Page 8 of The Rebel

‘The PR campaign for the resort is clear-cut but I need clarification on your ideas for making the brand more marketable.’ He jabs a finger at my portfolio. ‘You mentioned a more elaborate presentation? Do you want to run through it before I work through my questions?’

‘Yes.’ I sound like an idiot, answering with a monosyllabic affirmative, so I busy myself flipping open my laptop and trying to ignore his impenetrable stare.

He’s making me uncomfortable, staring at me like he can’t work me out. Join the club. How can he dismiss that kiss last night like it meant nothing?

Technically, it did, a random brief hookup between two adults on a moonlit beach that probably happens every night of the week on an island like this; an unfortunate blip in our upcoming working relationship, a moment of cocktail-driven madness. So what’s his excuse?

‘You’re overthinking this.’

My fingers stall on the keyboard as I’m bringing up my presentation. He’s undermined me with his casual observation.

‘Aren’t you the least bit uncomfortable?’

I throw it out there, expecting him to shut me down. Then again, he’s the one who’s brought it up again and I’d rather confront the invisible tap-dancing elephant in the room than have to work in this tension-fraught environment for the foreseeable future.

‘Maybe.’ He shrugs, drawing his business shirt taut across his broad shoulders. ‘But it happened. We can’t change it. So what’s the point of overanalysing it? We’re adults. We acted on impulse. Why worry?’

I’m not worried, other than by an insistent hankering to do more than kiss him, and I can’t help but glance at his lips and remember how they felt moving against mine.

‘Don’t do that,’ he says, his voice barely above a low growl.

‘Do what?’

I muster my best innocent expression when in reality I’m slightly peeved. He wants to dismiss the kiss, fine. But there’s something in his tone that makes me feel belittled when it was pretty damn fantastic.

‘Stare at me like you want a repeat.’

He’s saying all the right things but I glimpse hunger in his eyes, a desire that matches my own. Crap, we’re in trouble. For despite our protestations, there’s a powerful undercurrent between us. I can feel it, an insistent throb where I want him most.

I wriggle in my seat. It doesn’t ease. Yep, big trouble. So I settle for funny to ease the tension between us.

I hold up my palm and mimic writing on it. ‘Got it. Memo to Daisy. No more kissing hot guys on the beach.’

His eyes blaze with lust and I clench my thighs together, swamped with a ferocious heat like I’ve stepped too close to a smouldering volcano.

After a long pause, he drawls, ‘Nice to know you think I’m hot.’

That’s the problem with being a smartass. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain. I should’ve omitted the part about him being hot.

‘What I think is you need me to make you look good so let’s start.’

‘I need you to make this resort look good.’ He leans forward, rests his forearms on the desk, smug and insufferable. ‘I’m doing just fine without your help.’

Heat creeps into my cheeks, scorching and utterly embarrassing. I should’ve turned tail and run the moment I entered this office. But I need to ensure this job is the best work I’ve ever done and if that means battling wits with this inscrutable man, I’ll do it.

Maybe I’m playing this all wrong? If I acknowledge what happened in a fun way, perhaps we can move on to work?

‘Look, we really need to move past this. I acted on impulse last night, something I never do, and it was a kiss, nothing major.’

His eyes widen, as if he can’t believe I’m being so blunt.

‘As for the debate regarding your hotness, I’m not in the habit of kissing random guys I just meet. I ended my engagement a year ago and haven’t dated much, so considering the way we went at it last night I guess my libido classifies you as hot even if I don’t want to acknowledge it myself.’

That’s another thing that happens when I’m floundering. Verbal diarrhoea. It’s too late to take it all back and he’s gaping at me in open-mouthed shock.

I bite my bottom lip and start typing, bringing up my presentation. ‘Now we’ve got all that uncomfortableness out of the way, let’s get to work.’

I could kiss him—again—when he nods. But he doesn’t stop staring during my entire spiel and I’ve never been more grateful for my obsession with preparation, because if I didn’t have slides I wouldn’t have been able to speak.

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