We were just coming back down the path from the marina when Tate stopped short. I was behind him and not watching where I was going and bumped right into his back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to peek around his big frame. Did Moorea have bears?

“Justin?” he said.

“Hey, dude!”

Tate picked up speed, and before we knew it, we were standing in front of a gorgeous couple and their two little girls.

He was tall and dreamy with rosy cheeks and bright aqua blue eyes, while she was shorter than me by a few inches, had bright grass-green eyes and the same dark red hair as I did, only hers was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her long neck.

“Long time no see, buddy. How’s it going?” Tate asked, shaking the man’s hand.

“Great. James told me how hospitable and welcoming you were when he and Emma were here last summer, so I thought I’d come check it out, bring the fam. You got my email?”

Tate nodded. “I did. I just couldn’t remember what day you were showing up.”

Justin wrapped his arm around his wife. “Ah, the weather back home is foul, so we thought we’d head out a few days early. If you can’t take us yet, we have no problem heading to another resort for a few days.”

“Nonsense,” Tate said. “We’ll fit you in. No worries.”

Justin’s smile drew wide and carefree across his handsome face. “Excellent. Well, I appreciate that. This is my wife, Kendra. And our daughters, Maggie and Chloe.”

Tate shook Kendra’s hand, and even though he and I were “technically” together and Kendra was Justin’s wife, Tate was unable to hide his appreciation for the woman’s beauty. How could you not? She was striking, like a sexy Pippi Longstocking.

“Well, welcome. It’s so nice to meet everyone. This is . . .” His hand fell to the small of my back and he ushered me forward. “This is Parker.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. James never mentioned you had a girlfriend.” Justin’s eyes glittered with mischief as he raked my body from head to toe, much like Tate had done to his wife. I wasn’t used to such blatant appraisal, or, by the way he smiled at me, adoration.

“It’s new,” Tate said with a grin. “How long are you guys here for?”

Justin shrugged. “A week maybe, or two. We brought the jet, so we’ll see. But your prices . . . yeesh! Definitely trying to keep out the riff-raff millionaires with those rates, eh?”

Tate laughed. “Ah, my little millionaire friend, I’ll let you in. But you better behave.”

“Ah, well, that might be a problem. I’ve never been one to behave. You know that.”

Tate smiled. “Even now that you’re a dad?”

“Oh, he just has to get more creative with his mischief,” Kendra put in.

Tate’s eyes took on an almost wicked gleam as his gaze fell back to the beautiful mother of two. “I can upgrade you guys if you’d like? Beachfront, private veranda. It won’t be as nice as Parker’s, she’s in the presidential villa, but it’s just half a step down. Plus, it has its own pool. You only share it with one other villa, and I don’t think it’s occupied right now.”

Maggie and Chloe’s eyes went wide.

“Can we, Daddy?” the older one asked.

Justin’s face split into another big grin. “If he’s offering.”

“All right, then, I’ll go speak with Janessa and have you guys moved to The Sun Star post-haste.”

Justin’s eyes flicked back to me, then to his wife, and then to Tate. The three of them seemed to be having a conversation all their own. What were they talking about?

“Anyway, dude. We’ve got to get some food into these little bellies. So we’ll catch up later, maybe go do a dive like old times.”

Tate’s hand fell back to my lower back, and we started to move.

“That sounds great, man. I’ll come find you tomorrow. And hey, welcome to The Windward Hibiscus!”

“How do you know them?” I asked as we made our way back to my villa.

“Justin’s an old friend from college. His best friend James was here with his new wife back in September.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “They have a beautiful family.”

I used my key card to open the door, and we stepped inside my suite.

“Yeah. And apparently they used to swing.”

My head whipped around. “As in sleep with other people?”

He nodded, prowling forward. “Mhmm.”

Swallowing, I moved a step away from him. The man was a sex machine, he’d already taken me numerous times that afternoon on the boat, and yet nothing seemed to satisfy his appetite. I rolled my eyes at that, thought. Who was I kidding? I was just as hungry, just as desperate for him. We only had ten days together, and if he wanted to fuck me ten times every day, I’d let him.

“A-and do you swing?”

My tank top was off before I even knew what was happening.

“I have, yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you still?”

“Not much. It’s hard to do here. There have been a few swingers’ parties here that I’ve participated in, but not many. It’s way easier to swing when you’re single than when you’re attached, and to be honest, I kind of got bored of the lifestyle. And way too many women offered to leave their husbands for me. I’m no homewrecker.”

I snorted. “How gallant of you. Sleep with their wives, but you won’t steal them.”

His shorts fell to the floor in a thunk, belt, wallet and phone hitting the hardwood. “I’d like to think that’s a gallant or chivalrous thing, no?”

His hands were making quick work of my shorts. We were still moving around the room. I just kept backing up, and he just kept stalking forward, hunting me, undressing me, devouring me with his eyes.

“Maybe a little,” I admitted. “Do you want to swing with them? With me?”

His lips drew up in a wolfish grin. “The thought did occur to me, and I know it occurred to them. You could see it on both their faces. But no, I would never ask that of you. And even though Kendra is beautiful, I only have you for a week and a half, and I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

Well, that hit me in the heart more than it should have.

* * *

I had invited Tate to stay the night, figuring we could have sex until the cows came home, pass out in each other’s arms only to wake up bright and early and hit the pool. But after we’d made love, ordered dinner, made love again, which was followed by the customary twenty-minute post-coital cuddle, he pulled on his shorts and was out the door, leaving me pouty-faced and craving more orgasms.

We were finding ourselves in a bit of a routine each morning, or so it would seem. Meet in the pool, swim laps, get our freak on in the sauna or shower, part ways to get dressed and then meet back up and go on an adventure. Never having been a fan of routine, I found myself enjoying it and looking forward to each and every step. I still wished we could mix it up and he’d sleep over one of these nights, but I chose not to dwell on the things I wasn’t getting and instead focus on all the amazing things I was, like mind-blowing orgasms and the attention and devotion of a sexy man.

The last two days had been quite fun. Tate had taken me on an orchard tour through the hundreds of sweet-smelling fruit trees in the interior of the island, full of oranges, lemons, limes, grapefruits, guavas and avocados. We picked a basket for ourselves to bring back, but I also bought a few organic and locally made jams, made of all places at the local high school. I couldn’t wait to get back and try it on my morning toast. From the orchard, we went to the juicing factory, where they take all the succulent fruit and turn it into delicious and healthy juice. I bought six bottles and hoped to be able to pop back into the shop one more time before I left for good.

The next day we’d gone out with a local guide where we (I say we but really mean I) were taught how to paddle a long boat like a local and fish with a net. Then the local guide took us back to his home where he taught me how to prepare coconut milk and a traditional Polynesian grilled fish, raw fish and local vegetable lunch. It was just Tate, myself and the guide, so I was able to ask loads of questions, take tons of pictures and get the true experience from an actual Polynesian. My hand was cramping from writing so much on my notepad, and my brain was sore by the time we got back to the hotel. I couldn’t wait to sit down at my laptop and put the day down in my own words. This was the kind of thing I loved: meeting the people, experiencing the culture and learning new things. Between the fishing with Tate, the orchards and the “living like a local” experience, I knew I’d have enough for a story, but I just wasn’t sure if it was the story I wanted; I was still frustrated that every time I asked Tate a question or interviewed a staff member, they prefaced their answer with “off the record.”

It was day five and Tate had promised me a real treat today, but beyond the word “treat” he had remained evasive. So I had no idea how to dress or what to pack. I stood there in my robe after my shower, staring at a few outfits. Shorts? Tank top? Skirt? Dress? Where were we going? What was the plan?

I was just about to pick up the light gray tank top and black denim shorts when a knock at the door had me tightening my robe and removing the towel from my head.

“Breakfast!” Tate cheered, rolling the trolley into my room. I could smell the fresh coffee and what I could only assume was waffles. Saliva flooded my mouth.

He was dressed in dark gray board shorts and a white linen t-shirt with only two of the buttons done up. His sexy chest was visible and I licked my lips at the site of his defined pecs, wanting to sink my teeth into them and hear him hiss my name out on a slow breath. He rolled the cart out on to the veranda and once again I noticed a blond hair hanging from one of the pearly buttons, waving like a golden flag. But I pushed my worries out of my head. He’d assured me I was the only woman he was sleeping with right now. Not that we slept; he refused to stay over. But I was the only woman he was having sex with. I had to take him for his word. Not all men were like Xavier Rollins. Not all men were cheating scum.

“Such service,” I said with a smile, joining him and popping a piece of mango into my mouth to fight the bitter taste of jealousy that was currently plaguing me. I moaned as the sweet and buttery flavor melted on my tongue.

“We aim to please.” He grinned.

I sat down where he ordered me to. A plate of heavenly-looking waffles with fresh whipped cream and tropical fruit compote sat before me, beckoning me to dive in.

Tate sat down across from me and started to eat. But then his eyes flicked down to where I’d crossed my legs, my robe having slipped open just a tad.

“Are you naked under there?” he asked, licking his lips before taking a sip of his juice.

I lifted one eyebrow coyly and blew on my coffee. “Nope, got a full three-piece suit on under this bad boy. I just really like wearing robes.” Brazenly I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, flashing him my pussy, so he could see just how dressed I was.

“Miss Ryan,” he purred with a grin. But then his face grew fierce and his brows narrowed. “Touch yourself.”

Biting my lip, I let one hand travel down to the V of my legs. Two fingers snaked their way between the lips to my slippery heat. His eyes never left me, instead they caught fire. Perhaps it was the glare from the sun overhead, or maybe it was just Tate, but when I looked into his eyes, all I saw was hunger, ravaged and true glittering back at me. Lust, craving, desire, need. I began rubbing my clit, back and forth, back and forth, enjoying the way the nub swelled beneath my fingertips and my slit grew wet. I let two fingers slide into my channel, and I started to fuck myself, enjoying the feeling of my own hand but also loving what it did to Tate, what I did to Tate.

“Smack it like you did before,” he ordered, the bulge in his pants betraying the composure his voice still held.

I let the grin slowly drift across my face and closed my eyes as I began delivering light, tingly little smacks to my clit and lips with the tips of my fingers. God, it felt good, a soft sting followed by a spreading heat, pleasure born of the pain.

“Fucking hell,” he said with a snarl, sinking to his knees and shuffling over to my chair. He molded my body how he wanted it, lifting my legs onto the arms of the chair, spreading me wide. “My turn.”

Swallowing, I leaned my head back and my eyes fluttered shut as overwhelming sensations claimed me. I’d never done anything like this before, never pleasured myself in front of anyone, never let a man take me in so many ways, in so many places. And yet Tate, Tate made me want to submit and let him have me as he pleased. I’d do anything for this man so long as he continued to make me feel the way I did now. Alive. Wanted. On fire.

“Continue with your breakfast,” he said as he blew cool air on to my wet, throbbing lips, denying me the touch I so desperately craved. “Eat, Parker, or else I won’t.” His eyes were all pupils now as he drew one sexy finger up between my folds. With his thumb and forefinger, he gave my clit a mighty pinch. I yelped, so he did it again. “Eat!”

I speared a piece of pineapple with my fork and put it to my lips; his eyebrows drew up in challenge. My teeth clamped down around the sweet morsel, and I pulled it into my mouth with my tongue, nearly having a mouth-gasm from how incredible it was; it was the best pineapple I’d ever tasted. I closed my eyes again, delighting in the burst of flavor on my tongue. A rough scratch raked my slit. He was using that beautiful fucking beard again—yes!

“Oh, God!” I cried, my hands coming forward and burying into his hair, pulling him deeper into my cleft. I’d never witnessed anything quite so erotic before, his dark head bobbing between my trembling thighs, brows pinched in unwavering focus while his back muscles bunched and rippled beneath his tailored shirt as he perched there on his knees before me.

Letting out another moan of satisfaction, I pushed myself harder against his face. “Yes . . . more beard, more.” He hadn’t even touched me with his tongue yet. It was all chin, all stubble, and I was close to detonation. T-minus ten seconds, or sooner.

“Eat, Parker,” he mumbled, flicking his tongue against my clit and making my whole body quiver. I was breathless, taking him in, the sight of him, the sensation of his mouth on me in such a wonderfully filthy way.

I didn’t even bother with a fork this time and snatched another piece of pineapple off the plate and popped it into my mouth. Dear lord, it was almost too much, the delicious sensations between my legs and the delicious flavors in my mouth. It was a new level of erotica, mixing food and pleasure, and I couldn’t get enough. He slipped two fingers inside me and started to summon my release in that diabolical come-hither crook, rubbing against my anterior walls and making me quake. I clenched my muscles around him, wanting to pull him deeper inside. I wanted all of Tate McAllister, even it was just for a moment; I wanted all of him.

Finally, after what felt like hours but I’m sure was only a few minutes, if not seconds, I blew my gasket. Starbursts and flashes whizzed behind my closed eyelids as the sun shone down on us from above while Tate continued to feast on my flesh until I was slick with sweat and pushing his head away. The pleasure was too much. Too intense. Too everything. Sex with a man I’d just met shouldn’t be this good, this soon. Should it? I’d been with Xavier for three years, and the sex had never left me speechless and so close to comatose I had trouble remembering what day it was, let alone where I was, or who I was.

When he finally relented and stood back up, his cheeks were a sexy, rosy pink and his eyes were glassy with his own arousal, while the whiskers on that wicked chin of his sparkled with the dampness of my release. He sat back in his seat, licked his fingers then popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth, chewing it sexily with a great big grin on his face.

“Hmm,” he hummed, “you taste better.”

* * *

Once I was dressed, I followed Tate outside. We wandered back down the trail and toward the marina, only this time, instead of jumping onto a fishing boat, we hopped into a sleek little white and black speedy-looking thing. It was all kinds of sexy, something you might expect to see in a rapper’s music video with dozens of scantily clad women dancing on the bow, while the boat ran at Mach 1 out on the open water. We piled in, and just when I thought we could visit déjà vu a little later and get naked and fuck on the bow, two other men, both with enormous smiles and straight white teeth, offered us big “hellos” and climbed down into the boat.

“Parker, this is Ifan and George. They’re going to come with us today because we’ll need a captain and spotter for our dive.”

I licked my lips involuntarily while letting out a whimper of discontent. It came out before I could stop it, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to halt any other inappropriate noise from emerging. Catching on to my disappointment at not getting to be alone, he smirked, that impish crook at the corner of his mouth transforming into pure lust as his fern-green eyes grew dark and his lids sunk to half-mast.

Feigning innocence as our two boat-mates shuffled around us, he came over and wrapped an arm around me, planting a big smacking smooch to the side of my head. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll do you up right tonight, how does that sound? Once, twice . . . three times?”

I couldn’t stop the unladylike snort that rumbled up through my nose.

Once, twice, three times. Yes, please!

He started to laugh. Was my horniness that obvious? Was I that horny? I’d never had a particularly high sex drive, two or three times a month was more than enough for me, but with Tate I wanted it all day every day, and more if he was willing.

Despite my job and the places I’d stayed, I’d neither been parasailing or scuba diving before. Most of the hotels where The Decadent Traveler sent me were more interested in making sure I was given every single spa treatment on the three-page menu and inland tours such as wineries, silk factories, breweries, castles, temples, churches, museums, etc. And even though I’d stayed at my fair share of tropical treasure troves, not once had I been high above the water being towed by a boat, or deep beneath the waves meeting clownfish after clownfish while turtles and rays looked on with mild interest.

Both experiences were life-changing—especially the diving. I’d never been afraid of heights, per se, but I couldn’t say I went out of my way to look over a ledge or down into a ravine. So as safe and exhilarated as I felt with the wind in my hair and nothing but air and sea beneath my toes as I was tugged behind the speedboat at warp speed, donning the mask, regulator and tank and then bailing over the side of the boat into the cerulean sea was much more my cup of tea.

Weightless, refreshingly cool and with a whole new world to explore, I was in awe. Although Tate had said he had planned to take Mr. Parker Ryan spearfishing, I had politely declined after giving it great thought. Much as with the mahi-mahi, I did not want to be responsible for any lives lost on my trip.

No dead fish.

I wanted to see life, wanted to experience the intensity of a school of ten thousand fish swarm around me in a tornado of silver scales and wary eyes, darting around as a united mass the moment a barracuda or reef shark came skulking by. No, I wasn’t a vegetarian, and yes, I would probably order the mahi-mahi later that night, but I had never felt more alive on this trip in all my life. I’d never been so adventurous, so brazen, so . . . uninhibited, so like hell was I going to be responsible for taking another life when I was in the process of reinventing mine.