against him, where I can once again feel the very large evidence I based my assumptions on.
“You are most certainly going to be trouble,” he says in my ear. “Now, be a good girl and let the flight crew get everything situated before you start shocking them. Save it all for me and the private room where I’m very intrigued by this champagne claim of yours. I don’t want to share any part of you with anyone else.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, winking and starting again for the stairs. This game thrills me, and I don”t even know all the rules. We seem to be making them up as we go.
I swear I hear him murmur, “Fucking perfect,” before he follows.