“Today’s shoot seemed to have gone smoother,” Wills notes as he enjoys a conch fritter.

When he pulled into the restaurant, I was skeptical. Calling it a “restaurant” seems a stretch—more like a detached garage from someone’s house. Shuffling my feet on the ground, I reach my fork into the bowl in front of us and carefully take a fritter. I bite into the delicate morsel and savor its sweet batter and the delicious taste of the conch. I do not care if my eyes rolled into the back of my head. This is divine. I revise my opinion of this fine dining establishment.

After swallowing, I reply, “It did. The alterations were a much better fit, which made the House happy. Yesterday, the clothes were falling off me in odd places. They seemed to correct their issues today.”

He nods and takes another fritter, then asks me about Rose’s shower. “I talked with her again last night. She had a wonderful time and it sounded like so much fun. McKenna did a great job. Oh, they thanked us again for sending the sand.”

“Did she tell you what it was used for?”

I huff a small laugh. “McKenna had all the ladies create a sand replica of Cole. Anatomically correct! And then she had Rose pose…”

He holds up his hand. “Okay, enough. I get the picture.” He guzzles his beer as if to erase my words.

My smile stays for a minute, then fades. Talking about the fun that I missed kills my appetite. I swirl my finger on the outside of my water glass, tracing a condensation droplet to the table. Why did Jaci have to break her leg? Why did Monsieur Price volunteer me to substitute, when I had made it perfectly clear this weekend was off-limits? Abandoning my water glass, I use my fork to pick apart the remnants of a fritter on my plate.

“Hey.”

I respond to his quiet command by raising my eyes to him.

“You did what you had to do. Everyone understands.”

It amazes me how he is able to read my thoughts. “Oui. Rose and McKenna both told me they did. I just wish I did not have to give excuses.” I place my fork on my plate and clasp my hands together on my lap.

“So,” Wills says while spearing the final fritter. “This is only my second magazine shoot. Would you say these were typical?”

His question brings me up short. “Well, for location shots, they were pretty routine. When I am outside, weather and onlookers can wreak havoc sometimes. But not this time. Rio was fun because there were so many other models on set and we got to interact a bit. This shoot was more typical in that it was only me.”

He chews the fritter and I watch, fascinated, as he swallows. I can see the bite making its way down his throat and I remember his heated kisses in the elevator. My eyes stray down to his capable hands, which can both excite with passion and protect me all at the same time. Perhaps Jaci’s accident does have a silver lining, after all.

“Do you enjoy going on shoots?”

Without thought, I respond, “Of course. It is what models do.”

He wipes his mouth with the napkin, crumples it up and tosses it on his plate. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you happy with your career?”

Every molecule in my body seizes, then releases at once. I wipe my hands on my thighs, encased in a Maria Orro sundress. The House insisted I wear it out tonight, in case I am photographed by paparazzi, although I doubt anyone could have followed me to this remote locale. “What? But of course.” I throw my napkin onto my plate.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just—I’ve been watching you,” he clears his throat. “You have a fake smile when you’re in front of the cameras.”

I push back in my chair. “I do not. It is my professional smile, one I perfected looking into my mirror in my bedroom growing up. I would look at photos in magazines, like of Lizzie, and replicate such a look. A cross between a pout and Mona Lisa because that is the look photographers like.”

He grabs my hand, causing a zing to race straight to my core. “Well, I much prefer the real Emilie. The one I saw looking at the starfish family this afternoon.”

“They were so cute.” I smile thinking of the fanciful story I had concocted about the starfish family. How the parents did everything they could to help their babies grow up to be bigger starfish, finding their own paths in the sand yet keeping them close by. Encouraging their offspring to try on different colors to see which one helped them shine the brightest. Like my parents did for me.

A husky voice pulls me away from the cute story. “That’s the one.”

Between us, the air charges. My lips feel dry, so I run my tongue over them and Wills groans, drops my hand and looks away.

He wants me, yet he is fighting. “Wills, what is stopping you? Stopping us?”

His pecs expand on his inhaled breath. His mouth opens as if to respond, but the server comes and clears our table, breaking our moment.

While Wills pays for our dinner at the register—his ass looking mighty fine in his jeans—I kick the dirt underneath my sandals. I need to break through and show him we must see where our relationship could lead us.

When he returns to the table, I stand and say, “I would like to have a nightcap on the beach at the hotel. Join me?”

For an agonizing moment I think he is going to say no.

“This is a bad idea, but I can’t say no to you, Ems.”

“It is a very good idea.”

Wills drives us the few kilometers back to our hotel. People drive on the opposite side of the street than in LA, so there is absolutely no way I would even suggest that I should practice my driving here. But he has no problems maneuvering through the dark, windy roads with road signs on the other side. He is such a capable man, without pretense.

I want to make him mine.

We stroll into the open-air lobby. Instead of walking hand-in-hand, however, Wills walks behind me a couple of paces, back in bodyguard mode. I will break him free tonight. Before I make it all the way to the bar, the bartender smiles at me.

“What can I get you, Miss Dubois?” He motions toward the full complement of alcohols.

“I would like a vodka tonic, and also a dry vodka martini, s’il vous plaît.”

“Sure thing, coming right up.” While he makes a show of mixing our drinks, I eye Wills, who studies the bar’s patrons. Ever the protector, even though I have no threats.

“Here you go. I’ll add it to your room. Enjoy.”

“Oh, I plan on it. Merci.”

I take a sip of my drink for some liquid courage. Usually, I need the courage to ward off suitors, not to unleash one. And Wills is going to be doing a lot of unleashing tonight, if I have my way. I take another sip and head out the huge doors overlooking the ocean. It is dark out, so I cannot see the waves, but their gentle crashing provides the perfect cadence.

I walk down the steps and out onto the beach. We grab our sandals and I lead us toward my destination—a hammock. We pass a club over the water, putting more and more distance between us and the rest of civilization. I spy one tied between two palm trees near the water’s edge. Best of all, no light poles shine on it. Perfect.

When I reach my goal, I stop and turn. Wills stops right in front of me. Now I wish I had some light so I could see his expression. I lift his drink. “I got you a martini. A vodka martini. Dry.”

His warm, large hand covers the glass, and my hand in the process, skittering electricity like fireflies straight up my arm. “Thanks.” The driving music from the club mixes with the sound of the waves. Our light show is provided by the stars.

I tuck some hair behind my ear and take another swallow of my drink. My heart begins to accelerate like right before I take the catwalk and, as if I am opening the show at Fashion Week, I inhale and hold my breath. And exhale. “Would you like to share a hammock?”

His lips kiss the glass, causing the ice cubes to clink. Without saying anything, Wills takes my glass and deposits it with his on a low table. Returning to me, he cups my cheek, his thumb skimming over my bottom lip. Despite my yoga breathing, my heart is now banging against my chest in an erratic pattern.

The deep timbre of his voice rumbles from his chest. “Yes.”

Before I can react, his other hand caresses my cheek and he leads me backward toward the hammock. His mouth covers mine. This is not a gentle kiss. No. It screams Wills—possessive yet protective, hard yet yielding, demanding yet considerate.

My hands wrap around his neck. My entire being is on fire for him and we have only shared one kiss under the stars. One of many more tonight, I hope.

My world turns on its axis as I freefall into his arms. He takes three steps to the hammock, turns and sits down with me on his lap. I press my chest against his hard pecs. Our lips fuse. Soon, our tongues explore the other’s mouths. His arms are like bands of steel around me, one sliding up to hold the back of my head while the other applies the right amount of pressure on my back.

He breaks our kiss and trails his mouth to my ear. He bites my lobe, once, and blows on it. Oh la la. Any semblance of awareness of my surroundings disappears, the crashing waves and salty air overtaken by the man holding me. He has transformed me into a mass of energized molecules, which vibrate down my spine, up my legs and meet at my center.

“Ems, I am no good for you,” he whispers directly into my ear.

His warm breath causes my stomach to tighten. “Let me be the judge,” I whisper back, dipping my hands to the waistband of his jeans, pulling his t-shirt free. My fingers make direct contact with his skin—so hot it is like touching a flatiron—and I trace each of his abdominal muscles. Under his shirt I reach his pecs, my palms fanning upward and out to defined shoulders. One of which took a bullet in front of me.

He groans and falls backward onto the hammock, keeping one foot in the sand and his arm tight around my waist. I sprawl out over him, my hands having lost contact with his body as we switched positions. His leg flexes as he rocks us to the beat of the music from the club while his hands slide down my back and land on my butt. He takes both of my lower cheeks in his hands and squeezes, pushing me against his rock-hard erection.

I have never been so glad to have worn a thong. “Oui, Wills.”

One of his hands comes up and palms my boob over my dress. He squeezes it and my butt cheek in consecutive order. Pump my boob, pump my butt. Rock the hammock. Pump my boob, pump my butt. Rock the hammock. When he clutches my butt for the third time, I tilt my pelvis against him. The sensation pulls a moan from deep within me, which he answers with his own groan.

“Wills, more.” I want so much from this man. I want it all.

He releases my butt and skims his hands down my dress until he slides both hands underneath. With too much deliberation, he inches his way back up toward my ass, the fabric of my dress falling over his arms and covering the backs of my legs.

I need more from him. I shift on his body to hurry him up and he stops, his fingers wrapping around my bare mid-thighs. “On my terms, Ems.”

I breathe in his words, trying to understand them, but my body still squirms in his arms. Bringing my lips to his corded neck, I kiss my way down to his shoulder. He does not move his hands, yet his heart pounds beneath my ear to an increasingly faster rhythm.

Inhaling his fresh, clean scent with a light sprinkle of ocean salt, I hold my position. Not a movement, not a kiss. I lay on top of Wills, the only thing moving between us is our accelerating heartbeats.

He half-chuckles, half-groans. “Yes, Ems.” His hands resume their exploration up my legs, ending on my exposed butt cheeks. With hard fingers, he traces the outline of my thong, ending by squeezing my ass and pushing me forward onto his zippered-covered cock.

“Mon Dieu.”

He steals my words with a kiss that is so out-of-control it would put a hurricane to shame. His tongue puts me in a sexual frenzy while his right hand makes its way to my pussy. Moving the slip of wet material to the side, his long finger eases its way in, learning my sex. He outlines every intimate part of my body with just the one digit, earning gasps and moans from me.

“Open your legs wider, Ems.”

I obey without hesitation. The finger makes its way inside me, all the while his left hand traces the cleft of my ass. When his thumb taps on my clit, his mouth seizes mine and steals my moan. I am helpless in his arms, an instrument for him to offer me pleasure. He directs me to rock against his hand by squeezing my butt.

My breathing becomes erratic, gasping for air and for more of him.

“That’s it. Just feel.” A second finger joins his first inside me, his thumb working my clit like I was born for his attentions.

“Oui.” More words are beyond my abilities.

A shimmer starts at my toes and fingertips, all sensation focused on my very core. I am owned by Wills. An earth-shattering orgasm is almost at my reach. “So close.”

His hand clutches my ass, followed by a finger sliding between the cheeks. He penetrates my rear entrance with the tip of his finger—no one ever has done that before—as he presses on my clit. I detonate in his arms, the white-hot stars behind my eyes obliterating the real ones above us. His lips seal over mine as I voice how much pleasure he has given me, so that only he can hear it. Own it as his.

Boneless, I collapse on top of him, the hammock rocking to a wild beat. His fingers remain inside of me, wringing out every bit of ecstasy from my body.

The breeze picks up the bottom of my dress, rustling the fabric. With a gossamer touch, it lands on the back of my legs, zinging electricity in its wake. When I shift my legs to prolong the single-most euphoric moment of my life, his hardness prods at my apex. He is still encased in jeans.

Recovering some of my wits, I drag my hands down to his belt. “I need to help you out.”

His hands cover mine, causing me to lift my chin and meet his eyes. It is too dark here to tell if they are light or dark blue—or stormy with passion. He does not say anything, so I go to work unbuckling his belt. After opening the button at his waistband, I unzip the fly. The head of his cock strains against his underwear.

I lick my lips in anticipation of tasting him.

Without warning, he twists and turns us so that I am under him. My hands are caught between our bodies and the hammock swings with our motion. His arms bracket my face so that all I can see is his gorgeous face and chiseled jaw, which is set to a hard angle.

“Wills—”

“Shh,” he whispers in my ear, kissing my neck.

From a distance, several voices come into auditory focus. At least four, maybe six people make their way toward us, judging from the noises they are making. I become all too aware of where we are and how exposed we are. Make that, how exposed Wills is. Except for my feet, I am barely visible. Once again, Wills is protecting me from public scrutiny. I undulate my hips, contacting with evidence of his raw desire for me. Even in his state, he keeps me safe.

“Ems.”

My name sounds as if it were a warning. He does not want to draw attention to us. After what he did to me with only his hands, I resist the urge to torment him more. Instead, I press a soft kiss on his lips and promise, “Soon.”

The rowdy group walks within feet of us, totally unaware of our hammock. The whooshing of something being stuck into the sand reaches my ears. While we lay together, immobile, one guy shouts, “Let’s get our Beersbee on!”

I try to contain my mirth but fail. A giggle escapes.

The man on top of me whispers, “Think something’s funny?”

I nod and reach up to kiss his jaw but his body remains taut. “Let us go to my suite.”

After another full minute, he rolls off me and onto his back. The group has moved away somewhat, totally immersed in their game so they do not notice the roll of our hammock. A lit neon disc sails within the group, followed by cheers.

Next to me, Wills huffs. “I need a minute.”

I want to offer him relief, but not here with an audience. I also do not want him to get himself so under control that he does not spend the night in my bed. My eyes stray to the stars above. “Look at that constellation,” I point to a grouping that resembles an erotic orchid. “Looks like a Georgia O’Keefe flower.”

He chuckles. “You have a one-track mind.”

“Only when it comes to you,” I retort.

He places his finger in his mouth. “Damn, Ems, I want to taste you and not just lick you off my fingers.”

My nipples pebble at those words. Can this man be any more outrageous? I grab his hand, bring his finger to my lips and suck. He removes it from my lips with a pop and swirls it over my protruding nipple, causing my hips to rock.

“Now we’re both in a sorry state.”

“I know how to make you feel better.”

He redoes his fly and belt and then swings his legs off the side of the hammock, which brings me to a sitting position next to him. Four feet touch the sand and he stands first, then assists me up. The Beersbee group still does not notice us, so we pick up our sandals and start the trek back to my suite.

“There’s a side entrance. We can get up to your room without cutting through the lobby. I scoped it out when we arrived.”

“Of course you did. You always take such good care of me.” I wink.

He reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. With long strides we cross the beach and stop before an unmarked door. After putting our sandals back on, he pulls a keycard out of his back pocket and leads us into a dimly-lit stairwell.

“Are you up for taking the stairs, Ems?”

“Oui. The top floor is only five flights up.”

“Then by all means, after you.” He holds his arm out for me to precede him.

“Such a gentleman,” I say, and start the climb. My shortness of breath has nothing at all to do with the physical exertion needed to reach my suite.