Page 45 of Caribbean Crush

I’m flush with nerves, hyperaware of the rise and fall of my chest, of my quaking stomach. I want to band my arms across my belly, to cover up in some way, but the moment his eyes fall across my skin, I can’t. I want him looking. I feed off of the way his eyes darken and narrow as he takes in my panties and bra. They’re the palest pink, almost sheer. That muscle tenses in his jaw, and I dip my head and bite down on my lower lip to keep from outright gloating.

“This is insanity.”

My gaze rises to meet his in question. “Sleeping together?”

He nearly smirks. “You think we’ll sleep?”

My mouth goes dry as he takes me in, lazily drawing his gaze down my chest, my stomach, my hips, that private spot between my thighs. “I’ve never done this,” I blurt.

His eyes grow wide in fear. “Sex?”

I nearly snort. “Sex, of course. The one-night stand thing ...” I shake my head. “No.”

“Right. Well ... I’m not really the type either.”

“Shocking.”

His blue eyes pierce mine.

“Is it?” he presses, wanting my full assessment of his character.

“No,” I amend.

I feel bad for throwing out such a capricious comment. It’s not true. Just because he carries the money and title doesn’t mean Phillip falls in line with the playboy stereotype. He seems too thoughtful. There is Vivienne, though. Do I ask about her now? Confirm that the rumors about their recent split are true? It seems like such a heavy topic to bring up, but I’d rather not accidentally become the other woman simply because I didn’t want to ask a tough question.

“Just to confirm ... you are single, aren’t you?”

He looks offended. “Of course. Aren’t you?”

My eyes widen. “Yes. I just ... wanted to be clear.”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he confirms.

I lift my chin. “Good.”

“And we’re clear on the interview?”

His tone is sharp and unyielding, like he’s speaking in a boardroom.

I roll my eyes. “Oh my god. Yes. Mr. Woodmont, I’m aware you won’t be giving me an interview. Enough. I’m not here to persuade you. I want—”

His lips twist into a gloating smile when my sentence hitches. “You want what, Casey?”

I can’t say it.

I’m not used to having conversations like this. My previous bedroom encounters included a lot of lights-out fumbling. Let’s just say I’ve never stood on board a luxury cruise liner, inside a presidential suite, in nothing but a revealing bra and silk panties. This is uncharted territory, and Phillip can see that plain as day. He knows, of the two of us, he has the upper hand. That should make me nervous, but instead, it turns me on. This imbalance between us, down to our current state of dress ...

He slowly slides off his suit jacket, moving to place it over a chair before rolling up his shirtsleeves. That’s it. That’s as far as he undresses before he looks at me, holds my gaze, and asks with a wicked gleam, “Should I fuck you?”

My mouth falls open. “God, Phillip.”

That word from his lips. The raw nature of it compared to his prim and proper exterior. The juxtaposition catches me off guard, makes my heart race.

“Let’s be honest. This is ...”

I cut him off. “The sexiest thing ever.”

He grins and strolls over to reward me with a soul-searing kiss that’s over too soon. I’m leaning into him as he pulls away. “I appreciate your honesty.”

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