Twitter loves the cat cafe date. My fans lose their shit over the paparazzi photos of me being mauled by a dozen kittens, but they’re not pleased with Saffie. They think I’m crossing a line by dating Henry’s sister. Most have read the article about my five-year party. The fact neither of our reps has denied the rumors speaks volumes.

And now Henry’s fans are out for blood.

They tag me with highly imaginative death threats if I don’t leave her alone. Others blast me for causing drama so close to the World Cup. I’m an asshole. A traitor. A source of constant negative PR.

Grayson should be traded.

Yes. The moment I read that comment, a smile spreads across my face. It’s what I’ve been working for, and the idiots don’t realize they’re playing into my hands.

I thumb through the vitriol of my Twitter feed with less enthusiasm than I expected. I’m still using her. I looked her right in the eye and denied it. Going through with a big PR blowout feels too cruel. I can’t do that to her, and I don’t want to.

Kris, however, is a ticking time bomb.

I stand, gazing at the desk where the letter is tucked out of sight under a pile of mail. Seeing her with that baby bump was like a cattle prod to my ass. I need to deal with this. No more running. Wouldn’t it be better to know now? Face the music?

If I’m the father, Kris will be in my life forever. I’ll never have a moment’s peace. And if I’m not, she’ll be Henry’s problem.

My heart kicks a frantic beat as I slide the envelope from the pile and turn it over. I clutch it in my hands like a fucking bomb, sliding my finger under the curve. There’s a tear—

The door knocks and opens before I can toss the envelope aside. Saffie pauses in the doorway. "Did I interrupt something?"

As long as it’s her, I don’t mind. I blow a ragged sigh and gesture for her to join me. "You’re supposed to wait until I say come in. Were you hoping you’d catch me touching myself?"

Saffie edges into the room, wearing a white tank top and a pair of dark red shorts that expose creamy lengths of thigh. Faint yellow bruises smudge the skin on her tits where I bit her. The memory of giving them to her fills me with fire.

She crosses her arms. "The guys wanted to know if you were interested in a game of foosball."

"So they sent you."

Saffie’s dark eyes shine with mischief. "I volunteered." She touches my waist and bounces on the balls of her feet to kiss my cheek.

Heat infuses with my blood like a fast-acting toxin. I fall under her spell, my arms wrapping around her waist. She crushes her mouth against mine, and I’m halfway between ripping off her shirt and throwing her on the bed until I glimpse the fucking letter.

I stop with a tortured sigh.

"What’s wrong?" she says.

"Nothing." I force a smile.

She steps back, frowning. "Tell me."

My hands fall from her sides. "You don’t want to know."

"Yeah, I do." She takes a seat on my bed, her legs hanging from the height.

Fuck it.

I grab the envelope sitting on my desk and sit next to her. She peers over my shoulder. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath. "Paternity results for my ex’s baby."

Saffie inhales sharply. "Jesus."

"She’s suing me for child support. The fucking kid hasn’t come out of the womb yet, and she’s already lawyering up."

"So why haven’t you opened it?"

"Scared, I guess." I’m man enough to admit being a father terrifies me. "I don’t want her in my life, but it’s not like I hate children. You know?"

She smiles. "I understand."

I glance to the letter. "Anyway, I better open it. Delaying is causing my lawyer all kinds of problems. I’d rather nip this in the bud now."

"Do you need me to leave?"

"No."

Sighing, I turn the envelope over, and glide on the smooth surface. My finger catches the seal and tears the paper. The folded note slips out. It’s a single letter. I open it, scanning the wall of text for a familiar block of words.

My heartbeat drums in my chest.

DNA MATCH: NEGATIVE

I’m not the dad.

And the impulse to jump up and down is absent. My shoulders roll forward as the page falls from my limp fingers. Saffie scrambles to catch it and gasps.

She clutches my shoulder, squeezing. "You’re not the father!"

I’m supposed to be excited, right? That bitch is out of my life forever. Except there was a time I would’ve been overjoyed to discover I’m a father.

The baby isn’t mine.

It’s Henry’s.

Relief and sadness pour in from all sides, and Saffie’s grin disappears.

"I'll be okay," I say to her worried face. "I’m relieved, but it’s complicated. I wanted kids."

She touches my back. "There’s plenty of time for that. You’re not eighty."

My words from her lips. "I know."

The baby is his. I wait for a torrent of rage to consume me as it would have weeks ago, but I don’t give a shit. The part of me that loved her is gone.

Saffie puts the letter aside with a deep sigh. "I guess I’ll have a nephew. Or niece."

"Do you want kids?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Not for a while though. My life needs to get back on track."

I don’t know what to do with this strange, lingering sadness.

"What will you do now?"

"First, I gotta fax this to my lawyer. Then I'm taking you away." I need to leave this place.

She sits up straighter, a smile curving her lips. "Where?"

I plant my hands on either side of her. "Far. Somewhere we won't have to worry about seven other dudes walking in on us."

"Like Hawaii?"

"Perfect. I’ll make the arrangements."

Laughing, she seizes my wrist. "Grayson, we can’t just drop everything and leave."

"Why not? Henry has plans for you to repaint the house or something?"

"No, but what’ll the guys say?"

"The secret’s pretty much out, babe. And you forget that I don’t care what they think."

* * *

It takes a half hour to charter a jet from Santa Barbara to Hawaii, and then another fifteen minutes to sweet-talk Saffie into coming with me. Photographers shot Saffie and me walking into the airport, so I’m sure my Twitter will scroll with more violent threats before the day ends.

Saffie clasps my hand in the cab as it whisks us away from the terminal. Hawaii in July is hot and thick. The atmosphere wraps around me like a blanket. Tall, jungle-filled mountains surround us as we weave through Maui’s coastal highway, heading for the all-inclusive resort that’s free from tourists, paparazzi, and Saturday-night karaoke at the ranch.

Saffie gapes at the sprawling hotel as the cab wheels to the entrance. "You booked the Ritz? Holy crap."

It’s about a thousand dollars a day. No big deal. "Three-star hotels give me hives."

She rolls her eyes, and I practically hear her thoughts: Crazy rich bastard.

I climb from the car and inhale the humid, salted air. The sun still burns on the horizon, casting an orange glow on turquoise waves.

A woman sits behind a giant harp in the foyer, playing music as we walk in. The marble floors are polished enough that I can see my face. The receptionist hands me our hotel keys, and someone takes our luggage down the hall. It was worth booking the Ritz just to witness Saffie’s excitement. She’ll appreciate this way more than I ever could. The awe fades after years of five-star hotels.

The bellhop opens our door, ushering Saffie into the beachfront villa I rented with a private outdoor terrace and pool. She gazes at the furnishings in wide-eyed delight. I toss my bag onto the king-sized mattress and tip the man, who bows out of the room.

"This is gorgeous," she moans, inspecting the bathroom and terrace. She stands there, listening to the crashing of waves. Saffie closes her eyes in contentment, grinning.

It’s a nice hotel—perfect for a quiet weekend with no one butting into our lives. Maui used to be the getaway I shared with Kris. A place to relax, sip mai tais, and eat barbecue. Opening that letter was like cutting the last thread to her. All I wanted was to share this with someone who’d appreciate it.

Saffie lounges in the patio chair, settling in to watch the sunset with a huge grin on her face. "This is perfect."

I knew I made the right decision bringing her. I walk into the kitchenette, which has a gift basket of macadamia chocolates. A sweating bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket. I seize it. "Want some?"

"Hell, yes!"

Her excitement is rubbing off on me even though I’ve been here more times than I can count. "Haven’t you been here before?"

She snorts. "You mean a five-star hotel or a tropical paradise? Because it’s no to both."

I pop the cork and pour the golden liquid in the flutes. The bottom of the bottle scrapes the table as I set it down, and then I toast my glass to her.

"To Hawaii."

"Amen," she says, guzzling the drink. "Damn, this is good."

"They spare no expense at the Ritz."

She moves her head. "Do you ever get used to this?"

"Yeah, I guess, but it’s always nice to be around someone who isn’t."

"If I grow weary of five-star hotels, shoot me." Saffie stands after finishing the champagne and heads inside. She grabs a hotel pamphlet and reads aloud the hotel’s accommodations, the beachfront drink service, the free classes, the luau. "What is that?"

I smile at her, remembering my first time flying into Hawaii, how the turquoise waters took my breath away. "It’s a performance on the beach with a barbecue."

"According to this, it starts in two hours." She bounces on the bed, flipping her hair over a tanned shoulder. "What should we do until then?"

"Babe, you know the answer to that already."

Her lips curve as I drop the glass on the table. I stop inches from her. "We’re alone. We can be as loud as we want."

And it’s been too long since I’ve felt her writhing beneath me. Her eyes gleam with desire as I take another step forward, and then she palms my cock through the shorts.

I’m hard before I reach the bed.

Saffie releases me, winking. She pulls the tank top from her mouthwatering body and tosses it. I catch the shirt, still warm from her skin. Saffie reaches behind to unclasp her nude bra, and her tits tumble free. I see red, like a bull taunted with a flag. Confronted with her naked tits, I can’t control myself. When did she become the woman I can’t say no to?

She squeezes from her tight shorts. I take her waist and throw her onto the mattress. She lifts her ass, helping me remove her panties. I strip from my clothes, tearing them off as she wraps her legs around my waist. I enter her with a swift, hard stroke. She grips my arms as I hammer her pussy harder than I’ve ever dared. She tightens over me. Her mouth opens, but I knock the breath out of her.

I’m overwhelmed.

It’s the first time we’ve been alone, and all the things I’ve wanted to try roll through my head like stills from a porno. I need more than watching her writhe or hearing her guttural moans when I take her. I pull out. Saffie gazes at me in confusion, and then I flip her onto her knees. Kissing her back, I plant her hand on the headboard. She places the other beside it. I slide up against her, guiding my cock along her seam until it shoves through. Her arms buckle as I thrust into her, tits swaying in perfect teardrops. Goddamn, I don’t have enough hands to touch her. One grabs her waist. The other plays with her breasts, her clit. I let go of her to crack my palm on her ass. She grinding her hips against me.

I stop, anchoring deep inside her, willing myself not to come. Then I pull out and sprawl on the bed, yanking her over my waist. She straddles my legs and sinks onto my length, and then I use both hands to play with her tits as she bounces on my cock. Saffie works me hard, biting her lip. I take her hips, driving upward as she crashes down. She clutches my head to her chest as her breathing quickens, and then I feel her climax. She clenches, releasing a long moan, and just before I’m about to blow, she slides off me and catches my orgasm in her mouth. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Her tongue swirls, sucking every drop before we lie next to each other. Her cheek sticks to my chest as I wrap my arms around her, content to stay like this. Drift off to sleep. She raises her head and kisses my neck.

She’s amazing.

I can’t remember the last woman whose tits made me forget myself. She makes me feel like I’m floating on air, and all I can think about is that it’s a damn shame. When summer ends, I won’t see her again. A deep unease settles in my guts. I’m not ready to let her go.

Saffie unsticks her body to check the time on her phone and gasps.

"What?"

She tucks a strand of her hair, looking shocked. "Nothing. I have a bit of hate mail."

"What?" I laugh. "From who?" What a stupid question. I groan, thinking of the fans.

"Looks like Henry’s fanbase. They’re not happy we’re in a 'relationship' and want me to jump off the Golden Gate."

"Jesus. I forget how creepy they can be. Reading them is a waste of time. Just delete."

"Yeah," she says, sounding shaken. "I guess people assume we’re dating now, huh?"

There’s an implicit question hanging on the edge of her sentence. Are we?

No idea. "It was bound to happen with all the photos of us."

"Do they realize I’m here with you?"

Probably. "Don’t worry about it."

But she does. Saffie bites her lip, eyebrows creased as she reads the emails. I don’t want them to burst our happy Hawaii bubble. "Want to go to the luau?"

She nods, tossing the phone on the bed.

* * *

Hawaii at night is as balmy as the day. Unlike California, the humidity doesn’t drop, and the warmth stays with you. A fire blazing on the beach offers the only light aside from the moon casting its milky gaze over the water. A troop of hula dancers with floral tiaras and grass skirts walk on the sand, barefooted, like white puffballs floating in the air. Ukulele music lifts to the skies as the band plays, and the women begin their dance.

Saffie watches, playing with the lei around her neck as the show wears into the night. I’ve been to a luau before, and they’ve worn out their appeal, but she loves it. A big, goofy grin spreads across her pretty face as men wielding burning staffs replace the dancers and twirl the flames in the air. I watch them reflected in her eyes, and when it ends, she claps vigorously.

The MC of the luau returns to the microphone and announces a couple’s dance. Saffie grabs me. "Let’s go!"

"I’m a shit dancer."

"Come on," she roars.

I stand from the folding chair and follow Saffie to the space dedicated for couples as people in the seats applaud. Saffie takes my shoulder and hand as I grab her waist, and we sway to the music. Damn, I’ve never seen her so happy.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here," she whispers. "I didn’t realize how bad I needed this."

I revolve on the spot, the firelight rippling on Saffie’s face. "We should’ve done it a long time ago."

She lights up with a smile. Then it fades. I squeeze her hand. "What?"

She shakes her head, eyes glistening.

I touch her chin. "Saffie, talk to me."

Her fingers curve into my shoulder. "I don’t want this to be over. I know that’s not what we agreed, but I can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again."

"I don't want it to end either."

My heart pounds as she gazes at me, wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

"This summer doesn’t have to be the last time we see each other."

"But you’ll be touring the world, and I’ll be wherever the hell I find a place."

Not if you come with me. "You’re the most fun I’ve had in ages."

Saffie takes a deep breath as though bracing herself for something. "I'm tired of being your fling," she says. "I want to be with you."

Fuck me, but I've been fantasizing about the same thing.

She's a hopeless romantic. I had her pegged the day I met her, and knew I’d never be able to give her what she wanted. Things changed. Letting someone else in doesn’t feel impossible anymore. The hole is patched over, and I won't let her go.

She answers the prayer in my heart. "We’ll work it out. Promise."