Page 46 of The Paradise Problem

“What gave it away?” I ask dryly. “Him specifically asking about our five-year anniversary?”

“I don’t want to be back in this family any more than he wants me here. Can’t he just mind his business for once in his life?”

“Maybe he would if you didn’t antagonize him.” I shake my head at him in wonder. “It seems even less credible having me here if you’re going to act like such a basket case.”

West sighs miserably. “My family brings out the worst in me.”

I make a fist of solidarity. “Keep your eyes on the prize: your inheritance.”

His face does a weird little wince, like I’ve made a dig. Have I?

I must have, because he pauses before turning back to the shower. “It’s not just about my money.”

Rolling off the bed, I walk over to him. “West, dearest! I’m not judging you! We all have things that motivate us. I’d sacrifice a virgin to get my art placed in a big show.” I pause. “Hell, even a small art show. I just want my work out there. A hundred million dollars would motivate the hell out of me. I might even kill two virgins.”

West looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. “I’m gonna shower.”

He stares and this time, I read the translation: Linger at your own risk.

I walk out to the deck and curl up in a papasan chair, facing the ocean. The sky has grown dark to the north, and I wonder if we’ll get a storm later. I pick up my notebook and pencil, starting to sketch out the horizon when I hear that maddening shower groan. I imagine his perfect Goddamn and have to close my eyes, focusing on the sound of the waves and not on what sexy things might also elicit more sexy noises.

I look down at my paper and begin sketching, not thinking, just drawing whatever runs through my mind. I’m not particularly good at figure drawing, but as the minutes pass, my hands move on instinct. A rough sketch of a chest, the geometric slash of collarbones. My pencil scratches across the page as I shape out bulky shoulders, long, defined arms. A torso narrowing at the muscular hips, with a dark line of hair leading beneath a waistband. I definitely do not think about running my fingertips there, biting his thighs, or wrapping my hand around his long, thick Godda—

“Anna.”

I startle, jolting upright and slamming the sketchbook shut. West is standing in front of me in shorts and what looks like an incredibly soft T-shirt.

“Sorry, were you working on something?” he asks with a smirk.

“It’s nothing.” I sit up, tucking the book behind me. “That was a fast shower.” Though I guess it was long enough to almost sketch a naked version of the man in front of me. “I’m going to take a nap,” I say standing to stretch. “I don’t think I slept very well.”

When I look up, West is gaping at me.

“What?” I point. “What is that face?” Gasping, I ask, “Oh my God, did I snore last night?”

His shock melts into an amused smile. “No, you did not snore. You were… a little cuddly.”

“Cuddly?” I ask, horrified. “Meaning what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen.” He sits in the chair beside mine and reaches for my forearm, guiding me back down. “I was thinking in the shower, and—”

“Oh, yes.” I lean forward. “Wait, wait. No.” I settle back and close my eyes. “Start from the beginning. You’re in the shower, the water pouring over your rock-hard abs…”

“Stop it,” he says, laughing. When I open my eyes, he’s gazing at me through long, dark lashes. “You were right last night. We—I mean I, really—need to take this more seriously.”

I shift in my chair, noticing the way West’s honeyed eyes track the movement. I look down and who can blame the man—there’s just so much boob visible in this Band-Aid of a bikini. Vivi and I are going to have a long conversation when I get home about what constitutes a swimsuit so the next time a billionaire asks me to pose as his wife, I’m better equipped for water sports.

“I’m all ears,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. His eyes linger on my chest.

“I…” He begins, and then rakes his hand through that glorious head of hair, blinking hard and turning his face away. “Tonight is the main welcome party. Most of the wedding guests should be arriving throughout the day and will be in attendance. There will be business contacts of my father’s everywhere. Reporters, photographers, you know.”

“I do not know, but I believe you.”

He smiles, but it vanishes quickly. “I think we need to be… affectionate.”

I’ve said as much myself, but hearing it from him now makes my confidence wobble. In what universe can I be closer to this man and not end up slobbering all over his chest? I barely kept it together this morning at his insinuation that he betrayed our routine by going for a run without me, and I punished him with some good old-fashioned anger fuckin’. I imagine him looking at me tonight with feigned love in his eyes at the party and my hands gravitating to his crotch like twin magnets.

I hold up my fists and give a silent cheer. “You know I’m down for whatever the job requires.”

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