I can’t fathom what’s wrong with me.

I keep replaying it over and over in my mind. The walk on the beach. The way I couldn’t help but to keep smiling at her. The way she didn’t back down to my banter, and gave as good as she got. The stretch of her clothes over her perfect curves. 

Why the hell did I try to kiss her?

This is why I don’t let things get out of hand. This is why I stay in control. Being around Josephine made me think that everything would be fine if I loosened my grip, one time, but I was wrong. It wasn’t.

I made a fucking fool of myself.

And then—worst of all—I ran away from her. I couldn’t even stay to face it, to face her.

I go back to my suite and turn the water on in the shower as hot as it will go. If I have to burn her off of my skin, so be it.

* * *

I wake up the next morning with a knot in my chest that won’t release. I try to work it out with a run on the trails. It’s a complete and utter failure. I look for Josephine with every step I take. No matter how hard I push myself, thoughts of her dance through my mind.

If I can’t stop thinking about her, the least I can do is get the thoughts in order. Line them up in neat rows so that I can dismiss them one by one.

I run under the tamarind trees, circling the trail once, then twice. 

I start with what’s true.

Josephine Paxton is here at the resort.

I had a nice time with her last night.

I can’t fucking stand her.

The more I tell myself that I hate her, the more I know it’s not true. I don’t know why that was my first reaction. I hadn’t thought about Josephine, or Greg, for years before I got on the plane. Why would I? All of that was over a long time ago.

I’m worried about her, then. I didn’t like what happened at the bar. I didn’t like finding her alone and defenseless, out in the middle of nowhere. 

Being concerned for someone’s safety doesn’t mean that I’m falling for them.

No, it doesn’t. Not always. But this time—

I slow to a stop in the middle of the trail, breathing hard. Sweat beads on my skin and drips to the ground. “Shit.”

Out here, without anyone to look at me, anyone to challenge me to a walk on the beach, I can begin to admit that I might like her. I did like spending time with her last night, up until I tried to kiss her. And she turned her cheek.

She turned her cheek.

* * *

I spend a solitary hour in the air conditioning of my suite, dealing with a barrage of emails. Adam promised something he shouldn’t have at the resort in Italy, so I have to put out that fire. Some of the numbers on Dex’s latest reports aren’t lining up, either.

My mood has turned surly and dark by the time I flip the laptop closed. The screen connects with the keyboard with a harsh thwack. 

I’m going for a swim.

The sand is hot under my feet, but I relish it squishing between my toes. It gives me distance from this thundercloud mood. I take my time moving out toward the ocean, moving toward the waves with my towel dangling off my arm.

I’m almost there when I see her.

Josephine is lying on a towel on the beach. At the sight of her, my entire body surges with the need to be next to her, the need to be touching her, to be doing a lot more than that to her, because she is wearing the sexiest bikini I have ever seen. It’s hot pink, and against her tan skin, it’s like siren-made cloth. I don’t just want to look at this bikini while it hugs her curves. I want to peel it off her.

She’s reading, oblivious to my presence. I’ve stopped dead in my tracks on the beach, letting the heat from the sand move uncomfortably up my legs.

That’s when Douchebag the Second makes his appearance.

He strides in from the opposite direction, somewhere down the beach, and drops his towel on the sand right next to her. The falling towel sends sand flying, and Josephine flinches, her hand instinctively shielding her eyes.

He’s loud, but through the anger pulsing in my ears, I can’t make out what he’s saying. I only know that he gets too close to her, and he’s leering.

She must tell him that she’s not interested because his face falls, his mouth flattens into a thin line, and then he yanks the towel up from the sand.

He’s not quite done. He moves it a few feet down the beach. Calls to her again. She ignores him. He tries a third time.

I’m moving before I know what I’m doing. 

Across the sand, my feet sinking in with every step, to Josephine’s towel. She’s propped herself up on one arm, facing away from the asshole, and when my shadow falls over her, she looks up. Her eyes are wide behind her sunglasses.

“Charlie—”

That’s all she has the chance to say before I’m pulling her up into a standing position, sweeping her into my arms, and leaning toward her. “Please,” I plead, keeping my voice low, and it has to be the first time I’ve ever started a sentence that way. “Let me kiss you. Let me make him a thing of the fucking past.”

Josephine looks at me for a fraction of a second, and then magic happens.

She threads her arms around my neck, yes screaming out from her every tiny movement, and I put my hand around the back of her head and tilt her face toward mine.

Yes, yes, yes. Her body presses into mine, and her lips part to let my tongue discover her. God, she tastes sweet. She tastes like excitement and sadness and longing, and it’s all wrapped up in her lips tangled with mine.

It’s Josephine who takes it farther. She guides one of my hands to her waist, curving her body around me, and sucks my bottom lip into her mouth.

It’s all I can do not to take her right there on the sand.

When she breaks the kiss, it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

“Why did you leave your engagement ring in the room?” I say, loudly enough for the asshole to hear. Unsurprisingly, he’s averting his eyes, gathering up his towel to go.

Josephine laughs and slaps me lightly on the shoulder. “So it wouldn’t get lost in the sand, silly.”

I hold her close until the guy has finished skulking away, just to make sure he knows not to fuck with her. And also because I don’t want to let her go. Finally, there’s no excuse, so I force myself to step back, letting one arm linger around her waist for appearances. 

I should let go and walk away now, and leave her in peace so she can enjoy the rest of her vacation. I should.

“Come to dinner with me.”

Josephine pulls away a little farther, looking up into my face. “Are you serious?” She laughs, and it has a nervous quality. We’re not play-acting anymore. “Charlie, you did a nice thing for me, but you don’t have to—”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I take her hand in mine and raise it to my lips, letting them brush gently against her knuckles. “Come to dinner with me, and let me make it right.”