Page 12 of The Rebel

I turn and glare at him, annoyed by his smug grin and knowing eyes, and I realise something. If he’d changed in the cabana on the other side of us, the sun wouldn’t have cast him in shadow. Which could only mean one thing.

He wanted me to watch.

Two can play this game and I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be better at it than him.

‘Yeah, it’s incredibly hot here.’

This time I roll the bottle across my upper chest, where the condensation transfers onto my skin.

He’s riveted, staring at my chest like he wants to lick off the water droplets. The thought alone is enough to make my hand shake. I changed into a sundress after our meeting. It’s not particularly low-cut but what skin that is exposed is now moist and he can’t stop staring at it.

‘You’re…’ He drags his gaze off my chest and meets my eyes. His pupils are dilated amid all that gorgeous blue. I’m definitely winning this battle.

‘What?’

I eyeball him, daring him to articulate what’s going on here. Disappointingly, he mutters something unintelligible and turns away, missing my victorious fist pump.

‘I can see your reflection,’ he says, sounding amused rather than annoyed, as I belatedly realise we’re standing near the trendy glass-enclosed poolside bar.

‘Good. Then you’ll know how absolutely pumped I am that this photo shoot is going so well.’

He turns back to me. His pupils have returned to normal and he looks way too controlled. I’ll fix that. I’m not done with payback for that little cabana stunt yet.

‘Where do you want me next?’

I flash him an innocent smile. ‘If you’re after the PG version I’d like you to strike a casual pose over by the bar.’

He swallows. ‘And if I want the R rated version?’

I lean closer and his sharp intake of breath indicates he isn’t as controlled as he appears. ‘You’ll have to be a lot nicer to me.’

I will him to say he does want it, that despite our logical agreement to forget that kiss, he isn’t averse to doing it again and a whole lot more.

I brace for him to fob me off and put an end to our verbal sparring.

‘I thought we agreed not to do this,’ he says, sounding gruff.

‘We’re just flirting. It’s healthy.’

‘The thing is, if you push me too far, it won’t stop there.’

I resist doing a fist pump again. ‘Promises, promises.’

He swipes a hand over his face, like he wants to eradicate my presence altogether. ‘This is a dumb idea.’

‘I can name dumber ones.’ I hold up my hand and start ticking off a list by lowering my fingers. ‘Leg warmers. Crimped hair. Scrunchies. Acid-washed jeans—’

‘As much as I enjoy hearing that you’re an eighties aficionado, can you be serious for one damn second?’

Okay, maybe I’ve pushed him too far because now he looks plain tortured.

‘I don’t like mixing business with pleasure.’

I shrug. ‘Me either. But we’re both adults. I’m pretty sure we can separate what happens out here from what could happen in there.’

I point over his shoulder towards the luxurious villas scattered among the lush tropical gardens. ‘Or do you prefer it on the beach only?’

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, ensuring I’ll have to smooth it before the next batch of photos is taken.

---