Page 26 of The VIP Package

I hang up flooded with gratitude for my friends.

For this chance to be here in this luxury suite with a beach right outside and a chance to recharge, even for only a few hours.

As I’m counting the things I feel thankful for, I can’t help seeing a flash of Ashton Holyfield’s face in my mind.

CHAPTER 6

ASHTON

“Thank you for your time.” With the phone to my ear, I glance at Camille sitting cross-legged and lovely in a flowered green sundress. Morning sun dapples her shoulders at the same seafront table where she ate chicken nuggets yesterday. “Please keep me abreast of any developments.”

I hang up the phone and watch my train of thought derail into the lush valley of her cleavage. Was I doing something?

“Eyes up here, Ash Hole.” Camille tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my gaze to her face. “What did she say?”

“Who?”

“The airline executive you called.” She rolls her eyes. “I know I’ve got great tits, but surely they didn’t make you forget you called a major airline CEO and attempted to singlehandedly solve an international pilots’ strike.”

They did, actually.

“Bad news,” I say, though some secret part of me isn’t terribly disappointed. “There will be no flights departing or arriving from any airport in the region today. My attempts at negotiation were unsuccessful.”

Not that I tried as hard as I could have. Speaking of hard?—

“Hey, Ash?” She tips up my chin again. “I appreciate the flattery. And Ireallyappreciate you making those calls. But do you think you could talk to me and not my tits?”

“I apologize. You’re right, that’s disrespectful.” One would think that having my hands all over Camille’s body would satisfy my curiosity. Scratch the itch. Tick the box on touching the world’s most perfect pair of breasts.

But all night long, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. The squeeze of her slick channel around my cock. Her sharp cry at the peak of climax. The taste of her arousal as she?—

“Breakfast.” I force my gaze back to her face. “We should eat something.”

“Good plan.” Camille gets up from the table. For the last forty minutes, we’ve been sitting here reading through news of the strikes, poring over airline websites, and struggling to find her a route home.

I suppose I could offer my private jet, but the pilot was granted the same long vacation as the rest of my staff. How urgent really is it to send Camille on her way? She seems to be having a nice time, and I?—

Let’s just say it’s been a while since I enjoyed anyone’s company this much.

“I can cook.” Camille heads for the end of the bar, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Is it okay if I poke around in the restaurant kitchen?”

“Be my guest.” I follow because technically, sheisa guest. “You really don’t have to cook for yourself. The least I can do is prepare a meal for us both.”

I do rather enjoy cooking for people I care about, which technically shouldn’t include a woman I’ve just met.

But I follow her into the kitchen where she’s already making herself at home.

“Please.” She tugs an apron off a hook by the stove and cinches it around her slim waist. “You sent me a tray last night with one of the best gourmet meals I’ve ever eaten. Seriously, where did you get all that? I just opened my door when the bell rang andpoof—Michelin star meal sitting on my stoop.”

“My personal chef created it.” I pull open the fridge and rifle through its meager offerings. We really aren’t stocked to serve meals this week. “I asked him to prepare an extra meal for an unexpected guest.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” She pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge, then butter and bacon and cream. “You must live close by?”

“Not exactly.” I locate a loaf of bread that’s several days old and decide it’s acceptable for French toast. Setting it aside, I start slicing up strawberries I brought over this morning from my garden. “My home is roughly a thirty-minute boat ride from here.”

“Wait.” Forehead furrowing, Camille finds nutmeg and cinnamon on the chef’s spice rack. “You had your personal chef travel an hour round trip to bring me dinner?”

“Something like that.” There’s no need to go into details, or admit that’s not quite how it happened. “I do hope you found it more appetizing than chicken nuggets. I referred to your intake form to determine your dietary preferences.”

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