Page 27 of Caribbean Crush

Phillip’s gaze never wavers. He watches me lift the mug to my lips, and then his gaze drops to my throat as I swallow. I lick the bit of foam from the corner of my mouth and brush my lips together. It’s the most mundane thing—just a sip of coffee—and yet for some reason, I find it’s turned into something so heated that my body hums with excitement. I recognize what it is: innate, obvious attraction. Oh fuck. It’s so, so inconvenient to feel that zing. The sort that feels inevitable and deep. The kind of thing that digs its talons into you.

It’s one thing to acknowledge that Phillip is objectively handsome. Poll the US population and everyone would agree: he’s a grade A hottie. Attraction is different, though. Chemical.

Tyson clears his throat.

I set my latte back on the table.

“Tell me what I should do to win him over,” I say, talking to Tyson, though I’m looking at Phillip.

“I doubt you can,” Tyson replies truthfully.

My brow arches.

“Ah. ‘My good opinion once lost is lost forever,’” I say, quoting from Jane Austen.

Phillip’s mouth quirks like he wants to smile. “Exactly. And don’t you forget it.”

Tyson barks out a laugh. “Easy there, Phillip. She’s our invited guest, remember?”

I give him a gloating, devilish smile. “Yes. See? As your invited guest, I’m untouchable. And don’t you forget it.”

The air crackles as Phillip’s eyes darken. I was absentmindedly stroking the side of my to-go cup, but I yank my hand back and stuff it beneath the table.

The tightness in my belly almost hurts.

That ache of desire is so foreign to me.

I realize what I’ve done a second too late. I came over here with a clear goal: persuade Phillip to give me an interview. Instead, I let him goad me and drag me down to a position I can’t afford to be in (quite literally). Now that I know how easily he strips me of my self-control, my filter, my manners, I’ll have to be more careful with him in the future.

I open my mouth, preparing to offer a proverbial white flag by way of apology, but Phillip drains the last of his coffee and then scoots his chair back, standing so that I’m forced to acknowledge his intimidating size. I feel diminutive sitting in my chair across from him.

“Off already?” Tyson asks.

“I need to check in with Devin.”

“Ah, let me know if there’s any trouble.”

Phillip nods, casts me a quick glance, and says, “Ms. Hughes, enjoy your breakfast.”

When he walks away, I have to make a concerted effort not to let my gaze follow him through the dining room. I want to watch him, but I focus on my latte and take a heavy gulp.

Tyson’s attention is on me. I’m aware he’s studying me, but I’m too chicken to call him out for it.

I puff out a heavy sigh. “Well, that went horribly ...”

He shrugs cavalierly. “Eh. Don’t sweat it.”

Don’t sweat it? Impossible. I’ll be replaying our encounter on repeat the rest of the day. I’ll be dissecting every word, beating myself up for not playing my part better. I could have kissed his ass, really cranked up the charm. Instead, I was too focused on trying to get in some verbal jabs.

“You don’t have to eat with me. I understand I’ve put you in an awkward position.”

He can’t keep the smile off his face. “You have? This has been one of the best meals I’ve had in a while. Well ... certainly the most entertaining.”

“Entertaining.” I snort. “I should apologize to him.”

He balks. “Apologize? Absolutely not.”

“I was rude.”

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