Tamara smiles at Cole, striking up a conversation, and it seems so genuine and easy for her, I don’t know how she does it.

  Cole is not an easy man to get along with, and yet Tamara seems to have no trouble at all. She talks animatedly about something. Then there’s a big laugh, and she leans forward to playfully touch his arm.

  The moment comes when she should pull back, but she doesn’t.

  Her red nails tighten on his biceps.

  I must make a sound because Lara asks, “You good?”

  I hold my breath waiting for Cole to reach over and pry her hand off him, finger by finger. But he doesn’t do it. He doesn’t balk or push her away. He lets her touch him.

  Having had enough, I look away from them and down my drink in one fast go. “Come on, I’m done swimming. Let’s go play tennis.”

  I want to hit some balls really, really hard.

  Chapter Eight

  PAIGE

  I’m carrying a deep, dark secret. It’s bad. Badder than bad.

  Two months ago, Cole and I kissed.

  I know.

  It’s wild even to me, and I’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with it. This is the sole occasion where the shocked-exploding-head emoji is absolutely accurate.

  The morning of THE KISS, I didn’t wake up knowing I was going to kiss my enemy. We weren’t like building up toward it or anything. Our relationship then is much the same as it is now, i.e., an enemyship built on mutual loathing and deep admiration. Neither of us will ever, and I mean ever, cop to the second part. It would set in motion a sequence of events that would result in the death of every man, woman, and child here on earth. Or something equally bad, probably.

  If I had known that day that I would be kissing Cole, I would have hiked my covers up over my head and just stayed in bed. No, wait. I would have taken the opportunity to borrow Poison Ivy’s evil lipstick. I wonder if there’s a dupe for it online . . .

  The kiss just sort of happened, and here’s how. Everything leading up to that point was absolutely normal. I worked a standard day at the resort: I led a group through the caverns of the Conch Bar Caves in the morning and then took a family out paddleboarding through Chalk Sound National Park in the afternoon. After dinner, I played tennis with Lara, Camila, and Théo. By the time I was ready to call it quits, they were still going strong, so I was solo on my walk along the pebble path back toward staff housing.

  I love my walk home. It’s a really nice feature of the resort. When the head honchos were designing the place, they tried their hardest to adapt the entire complex to integrate with nature rather than steal from it. Instead of bulldozing through the dense foliage that surrounds much of the shoreline, they wove the resort paths through it so that at any moment you could be greeted by lizards, or frogs, or huge colorful iguanas just chillin’.

  Another pretty feature is that every few yards, the dense wall of tropical flowers and vines grows thin enough that you can see the stunning view of the ocean at night. That night, I was halfway back to my dorm when the vining flowers grew thin enough that I could make out someone sitting on the beach, alone in the dark.

  I immediately recognized the back of Cole’s head like I would recognize the back of my own hand. If pressed, I could probably individually identify every single strand of hair.

  Curious, I stopped and turned so I could take a step closer toward the beach. He was down close to the water, sitting on the sand with his knees bent up so he could drape his arms casually around them, his hands clasped together in the middle. The waves rolled in, and he sat stock still, like he was deep in thought, contemplative, clearly needing to be alone.

  For a moment, I stood there, frozen with indecision.

  I’d never seen Cole sitting on the beach alone at night before. It felt like a rare opportunity I couldn’t—shouldn’t—pass up. On the other hand, it probably made much more sense to just keep walking and leave him in peace.

  I started to do just that, but I only made it a few steps before I stopped short again. My mind was suddenly firmly made up.

  I’ve wondered about this pivotal moment a hundred times.

  I technically made the first move by leaving the pebble path, slipping off my shoes, and traipsing out onto the sand to join him.

  He heard me coming, I’m sure. I wasn’t being quiet. In fact, I hoped he knew I was coming so I didn’t have to suffer the disappointment on his face when he looked up and saw that it was me. But he never turned back, and when he finally did acknowledge me, he didn’t groan in protest, but he also didn’t make any indication that he was happy to see me.

  So I didn’t pretend. Not like I would have with someone else. With Cole, it was always just saying the first thing that came to mind. The truth. Well . . . most of it.

  “I know you don’t want company, and I know you definitely don’t want company that includes me, but here I am. Too late. Shove over.”

  He looked over at me, baffled. “There’s plenty of sand. Why do I need to move?”

  “Because I said so.”

  He shook his head and shifted a little to the right so that there was room for the two of us in front of the sprawling ocean. I took a seat beside him on the warm sand and held my breath, waiting for him to say something. Anything!

  “Some stars, right?” I noted.

  Nothing.

  “The ocean’s so pretty at night.”

  Nada.

  “So as a kid, did you always see yourself working as a midlevel manager at a large-scale resort?”

  He let out a short laugh and shook his head. Then he peered over at me out of the corner of his eyes and asked the last question I ever saw coming. “Do you ever wonder what the fuck we’re doing here?”

  “On this beach?” I inquired dumbly.

  I thought that might have been his surreptitious way of asking why I was there bothering him.

  He shook his head, nodding toward the ocean. “In this life.”

  I reared back. “Damn. What’d you take? Mushrooms or something?”

  He pointed down to the sand near his feet, where a copy of Calypso by David Sedaris rested on a patch of compact sand. A scrap of paper hung out of the top of it, his makeshift bookmark.

  “Oh, yeah, he’ll do that to you. Make you think.” I sighed. “It’s okay, it’ll go away soon, and you don’t have to worry about me ratting you out to everyone. About you having a conscience, I mean.”

  He was quiet for a bit, and when he eventually spoke, it was like all the fight had been drained out of him. He was utterly empty. “Not tonight, Paige.”

  He stared back out at the ocean as my heart splintered in two. We’d never called a truce like that. Worry lanced through me, worry over something I felt like I didn’t fully understand. I wanted him to be okay, for us to be okay, but I didn’t know exactly how to help him. I didn’t feel like I had the right words, and digging deep for something sincere held its own dangers. At any moment, I knew he could pull the plug on this conversation, so that I’d wind up being the one left feeling vulnerable and exposed.

  Even with that worry in mind, I reached over to touch his arm, right above his elbow. He was still wearing his dress shirt from work, sans jacket and tie. He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons and rolled up the sleeves. His shirt kept our skin from touching. It felt important to keep that layer between us.

  He was so sexy it hurt to look at him full on. Thank god it was so dark or maybe I wouldn’t have been able to at all.

  “I feel that way sometimes, Cole. Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone?” I asked, leaning forward a bit, trying to get him to look at me.

  “I don’t know. Do they?”

  He was asking the ocean, not me.

  “Cole, Please. Don’t be sad.”

  It felt like my own heart was breaking.

  “I’m not.”

  He said it so sincerely that I believed him, but still, something was wrong, so I persisted. “Could have fooled me. C’mon, you’re probably just missing home. Your old life. Some girl that’s waiting for you back in—”

  “Ohio.”

  I snapped. “Right. Ohio. The land of . . . hot dogs?”

  “Buckeyes.”

  “Right, you miss your buckeyes, which are a type of bean . . . ?”

  “Tree.”

  “Yes!” I said excitedly. “The majestic buckeye tree, of course! Listen, I don’t know what’s really wrong with you tonight, and I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. But we all miss home sometimes. Even me, and I don’t even have a home to miss! My parents strapped me to them right along with their backpacks and research equipment and carted me around the world, moving so often I wouldn’t even be able to tell you where I’m from, not really. I’ve technically spent the most time in London, so am I British? And if I am, why do I have an American accent? See? You’re not the only fucked-up one here, Cole Clark.”

  He almost laughed then; I could feel it. I wanted it. I was more desperate for it than ever.

  “I’ll cheer you up. Okay? This night is already weird. What’s one more thing we’ll have to forget in the morning? Let’s go swimming.”

  He pulled away from me, and my hand slipped off his arm. “What?”

  I was already standing up.

  “Yes, c’mon. Take your clothes off.”

  I reached for the bottom of my Siesta Playa tank top so I could pull the thin material off over my head.

  “I’m your boss,” he reminded me with a stern tone.

  “No, you’re not. Not technically. Todd Weaver is my boss. Scott Durliat is my boss. You are . . . just some guy on the beach.” I waved off his concern. “Okay? Now come on.”

  I reached for the waistband of my shorts to push them down and didn’t let my trembling hands stop me. I’d gone skinny-dipping on so many beaches in my life it didn’t even faze me to be in my underwear in front of Cole. I had on sensible panties and a cute bra. Big deal. Gulp.

  Cole was watching me like he’d never seen someone undress in his company before. His eyes caught on every inch of me, the dangerous parts like my breasts filling out my bra and my panties sitting slightly askew, and the innocuous ones too. My little constellation of freckles that sits a few inches to the right of my belly button held a real mystery for him.

  I couldn’t take it for another second.

  His eyes raking over me felt as tempting as a caress.

  “You’re really just going to sit there?” I asked as I started to walk backward toward the water.

  He frowned his most surly frown, peeling his eyes off me to stare at the ocean. Then he warned, “Swimming at night is really dangerous.”

  “Okay, well, you stay up there safely on the sand, and if I need help, I’ll call out for you, okay? Meanwhile I’ll be LIVING MY LIFE, COLE CLARK. GET UP, TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF, AND GET IN THIS WATER OR SO HELP ME GOD!”

  “Stop shouting, okay? I’m doing it.”

  He was. He was standing and starting to unbutton his shirt.

  “Not fast enough! My toes are already in the surf. It feels divine. Heaven on earth. Why were we ever sad?”

  I watched him work on those buttons, undoing each one in quick succession, and then, near the bottom, he grew impatient and just tugged the shirt up and over his head before dropping it on the sand. My heart beat so fast in my chest it was all I could feel—that heavy pounding continued as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down. He stood in nothing but boxer briefs, and I stood in absolute shock. I was expecting withered biceps, a spare tire around the middle, a little coin purse down below. Instead, I saw arms that could easily hoist me up against a wall, powerful legs, a noticeable bulge.

  His toned physique made sense once I thought about it. I’d seen him in the gym once before, disgustingly early, on my way home after a midnight mystery-séance excursion deep in the jungle. He was running on the treadmill like a bionic man, probably fueling himself on thoughts of how he was going to make my life hell later.

  I couldn’t fathom him being this hot, and he took note of my reaction to him.

  “You’re being weird,” he said as he started walking toward me.

  I still tossed my arms out in protest. “You’re not being weird enough! It’s like you see me in my underwear all the time!”

  I held my breath as he got closer, closer . . . then he walked right past me, out into the water. “I’m trying not to look.”

  “Because you’re a gentleman?” I called out after him, anxious for the truth.

  Ignoring me, he dove cleanly into the crest of an incoming wave and started to swim out to sea.

  I was the one who’d suggested skinny-dipping, and now I was being left in the dust. I had no choice but to follow him or keep standing near the shore mostly naked, looking like an idiot.

  I’m a strong swimmer, but I still couldn’t keep up with Cole. He sliced through the water like he trained in this ocean twice a day, every day. He made it out to an underwater sandbar and then stood up and turned around to watch me, swiping his wet hair back off his face like he was being filmed for an Armani ad. I couldn’t get distracted, though. The waves were picking up out here, and my lungs were starting to burn. The sandbar was farther than it seemed.

  I was almost there when he leaned down and hauled me up so I stood in waist-deep water.

  “I was going to make it just fine,” I huffed. In reality, I was glad for the rescue. I could barely catch my breath.

  His hands were still on my arms, hotter than a thousand degrees, when he shrugged. “I thought I saw a shark coming for you.”

  “Cole.”

  I shoved him playfully, not falling for it. I’m not scared of creatures that lurk in the deep. I know what lives in these waters: tuna, reef sharks, barracuda, boned fish, stingrays. They sound scary, but they just want to be left alone.

  But just then, I swear I felt something slither against the bottom of my right calf, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream before jumping toward Cole.

  He laughed as he caught me in his arms, steadying us so we didn’t go tumbling back into the water. His grip tightened on my biceps reassuringly. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

  “Apologizing? That’s a first.”

  I laughed and went to pull back, to stand on my own two feet, but Cole didn’t let me. Those hands grasped my arms like I would be in mortal peril if he were to let go.

  Did he know what he was doing?

  Had he forgotten who he was holding?

  Me, of all people?

  Slowly, I cocked my head back just enough to look up at him, and when our gazes locked, slow recognition set in, forming like a hot, heavy need in the pit of my belly. We were skin to skin, pressed together as tightly as two lovers. His chest expanded with each heavy breath, pushing against mine like a dare to come a little closer. I couldn’t if I tried. We were already too close. A dangerous tangle of limbs.

  I swallowed, and my gaze lowered to his lips, to that little salty tear resting on the edge of his mouth. I wanted to lick it away.

  I shifted, turning my body only slightly, but enough that we were aligned now, chest to chest. More importantly, hip to hip. I felt him hardening, but I pretended not to, pretended this was all innocent fun, a PG exploration of each other’s bodies. My hands slid higher over his pectorals, closer to his broad shoulders. It was exhilarating when it should have been terrifying. Relinquishing my arms, he grabbed around my waist, tightening his grip in fierce possession as a fissure of awareness spread like wildfire through my body.

  We were equally to blame from that moment forward. Neither of us was stepping back, regaining sense. As my hand wrapped around the side of his neck, my thumb brushing against his pulse point, one of his hands traveled up along the side of my chest, toying with the frilly edge of my bra. We were falling into madness together.

  It felt like we were circling an inevitable end, around and around and around. I grew impatient in those distended seconds, like the thing I wanted most was being dangled just over my head, out of reach.

  Give it to me.

  My fingers dug into his shoulder, and then, all at once, as though I had been given no warning at all, Cole bent down to kiss me. The sensation was too heady to grasp all at once, like suddenly everything burst to life inside me. Black and white swallowed by blinding color. I kissed him back with a frenzy I didn’t recognize. I lifted up onto my toes as he pulled me into him. The moan that slipped past my lips sounded wanton and seductive, and I barely recognized this version of myself, this woman practically crawling up Cole like he was a palm tree. He must have sensed what I wanted—me, you, climb, yes—because he wasted no time hauling me up and winding my legs around his waist. Our bodies met just below the surface of the water. His rigid abs teased the inside of my thighs as we broke apart for no more than a millisecond, realigned our mouths, and started kissing again. This time, with tongues. Oh hell. I was lost. His hands were in my hair, tangled in the wet strands, as our lips pressed together harder, demanding more. It felt like a fever consuming me until I felt sick with need, crazed with it.

  I was shredding his skin, tearing at him like there was something he still wasn’t giving me.

  I felt a spreading warmth, a hot jolt of desire when his hands left my hair so they could wrap around my upper thighs. He repositioned me around his hips, and I felt him—hard as steel—as he rubbed against me. All that delicious pressure still wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I tried rolling my hips, chasing that feeling with everything I had, as his mouth slanted over mine, and we kissed like the government was about to decree that kissing was banned for life. These two mouths shall never touch again.

  He was so fucking passionate.

  I did not peg him to be like that. Cole is always so restrained, working his tidy little desk job, quiet and severe. But this version of Cole? This version was peeling me apart. Mr. Suit and Tie with his rough hands and sexy mouth. My bra strap slipped down my shoulder, and Cole helped it along, covering my wet skin with his warm palm, taking the weight of my breast in his hand like he owned it. My eyes pinched tight, and I leaned my head back, feeling the arousal thrumming between my legs. His thumb rolled over the tip of my breast, toying with me, and my legs clenched around him. He released a visceral groan, and then—like he couldn’t hold off for one more second—he bent to take my breast in his mouth. His tongue lapped over me, and I gasped, losing control when he began to slowly suck.