A top-secret celebrity wedding, an exotic location and a devastatingly handsome brother of the bride… Everything’s coming together for event coordinator Ella, but will her new flame’s hidden agenda destroy her career and her happily-ever-after?

Event coordinator Ella Montgomery’s efforts to rebuild her shattered career seem to have paid off when she’s offered the chance to plan a top-secret destination wedding for a mystery celebrity. The bride wants to keep her identity a secret until the big day, so Ella has to work with a proxy: the bride’s distractingly sexy brother, Liam.

The pair finds their red-hot chemistry impossible to resist, and it doesn’t take long for them to well and truly christen the honeymoon suite. Their fling in paradise only gets hotter as the big day, and the biggest moment of Ella’s career, draws closer.

But Liam is hiding something—something big—and it could ruin everything. Convinced that his sister’s fiancé is a devious gold digger, Liam is determined to derail the nuptials, even if that means misleading the beautiful new woman in his life. Ella was hopeful for a future with Liam...but when catastrophe strikes the wedding, can their passionate affair survive Liam’s betrayal?

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.

KELLI IRELAND spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by fate’s sense of humour, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the puppet master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli’s website at kelliireland.com.

Wicked Heat

Kelli Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08692-9

WICKED HEAT

© 2019 Denise Tompkins

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the readers around the world who have found

joy in the pages I’ve written.

This one’s for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ELLA MONTGOMERY PRESSED her forehead against the plane’s small window, her stomach wedged near the top of her throat. She watched as the ground rapidly approached, the pilot executing what felt like a slimly controlled descent through the trade winds. Flying always reminded her just how fragile mortality was. A small mechanical failure. A miscalculated approach. Hell, an unpredicted shift in the wind. Any of it could change her round-trip ticket to a one-way. No refunds. No guarantees.

She held her breath as the tires skipped across the crumbling asphalt runway, the wings flexing far more than anything metal ever should. A flock of feral chickens scattered into the thick brush, necks extended in alarm, the rooster frantic to keep up with his ladies.

The pilot hit the brakes on the twin engines, and the momentum thrust Ella forward in a seat designed to be comfortable for individuals still mastering the fundamentals of addition and subtraction. With her hands gripping the armrests, she gritted her teeth and rode out an arrival more in line with a dirt runway in remote Wyoming rather than her actual destination: Bora Bora, French Polynesia.

The Cessna puttered down the short airstrip before turning sharply and taxiing to the private airport. Two visibly harried baggage handlers tended the luggage. One crouched in the belly of the plane at the next gate over and tossed luggage out the plane’s belly button while the other caught said luggage and created a small pile on the tarmac. To the side of it all stood a lone airport representative in a starched white uniform sporting several leis draped over his arm.

The plane was small enough that the pilot didn’t use the intercom but instead emerged from the cabin. He opened the front exit at the same time a rolling ladder hit the side of the plane, a metallic clank resonating through the cabin.

Then the pilot stood—as much as he could in the compact space—and addressed the passengers in the eight-seat cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Parkaire Field in beautiful Bora Bora. If you’ll gather your personal belongings, your baggage will be available at the foot of the stairs, where you or your driver may retrieve it.”

Seated in the second row from the front, Ella decided to wait out the minirush of fellow travelers anxious to be off the puddle jumper. She watched people contort their bodies into amusing shapes in an effort to retrieve their luggage and make their way to the front. A man who’d sat in the row opposite her tugged with ferocious intent on the handle of the large briefcase he’d shoved under the seat in front of him. The handle gave way and the man lunged ass first into the aisle, plowing into another traveler who stood beside Ella’s seat.

The assaulted passenger lurched sideways, flailing as he tried to regain his balance...but failed. Not just failed, but failed. He tumbled into her lap, all long arms and longer legs. A button from his suit jacket popped free and skipped across Ella’s forehead. Paperwork scattered as the stranger’s messenger bag was upended and a laptop landed on top of her foot.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” the assailant repeated as he retrieved his briefcase and clutched it to his chest with one hand, mopping his forehead with the other.

“No worries. It’s bound to happen in such cramped quarters.”

Without offering to help Ella up, the pardoned man shuffled the few steps to the front of the plane and down the stairs.

“Right,” the stranger on her lap mused in a proper British accent, amusement saturating each word. “Because it’s certainly de rigueur to hip-check fellow passengers.” He twisted around to look down at her, mischief darkening his gaze. “Is it not?”

She shouldn’t engage with him—she knew she shouldn’t—but he was so damned attractive, sitting there in her lap flirting, with the challenge in his eyes so open, that she couldn’t stop herself. Tilting her head in a coquettish manner, she met his gaze head-on. “I suppose it depends, really.”

“Oh?”

She nodded somberly.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Pray tell, what does it depend on?”

She sat up a little straighter just as he leaned in. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear as she spoke. “I suppose it all comes down to one thing. Is your ass in the habit of assaulting laps?”

“I’ll be honest. I’ve been considering it as a side job.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” he said on a choked laugh.

The stranger twisted and turned as he tried to free himself from the narrow alleyway created by the seat in front of her and her upper body. He managed, but not without accidentally brushing the outer edge of her breast.

His touch made her draw in a sharp breath.

The man cleared his throat and eyed his laptop bag, which rested between her legs.

She wasn’t going to help him retrieve it. Nope. Not any more than she’d stop him from retrieving it.

He considered her for a second before reaching for the bag, twisting a bit more than necessary. The result allowed the back of his free hand to skate down her bared calf.

He might have shivered, but she couldn’t be sure given her own reaction.

She looked him over then let her eyes linger on his face as she answered. “You’re clearly in need of additional funds. The charity shops in your neighborhood must have stopped carrying the best quality Hermès socks or Rolex watches like they used to.” Her gaze landed on his, and eyes the color of dark chocolate stared back with unerring intensity.

If I were a strawberry, I’d totally dip that.

The thought made her grin.

The stranger grinned back. “Penny for your—”

“Not even for a hundred thousand pennies, but thanks.” She barely managed to stifle a sigh. Of course, he had a British accent. Her personal kryptonite.

Ella smoothed her hair, fighting the urge to fan her face. “You know, if you told me this was your first lap dance, I’d have said you were doing pretty well...right up until you broke that no-touch rule.”

“My first? Ha.” He pushed a lock of errant hair back into place. “You’re perfectly aware that this is precisely how these things go. I impress you with my moves on the first dance. The first is always gratis, by the way. Then you’re enticed to pay for the second dance, wherein I employ my signature moves and render you speechless. And trust me, my lady,” he all but purred, “I’m highly skilled at keeping things professional. Everything is part of a job, even pleasure.”

She chuffed out a laugh, gathering her own things. “Signature moves. You think pretty highly of yourself, Oxford.” Man, he smelled good—cologne that smelled like windblown shores laid over the warm wool of his suit and heat from his skin that carried the essence of him. Drawing a deep breath, she briefly closed her eyes before glancing up to meet his gaze. “I would imagine you’ve had ample opportunities to perfect those moves. Particularly the keep-it-professional routine.”

He tilted his chin down and leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Pay up and find out,” he said in a soft but unquestionably suggestive tone. “For your convenience, I take all major credit cards—even Diner’s Club. Cash as well. Lady’s preference.”

Her mouth twitched, and she blinked with slow suggestiveness. “I save my bills for tipping.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured.

From the front of the plane, the pilot cleared his throat, clearly fighting laughter.

Ella shot the stranger a sly look. “It seems we’re causing a scene.”

“This is hardly a scene.”

“No? You’re an expert, then?”

He leaned close enough that, this time, it was his lips a whisper from her ear. “A bona fide professional.”

A moment of sheer hysteria ensued. What if this guy actually was a gigolo? Wouldn’t that be the icing on the wedding cake she had yet to design.

Patting the man’s outer thigh in dismissal, she shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m scene averse. Time to go.”

“Pity, that.” He gave a short nod toward the small messenger bag in the overhead bin. “Yours?”

“Yep.” She straightened her skirt and moved to stand only to find he’d retrieved the bag and held it for her.

He looked at her then, no pretense. No artifice. No sexy banter. It was that look, hunter to hunted. “I’ll see you to the bottom of the stairs. It is, after all, the least I can do.”

“Thanks,” she managed, the sheer sexual pull of his person making her fight the urge to rub her thighs together. Nothing like starting the most critical job she’d ever had by engaging in seriously unprofessional behavior with a gorgeous man.

And she was here for a job. No, not a job. The job—the one that would revive a career that had been on life support ever since her business partner, Rob Darlain, had bailed on her.

Rob had taken their pitch for a TV show to a local cable network. They’d offered him the gig, which catapulted him to regional fame. Then the national network had come calling. Ella had been left to plan children’s birthday parties and bar mitzvahs instead of the exclusive, high-end events for which she and Rob had become recognized. And it didn’t help that he’d claimed to be the exclusive coordinator/designer while labeling Ella the help. The contract she had in her bag was her shot to not only prove her ex-partner wrong but to really, truly make a comeback. This event would park her business, her name, at the top of the list of event planners favored by society’s upper echelon.

Ella preceded the stranger to the exit, hunched over due to the low ceiling made lower by her heels’ height. Every woman had a list of things she refused to cut corners on, from the brand of her coffee to the skin care line she used to the gym membership she ate noodles to afford. For Ella, her shoes were near the very top of that list. The heels she’d worn today had been a careful choice. They were her only pair of Louboutins, and she’d saved for months to buy them when times had been good. They were her power shoes, her I-can-do-anything-I-set-my-mind-to shoes. They were ass-kicking, name-taking shoes. She saw them as her personal totem, her symbol of power and control. Some might find her foolish. But those people didn’t fuel the voice in her head, the voice that demanded she be the best at what she did.

Ella sighed.

If she could pull this job off... No. When she pulled this job off, it would mean no more choosing between groceries or gas, electricity or water.

With the Los Angeles elite being what they were, the culture being what it was, she’d been required to sign a confidentiality clause. She wouldn’t even know who the bride and groom were until the day before the rehearsal. So instead of dealing with the bride, Ella had agreed to work with the bride’s personally appointed representative. She, or he, would have the final say in approving the plans and could, per contractual agreement, make suggestions and changes as she saw fit. If Ella hadn’t been desperate to relaunch her career, and if she wasn’t sick and tired of eating noodle packs to survive, she’d have balked at that stipulation. But she needed this. More than the bride needed an “unrecognized” event planner no one would suspect had been hired to coordinate the wedding of the year.

Whatever. It would work.

It had to.

Ella was prepared to realign the heavens if it meant making this wedding go off without a hitch. She’d worked too hard and for too long to settle for anything less. If she failed?

“Not going to happen,” she said to herself.

The resort’s shuttle pulled up near the plane. Stepping around several chickens that had wandered back onto the tarmac, she hoisted her messenger bag onto her shoulder, extended her suitcase handle and headed toward the vehicle.

She had seven days to pull off the social event of the year—the event that would put money in her account, restore her professional reputation and maybe, just maybe, give her back the most valuable thing she’d lost over the last couple of years.

Self-respect.

* * *

Liam Baggett made his way from the plane much slower than the woman he’d crashed into. Pity he’d failed to charm her. Had he possessed an ounce of the infamous Baggett charisma, he’d at least have procured her number. No reason this whole trip had to test his moxie. Especially not when there was a gorgeous distraction within easy reach.

He glanced her way again and watched as she dodged a rather large rooster. The woman was stunning in a nontraditional way. Mouth a tad too wide but lips decidedly lush, eyes a devastating green, her hair varying shades of brown that said someone with talent had taken what nature gave her and enhanced it to suit that pale complexion. She possessed a lovely figure he’d briefly—far too briefly—had his hands on. He hadn’t noticed her legs until she’d made for the plane’s front exit. In truth, he’d been so distracted as he admired their toned length that he’d nearly knocked his skull on the door.

Blinking rapidly, he chastised himself for allowing the distraction, no matter how fine. He had one life to save and another to destroy before he returned to London and resumed the helm of his late father’s empire.

Trade winds blew with predictable unpredictability, tousling his hair.

Should have cut the damn mop before flying out. “If there’d been time, I would have,” he groused to no one save the hen who’d taken a liking to the shine of his shoes. “Bloody bird. You’re a barnyard animal, not a magpie.” He scooted her away with his foot, but she returned post haste to continue the burgeoning love affair.

The one benefit to the breeze was that it kept the temperatures tolerable. For an Englishman who saw the sun roughly every third day, and only if he was able to leave the office before dark, it was bloody warm.

Searching the tarmac, he found the shuttle to the resort waiting, both side and rear doors open and the driver posted at the back to load passengers’ bags. Liam gathered his bags and briefcase, strode to the van and delivered all but his briefcase into the driver’s care. He rounded the passenger doors, set one foot on the running board and stopped. The woman who’d fascinated him only minutes before was in the far seat and rapidly entering notes on her iPad.

He wordlessly moved into his seat, all the while keeping watch on his travel companion.

The driver shut the doors with authority before clambering into his seat. Putting the van in gear, he took off down the road. Less than one hundred yards later, he was looking in the rearview mirror instead of out the windshield and talking to the woman with an easy demeanor. “The roads between here and the resort can be a bit trying, miss, so you may want to forgo typing until arrival.” Then he hit the gas and they shot away at breakneck speed...right through a massive pothole.

The woman fumbled her iPad, recovered it before it hit the floor and caught the driver’s stare. “A bit trying, huh?”

He laughed. “Wait until we hit traffic. Here in Bora Bora, traffic includes cars, motorcycles, scooters, and even the occasional cart and donkey.”

She stuffed her iPad into her bag without further comment, yet Liam couldn’t help but notice the way her shoulders didn’t move with the bus’s motion. The muscles in her neck were visible and appeared rigid. And despite her sunglasses, there were faint lines that radiated from the corner of each eye. Lines that clearly represented both stress and worry.

He was about to speak, to restart the banter they’d shared on the plane, but she turned away, reaching in to her bag and retrieving a travel pack of ibuprofen. She ripped the package open, retrieved two pills and tossed them into her mouth. Without water available, she struggled to get them down but managed.

What could be so bad a woman lands in paradise and has to take something for a headache? And why am I obsessing? I have my own issues with this godforsaken trip.

Still...

The gentleman’s code Liam lived by demanded he do something to distract her. Leaning toward her, he said, “My travel agent assured me the resort was a guaranteed headache-free zone.”

The woman whipped her entire upper body toward him, eyes wide as she pushed at a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her chignon. Recognition dawned, and her eyes warmed. “You,” she said, smiling.

“And you as well.”

“What are you doing...” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“You have impeccable taste in locale as well as accommodation.” He nodded at the driver as the man wove between slower moving traffic as if the ten-seat bus were an IndyCar, their route Le Mans. “The Royal Crescent is a lush resort. If you didn’t reserve a cabana over the water, you should consider upgrading.”

“I actually have a room in the resort proper.” When he said nothing, only watched her, she shrugged. “It suits my needs.”

“Sometimes simply meeting one’s needs should be abandoned in favor of obtaining one’s desires, don’t you think?”

She stared at an indeterminate point over his shoulder, tapping her forefinger against her lower lip as she considered his question. It was only seconds before she shifted her gaze to meet his. The wicked gleam in those impossibly green eyes told him she’d give as well as she got. “Actually, no. I’m of the opinion that a woman shouldn’t leave desire on her wish list. A smart woman places her desires, whatever...whomever...they might be, near the very top of her list of necessities. Wouldn’t you agree?” She arched a dark brow, the wordless gesture a direct challenge.

He had intended to bait her. Clearly, she knew it. What Liam had never expected, though, was that she’d take the bait. The image of reeling her in had his heart beating a bit faster, breath coming a bit shorter. He liked it, liked her, and found himself hungering for the thrill of the chase.

He traced his fingers over the tanned skin on her shoulder.

She drew in a deep breath.

He smiled, knowing full well that the look he gave her was leonine. How often had he been accused of letting that particular look loose in both boardroom and bedroom when he discovered exactly what he wanted? Today, this second, what he wanted was this woman.

“Touché,” he murmured, shifting slightly to accommodate his rising desire.

She laughed then, the sound as sultry and evocative in its richness and depth as the first sip of the finest scotch rolling across the palate. Her laughter whipped through him, muddying his thoughts and fogging his awareness of everything but her.

“You’re staring,” she murmured.

“So I am.”

The woman’s brows rose slightly. “So...stop?”

“I will.”

“When?”

Liam lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. “When I’m done looking.”

Turning in her seat, she glanced out the window. “The scenery is beautiful.”

“It certainly is,” Liam murmured. She twisted back around and drew a breath, certainly to deliver a sharp rebuttal, but Liam wasn’t looking at her—he was staring at the lush jungle landscape outside.

The faint flush that spread across her exposed décolletage and crept up her neck was quite adorable, though he doubted she’d agree with his assessment. In his experience, few women were keen on being considered cute, and those that favored the more juvenile assessment weren’t the type he desired. But this woman—with her singular focus, quick wit and physical appeal—was exactly the type to pique his interests.

With her staying at the same resort, their paths were certain to cross.

Liam smiled.

Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be such a chore after all.

CHAPTER TWO

THE DRIVER SPED up to the resort’s elegant porte cochere and stopped with enough force that the van bounced back and forth on its shocks like a child’s rocking horse. When Ella could convince herself they had truly stopped, she mentally logged the travel time in case the wedding guests wanted to know...or take a cab. She peeled her fingers from her armrests. Her muscles suffered mild rigor as she attempted to move toward the open door. That meant she had to accept the hand offered to help her down. Only it wasn’t the driver. Her fellow passenger, the stranger she found all too alluring, had quickly and quietly exited and then, quite unexpectedly, rounded the shuttle and waited by her door. She paused.

He waited.

Chastising herself for hesitating, she took his hand and stepped out of the vehicle. After all, the gesture was nothing but a courtesy. Yes, he’d clearly been flirting earlier, but it had been innocent. Or innocent enough. The problem was that she’d wanted to flirt back. And flirty banter led to things she’d forbidden herself this trip, things like a tryst that could call her professionalism into question. It was just...

She glanced at him and found him staring at her unabashedly.

Damn it.

She turned her back on him, reaffirming her decision to avoid personal entertainment. Men like him were few and far between, and thank God for it. He was the exact type of distraction she couldn’t afford. Not on this trip. Not when her future hinged on the success of this job.

Stepping forward, she returned the doorman’s smile as he ushered her into the air-conditioned lobby. “Welcome to the Royal Crescent. Your luggage has been tagged. Once you’ve checked in, a valet will deliver your bags to your room.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Ella sighed as cool air swept over her bare arms and legs. Thank God for air-conditioning.

The resort seemed classy and sophisticated, giving an impression of subtle but irrefutable wealth and luxuries both small and large. A gentleman wearing all white and bearing a tray of champagne approached, offering her a glass. A single strawberry churned up bubbles as it gently bounced about the glass bottom.

She sipped and sighed again. Chilled to perfection, the dry bite was ideal with the fruit’s sweet tartness.

This place was going to be the perfect backdrop for the wedding Ella had planned.

Scanning the lobby, her gaze landed on the concierge desk and the three people staffing it. The obvious leader of the group, a uniformed man who appeared to be in his fifties, rose and headed her way with a grin. He stopped and said something in the ear of the waiter bearing the champagne. The younger man nodded and stepped to Ella’s left, proffering a glass to the person behind her, a person she didn’t need to see in order to identify.

Heat—his heat—spread across her back and chased away the air’s artificial chill. Her muscles, finally relaxing after the harried trip, became fluid, languid even. The urge to close the distance between them, to move back into what she knew was a solid torso, to feel the strength in the hands and arms that had effectively pinned her to her seat, had her instinctively shifting her weight onto her heels.

What the hell?

Sure, she believed in instant and undeniable attraction. Some called it chemistry. But her reaction to this total stranger was far beyond anything she’d ever experienced, and she didn’t like it. At all. It pushed against her self-control with the wildly rapid, incessantly repetitive tap-tap-tap of a crack-addled woodpecker.

Lust, untamed and unchecked. There was no other name for it.

The word wound through her senses and made her more aware of the earthy undertones of his cologne, the smell of hot leather from his briefcase and the susurrus of silk against wool as he moved.

“Madam?”

Ella blinked rapidly and brought the man she had assumed was the concierge into focus. “I’m sorry. Would you repeat that? I was lost in thought for a moment, I’m afraid.”

“I said my name is Arvin. I’m the resort’s head event coordinator. And a woman soon to be wed certainly cannot be blamed if her mind wanders a bit.” He grinned wider. “Particularly in an environment so conducive to romance, yes?”

Ella’s brow wrinkled as her brows squinched together. It was her typical reaction to stress, one her mother swore had begun at age three and would have Ella bearing deep, undesirable ridges in her forehead before she was forty. She absently pressed her fingertips against the ridges in an attempt to smooth her skin. “I’m sorry, but...who’s going to be newly wed?”

The coordinator’s smile faltered as he glanced between her and the stranger she knew still stood within earshot. “I...well...you are, madam.” He raised a clipboard that held several sheets of paper with printed information and handwritten notes in the margins. “My staff and I have worked diligently on the preparations for the ceremony, just as you requested.” He looked at the list and began ticking off items. “We’ve made arrangements for cake tasting, set up appointments with three florists, have a string quartet that will play in the lobby this evening so you might hear the quality of their performance. Then there’s the—”

“I’m not getting married,” she said. “I’m coordinating the wedding.”

“No.” The denial, issued in that decidedly upper-crust British accent, was ripe with disbelief. “Not you.”

Ella slowly turned to face the handsome stranger, working to keep her composure. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“You’re the one my sister hired to pull together this...this...” He dropped his briefcase and waved both hands wildly, the gesture encompassing the entire lobby. “This.”

“Do not tell me that you’re the family member my unnamed bride has chosen as her surrogate decision maker.”

“Oh, bloody hell. You are her. The event coordinator.” The last few words were enunciated with whip-like consonants and gunshot vowels.

“Yes, I am.”

The stranger downed his champagne in two long swallows then held the empty glass out with one hand while the waiter retrieved it. “You’re Ella Montgomery.”

“Again, yes, I am. You are?”

He watched her through narrowed eyes. “Liam Baggett. The bride’s brother.”

“Baggett.” Her mind raced through the list of starlets she’d compiled as possible brides, but none was named Baggett. In fact, the name didn’t ring any bells at all.

Confusion must have decorated her face, because Liam finally offered, “Half brother. Same father, different mothers. My mother died when I was very young, and my father remarried roughly five years later. My sister was born from that union.”

“Still, Baggett isn’t ringing any bells.” Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, held it for a count of ten and then let it go to a second count of ten. What had she done? How had she let herself invest everything she had, from money to the last of her reputation, in an event she was expected to plan without contact with the bride? Had she been set up to fail? The thought made her stomach lurch, the motion as nauseating as it was violent. “Tell me I’m not being punked. Tell me I haven’t flown more than halfway around the world to be made a fool of. Tell me—”

“What I’ll tell you is that my sister used a different name for the screen to keep some type of separation between her private life and her public persona. It’s a closely guarded secret, hence the reason you’ll be dealing with me, not her.”

The event coordinator had watched the verbal volley with interest. “So you’re arranging your wedding while here, yes?”

“We’re not getting married,” they both said at the same time.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” he said, small beads of sweat dotting his hairline as he glanced from his clipboard to Ella and finally to Liam.

“I’m not the bride,” Ella said through gritted teeth. “I’m the wedding planner for Mr. Baggett’s half sister and her fiancé.”

Arvin’s hands shook as he flipped through the paperwork on his clipboard, crossing out certain things and adding notes to others. “I see.” He looked up, pupils dark in wide eyes. “As I said before, my name is Arvin, and I am—”

“The resort’s event coordinator.” Ella shook Arvin’s hand by rote. “It’s nice to meet you, Arvin. I need to make sure that you understand that I am absolutely not the bride.”

“I’m clear, Ms. Montgomery, and I sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding. My staff took to heart your admonition that all must be perfect. We have two team members plus myself at your disposal around the clock.” He glanced at the last page and paled radically. “Oh, sweet and merciful...”

“Arvin?”

“As a show of our appreciation for choosing the Royal Crescent, your room was upgraded to the honeymoon suite bungalow.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but it certainly wasn’t necessary.” Ella felt her brow furrow and let it do as it would, wrinkles be damned. “But the change doesn’t seem like something that would warrant panic.”

“Normally, it wouldn’t.” Arvin dragged his arm across his forehead to wipe away sweat that only popped right back up. “But there was, as I also previously indicated, the belief that you were the bride.” He began to fan himself with the clipboard. “And that...that... Mr. Baggett was your...”

“Groom,” Ella whispered, throat so tight the word emerged as a strangled wheeze.

Behind her, Liam made a choking sound.

Ella didn’t bother turning around. Surely he couldn’t be any more dumbfounded than she was. “I can’t, Arvin.” And she couldn’t. Proximity to that man would destroy every good intention she had. If she didn’t succumb to his flirtation, he’d likely succumb to hers. What happened after that was precisely what the honeymoon suite had been created for.

This was bad.

The event coordinator touched his earpiece and gave a fractional nod. “Your bags have been tagged and will be delivered within the half hour.”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Rooming with Mr. Baggett is not an option.”

“I... I...” Arvin stood very straight.

Ella closed her eyes. This couldn’t be a portent of what lay ahead. It just...it couldn’t be. “If you’ll simply assign us separate rooms, I’ll retrieve my luggage and get to work on the wedding.”

Arvin tugged at his shirt collar, his face flushing a horrid fuchsia. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Montgomery, but the resort is booked solid. When we upgraded you and Mr. Baggett to the suite, the rooms that you each originally booked were assigned to guests on our waiting list.”

Ella took a second glass of champagne and threw it back, eyes watering with the bubbles’ bite. “Waiting list? How can there be a waiting list when this is supposed to be the beginning of the off-season?”

Arvin shrugged. “It’s our annual carnival.”

“That wasn’t advertised on the resort’s website.” Panic clawed its way up the back of her throat and threatened to choke off her air supply.

“I am sorry, Ms. Montgomery. Our website has been undergoing a complete redesign, and—”

“Surely there’s a neighboring resort. I could get a room there and commute back and forth to the Royal Crescent. A rental house. A house with a room for rent. A yurt. Something,” she muttered, looking around the crowded lobby. “Anything.”

The Brit behind her leaned in close, and the crisp smell of champagne that lay over a hint of tart strawberry wrapped around her as he spoke quietly into her ear. “This is the equivalent of the French Polynesian Mardi Gras, Ms. Montgomery. There won’t be rooms available anywhere on the island for a solid ten days. I’d have thought you, as a professional wedding planner, would have known as much.”

He was right. She should have known. But even her embarrassment wasn’t enough to stop his whispered breath from skating along her jaw and caressing the shape of her ear. Shivers threatened to shatter her composure. Things low in her belly tightened, and she stepped closer to the other man. “I can’t stay with him,” she said, the words tumbling over one another. “I can’t.”

“As I said, miss, the resort is booked to capacity. I’m certain we can find a...rollaway bed...perhaps?” There was a sense of undisguised pleading in his entire persona, from his nearly vibrating frame to the pitch of every word. “I cannot afford this type of mistake on my employment record, Ms. Montgomery. At the very least, I could be demoted. At worst?” He shook his head as he swallowed, the gulp loud enough to be heard over the hum of the crowded lobby. “And my wife—it would reflect poorly on her as well. Please, allow me to do whatever I may to make this right.”

Ella took a deep breath, held it for a count of ten and then let it out slowly. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Liam and offered a small approximation of a smile. “Surely we’re adult enough to make this work? I’ll take the rollaway; you take the bed. We’re going to be working together so much, this might even work to our benefit.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed farther. “What do you hope to gain?”

“Nothing.” She looked back at Arvin. “It’s what I don’t want him to lose.”

Liam was quiet long enough Ella was certain she’d have to plead with him to go along with it. Then he spoke, his voice rich with implied debauchery. “Surely, as two grown adults in command of their faculties and capable of informed decision making, we can share a room for a few days.”

Ella swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s just for a few days.”

CHAPTER THREE

DESPITE HIS IRRITATION with the situation, Liam had to admit he admired the woman in front of him. She obviously didn’t want to room with him, and, while that stung his damnable pride as much as it piqued his equally damnable interest, he found a solid sense of respect blooming alongside his lust. No matter who’d made the mistake, she wouldn’t let this hotel employee suffer for the error.

The singular good thing that came from this debacle? Proximity to Ella would make manipulating the situation much, much easier. A few well-placed comments, a nudge here, a suggestion there and voilà. The unrealistically short engagement following an even shorter committed relationship would not result in the worst possible outcome: a wedding. No, the event would be canceled, and Liam could go back to his day-to-day operations in London while his sister, Jenna, came to her senses about the type of man her fiancé truly was: gold digger, fame seeker, all-around narcissistic bastard and someone whose short-fused temper didn’t suit Jenna’s go-with-the-flow demeanor. Sure, she’d be livid at first. And likely a bit heartbroken. But when she realized the future Liam had saved her from? She’d be grateful. He could weather the emotional storm until that understanding dawned. She was an exceptionally bright woman. It wouldn’t take long.

He nodded to the other gentleman. “I’ve been a guest here before, so I’ll show Ms. Montgomery to the appropriate over-the-water bungalow if you’ll provide general directions.” Arvin began to speak, offering to take them himself, but Liam gently interrupted. “Ms. Montgomery would likely benefit from a chance to quietly settle into her living quarters before she begins her work. My sister, the bride, is a bit, hmm. Let’s call her exacting.”

Ella stood tall, strong, as she drew in a sharp breath and her spine went a fraction more rigid. A fraction was all she had to spare, though, without outright shattering from the afternoon’s stress. He felt a bit bad for her, but his primary objective was postponing the wedding if not outright stopping it. For good.

Directions were provided without hesitation, and Liam offered Ella his arm. “I suppose calling you ‘darling’ at this point wouldn’t go over so well. Shall we?”

Ignoring the gentlemanly gesture, Ella rolled her eyes and bit her lip. He watched as she licked her lower lip with slow, smooth sensuality. “Well, this is about as bad as it can get.” She looked up through thick lashes. “Right? Tell me this is as bad as it can get.”

Liam blinked a couple of times and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the guilt draped around his neck like a heavy stole. “It can always get worse.”

She shook her head. “Just once, I wish someone would lie to me when I ask them to instead of lying to me when I don’t expect it.”

The guilt wound around his neck like a garrote, strangling his response. “Bungalows are this way.” He gestured to the nearest door and, taking her messenger bag for her before cupping her elbow, gently steered her toward the exit. The nagging voice in his head, the part that made him good at reading people in the boardroom, wouldn’t hush. He had to know what she’d meant. “People lie to you often?”

“I’m a wedding planner.” She shot him a short look and snorted with incredible derision. “I see people lie to me, their parents, their significant others all the time. People tend to lie the most when it matters the most.”

“Are you always so cynical?”

“Practical.” Gently pulling her elbow from his grip, she held out her hand and waggled her fingers. When he didn’t respond, she plucked her bag from his shoulder. “And I can manage.”

“No doubt.” Still, he opened the door for her. He’d do what he had to do to spare his sister, but he’d still treat Ella Montgomery like the lady she was. Until he couldn’t, for Jenna’s sake. If Ella had siblings, she’d understand. Surely. “How, exactly, do people manage to lie the most when it matters the most?”

“Honestly? Lies always matter.” She navigated the narrow bridge that led away from the sand and out to the bungalows.

“To the right, here,” Liam said, pointing toward a bungalow set away from the others. “I suppose they wanted to provide us some privacy, being newlyweds and all.”

She laughed softly. “Sound carries more efficiently over water than it does land.”

An image of her, hair out of its neat twist and spread around her, linen sheets rumpled and draped across her naked body, one breast bared, a long leg exposed to the hip... Sweet Mary, save him from his suddenly overactive imagination. Heat burned through him like fuel exposed to a lightning strike. He had to focus, to remember what they’d been talking about and remind himself she’d failed to answer his question. “For clarity’s sake...” Irritated at the tightness in his throat, he reached up and, with rough execution, undid his tie and the top button of his dress shirt. Then he tried again. “For clarity’s sake, does a white lie qualify? Particularly if it’s meant to spare one’s feelings?”

She paused at the door and waited while he retrieved one of the two keys in the little envelope and swiped it across the electronic door lock. He handed her the spare key and then pushed the door open to a spacious, elegant bungalow complete with a small infinity-edge pool, glass-paneled floor in the living room, small kitchen and, through the open French doors, a mosquito-netted king bed with an abundance of pillows.

“Go on then,” he said as he moved into the bedroom and dropped his briefcase on the desk. An enormous fresh flower arrangement was situated on one nightstand and scented the ocean breeze with the smell of freesia, roses and something utterly wild. He paused to trace a finger along a single rose petal before calling out, “I’m all ears.”

“Just forget it.” Her voice was muffled, as if she were in the bathroom.

“Can’t. Sorry. Nature of the beast.”

“Look, bottom line is that I’ve come to believe there’s not a time when being lied to doesn’t matter. If it’s important enough to lie about, it’s important.” She leaned around the corner, inhaling as if to say something else, but her eyes widened and she gasped. “This is the honeymoon suite?” She walked through the room and headed straight out the second set of French doors that led to the expansive deck and the view of the crystalline waters and colorful reefs teeming with sea life. “This is incredible!”

“Almost makes it worth being married.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Consider our marriage annulled.”

“Such short wedded bliss,” he said on a sigh. “I didn’t even get to kiss the bride.”

She laughed, the sound soft but reserved. “You wish.”

“I do.”

This time, she truly laughed. Liam found himself caught between wanting to watch versus taking her mouth with his and swallowing the sexy, sultry sound. He hadn’t realized he’d been waiting to hear her laughter, but he had. She had the kind of laugh that would turn men’s heads, would compel them to seek out the siren responsible. And though he wasn’t one to wager, Liam was absolutely willing to bet Ella was a fun lover, one who laughed when she loved—right up to the point that teasing and laughter were consumed by passion that would be as avaricious as it was unreserved.

Her laughter trailed off, but Liam continued to stare. He couldn’t look away. Never had a woman enchanted him like this, and she’d done it unintentionally and without an ounce of pretension. And suddenly, he had to know—had to fill in a blank his imagination had created.

“What would our kiss have been like?”

Her gaze darted to his, her lips parted and the tip of her tongue swept out and touched the edge of her cupid’s bow. Different emotions ranging from surprise to curiosity flashed across her face, but Liam was most interested in the emotional revelation that struck.

Desire.

He stepped closer and paused, giving her every chance to tell him to bugger off. Instead, she shifted so their hips lined up, her body acknowledging what she verbally denied. “There wouldn’t have been a kiss.”

“You won’t kiss your groom? Rather odd, don’t you think?”

“You’re not my groom.” Her voice was raspy, husky and told him everything he needed to know.

“And you’re not my bride, yet I still can’t stop myself from wondering.”

“Stop putting ideas in my head.”

“Where would you rather I put them?” he teased.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving fractionally toward him. “You’re temptation incarnate.”

He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the railing on either side of her. “And what’s your position on temptation?”

“Never turn it down.”

“Why?”

She moved into him, closing that final distance so their bodies touched. One slender hand rested on his chest; the other wound through his hair, gripping just tight enough to exert control. Eyes locked with his, she pulled him toward her at the same time she rose on her toes. “You never know when it might come around again.”

Liam groaned as their mouths came together in a rush of heat and hurry and hunger. There was nothing tentative about the kiss. It would burn hot and then hotter until it became a supernova that consumed them both.

Her body was pliant, yielding to his, pushing back against him in every critical place. Liam wondered that their clothes didn’t turn to ash at every point of contact.

And he wanted more of her, then and there, than he’d ever wanted of another woman.

He hesitated a split second, but it was enough.

Ella broke the kiss, slipped under his arm and took several long strides toward the bedroom. Pausing, she reached down and slipped her heels off. Liam watched as she curled her bare feet into the fluffy rug and then uncurled them.

He couldn’t believe that this woman, this siren, would have toenails painted the faintest seashell pink. It seemed like a secret that he alone knew, and he had the strangest urge to keep anyone else from knowing this tiny private thing about her.

This had to stop.

He hadn’t come here to engage in a tryst. The only reason compelling enough to take him away from the office mid–corporate takeover was his little sister’s well-being. When she’d told him she needed help planning the perfect wedding, he’d met her and her fiancé in London for dinner. The man, semiprofessional baseball player Mike Feigenbaum, had been attentive at first. That had quickly devolved following a phone call the man had taken midmeal—answering without apology and leaving the table without excusing himself. He’d missed most of the main course and had snapped at Jenna when she went to check on him. She’d been upset, and her proposed groom had done nothing to console her. Instead, he’d shown signs of a temper Liam wouldn’t allow Jenna to become tied to.

So he’d flown halfway round the world to stop his sister from marrying a domineering asshole following a whirlwind romance that had been documented by all the gossip rags.

Rolling up his sleeves and strolling with feigned casualness to the hammock, Liam lay down and locked his hands behind his head. He watched Ella from under half-lowered eyelids. She was temptation incarnate. Her body was in lush profile to him, her unapologetic stare locked on his.

“So that’s what our kiss would have been like?” He rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Sufficient.”

She chuffed out a sound of indignation laced with disbelief. “If that driving wood behind your zipper is any indication, that kiss was far more than sufficient.” Bending, she scooped up her shoes. “And seeing as I’ve been more than clear on my lack of appreciation for liars, I’d suggest you cut the crap.”

“Testy.” Liam gently set the hammock to rocking and continued to watch Ella. “Tell me, have you always had this aversion to fibbers, or is this something new?”

“I’ve never been a fan of lying. What’s the point?”

“To get what one wants, I assume.”

Her face closed up, any and all emotion under lock and key. “No matter whom you hurt?”

“Who hurt you?” The question wasn’t meant to be as weighty as it sounded, but Liam found himself desperately wanting to resolve the problem for this fiery woman. It would cost him little and potentially relieve her of some personal baggage.

She looked at him askance, worrying her bottom lip.

“Tell me.”

“Ask nicely,” she retorted.

He waited.

So did she.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“You’ve heard of Two Turtle Doves?”

He shook his head.

“It’s a prime-time TV show. I was supposed to be half of it. My business partner sold me out, took our idea to the network and they bought it...without me as a cohost.”

Liam set his foot on the deck and stopped the hammock’s rocking. “Threw you under the bus, did she?”

“He, and yes. Clients followed the fame, and that left me coordinating children’s birthday parties and bar mitzvahs to make ends meet. No one wanted the event planner who hadn’t been good enough for the network to pick up.”

“But you were excluded. It wasn’t a matter of being good enough,” he countered.

“That part didn’t make the network news. All people knew was that I was cut out of the deal. They assumed.”

“So your partner lied...”

“And everyone believed him. He ruined my life with a single lie.” She shrugged. “That pretty much made me a stickler for the truth. And now your sister’s wedding is going to put me back on the map and reestablish my reputation as the premier event coordinator for the upper echelon of Los Angeles.”

The truth pricked the little guilt he allowed himself, but he couldn’t let that sway him from his course of action, no matter how deliciously tempting he found Ella, nor how heartbreaking her story was. Jenna’s happiness and well-being had to come before all else, including Ella’s business. After all, she would have a multitude of opportunities to reclaim her place in the who’s who of society planners. But Jenna? She had one real shot at a happily-ever-after, and it was not going to happen with some semiprofessional baseball player from Wisconsin.

Settling deeper into the hammock, Liam set the swing into motion once more. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing into a rhythmic pattern—in, two, three, four, five...hold...out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. His heart rate slowed. The churning in his stomach eased. And he was able to address Ella, who’d moved to stand at the foot of the hammock.

“I can’t speak to the reputation you once had, but I’ve no doubt you’re perfectly capable. My sister wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t.” He opened his eyes. “Seeing as we’re going to be spending the next seven days together, how do you propose we best handle our close proximity?”

She tilted her head toward the bedroom before flicking open the top button of her blouse. She grinned, backing away from him. “I can handle the...proximity issue...if you can. First thing I’m going to do is put my dive suit on and check out the resort’s dive excursion. Your sister and her fiancé wanted some fun prewedding activities for their guests, so I’m planning a group dive. But I want to check out the instructors myself and make sure the experience not only meets but exceeds the hype. Sunken ship, hammerhead sharks, colorful reefs with abundant life—all that jazz.”

Liam stood and moved toward her, closing the distance with measured steps until he stood mere inches from her. He looked down and stared into light green eyes rimmed with ebony lashes. Reaching out, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“I, uh...”

He leaned toward her, quietly amused at the way she responded, instinctively moving closer to him before she caught herself. Undoubtedly, it was her need for control that forced her to pause midmotion. But she didn’t retreat, didn’t recover the steps she’d taken toward him.

Good to know.

“I thought we’d cleared this up,” she said. “Business before pleasure.”

“Oh, we did.” He deftly removed the earring that had been about to fall free of her ear, handing it over. “I didn’t want you to lose this. It looks like the real deal.”

She took it from him, closing her fingers around the earring and stepping back. “Thank you.”

He began to unbutton his shirt, thrilling as her eyes followed each button until he hit his waist and pulled his shirttails free. Then she looked up, eyes wide.

Someone knocked at the door.

His mouth kicked up in a small smile, though his eyes never left hers. “I’ll get that, as it’s likely our luggage.”

“Sure.”

He started for the door. Several steps away, he glanced back and found her rooted in the same spot, her eyes locked on his backside.

“I’ll have our bags put in here. If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ve a mind to grab my suit and head out with you.”

“You dive?” she blurted out.

“I do.”

“Is your future brother-in-law certified, do you know?”

He tried not to scowl and, by the worried look on Ella’s face, achieved far less than even 50 percent success. “I’m not certain. But I suppose he’s like anyone else—he’ll either dive or drown.”

Her brow furrowed at the comment, but she didn’t reply.

He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the bed. “Be right back.”

He rounded the corner but still managed to hear her reply.

“Please, God, let them be trunks. But if You’re listening, it would be fine if they’re small.”

* * *

Long before they reached the dive center, Ella was certain she’d been cosmically destined to face death by drowning. Why? If Liam Baggett was a menace in a power suit, then he was lethal in swim trunks. Yes, small swim trunks, at that. God’s existence had been verified the moment Liam walked out of their bungalow, towel slung over one broad...broad...shoulder, his lips still slightly swollen from their kiss.

Their kiss. What had she been thinking? The answer was simple: nothing. She’d been living on the sheer influx of desire that had clouded her brain and determined conservative thinking—and living—to be a crime given proximity to him.

She sneaked another look, this one longer. And she wasn’t any sorrier this time than she had been when she’d stolen the first, second or third looks.

His upper body had the professionally chiseled look that came from long hours in the gym and, for good measure, a little physical work on the side. His thighs were lean but corded with muscle. If she touched his calves, they’d be solid. But his arms were the most arresting part of him. They were nothing less than sculpted perfection, a wordless covenant that protection could be found within their embrace.

Ella shook her head. Covenant? Protection? You’re thinking Henry Cavill as Superman, not British surrogate wedding decision maker.

They passed the bar, and she eyed it longingly. If she stopped for a drink, just one, they’d miss this excursion but could still catch the last outing today. Watching the bartender muddle the mint as he put together a mojito almost made the decision for her... “Ella?”

Instinct had her rubbing her furrowed brow and forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Yes?”

Liam waited several feet ahead of her, a knowing look in his eyes. “If you want another...”

Kiss. Say kiss.

“...drink that badly, I’m sure we can make the next excursion. We’ve plenty of time before the wedding party’s arrival.”

Wedding party. Job. Stay focused.

“No.” The word registered clear and sharper than she’d intended. “No,” she said again, this time more pleasantly. “I need to... We need to use every minute to our advantage to ensure your sister’s wedding comes together without a hitch. No cutting corners, and certainly no making do.”

That same shadow she’d seen earlier passed over his face. “Of course.”

“Wait. What’s that look? Is there something I should know?”

He glanced away, his gaze fixed on some unseen spot in the water. “What, specifically, are you referring to?”

“I’m referring to the wedding. I mentioned it being perfect and your face went totally blank. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Something I should know?” She hesitated. “Is it something between the bride and groom?”

“I assure you, Ella, that my interests lie solely in securing my sister’s well-being. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Understand that I will do whatever I must to ensure her happiness is secured. She’s the priority here, not me.”

“Of course.” Ella gripped her shoulder and pulled, stretching, before repeating the same with the other side. She was wound so tight she couldn’t tell up from down, left from right, or brotherly concern from familial dissatisfaction. His answer struck her as a bit odd, though. Aggression created a solid foundation for every word he spoke. What was he willfully omitting?

The answer wasn’t right there for the plucking, but she’d figure it out. One thing was certain, however. He loved his sister and, like he said, she was the priority. At least they agreed on that much.

“About that drink?”

A shake of her head before she resumed the trek to the beachfront dive hut. “It’s best I don’t give in to temptation before hitting the water.”

The wind carried his response to her, soft and so sexually charged it seemed lightning should have struck. “On that, Ella, we very much disagree.”

Fighting to keep from visibly clenching her thighs at the impact of his words, she focused on retying the sarong around her waist. Her dive suit wasn’t skimpy, but it fit tight, and the thin neoprene did nothing but enhance every movement. So she’d suffer a little discomfort. It wouldn’t kill her.

Liam remained silent the rest of the walk, lagging behind just far enough that she felt his eyes caressing every line of her body, every inch of her bare skin.

CHAPTER FOUR

WAVES ROCKED THE 109-foot catamaran, the slap of water against the fiberglass hull soft. Rhythmic. Every now and then, the breeze would gather enough momentum that the sails swelled and billowed. The fabric would snap taut only to fall back to its lethargic default when the winds quieted. Clouds were sparse—brilliant white against the endless azure sky. If the Garden of Eden had been anything like this particular slice of paradise, Adam had been a fool to risk it all over a mediocre piece of fruit. For Eve, though? Particularly if she’d looked anything like Ella...

“I’d have eaten brussels sprouts if she’d offered,” he murmured.

Ella had started the trip by grilling the dive instructors, asking for everything from credentials to referrals. The poor men had been overwhelmed, though she hadn’t understood why. And wasn’t that just like her. She was everything brilliant and strong and professional...yet kind...and wearing a bikini. The poor dive instructors had been tripping over themselves to satisfy her every request. If they knew how the woman kissed? They’d be lost—land or sea, it wouldn’t matter.

As for himself? Well, he’d simply watched with avaricious appreciation as she took off the short dive suit and revealed the little number beneath. Thankfully, she hadn’t required anything of him. Even so, they hadn’t cleared the outermost harbor buoys before he’d lost the little bit of temper he’d packed for the afternoon.

“For God’s sake, Ella,” he bit out. “Leave the men to their jobs. I’m certain your questions will be answered in due course, either by the instructors or through the experience.”

Ella’s chin had set, and she’d shot him a sharp look. “I get your point, Liam. I’m annoying him by doing my job. Let me make something perfectly clear now, before we go any farther. You seem like you’d be the type who’s more comfortable dealing with women as accessories. That’s fine if it’s okay with the women in question. But I’m absolutely not that woman. I don’t require a man to intervene, to handle the difficult tasks—the proverbial heavy lifting. Thanks for feeling the need here, but I’m good. If you think I should retire to the deck and lie back, get a little sun and let the men do their jobs, think again.” She smiled sweetly at Liam. “Unless you’re willing to join me.”

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Insult my manhood when I’m just trying to help you relax. What’s the old saying? ‘Out of the frying pan—’”

“Oh, you have no idea the fire you’ve just waltzed into,” she murmured, retrieving a glass of punch offered by the boat’s deckhand. “See, if you had grown up in the United States, Smokey the Bear would have taught you not to play with fire unless you were prepared to get burned. But after that interruption? You better hope there’s a first aid kit onboard, because I’m about to blister your ass.”

“Foreplay in such a public manner?” Liam teased. “I’ll take my chances.”

She grinned into her cup. “You’re just that type, aren’t you?”

“What type is that?”

Shaking her head, she wandered over to an unclaimed space on the deck and lay down before shooting him a quick, devilish look. “You know—the type to make things a little public.”

He sank down beside her, propped himself up on one arm and leaned over her, seeing his reflection in her sunglasses a split second before his subconscious made the decision his conscious mind would’ve eventually landed on. He kissed her. Quick. All heat and passion, without apology and certainly without regret. He’d only had the one taste of her, but he craved more. She was an instant addiction.

Breaking away, he smiled down at her. The stunned look on her face sent a thrill through him. Seducing her, or being seduced by her, would be worth every effort. Or almost any compromise. So she was clear, however, he leaned closer and said, “I don’t mind public displays of affection.”

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