Page 21 of One Week in Paradise
I tell her everything that’s happened since we got to the airport back in London, and by the time I get to telling her about the bed, she’s got a wide grin on her face.
‘This is so hot,’ she says bluntly. ‘You’re literally in a cheesy rom-com. You could be Sandra Bullock right now.’
‘There’s nothing hot about any of this,’ I say. ‘He’s still the same old Cash. He’s just doing me a favour.’
Amber hums and wiggles her brows. ‘Why would a guy who supposedly loathes you agree to do this with you?’
She’s got a point, but it’s easily countered. ‘He’s Dane’s best friend. He probably thinks of it like he’s doing Dane a favour.’
Amber shakes her head just as a loud noise back in the suite catches my attention. I turn around. Cash is standing in front of the large window with a white towel slung low around his waist. I watch as he fumbles through his larger suitcase, looking for something.
His hair is dripping wet, and he keeps running a hand through it to push it back from his face. Apparently, he’s found what he’s looking for because he turns around with a look of triumph plastered across his face. I’m frozen to the spot as he looks up, and his eyes meet mine.
Amber is saying something, but I can barely hear her. My focus is entirely on Cash. I drink in every inch of him and commit his glistening body to memory.
I wonder what he’s thinking as he slides open the door and pokes his head out.
‘Shower’s free,’ he calls, and the smirk on his face is unmistakable. In this moment, I’m sure that he can read every single dirty thought that runs through my mind.
He disappears back inside, and Amber’s voice finally cuts through the haze.
‘You’ve gone so red. What happened?’
I exhale a deep,deepbreath. I don’t even know where to start.
Chapter Seven
‘Stand a little bit to the left. Tilt your head a bit. Yeah, yeah, that’s great.’
I’ve never been camera-shy. Mum loves to tell embarrassing stories about me as a child forcing my way to the front of any family pictures, and you can’t really be an influencer if you don’t like being in front of the camera. But, as I stand in front of Cash and let him snap photo after photo of me, I can’t help but feel incredibly awkward.
We’re about to head off to The Blue Mahoe for dinner. I’ve only ever really seen Cash in sweatpants and various Great Dane Construction Services T-shirts, so I’m very impressed with his holiday wardrobe so far. He’s wearing a cream polo shirt with a pair of matching shorts. His outfit actually goes quite well with mine, a short, strappy blue corset dress that hugs my thighs.
‘Move your hair a little bit,’ he instructs.
I do as he says and flip my long curls over my shoulder. My dress is nice, but my hair is really the star of the show. I’ve decided I’m going to post a photo on the grid tonight and tag the brand. The thought has my stomach in knots, but Amber gave me a pep talk earlier, and I know I need to get it over and done with.
‘I think we’ve got it,’ he says. ‘You want to check?’
‘I trust you,’ I say, taking my phone back. ‘Shall we head out?’
I slip on my heels, and we open the door to find a golf cart waiting outside. The porter waves to us, and we hop in. It’s only a two-minute drive to The Blue Mahoe, but it feels like an eternity. My bare thighs constantly brush up against Cash’s, and every time our skin meets, I feel a shock buzz through me. I wonder if he feels it too.
When we get to the restaurant, the others are already there. We slide into the two empty seats next to Meera and Sara. As soon as we’ve sat down, Penelope claps her hands.
‘Dinner will begin to be served shortly,’ she says. ‘Everything on the menu tonight has been locally sourced and features a delicious selection of fresh and flavourful dishes inspired by the many exotic flavours of the Caribbean Sea. Please take a look and enjoy.’
The menu is truly phenomenal. I don’t know whether to choose the marinated lamb chops, supposedly ‘grilled to perfection’ and served with a tangy guava glaze, or the juicyand tender jerk chicken served with rice and peas and fried plantain.
After a minute or two of dithering, I opt for the jerk chicken – the promise of plantain too good to give up. Soon enough, waiters and waitresses begin to bring out our dishes. Lacey and Danny are sitting directly opposite us, and Bea and Marcus are to the left of them.
‘I love your dress, Bailey,’ says Bea. ‘Such a nice colour on you. And yourhair! Stunning!’
‘Thanks,’ I say, an easy grin spreading over my face. I take a lot of pride in my hair, and it always makes me feel good when someone notices. ‘You look lovely too.’
As our dishes come out, the conversation around the table turns to our excitement about the next few days.
‘We’re definitely going to do the jet-skiing,’ says Bea. ‘That was Marcus’s only requirement for coming on this trip.’
