This trip was a huge gamble. My father thought traveling to West Africa to source new plants for our farm’s greenhouse was crazy. It had taken months of running numbers, research and data to persuade him to let me make this investment.

I have big goals for the estate, and meeting them will require thinking outside of the box. My father’s been ill this year, and it’s reminded me that one day I’ll be in charge of running the business, and I want to make sure that when that day comes, I’m ready.

I want the people who depend on it to provide for their families to know it’s in good hands. And I want to show my father that taking calculated risks, if we’re smart about it, can pay off in spades. And that's why I'm here. I want us to expand from supplying just the stores and restaurants in our county. I want our new storefront in London to become a place where people come to find exciting new brands and products they may have tried on vacation but have never seen in the United Kingdom. Ghana is the last country I’m visiting before the end of the year. The relationships I establish and the new trade contracts I sign will be crucial to seeing my plans bear fruit.

So, it’s a real problem that I’m as distracted as a fifteen-year-old boy who's just seen his first Playboy pin-up. A pin-up who’s fully clothed and who wears a scowl instead of a beckoning smile. It’s almost time for dinner, and I'm salivating for a glimpse of her now.

It's not any female company I want. I've been propositioned more times than I can count today. I thought the women at home were forward, but they're like docile lambs compared to the predators at this resort. A few of them have even rubbed hands down my chest, the sun glinting off the diamond rings adorning their left ring fingers.

I think about Emma and wonder if I’m being too impulsive. This is completely uncharted territory for me. I’ve never had a causal fling. I probably shouldn’t start now. But, I’ve never been attracted to someone instantaneously before. It not just her looks that intrigue me, it’s all the glimpses into her personality, too. She was right, we haven’t exactly gotten along since we met, but I can’t stop thinking about her. And for once in my life, I want to know what it’s like to do something just because I want to. To not have to worry about my responsibilities or the consequences.

My waiter asks for the third time whether I'd like to order anything. I start to respond in the negative when I see Kojo walk in, and instead decide to order him a beer. He's a good sport to come meet me, and I'm glad he'll be here to distract Bambi. I want to try and talk to Emma tonight, without an argument breaking out.

"Harry, am I late?" he says with a pleasant smile.

"No, I’m early.” I grin back and stand up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming, K. You sure you don't mind?" I ask.

"Not at all. If she’s as pretty as you said, this will be fun. As long as she doesn’t ask me to buy her a new phone before dinner’s over, we’ll get on fine.” Kojo grins and takes a sip of his waiting beer as soon as he sits down.

I laugh dubiously. “Do girls ask for phones on first dates here?”

“You’d be surprised. Some of these girls come to the resort just to find a man to fleece,” he says dryly.

“She’s very pretty,” I reassure him. “She and her cousin are on vacation. I think you’ll like her. But if you don’t, wait until dinner’s over to show it. Please.”

He grins at me and lifts his beer to his mouth. “No problem. Restraint is my middle name.” And then he takes a huge sip of his drink.

* * *

“You’re such an idiot,” Bambi sneers at Kojo. “What do you know about the plight of students in this country?”

“We spent the week together.” Kojo spits at her, his fist pounds the table for emphasis. So much for his restraint. I take a huge gulp of my beer and stare at my food in dismay.

“She enjoyed all the nice meals I bought her, enjoyed riding in my nice air-conditioned car and pretended that we were going to keep in touch after she left.”

He twists his lips in disgust.

“And then one morning, I woke up, and she was gone. On the final morning, my bed was empty, and the only thing in my wallet was a note saying, “Thanks for the cash. Had fun.”

“And is it the fault of every woman that you’re too stupid to know the difference between a girl who’s working the resort and someone who’s really on vacation and looking for a good time?”

“Oh, I see. So you’re one of them,” he retorted, and the conversation went downhill from there. When Emma chimes in, it becomes an avalanche.

Kojo leans forward, returning her sneer with one of his own. “I know that girls like you do nothing but hunt for sugar daddies, act like sluts, and then move on to your next victim once you’ve bled them dry.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” She shoots back, leaning across the table toward him, pointing her finger backwards at her chest.

“I know enough.” He returns spitefully. He leans forward, too. His finger pointed at her in accusation. “You think that because you’re beautiful, you can get away with whatever you want.”

“I do not think anything—wait.” Bambi interrupts herself and leans back in her chair,

“You think I’m beautiful?” she asks softly.

Kojo shrugs, but his face loses some of its tension. I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe we’ve reached a stalemate.

“You know,” Emma’s voice is full of scorn as she moves her angry glare between Kojo and me. “Men like you are what’s wrong with the world. You think women owe you something.”

My desire for peace forgotten, I jump to my friend’s defense.

“He didn’t say she owed him anything. Except for maybe the truth,” I added, unwilling to let Kojo, no matter how much he deserved it, face two angry women alone.

“Why does she owe him that? He slept with her. What else does he want? Her soul?” Emma says in exasperation.

“No, but maybe it meant something to him,” I shoot back.

“Well, more’s the pity,” she says, taking a sip of her wine and glaring at me.

“Really? So, sex means nothing?” I ask her, tilting my head at her, knowing that she couldn’t really mean it.

“Exactly. And if you’re hooking up for one night, it’s less than nothing.” She looks away from me, but not before I see the discomfort in her eyes.

“Good to know,” I say under my breath, but when she flinches slightly, I know she heard me. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Look, Kojo,” Emma says softly, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I don’t think anyone should use anyone else. Especially not for money. But if they’re adults and they’re both willing, there shouldn’t be expectations beyond that.”

Bambi snorts in disgust. “You’re being too nice, Emma. He’s stupid and probably cheap, too. He obviously thinks treating his girlfriend,” she says ‘girlfriend’ with a sarcastic drawl, “to a meal or whatever is too much to ask.”

“Is it also too much to ask that if you’re a prostitute, you make that clear before you start whispering sweet nothings,” Kojo says, and Porsha gasps in affront and throws her napkin down and stands up.

“You are not worthy of my company,” she declares with the dignity of a Queen at court, and then she turns to leave.

“Good riddance,” Kojo says and then throws his own napkin and stalks off behind her.

Emma stands up, glares at me and hurries after them.

I sit there, staring at the three empty chairs. My plans for the evening are blown away like the grains of sand on the beach behind us. I look down at my full plate of food in disgust. I decide to finish my wine before going back to my room.

I’ve just asked for my check when I sense eyes on me. I look up to find her standing in the entrance watching me. When I see the look in her eyes, I know I’m probably not going to enjoy whatever she’s come back to say or do. They are alight with annoyance, and one glance tells me she's here to wreak havoc.

My heart stutters in a violent trip that has me rubbing the center of my chest. And not because I’m afraid of her anger. It’s because, even in the heat of her self-righteous indignation, her beauty puts the stunning backdrop of this paradise to shame.

And of course, she's come back to give me a piece of her mind. I want to walk over to her and kiss that mouth before she can say words that will spoil everything.

I shake my head hard and fast.

After what happened at dinner, I clearly need to think twice about getting involved with anyone I meet here. Especially her. She's more likely to slit my throat than go down on me.

I sit up straight in my wicker chair and pick up the glass of Pinot Noir I ordered with dinner. I take a fortifying sip of the fruit forward wine as she reaches my table. She's practically vibrating with anger, her hands clenched in fists at her side. She's dressed in all black - loose fitting trousers and black tunic. Again, covered up completely in clothes that don't make sense on a hot, humid, tropical island.

She’s sweating, the curls that seem to perpetually cling to her neck flutter slightly as the large overhead fans whirl above us.

I wonder what her sweat tastes like.

I clear my throat and keep my expression neutral, but I'm unable to do anything about the fact that my pulse is hammering in my ears as I realize that I've never been so affected by a woman, ever. And she loathes me.

"Emma." Her eyes widen in what looks like a split second of confusion at my use of her name. But then she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.

“Why would you invite someone like him to dinner?” she demands.

“How was I to know your cousin is a gold digger and that you think it’s a virtue to be praised?” I respond. I’m annoyed and frustrated by this whole fucking evening.

Her mouth falls open in shock, and then it twists into a frown.

She runs a hand through her long, curling hair and clears her throat as she gains her composure. "Now that you’ve thoroughly ruined my vacation, I thought I’d come and say goodbye formally.”

“That hardly seems necessary, it’s not as if-" I say quickly and ready for this encounter to be over.

“You gave me money the night we met,” she interjects, surprising me with the random comment.

"Yes, wasn’t it enough?” I ask, confused by her reincarnation of this subject. Maybe she’s a gold digger, too. I start to reach for my wallet.

"You're unbelievable," she hisses, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. "I don't want your money." She flings the last word at me and glowers down her perfectly symmetrical, slightly pugnacious nose. Even when she's angry, her voice is soft and melodious.

"You're so beautiful," I say before I can stop myself.

Her head jerks backward, her mouth falling open and her eyes widening in utter disbelief.

"Beautiful? Did you hear what I said?" she sputters.

"Yes, I heard you. And yes, beautiful. Very. It's too bad your personality leaves so much to be desired," I return dryly, and look down at my wine trying to decide if I should finish it before I leave.

The waiter walks up and drops a plate of cake and ice cream that I don’t remember ordering in front of me, and says “Enjoy,” without even coming to a full stop.

I look up and find her glaring down at me, her little hands balled into fists at her sides.

“You’re still here.”

"I’m leaving. Just wanted to give you this," she grits out, her lips barely moving and the muscle in her jaw jumping. She raises her left hand, holding a tightly clenched fist over my plate. She opens it to reveal a mangled clump of pound notes in her palm. Her plump lips broaden, and the corners tip up in a smile that is at odds with the stony anger in her beautiful eyes. I almost sigh at how bitterly disappointing all of this is.

Slowly, she tilts her open hand and the money falls unceremoniously onto the ice cream.

"Really?" I ask. My humor starts to flag as I stare at the meal on my plate.

"Really," she returns mockingly, and she leans in toward me. "You bumped into me. You knocked me over, spilled your drink all over and then when I had the audacity to be annoyed, you insulted me and walked off. And then you appeared to seek me out to continue your insults this afternoon at the pool. I'm not sure how you were raised or where you're from. But I'm sure that there's nowhere in the world any of that would be considered anything other than spectacularly rude."

I fish the money out of my food and fix her with a look of dark glower, even though there's a part of me that's actually enjoying it. But I won't let her misconstrue what happened the other night.

"We collided because you weren't looking where you were going. And yes, I thought your reaction was completely disproportionate. You behaved as though I walked up to you, pushed you down and then poured my drink all over you. And I thought it was generous to offer to pay for your dress."

"Generous? You threw money at me when all you really needed to do was apologize." She puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side.

"I said I was sorry," I snap and then look around her, trying to find a server who can take my plate and bring me a new one.

"You didn't mean it then, and you don't mean it now. I'm here to relax. I was doing that until you," she thrusts a finger at me, and I'm tempted to lean forward and bite it, "showed up and tried to ruin it."

"So, you're also a mind reader? I didn't try to ru--"

She cuts me off. "Just stay away from me. This resort is big enough that we can avoid each other without working too hard." I narrow my eyes at her, and a surge of anger propels me to my feet.

Her eyes widen, and she takes a step backward. I swear I see a flash of fear in her eyes, and for a moment I pause. But just as quickly as it was there, it's gone and she steps toward me again.

I pick up my phone and straighten to my full height, giving her the benefit of my haughtiest glare.

"Don't worry about me staying away from you. There's nothing I want more right now than to put distance between us. So, it appears we've finally found something on which we can agree."

I throw my napkin down, push my chair in, and start to leave. She grabs my forearm to stop me. But it’s as if the contact hurts her, and she quickly removes her hand.

"Where are you going?" she demands while taking a step back, as if she's preparing to block my exit.

This time, it's the power of my own surprise that halts me in mid-stride. I can't stop the bark of incredulous laughter her question inspires.

"Sorry? Are you in the grips of some sort of manic episode?" I ask, sincerely wondering what the hell is going on.

Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes narrow again, then she puts her hands on her hips. "Are you calling me crazy?"

"If the shoe fits," I return, crossing my arms across my chest. "You came in here like a bat out of hell.” He laughs. “Your commitment to all black clothing is actually now really fitting.”

“Are you making fun of my clothes?” she squeaks that last word out. “Are you twelve?”

“You ruined my dessert, told me to stay away from you, and then, when I attempt to comply, you ask where I'm going. So yes, I'm wondering if you're working with a full deck of cards up here." And I tap the side of my forehead for emphasis.

“A full deck?” she asks.

“Yes, you know, playing cards.”

“Cards?” she sputters.

I sigh. "Good God. Listen, maybe while you're busy avoiding me, you should pick up a book. Your vocabulary seems woefully lacking. All you've done tonight is repeat what I've said and rant incoherently."

Her shoulders square, and she reaches into her hair to pull down a pair of sunglasses perched on her head over her eyes.

"You do know that only pretentious people wear sunglasses at night, don't you?" I taunt, knowing I’m being childish, but too annoyed to care.

"Fuck. You," she growls. "I'm sorry I ruined your dessert. I'm also sorry you didn't choke on it. I can’t believe you called me crazy, made fun of my clothes and now you’re acting as if this whole dinner that you practically begged for is my fault," she says, her eyes wide with incredulous anger. She says it slowly and loudly enough that the people at the tables around us have stopped scrolling through their phones and are watching us.

“Stay away from me.” I don't respond to her last barb. And before I can recover my wits to speak, she twirls, the dark scarf she’s wearing around her billowing as she moves like a dark thunder cloud.

“With pleasure,” I say to her retreating form. I don’t care how pretty she is, I won’t go near her again unless my life depends on it.