Page 64 of Forking the Billionaire

It was like an insistent poke to the ribs, each glance startling and requiring serious reaction suppression. Instinct required checking when attention was sent your way, for self-preservation reasons. If a lion was hiding in the brush about to pounce, that tingle in the back of the gazelle’s head was the only warning she was going to get before that predator ripped her intestines out.

Jasper wasn’t a lion. He also wasn’t what I’d caught his brother Oscar calling him a little earlier when I was totally minding my own business—a golden retriever. He was more like one of the largest domestic cats, a Maine Coon.

Why a Maine Coon? First, he was gorgeous. That was one of those undeniable facts of life that couldn’t be questioned no matter how inconvenient it was, like scratchy sand making its way into bathing suits.

But also like a Maine Coon, he was mostly tame and safe. And behind his placating smiles and his need not to make waves, he sometimes couldn’t help but get himself into trouble.

And I couldstillfeel him looking at me. This was exactly why I hadn’t come to breakfast this morning…well, this, and the unwanted attention and the barfing.

Despite my best efforts to ignore him, Jasper slipped up beside me. Maybe that was my own fault for not looking at him. I’d allowed him to sneak past my defenses.

Without wanting to, I caught a whiff of him—saltwater, freshly-washed linen, familiarity with a bite of danger. Apparently it was like my catnip, because I closed my eyes and found my betraying body taking in another deep breath.

It lingered in my lungs. He lingered by my side and leaned in closer.

I tried not to flinch away. I tried not to lean into him.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he whispered, like it was some kind of secret.

He had no right to smell so good, or make those resort store clothes look so good, either. Without his suitcase, he should have been stuck wearing an ill-fitted t-shirt with a cartoon palm tree on it. Instead, he’d found a shirt that he left too far open at the top. The fabric was an aquamarine shade that made his already stupid pretty eyes pop like sunrise on the Caribbean.

“I didn’t see you at dinner last night, either,” he said, even more softly.

His breath tickled across my shoulder. My entire body both bristled and swooned. The swooning was entirely unwelcome and entirely hormonal. Nothing more.

He ran his fingers across the top of one of the clothes racks. Slow, soft.

Do not imagine what that would feel like on your shoulder. Or your collar bone. Or across your bare stomach.

My breath came sharp and shallow. I held it so I wouldn’t get caught panting like a dog in a desert, then I swerved through two of the stalls toward other people. Surely Jasper wouldn’t bother me if there were witnesses who could overhear him.

Except he followed. “Where’d you go yesterday after snorkeling?”

“None of your business,” I hissed.

I heard him sigh as I sidled up to Morgan, who was busy chatting with Juno. The pair were flipping over crystals at one of the stalls.

I could feel him running his hand through his too-long hair in exasperation even though I couldn’t see him. Good. Let him get so frustrated he gives up and moves on to bother someone else. Like the woman he brought to the island as his date.

Frak. I’d forgotten about Jules.

I didn’t need another reason to keep my distance from Jasper, but if I had, that would be it.

“Which one is supposed to mean good luck in relationships?” Morgan asked Norma, who was running sales.

Norma twisted one of her long gray curls behind her ear and leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you looking to attract a man, or looking to keep him?”

“Oh I’m already keeping him,” Morgan said with a bright smile. “I’m thinking more something for luck, like good tidings for the wedding and our first year of marriage.”

A set of rough fingers gently encircled my wrist. I didn’t have to look to know those fingers belonged to Jasper.

He whispered into my ear, “Bramble.”

I didn’t catch what Norma said. I was too distracted by the pleasant warmth soaking into my skin and slowly lighting up the nerves in my arm, by the tickle of Jasper’s breath on my neck and the cool sensation and prickle that followed.

Of course he had to go and call me Bramble again. He was doing it to rile me. I’d always hated it, and now more than ever, I didn’t need to be reminded of how reckless I used to be.

I’d grown up since I was Bramble. I was trying to make good decisions, which meant ignoring that gigantic, tattooed, bronzed bad decision.

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