Page 8 of Dreamboat

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Why not?”

Before there’s a chance for him to greet Donovan, he takes off in the opposite direction.

“Did I chase him away?” Donovan asks as soon as he’s within a foot of where I’m sprawled out.

“I asked him to get you one of these.” I point at the tri-colored drink that I have yet to sample.

He slides the glasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the tall beverage with the pink straw and blue umbrella perched in it. “He agreed to do that? Willingly?”

Laughing, I remove my sunglasses and set them on the top of my head. “He didn’t say no.”

Donovan barks out a deep laugh. “Something tells me that you could ask Clever to do cartwheels across the entire length of this deck, and he’d happily do that.”

“Should I ask him?” I grin. “It’s impossible not to admire a good cartwheel.”

Donovan plucks his sunglasses off too and studies me. “Is that so? The last time I did a cartwheel I was maybe twelve or thirteen.”

“How long ago was that?” I ask.

I’ve guessed his age to be in the mid to late thirties range. Matt and Roman are thirty-three and Matt told me that this boss is slightly older than him.

“I’m thirty-six,” he tells me. “Would you mind if I grabbed that lounge chair next to you?”

I glance at it. “You should since there’s a spectacular drink coming your way courtesy of Clever.”

He looks in the direction Clever disappeared to. “You have a lot more faith in him than I do.”

Without any warning, he whips the shirt he’s wearing over his head to reveal a toned and tanned torso. My gaze trails over it stopping to admire the way his black swimming trunks hang low on his hips.

My heart thunders in my chest so loudly that it feels like the sounds of the people around me have been muted.

I quickly look down only to realize that I am wearing a very tiny black bikini.

I knew when I put it on earlier that there was a chance that I’d run into Donovan at some point before I headed back to my room, but now with my nipples straining against the fabric I wish I had kept my cover up on.

If I cross my arms that will draw attention to my tits, so I start talking to hopefully keep his gaze planted firmly on my face. “Did you sleep well?”

The question takes him by surprise. I can tell by the way he tilts his chin down. “I did. Did you?”

No. I did not.

I had a recurring dream about him.

We were back in New York City. I was walking down the sidewalk. He was approaching me and then just as I neared him, poof he disappeared into thin air.

That’s when I woke up and each time I drifted off again, I found myself back on that sidewalk hoping the dream would end with him sweeping me up and into his arms.

It never happened.

“Sure,” I say with a sigh.

I can tell by his expression that he’s not completely sold on my answer. His hands drop to his hips. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that lures my gaze back down to that carved V that leads beneath his swim trunks.

I reach up to grab my sunglasses to put them back on.

“How’s your toe feeling this morning?” he asks as he lowers himself onto the lounge chair next to me.

His long legs stretch out. His arms fall to his side.

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