I lied to Charles Cash.

I said I couldn’t remember, but damn right I was vague about it, because there are only a few things I don’t remember about last night. Even the tropical heat settling over my skin can’t burn the memories away.

Last night wasn’t even the pinnacle of my party embarrassments. There have been worse. Like the time in college when I fell off a table after a single Jell-O shot and broke my arm. Like the time last year when I had too much tequila and decided it would be fun to start a striptease in the middle of an art show opening. Like the first time I ever got drunk, at Leland Drake’s first house party in high school, when I tried to shotgun a beer and it went up my nose.

The sun shines gently through the tamarind trees while I hike up the trail, pushing myself to hurry over the steep parts and running down the slopes.

There is one thing in common with all those stories, and it’s that I tend to throw myself into the party a little too zealously.

It’s just that I’ve never been this mortified. Never.

Charles Cash is way hotter than he was in high school, and that’s part of it.

Another part is that I may have…admired him back in those days. He still radiates an energy that’s pure control, only now it’s been refined by the years. Last I heard, he’s running the Cash empire now. It’s a good fit. He always seemed that way, even in high school—precise, driven, discerning.

Don’t even get me started on the way his muscles have built up and filled out over the years.

I don’t need a man to save me, and I didn’t need a man to save me from the guy who was getting handsy at the bar, but when I saw Charles coming through the crowd, something relaxed in my chest. That wave of relief might have been the most embarrassing thing, had I not thrown up on his shoes.

He rolled his eyes. I saw him. And he could have left me there, in the middle of the bar, or taken me right outside, but he didn’t.

He retrieved a towel from the bartender, wiped his shoes down, and then reached for one of the cloth napkins from the lower tables near the bar.

He brushed my hair away from my face.

He dabbed at my lips with the napkin.

And then he took me back to his room.

I huff and puff up another rise in the trail and tell myself that my face is red from exertion, not from the way it felt when he touched me.

What a fucking gentleman. He put me to bed last night. He tucked me in. And then he left me in peace.

Why does it feel like this? Why does it feel like rejection, even though there’s no way Charles Cash is ever going to be interested in me? Even though I don’t want him to be interested in me?

The trail opens up so suddenly that it shocks me back to reality. I came here for a tropical getaway, not to get rescued by Charles Cash. I don’t need rescuing. I need a plan. Only the view is so stunning that I gasp.

A waterfall cascades down over a rocky outcrop, the water plunging into a pool so blue that it makes my heart ache. It’s so blue it’s almost turquoise. It’s so peaceful, so solitary. This is the kind of thing I came here for.

I make my way down to the water’s edge, moving slowly through the shadows of the trees and back out into the bright sunlight. I don’t have a swimsuit, but who the hell cares? The capris and sports bra I changed into in my bungalow are fine. I just need to take a quick, refreshing dip in the water, and last night will be washed away.

I ditch my shoes, back up a few steps from the edge, and run forward, jumping as far toward the center as I can.

The water is cool, on the edge of being warm, and absolutely pure. It’s silky against my fingers, and I’m right. I’m so right. Suspended here, underneath the surface, I can feel all the bullshit from yesterday being cleansed from my skin. For once, I’m weightless. For once, I’m free.

I stay under as long as I can, and then surface like the gorgeous, confident mermaid I feel like in this moment, tilting my face up into the sun. 

I raise my hands to my hair, smoothing it back, and open my eyes, ready to greet the rest of the day.

Instead, I’m looking right into the eyes of none other than Charles Cash.

* * *

“What are you doing down there?” he calls from the top of the rise, and the peaceful feeling in my chest shatters.

I kick for the edge of the pool, getting my hands on solid ground before I answer. “Swimming. What are you doing spying on me from up there?”

“I’m not spying. I’m hiking. And you’re out here alone.” He raises his eyebrows.

“I wish I was alone.” I heave myself out of the pool and sit on the edge. Just go away, Charles. Go back to your hike and leave me alone.

He doesn’t leave me alone. The sound of his footsteps on the forest floor get closer, and then his legs come into view. His gorgeous, muscled legs, revealed from beneath black exercise shorts. “Anyone could be out here.” There’s an edge to his voice, but something else is there, too.

“I know.” I stand up and face him. Maybe he thinks I’m constantly a damsel in distress, but I’m not. “You’re out here, for one thing.”

He gives me a long, steady look. “Are you feeling all right?”

It takes me by surprise. “What? Yeah, I—” It takes a big breath to collect myself. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you. Thank you for—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t mention it.”

“Well, you didn’t have to—”

“Are you taking the trail back to the resort?”

He’s officially giving me whiplash. “I was going to, eventually.”

“How about right now?”

My clothes are heavy with water, and for the first time all morning, I’m hungry. So while I want to tell Charles to screw off, it’ll only make things awkward if I follow him back down to the resort. “Sure.”

“Let’s go.”

He starts back toward the resort, stoic, silent. It makes the birdsong seem even louder. “Are you going to talk to me?”

“I don’t think we have much to talk about.”

God, he’s such a dick. That’s why I will never admit, not in a thousand years, that the sound of his voice makes me want to walk right into his arms. That the way he moves makes me wonder what he’s like in bed. That the way he brushed my hair out of my face last night makes me want him to spend the rest of the day with his hands on me.

“I think we do.”

“I think you should be more careful.”

“I think you should—” I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to bait him. I’m going to get a rise out of Charles Cash.

He stops so suddenly that I almost run into him, whirling around, looking me straight in the eye. My heart slams against my ribcage. His eyes are on fire, blazing, superheated in the sunlight. “What, Josephine? What is it that you think I should do?”

I want him to kiss me. And I want to yell at him. I want him to be worried about me, and I want him to leave me the fuck alone. I want all of it at once, but mostly I want to throw my arms around his neck and straddle him. It’s almost too powerful of an urge to resist, but I do, because on top of all of it, I’m angry with him for not being nicer.

“Nothing.” I finally manage a single word.

He nods, his jaw working, and then turns back to the trail.

We return the rest of the way to the resort in silence.