Page 39 of The VIP Package

“Thank you.” His jaw clenches tight and he looks away. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course.” I make a mental note not to bring it up again.

“I don’t know why I shared all that.” That’s clear from his look of befuddlement.

“I asked, so that’s on me,” I say softly. “I know better than to be nosy.”

“I could have lied.” He looks me dead in the eye, then swallows again. “I’m quite a skilled liar. I could have told you she’s my sister, my best friend from college. An old girlfriend.”

“You could have.” What does it mean that he didn’t?

And what does he mean byskilled liar?

Ashton seems quieter after that.I watch for signs that he’s spiraling, maybe grappling with fresh waves of grief now that I scratched off the scab.

But Ash forges stoically ahead with our afternoon plans. Maybe for a man whose default setting swings fromgrumpytobossy, it isn’t a leap to tossgrievinginto the mix.

He might not be chatty, but he makes us a beautiful lunch. He fixes buttery scampi with fat, fresh shrimp and a tossed herb salad. Afterward, we laze on the beach in the shade of a purple umbrella. I fulfill my nude sunbathing fantasy, while Ash wears swim trunks and a scowl. He taps away on his laptop, pausing occasionally to mutter at the screen.

We both check our phones every few minutes for news on the pilots’ strike.

“Still going,” he grumbles after making a call. “My colleague assures me they’re doing everything they can to end this.”

“That’s ambiguous.” I sit up and stretch. Annoyed as I am by the news, the sun on my bare skin takes the sting out. And I’m not even feeling the jellyfish sting anymore.

Ash’s eyes dart to my naked breasts, then skitter quickly away. “She anticipates the strike dragging on for at least another day. Possibly longer.”

“I’m sorry.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, grateful he’s trying so hard to get me home. “You were probably counting on having quiet time to yourself with the resort shut down.”

“It’s been a hardship.” He’s clenching his jaw as he looks over the water. “Somehow I’m suffering through the agony of sex with an exquisitely stunning intruder who revels in nudity.”

“Way to be a trooper.” My ego adores being calledexquisitely stunning. Especially by a man so sparing with sentiment.

Still watching the ocean, he sighs. “I should probably return you to the resort. I have an early meeting tomorrow in Negril. I’ll likely stay gone overnight. You’ll be left to fend for yourself.”

His sarcasm’s catching, so I try it myself. “Sounds like absolute torment, relaxing on a beautiful Caribbean island with a bottle of white wine and an eReader stuffed with erotic romance.”

Ash quirks an eyebrow, dragging his eyes off the water. “What sort of erotic romance?” There’s a light in his eyes that’s been gone since I asked about the photo.

“You read my intake forms. You’re probably more familiar with my kinks than my best friends are.”

“Hmm.” His eyes dip to my bare breasts like the answers lie there. “I seem to recall an exhibitionist streak.”

I guess the answeristhere. “Not hard to guess.” I shimmy my boobs just a little to give him a show. I love being nude in theopen like this. “I might not fulfill my whole kink list, but I’ll go home with a killer full-body tan.”

“Hmm.” That’s apparently his favorite response. “I also recall you ticked several boxes related to intimate relations with other women.”

“Did you commit my kinks to memory?” It’s flattering to think so.

Ash ignores the question, though his response says enough. “I also recall you selected the option for our Queenly Quartet enchantment.”

“Ah, yes.” I laugh. “More commonly known as being pounded by three men at once.”

“Sadly for you, there aren’t presently three men on the island.”

“Oh, come on—I haven’t met Lars the chef yet.”

Ash chuckles. “Shall I see if he’s available? Perhaps he has some accommodating geriatric friends.”

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