Page 28 of The Rebel

If I wanted some woman to stick her nose into my business twenty-four-seven I’d get married.

Never going to happen.

When the silence stretches to five minutes I risk a quick sideways glance, sorry I did. She has her face tilted to the sun, eyes closed, a small secretive smile playing about her mouth. A woman enjoying the day on a beautiful yacht under the perfect Queensland sun, a beguiling mix of angel and vixen, like she knows something I don’t.

Lust slams me like a punch to the jaw, ferocious and startling, before the inevitable emptiness sets in. I can’t want her this much. I don’t want to know what’s behind that smile. I won’t get too attached to my island fuck-buddy.

Stick to the plan, dickhead, and you’ll be fine.

I have to be.

Chapter Fourteen

Daisy

Ican’t lie. I’m glad to be back on firm ground.

‘What do you think, landlubber?’

How does Hart do that, home in on exactly what I’m thinking? He gestures at the stunning vista before us, squaring his shoulders in pride, like he manually constructed Gem Island by hand.

‘You’re right. This is the perfect spot to take pictures of the island for the revamped brochures and online advertising.’ I squint a little. ‘Though to be honest, it’s almost too picture perfect. Tourists will think all that cerulean ocean and lush greenery is digitally enhanced.’

‘Isn’t the whole point of PR to talk up the place so they come and see for themselves?’

‘Yeah, but this…’ I sigh, wishing I could be so lucky as to live and work here permanently. Hart has that opportunity but he can’t wait to escape. Madness. ‘It takes your breath away.’

‘I thought that was me.’

I chuckle. I love a dry sense of humour and he has one of the best when he lets his guard down, which isn’t often enough. ‘Keep telling yourself that, stud.’

‘I didn’t hear any complaints earlier,’ he murmurs, his deep voice so compelling I feel it all the way down to where he had his tongue buried earlier on the boat.

‘I’ve praised you enough for that.’ I sound priggish and toss my hair for good measure.

He laughs, a genuine bellow that startles some parakeets out of a nearby palm tree. ‘You can never praise a guy enough for his prowess. We’re a bunch of egotistical Neanderthals that way.’

Enjoying our sparring more by the minute, I respond, ‘Well, just so you know, I don’t give praise lightly and there’s a lot of difference in prowess between Neanderthals.’

‘Then I’m flattered.’

‘You should be.’

His expression is relaxed, almost serene, and at complete odds with his perpetual glower. All this playful banter about him giving me the best head of my life has me focussing on his mouth and remembering…

‘You’re easy to read, you know that?’

I drag my eyes from his mouth to find him staring at me, wild-eyed, like he did back on the boat right before we went down to the cabin.

‘So I’ve been told.’ I circle my face with a fingertip. ‘Open book here.’

‘We all have secrets,’ he says, eyeing me with an intensity that makes me want to tear off my clothes. ‘And I don’t give a shit. All I care about right now is fucking you.’

His husky response ripples over me like a physical caress and my skin pebbles. My nipples are tight peaks, begging for attention. But I know it can’t be all about me, not this time.

I glance around the secluded slice of beach hugging the south side of this tiny island. He moored at a jetty about a mile away and we walked along a rough-hewn rocky path between lush, jungle-like foliage to get here. It’s uninhabited, owned by some preservation society determined to protect islands in the Whitsundays.

I’ve never been gladder for the conservationist cause because if we’re alone in paradise I know exactly what to do.

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