The next day was my last full day on Moorea. I was set to head home in the late morning the following day, so Tate said he had something extra special planned. We were going to take a ride in a helicopter and fly over all the surrounding islands. He would point out the other resorts he owned, and we would touch down near the small set of bungalows on stilts in which he owned shares on Bora Bora and have lunch.

I was used to living the life of Riley when I was with Xavier. The man lived a lavish and opulent lifestyle, throwing money around like it was no big deal and letting everyone within a ten-mile radius know he was loaded. But there was something so much more down-to-earth and refreshing about Tate. Sure, he had more money than I or anyone I knew could shake a stick at, but he didn’t act like he did. He was humble and sweet, and even though I knew we only had one last day together, I couldn’t control or quell the feelings that stirred inside. I was falling for the billionaire, falling hard, and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to crash and burn. And unlike the Phoenix, I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to rise from the ashes.

“And that’s Huahine down there,” he said, pointing across me and down at a small island loaded with hills and vegetation. “I own a bed and breakfast and a small set of eight bungalows down there.”

I had thought that we were going to use a pilot and Tate would sit in the back with me and play tour guide, but oh, no. In addition to being a top-notch fishing guide, a dive instructor, a hotel owner, a French Polynesian real estate mogul, fluent in multiple languages and a sex god, he was also, of course, a helicopter pilot. We sat in the front seat with sunglasses and the headgear on, and over the course of an hour, he careened us over sparkling blue water, white sand and lush, hilly islands.

My face hurt as I looked out the window, high above the world with such an amazing man at the helm. I hadn’t smiled like this in ages, and it was all because of Tate. He’d brought me back from a dark place, saved me and shown me what it was like to have fun and not take life too seriously. And now I was getting ready to head back to reality, where life was serious and demanding and . . . boring.

* * *

Lunch on Bora Bora had been spectacular: fresh fish with Tahitian vanilla sauce and the most incredible poe, which is a decadent dessert made from banana and pumpkin starch, mixed with other fresh fruits like papaya, mango and pineapple, all cooked in banana leaves inside a Tahitian oven. We borrowed masks and snorkels and floated around the bay just off the restaurant where we’d dined. And as one last surprise, or gift, Tate let me “fly” the helicopter. I was terribly nervous, but this trip was about living and adventure, so when he asked me if I wanted to try steering, I’d swallowed my fear and gripped the cyclic stick and boldly traversed us around the sky. It was invigorating, it was life-changing, it was absolutely terrifying, and I loved every minute of it.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I was plumb exhausted. We were having a quick drink with Justin and Kendra at their private villa, watching the girls splash in the pool, when Tate’s phone vibrated on the table and one of his managers ran up behind us out of breath and with a look of sheer panic on his face.

Tate snatched his phone, checked the message and stood up just as Quincy approached. Tate and his manager shared a quick look, and then Quincy nodded. Justin, noticing the building tension, stood up too.

“Is it what we feared?” he asked.

Tate nodded.

What the hell? What had they feared? Dread settled in my belly like a lead balloon. It had to be something involving Xavier, I just knew it.

Tate turned to face me. “Xavier has gone to the press in retaliation for being kicked out of here yesterday. Somehow, we’re not entirely sure how yet, he figured out who I am and has gone to the tabloids bashing the hotel. Spreading rumors and lies about me, my employees and you. A huge front page spread is on the magazine slated to go out to newsstands tomorrow. It’s already online.” He handed me his phone where quotes like “Tate McAllister, billionaire philanthropist or petty dictator?” and “Parker Ryan, the billionaire’s arm candy . . . for a price” graced the cover.

Bile burned the back of my throat. He was calling me a prostitute. Fucking Bubbles, when I got back to New York I was going to kill him myself.

“Want me to get James on it back home?” Justin asked, grabbing his phone out of his back pocket. “He’s got a guy, a couple guys who can go talk to him.”

Tate shook his head. “Not yet.”

I pushed myself to my feet. “Do we even know if Xavier is back in the states yet?”

Tate shook his head. “He’s not. Quincy just told me that he’s booked at a four-star hotel on the other side of the island.”

“Should we go?” Justin asked, bouncing on his heels with excitement, but then he caught his wife’s eye, and the two exchanged a quick look.

“You’re on vacation, my Dark Knight,” she said blandly. “Leave the crime-fighting to the men on duty.”

He nodded solemnly, then immediately started to backpedal. “I mean, should we send one of your big security guards to go and speak to him.” The disappointment in his eyes was plain as day.

Tate was still studying his phone and whispering with Quincy, not really paying attention to what Justin was saying and behaving as if I no longer existed. Did I exist anymore? I was the reason his cover was blown. The anonymity, the privacy he’d worked hard to keep for all these years was gone in seconds, and all because of me.

He looked up at me, his eyes fierce. “We have to go.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to talk to Xavier.”

“We?”

He nodded.

“You need help?” Justin asked. Kendra made a noise in her throat from where she sat. “I mean, I can drive if you guys need someone in the getaway car or something.”

Tate shook his head and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Nah, man, I think we’re good here. We’ll take Mako, my biggest security guard. Should be enough.” He bit the inside of his lip for moment in thought before turning to Quincy. “Want to go and grab Michael as well? Won’t hurt to have my attorney there too.”

Quincy nodded. “He’s already in his office printing up the cease and desist papers.”

Tate nodded. “I only hire the best.”

Quincy made a face. “We’re also working on figuring out who revealed your identity, sir. As well as how Mr. Rollins obtained photos of you and Miss Ryan. We won’t let them get away with it.” Quincy was making a face similar to the one Alejandro had made a few days ago when he’d talked about “getting rid of” subpar employees, or ones who didn’t toe the line.

Tate’s face softened. “I’m sure it was a mistake. Or he may have just figured it out on his own. As for the photos, who knows?”

But Quincy’s eyes were hard. He was taking this violation personally. Wow! Such loyalty.

Tate’s hand fell to the small of my back. “Ready to go?”

I swallowed and nodded. Not at all, but it had to be done. Fucking Bubbles needed to be dealt with.

Moments later we were climbing into the Jeep, with an enormous Polynesian man behind the wheel whose biceps were the same size as my waist and whose neck was as thick as his thighs. Michael, a scrawny little white guy with Coke-bottle glasses, sat in the front seat while Tate and I sat in the back.

I was shaking. Freezing, despite the warm evening breeze that coasted across my skin as we raced down the road to the other side of the island. Fear and anger comingled inside of me into an icy froth that settled heavy in the pit of my stomach and slowly seeped out like a toxic wound into the rest of my body. I’d forgotten a cardigan, so I just wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth. Tate glanced down at me and then, without even batting an eye, removed his T-shirt and pulled it over my head.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, pulling me close and rubbing my shoulder, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

I continued to shake. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Mako slowed down the Jeep as the lights of a resort up ahead came into view. He rolled up to the security gate and spoke with the man at the front. The gate swung open seconds later, and we pulled through. He parked, and when we clambered out, we were greeted by a friendly-looking man in a crisp white dress shirt and tan pants, wringing his hands. He had the name of the resort emblazoned on the top corner of his shirt, The Moorean Sunrise Resort and Bungalows.

Tate stepped forward and shook his hand. “Thanks for doing this, Arturo. I really appreciate it.”

The gray-haired man with soft brown eyes nodded. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McAllister, if I’d had any idea who he was, I would have turned him away.”

Tate shook his head. “I keep telling you to call me Tate. You’re old enough to be my father. I should be calling you Mr. Mendez.”

Arturo blushed.

Tate went on. “No need to apologize. You didn’t know. No harm, no foul. But if you could show us to Mr. Rollins’ room, we can take it from here.”

Arturo nodded and motioned for us to follow him, with Tate behind him, me behind Tate, followed by Michael and then finally Mako. I looked behind me—jeepers, the guy had to be at least seven feet tall, three hundred pounds. And I was guessing most of that weight was pure muscle. Yeah, if Michael’s papers didn’t do the trick, Mako’s size and half-tattooed face certainly would.

We came up to a small bungalow right on the beach. Xavier could step out and be in the surf in a matter of seconds. It was no presidential suite at The Windward Hibiscus, but it wasn’t too shabby, either.

Tate stepped forward and went to knock, but I stopped him, pulled his shirt over my head and handed it back to him. He tugged it on and gave me a brief smile of thanks before lifting his fist and knocking.

Seconds later, the door opened. A woman wearing nothing but a peach thong and matching bra was standing there with a dubious expression on her face. “You’re not room service,” she said stupidly in her little breathy baby-doll voice.

“Lani, babe, is that room service? I’m starving.” Xavier came around the corner towel-drying his hair, wearing nothing but a confused look on his dumb face. He lifted his head up, and his eyes went buggy as he took us all in. The towel dropped from his head, and he immediately draped it around his waist. “What the fuck is the meaning of this?” he asked, indignation in his voice. But a quaver of unease was there as well. Mako stepped out of the shadows and loomed behind me. All the blood drained from Xavier’s face.

Lani’s eyes drifted back and forth between Xavier and Tate. “Babe, what’s going on?”

Arturo pushed past Tate and looked at Lani. Now it was time for her face to pale.

“M-Mr. Mendez, wh-what are you doing here?”

Arturo lifted an eyebrow. “That’s my line, Lani.”

The woman started to scramble around the room collecting her things. She tossed on a pair of khaki pants and then pulled a hotel logo-emblazoned navy polo shirt over her head. “P-please, sir,” she stammered, tears welling up in her dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Arturo gripped her by the elbow and led her past us down the path. “Let’s go have a chat, Lani. I’m sure we can sort something out. After all, you didn’t see anything, right, now did you? Not a soul knocked on the door; nobody by the name of Xavier was staying at this hotel, right? You’ve been working in the dining room on a double-shift all night, right?”

Her breath caught in her throat as she shuffled along with him. “N-no, sir. Nobody. Nothing. Whatever you say.”

Xavier’s eyes were still wide as dinner plates as he watched his little paramour stumble down the path with her boss. When they disappeared around the corner, his gaze whipped back to Tate, but instead of the fear that should have been there, he sneered smugly and turned to face me. “So you saw my little post in America’s Scoop, did you? Here I thought you were slumming it, Parker, but in fact you’re an even bigger gold-digger than I thought. What, my millions not enough for you anymore? You too good for me?”

“I’d say she is,” Tate snapped back. “Especially since you don’t have a fucking million to your name anymore.”

My head whipped around, and I gaped at Tate. What the hell was he talking about?

Xavier’s mouth mimicked my own. “Fuck you,” he said with a snarl.

Tate just smiled. “See, one of the many advantages to being a billionaire is the resources you’re able to afford. It took my team no time at all to realize you are fucking bankrupt. Like the ponies, eh?” Tate clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

Shit.

I’d thought Xavier had stopped going to the track, at least that’s what he’d told me last time I’d asked him. He’d had a bit of a problem before we’d met, but when his ex-wife threatened to sue him for full custody of their son, he’d stopped. Apparently, though, even having his kid in his life wasn’t enough to quit the addiction or thrill.

Tate crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You thought selling your story to America’s Scoop was going to be your big score, get you back into the black. Well . . . I just bought America’s Scoop. Have already issued a story to recant yours, painting you as an idiot, desperate to reclaim his fame, blah, blah, blah. You can read the whole article tomorrow on your flight home. Secondly, I’ve threatened to sue any other tabloid that publishes your story or any photos surrounding either Parker, my staff, my resort or myself. They’re all aware and have agreed to back off and not print your story. You won’t be getting a dime.”

Blood flooded Xavier’s face. “You can’t do that!” he spat.

Tate made a bored face. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, and don’t you forget that. Thirdly, this here is a cease-and-desist order for you. If you remember, when you ‘checked in’ to The Windward Hibiscus, you signed a bunch of non-disclosure agreements. Do you remember that?” He waited a half-second for Xavier to respond, but the man just stood there like a slaw-jawed guppy. Tate went on. “I didn’t think so. See, you’re not the first prick I’ve had to deal with, so I’ve covered my ass quite well. I can afford the best attorneys, and they’ve written up a pretty wicked iron-clad non-disclosure agreement into the forms you sign when you first arrive. Most people don’t even bother to read them, like you. But they say very clearly that if anyone shows my picture or prints anything about me without my permission, they will be sued.”

Michael stepped forward and thrust a manila envelope into Xavier’s hand. “You’ve been served.”

Xavier started to shake.

“Furthermore,” Tate went on, “I’m in the process of procuring your family’s soap business as well. Your brother seems like a reasonable enough man, and I’m sure he’ll convince the board members to sell to me, with the caveat you receive none of the buyout.” Did Tate know Rufus had sold off all of Xavier’s shares years ago? Was he bluffing? Or did he know something I didn’t?

Xavier’s knees wobbled as the realization of his actions and everything he was losing finally started to sink in.

Tate smiled. “Now, this can all go away if you sign the top form inside that envelope there. I won’t buy your family’s company, I won’t sue you, and I won’t have Mako here take you out on a boat and feed you to the sharks.”

Xavier took a step to the left and rested his hand on the desk to support his weight. The man looked like he was going to pass out.

“The form on top there.” Tate waited for Xavier to open the envelope and pull out the paper. “It’s you admitting to spreading falsehoods and rumors about myself, The Windward Hibiscus and Miss Ryan. It states that you accept full responsibility for your libel and any and all repercussions that may be the fallout of the mess you’ve created. There is a gag order, however, and you are not allowed to speak of any of this. All you are allowed to speak of is the fact that you lied.”

Michael stepped forward again and poked a bony finger into the center of the paper. “This here tells you exactly what to say.”

“I’m a liar. I have never met Mr. McAllister, I do not know what he looks like, and I have never even been to The Windward Hibiscus. In a desperate attempt to make money, after making one too many poor business decisions, I took the opportunity of my ex-girlfriend being at the resort to spread rumors and make accusations. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Xavier’s Adam’s apple struggled to make it down his throat as he swallowed.

“Deviate so much as one word from this script, and we will come after you,” Michael said, claws out. For a tiny bespectacled man who weighed as much as one of Mako’s legs, his voice held the venom and strength of a man ten times his size. No doubt this wasn’t the first jugular he’d gone after and successfully drained.

“You will be leaving tomorrow morning at five,” Tate said. “Mako here will escort you. And if we so much as hear a whisper of your time on Moorea, or my name or Parker’s name in a tabloid, we won’t even bother with suing you. Do I make myself clear?”

Xavier nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the paper.

Michael stepped forward and handed him a pen. Xavier put the paper down and started to sign and initial where Michael instructed. I lifted my head and just stared at Tate. I had never been more turned on or afraid at the same time. Would he really “dispose” of Xavier?

Michael pulled the paper away and stuffed it back into the envelope. Then he snatched his pen from Xavier’s sweaty palm and, with a glare at my frightened ex, tucked the ballpoint back into his breast pocket.

Tate let out a heavy sigh. “All right then, now that that’s been settled,” and then out of nowhere he hauled off and punched Xavier in the nose, causing the man to stumble back and fall flat on his ass. The towel came loose, and he was suddenly laying there in a heap on the ground, his penis having turtled in fear and barely visible while blood poured from his nose and his beady eyes darted around the room in horror. “And that’s for calling Parker a gold-digger.” Tate grabbed me by the elbow and motioned for us to leave.

“You really should read what you sign,” Michael lectured Xavier as we left the bungalow. “You can’t even sue him for assault. You signed that right away, too.” The little attorney clucked his tongue as Tate had earlier. “Moron.” Then he closed the door, and he and Mako followed us back down the path toward the Jeep.

“You’re shaking again,” Tate said, stopping us on the path and removing his shirt for the second time. He pulled it over my head and tugged me close. “It’s okay, Parker. It’s over.”

A half-sob, half-chuckle caught in my throat as I leaned into him, letting the warmth of his big body wash over me. “Would you really have him killed?” I finally asked.

Mako chuckled behind me.

Tate and Michael joined in on the laughter.

I looked back at the two men behind me, then back up at Tate. “What?”

We all stopped on the path, and Tate took my hand. “I’ve never had anyone killed or killed anyone, Parker. The implied threat seems to be enough, combined with Mako.”

The big Polynesian man grinned, showing off a gorgeous row of straight, bright white teeth. “Something about the tattoos on the face seems to scare ’em straight,” he laughed.

“And Michael’s ruthlessness, too,” Tate replied, continuing to laugh. “Nothing has ever gone further than a threat. Come to think of it, I’m not sure what we’d do if someone ignored our threat.”

“Shark food,” Mako said, sobering.

Tate just chuckled. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

I gazed up into Tate’s face. “You honestly think we’re done with him?”

He nodded and pulled me close, and we resumed our walking. “We’re done with him. The man doesn’t have a pot to piss in. By the time he gets back to New York, he won’t have a friend left to turn to, and unless his brother takes pity on him, no job, either. In the last three weeks, he’s been foreclosed on, gone into receivership, had to declare bankruptcy and closed all his restaurants and clubs. The man has ruined himself. We’re just making sure he doesn’t ruin us as well.”

I shook my head and snuggled into him. I had had no idea any of this was going on. None. Then again, we’d been broken up for three weeks, and Xavier never really discussed his businesses with me. Even when I’d ask, he’d dismiss my questions or change the subject. I was quite relieved that I wasn’t having to go through this with him right now. He’d dumped me just in the nick of time.

Tate opened up the Jeep door for me, and I climbed in.

Four doors slammed, and seconds later we were on the road heading back to The Windward Hibiscus, the wind in our hair as the pinkish-purple sky drew us toward the horizon. Crisis averted.

“I think that went rather well.” Michael sounded chipper, bouncing in his seat next to Mako.

Tate brought his hand up and checked his knuckles. They were red and swollen. One had busted open, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his middle finger.

I took his fist in my palm and wiped the blood away with my finger, then brought his hand to my lips, planting a soft, gracious kiss on his skin.

“I couldn’t let him get away with calling you a gold-digger,” he said softly.

I looked up into his eyes, and the rush of love I had for this incredible man inundated me. My chest tightened. But I had to be realistic. As much as I felt for him, this was day nine of a ten-day thing. We’d agreed to it. Letting the lump in my throat settle and shrink, I smiled shyly and ran my hand over his bloody one. “I hope you broke his nose.” I giggled to hide my true feelings and instead just cuddled back into his side. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into him.

Kissing the top of my head, he looked out into the trees whizzing past. “Me too.”