“Sea-sickness,” I managed to say and pressed my palm to my forehead as I stood upright. Humiliated didn’t even begin to cover it. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry.” I covered my mouth with my palm and rushed to the bathroom in the corner to grab as many towels as I could. I wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that I hadn’t had anything to eat that day and that it mostly consisted of champagne and Dramamine that I had upchucked. “I will pay for a new suitcase—”

  “It’s six-thousand dollars.” His brow arched and I gulped. Holy shit. Who in their right mind spent that kind of money on a suitcase? “Do you have six-thousand dollars?”

  I hated his tone. How he implied I didn’t have that kind of money.

  “On me right this second? No. But give me two days to turn tricks and I could.”

  “Emma,” Pierce said, taking the towels from me and tossing them in the waste can. Then, grabbing my elbows, he pulled me to my feet and used the remaining towel to wipe my face. “It’s okay. I’ll have it cleaned when I get to Dimitri Palace.”

  I swallowed hard. “Did you say Dimitri Palace?”

  He nodded and then a knowing look eased across his face. “Is that where you’re staying, too?”

  I didn’t answer and instead backed out of his hold on me.

  “I take that as a yes?” he asked.

  He was the sexiest thing on this damn boat and I was the altar-stranded barf breath girl. There was no way he still wanted to be my honeymoan orgasm donor.

  “I’m… I’m going to go clean up,” I said, pointing to the bathroom. Then, grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste from the outer pocket of my bag, I slipped in the bathroom to do just that.

  A couple minutes later, there was a soft knock at the bathroom door just as I was finishing brushing my teeth. I opened the door to find Pierce leaning beside the door, a can of Ginger Ale outstretched in his hand toward me. “Here. This’ll help settle your stomach.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, taking the can from him. Cold droplets of water formed on the outside of the can and dripped over my fingers as I took a sip. “I’m sorry for your bag.”

  “I’m sorry for your stomach,” he countered. “Bags are replaceable. But being sick on your Orgasm retreat isn’t.” His smile grew wider. “So what is this? Some sort of tantric getaway? No, wait… let me guess. You’re doing the Julia Roberts Eat Pray Love thing.”

  This cocky mother fucker. What in the hell made him think I was going to stand here and discuss my potential sex life (or lack thereof) with him? I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him. “First of all, It’s Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love thing. And no, that’s not what I’m doing.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “But … you haven’t had an orgasm yet?”

  I swallowed, my throat dryer than a sandstorm. “That’s none of your business.”

  He backed away, pressing his hands into the air in defeat. Or seemingly in defeat. Because if I knew men like Pierce Whitley, and I think I did… they didn’t give up that easily. “True, true.” He sighed, taking his seat and laying one knee casually across the other in that annoying manspreading way guys do. “But if that text is true and you are here in Croatia from the United States… I assume you’re from the US, right?”

  My nostrils flared in lieu of a response and he nodded. “Right. Definitely an American girl as I thought… anyway, if you are here for Operation Emma’s First Orgasm, I need to express my concern. It seems a bit dangerous. You alone in a new country where I assume you don’t speak the language—”

  “Why would you assume that?” I snapped.

  He shrugged. “Because hardly any Americans speak Croatian. Even in Europe, most people don’t speak the language.” I snorted and shook my head and his eyebrows jumped. “Well… do you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No.”

  “Right. So as I was saying… it seems a bit dangerous. Here alone. Seeking sex from a stranger in search of your first orgasm. Your friend should have come with you.”

  “She would have but she couldn’t. She had already used all her vacation days that week for my wedding—”

  I clamped my mouth shut, pressing my lips tightly together. Shit.

  If I thought his eyebrows had jumped before, they downright disappeared beneath his floppy long hair. “Your wedding?” He let out a low whistle. “The plot thickens.”

  My eyes closed and I was certain my face was turning a shade that would match the ruby coral floating beneath the ocean’s surface. “Just… please, can we not talk about this anymore?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  I snorted because we both knew that wasn’t true. Not even close.

  “You should take some more Dramamine,” he said as I sat down in my seat and slid my toothbrush back into the front pocket. “You know, since yours is splattered down the side of my luggage right now,” he added with a wink.

  I gave him the deepest glare I could muster and as I did so, my hand slipped, the flap of my bag spilling open and my toiletries all fell out, rolling across the floor of the first class cabin. My vibrator, the best little pocket rocket a girl could ask for, rolled and smacked into the toe of Pierce’s shoe.

  Could this day get any worse? Seriously. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Pierce bent over, picked up the vibrator and walked it over to me, holding it out as I gathered the rest of my things, shoving them back into my bag. I snatched it out of his palm and tucked it as far down as I could.

  “You’re probably going to want to wash that before using it. Not that you’d need it if you took me up on my offer.”

  I snorted, shaking my head. “You’re so sure of yourself?” I shoved to my feet, not able to keep quiet any longer. Even though I was a whole head shorter than him, I pushed onto my toes and almost managed to be nose to nose with him. “Seriously… How? Show me. I’m not a virgin over here who’s never seen a dick before. I’ve been with men. Quite a few. And when every single one of them found out I had never orgasmed with a man before… they said the same damn thing you’re saying now. They were all so certain they could be the one. Like their dicks were some magic shroom-tipped potion that suddenly, I would explode in pleasure at the mere sight of it. So… by thinking you’re so different from the rest? It’s actually making you just like every other man I’ve been with.”

  His smile quirked higher against his peppered jaw and marble-chiseled cheekbones. “Is that what your…” his eyes drifted to my left ring-finger which was now bare sans the tan line from my engagement ring. “… ex-fiance had said, too? At least, I assume he’s your ex-fiance since you clammed up when you mentioned your wedding and neither he nor a ring is here with you on this excursion.”

  I’d never been so pissed in my life. Who in the hell did Pierce Whitley think he was? What made him think he could get away with such an arrogant and invasive line of questions? And yet, my anger compelled me to answer him. Like somehow by showing him I could handle the questions was the best way to hold my own here.

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” Because that’s exactly what James had said when he found out. He thought for sure he could ‘fix me.’ And he tried, to his credit. He read all the books. Approached our sex life in the same clinical way he approached everything else in his life. It didn’t work. And after a year of trying… I faked it. Out of guilt. Which was the stupidest thing I could have done with the man I was marrying. Faking it once meant I had to fake it every time from then on forward. And then, he simply tried to duplicate the previous time, thinking that was the formula. The Big O equation. E over X to the power of two equals a toe-curling scream.

  “So… that’s a yes,” Pierce said and I hated that he was right. That he could read me so easily. “The ex-fiance tried and failed.” He smelled smoky and crisp, like a campfire. This ruggedly sexy scent that reminded me of the forest on an autumn evening.

  Was he trying to piss me off? Because he was succeeding. Hollywood star or not, he was cocky as shit, which normally I hated. But with him? I also desperately wanted him to tear my clothes off of me because there was something in his arrogance that was different than the others. Between my legs, the pulsing ache deepened and I hated myself a little bit for how much I was drawn to him.

  I crossed my arms, refusing to step back. I would not be the one to step away first. Hell no. “Tried and failed. Just like all the others,” I whispered.

  His hand snaked around the back of my neck, his thumb brushing just at the base of my jaw. “Sweetheart,” he whispered and the warmth of his breath caressed my parted lips. “I wouldn’t fail.”

  I sucked in a sharp, fragmented breath. “That’s what they all said. So what makes you so different?”

  His gaze snapped to mine from where he was staring at my mouth. That thumb inched over and brushed across my bottom lip. “Because I’m not so dumb to think it will be easy.” He trailed the backs of his knuckles down the line of my throat while talking a breathy gasp escaped from my lips. “I know how complex a woman’s body is. And how her mind is even more complex.”

  His mouth brushed against mine, not quite kissing, but as he spoke, the movement left me panting and needy. “And I would be sure I didn’t come until you did.” He took a step away and the heat rushing through my body cooled immediately. The absence of his lips on mine combined with that heady scent of his mixed with my arousal left me light-headed. “That, Emma, is the difference.”

  Chapter 3

  We docked in Korcula three hours and twenty minutes later and I had successfully managed to avoid Pierce Whitley’s stare for the remainder of the trip.

  Even still, I could feel his eyes on me. Lingering. Watching. My face burned every time I looked down at the text message Lainey sent. Every time I remembered his proposition. The grip of his hand on my neck. The brush of his thumb on my jaw. Did he do this every time he’s abroad? Proposition random women into having sex with him? Did he tour the world promising orgasms to all naïve, inexperienced women? Although, I was neither naïve or inexperienced.

  What was wrong with me? Pierce Whitley was an Oscar-nominated actor for his supporting role in the recent Jude Fisher movie. And he was offering to pop my orgasm cherry. What woman in her right mind would say no to that? And frankly, he wasn’t wrong when he said that this whole plan of coming to Croatia and meeting up with a stranger for random sex was a terrible plan.

  It was a terrible plan… is a terrible plan.

  One that I blame Lainey for. Because I never planned to make good on Operation Emma’s first Orgasm anyway.

  When we exited the boat, I was surprised that there was no paparazzi waiting for Pierce. I always imagined that celebrities never had a moment’s peace. Not even abroad on a tiny Mediterranean island.

  On the street just off the boat awaited two limos. One man held up a sign that read Mr. & Mrs. Langley and I cringed. How many times on this damn trip was I going to need to explain myself?

  After a deep breath, I made my way to the limo and gave the driver the biggest smile I could manage. “I’m, um, I’m Mrs. Langley… sort of.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, opening the door. “Identification, please?”

  Oh, fuck. I had made the reservation for the Langley’s because the limo service told me that as long as one of us had the last name on our passport, that’s all they needed. “Right. Um, Mr. Langley actually isn’t joining me anymore.”

  The man’s brow crumpled and he grabbed his clipboard, shuffling through paperwork. After a moment, he pointed to the form I had filled out online. “Mr. and Mrs. Langley,” he repeated. Despite his thick accent I could understand him well.

  “I know,” I said, pulling out my passport and showing him my ID. “There was a change of plans. Mr. Langley isn’t coming anymore… it’s just me. Ms. Cochran.”

  There was more shuffling of papers before he responded, “Apologies, but I must see the ID of a Mr. or Mrs. Langley.”

  I had managed not to cry all week. Not in the moments that James left me standing alone at the altar. Not in the days after when I returned all the wedding gifts. Not even when I had discovered his real reason for calling off the wedding was because he and his ex-girlfriend… his high school sweetheart… had been rekindling their relationship for the weeks prior to our wedding.

  But right now? Tears swelled in my eyes, burning a path up my nose.

  Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry over a stupid limo, Emma.

  “I’m sorry,” the driver repeated again.

  “Can’t you verify that my ID matches the name on the credit card I paid with?”

  He pointed to the fine, italicized print which I had checked off when I booked the limo. The names you give must be present to accept the limo service. No exceptions.

  How far was my hotel from the dock? It was a small island… it couldn’t be too wildly far. Or maybe there was a taxi service I could call. As I stood there, on the sidewalk of a foreign country, tears threatening to fall, I felt a warm hand fall to the center of my back.

  “Emma,” Pierce’s deep, baritone voice rumbled from behind me, deep and masculine. “Get in the limo.” Even though it was a command, his tone was more gentle than it had been since we first met.

  “I can’t,” I whispered. “I booked it under Mrs. Langley… and that’s—” my voice cracked. “That’s not who I am.”

  His sharp breath was hot against my ear and I could smell traces of mint from the gum he chewed. “Not that limo,” he said. “My limo.” He increased the pressure on my back, tenderly guiding me to the left where another limo was waiting. His was bigger… surprise, surprise. “We already established we’re going to the same hotel. Come on.”

  I could have objected. Maybe if I hadn’t been so broken; so raw and unhinged and an emotional wreck, I would have. But the truth was, I didn’t have a lot of choices and even though it bruised my ego, I’d rather be safe and smart than proud and robbed… or worse.

  I let Pierce guide me toward his limo where the driver was waiting for us, with the door open. Pierce effortlessly lifted my bags into the back and gave a nod to the driver before sliding in behind me.

  Inside, it was the sort of limo you see in movies. Plush leather seats that were soft and buttery surrounded me and I could have curled up and taken a four-hour nap right there. Bottled water was chilled and awaiting us as was a bottle of champagne and a bowl of candy. No wait… not just any candy, boxes of Nerds.

  I reached out, taking a box of the strawberry flavor and shook it, the candy sounding like maracas. “Are these Nerds? What a weird thing to have in Croatia,” I said.

  He grabbed a box of the grape flavor, tore it open and dumped the whole thing in his mouth, giving me a tight smirk. “They’re my favorite,” he said once he had chewed and swallowed the wad of candy.

  Then, he reached over and grabbed a second box eating the whole thing once more. How freaking unfair was that? That he could down what was essentially pure sugar in God forsaken quantities while still only having something like three percent body fat. Not freaking fair. If I ate even a bite of a donut, I bloat like I’m five months pregnant.

  I put the box of nerds back in the bowl and gave him a weak smile. “Well, since they’re your favorite, I better not eat them.”

  His grin widened. “What’s mine is yours.”

  “Thank you… again. You must be tired of saving me.”

  “You’ll find I don’t grow tired very easily. Especially not when it when it comes to serving a beautiful woman.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Casanova. Let’s recap the day’s events. So far, I’ve puked on you, cried in front of you, and rolled my vibrator over your toe. I’m no expert, but those things are hardly foreplay.”

  He smiled, but leaned back in his seat. “Oh, come on. You’re hardly a damsel in distress. The first time I ever filmed a scene on a boat, I puked over the railing.”

  I winced, feeling his pain. “Oof. That sucks,” I empathized.

  “It sucked even worse because our producers were on the deck below watching the monitors. I puked all over the monitor screen.”

  I laughed, a loud noise that came out like a horn honking and quickly clapped my hand over my mouth. “No!” I said. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

  He nodded. “Believe me… I get it. Motion sickness sucks.” He paused, catching his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “And traveling with your vibrator? That’s hot as hell. Don’t be embarrassed about that.”

  His eyes were locked onto me, and impossibly, they seemed to be even bluer here in the limo than they had out on the boat. A pale blue color that matched the hue of the sky on a cloudless day. The air waves between us buzzed, coming to life with the intense current between us. He was so gorgeous. So ridiculously sexy. Everything from the top of his sandy brown hair down to the toes of his Italian loafers was utterly perfect. Which begged the question… what the hell did he see in me?

  I swallowed, my mouth feeling sandy and dry and that chilled bottle of water was suddenly extremely inviting. I cracked the cap open and took a swig, mustering up a bit of bravery. Channeling my inner Lainey. “You could have any woman you want,” I said, shaking my head. “Why me? Why would you want to be with someone who’s a mess? A woman who was left at the altar less than a week ago?”

  He slid forward on the seat, bracing his elbows onto the tops of his thighs and his knees brushed against mine. His tanned forearms flexed with his hands that momentarily balled into fists. His gaze leveled me and my stomach fluttered with a heated, buzzing sensation.

  “Because when I walked onto that ferry and saw your text, I haven’t stopped thinking about what your face will look like when you come. I can’t get it out of my fucking head. And I want you.”

  I swallowed, my mouth dry and a frigid breeze from the air conditioner hit my skin. My nipples went immediately hard and I tried to convince myself it was because of the air conditioning… not because of Pierce Whitley’s words. “You… you don’t even know me.”