The following day we went for an afternoon-long bike ride around the island. Not one to just jump on a ten-speed and zip in and out of traffic like a New York messenger boy, I was quickly sucking wind on the first big hill.

It was nearly dinnertime, and although we’d stopped and grabbed lunch at a cute little restaurant in one of the many quaint villages, all the activity of the day and the sun overhead had drained me of my energy. But it’d also left me with a ravenous hunger, and my belly grumbled loud and demanding with each pedal of the bike.

“How much further back to the hotel?” I wheezed, feeling the heat from the afternoon on my shoulders and kicking myself I hadn’t packed my sunscreen to slather on another layer. I’d never been very good with directions, and my bearings were completely off. I knew we’d cycled almost completely full-circle, or at least I thought we had, so I figured we’d be coming up on the hotel any moment. My rumbling stomach certainly hoped so.

“We’re not going back to the hotel just yet,” Tate said with a grin over his shoulder, having pedaled around the island with the ease and familiarity of a seasoned cyclist.

I’m not even sure the man had broken a sweat. Did he swim a hundred laps every morning and then head out and bike around the island every day, too? I mean, you can’t be a slouch to get a body like that, but come on!

My expression betrayed me, and he started to laugh. “It’s not much further, babe. We’re meeting Justin, Kendra and the girls for dinner at a restaurant up ahead in another little village.”

I perked right up and put the pedal to the metal to catch up with him. “Oh, that sounds like fun.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it should be. They do traditional Polynesian dances as dinner entertainment here.”

I caught up to him and fell in line, the two us pedaling side by side down the road. I resisted the urge to reach out and hold his hand. It would have been cute, and made one heck of a picture if there was anyone behind us with a camera, but undoubtedly awkward as hell.

“So, what’s Kendra and Justin’s deal?” I asked, bending down to grab my water bottle from the holder on the frame of my bike.

Tate shrugged. “I’ve known James since high school. He’s a year or two older than me, and he introduced me to Justin. The three of us hung out in college. But then James and I had a falling out one year when he caught me sneaking out of his sister’s bedroom one night when we were all home for Christmas. Amy was eighteen, and I was twenty-one, but James only saw red, no numbers, and he hauled off and decked me. We lost touch, but Justin and I always remained friendly, although he sided with James, as the two are as close as brothers.”

“But James forgave you, I take it? If you met up with him and his wife last fall?”

He nodded. “Yeah. The guy has a temper, but it seems Emma has really mellowed him out. And Justin has always been a really easygoing guy. He retired at thirty-five. Now he’s a stay-at-home dad to their two girls, and Kendra runs a wellness center.”

I was about to say something about how beautiful their family was when, speak of the devils themselves, they came into view as we rounded the corner, jumping out of a Jeep. A flurry of flowy dresses and matching pigtails, the girls were dressed the same, but they couldn’t have been more different. Where Chloe, the little one, was fair and round-faced like her dad, with the same bright blue eyes and unruly sun-streaked light brown hair, Maggie was dark, with black hair and chocolate eyes. Tate had said the day we’d met them that Justin and Kendra had adopted Maggie from Haiti when she was three. But it didn’t matter that the little girls weren’t blood. The way they interacted and behaved, and how Chloe looked at Maggie as though she was neater than candy, showed the girls were sisters through and through.

I parked my bike next to Tate’s and slipped off, my butt aching from having sat on the hard and narrow seat all day.

“How was the ride?” Kendra asked, brushing a stray tendril of dark red hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear.

“Long, tough . . . and wonderful,” I said with a sigh and a smile. “I can’t remember the last time my muscles felt so good and tired or my mind felt so clear.” I was talking to Kendra, but my eyes fell to Tate. He was taking a sip of his water bottle and chatting with Justin. The evening sun glinted off his hair and made it shine, bringing out the copper highlights in the dark brown while his beard appeared to almost sparkle.

“Yeah?” Kendra asked, a twinkle of something in her eye when I finally turned back to face her. “Wonderful?”

I bit my lip. “This has been a great trip so far.”

“Seems like it,” she sung, hoisting Chloe up on to her hip with one hand while running her free hand over and down the back of Maggie’s head.

“Shall we, ladies?” Tate asked, coming up behind me, his hand falling to the small of my back and urging me to move with the rest of them.

I melted into his warmth and moved into the crook of his arm. He grinned at me and looped his arm over my shoulder. “You had fun on the bike?”

I beamed up at him. “I did. Though, I’m not looking forward to riding back. My butt’s a little sore.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got a couple of staff members bringing me my Jeep. They’re taking the bikes back. It’ll be dark by the time we get back, and I’d rather spend that time doing other things than riding a bike in the dark.”

A moan rumbled deep in my throat as he turned his head and nipped my earlobe. “Me too.”

The night ended up being a whole lot of fun. The authentic Polynesian dancers were spectacular, complete with grass skirts, headdresses and body paint. Most of the men had the traditional tattoos, much like Tate, while the way the women’s hips swiveled and gyrated as if independent from their bodies was hypnotizing.

Kendra and Justin were sweet as could be. Both of them, along with Tate and the girls, kept me in stitches most of the night, telling stories about their days in college and the highlights (and lowlights) of being parents. When Maggie and Chloe were off wandering through the small fairy garden the restaurant had designed, the exhausted parents confided in Tate and I that they had yet to have sex here on Moorea or at the resort since they’d arrived. The girls kept them busy all day, so they were exhausted come nighttime, barely able to keep their eyes open through dinner. And even if they had the energy, it seemed either one or both girls ended up in their bed by morning. Half the time, Kendra said, she didn’t even know when the girls would crawl in. Suddenly she’d just wake up and find a tiny arm draped around her, or warm toddler morning breath would be wafting in her face.

They sounded exhausted and slightly overwhelmed, and despite being on holiday, they also looked it. I thought it all sounded idyllic. In a masochistic kind of way, of course. I seemed to like a bit of pain with my pleasure, I was finding out. My mind quickly zipped to Tate’s beard between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together for a moment. But then I got back to the topic at hand. Jesus, I was horny. What was this man doing to me?

I knew parenting wasn’t easy. I knew it was the hardest job in the entire world. Shaping and raising another person. Providing for them and trying your damnedest to make sure they didn’t grow up to be a serial killer, or worse, a douchebag. But seeing this beautiful family and hearing such heartwarming stories about hugs and trips to the park and pool and endless cuddle time made the other tales of tantrums and diaper explosions seem trivial. I wanted a family. And now more than ever, I knew I wanted it in the worst way.

“So how long have y’all been together then?” I asked, taking a sip of my Tahitian sunrise.

Three sets of adult eyes went wide and stared at me.

“Whoa, hey! Where’d that sexy twang come from?” Justin joked. “Are you a Southern belle? A Georgia peach?”

Shit. I hadn’t even realized I’d said it. It’d just slipped out. For years I’d been so conscientious about controlling my drawl, making sure I didn’t drink too much and it didn’t sneak out. But I felt comfortable with these people and I’d let my hair down, and apparently that damn accent just refused to go away.

I swallowed and nodded, a building heat worming its way up into my hairline. “I am . . . well, not Georgia. But I’m from Mississippi.” Were they judging me? Did they think I was just some country hodydo or a swamp kid?

“I think a Southern accent is sexy as hell,” Kendra crooned.

Justin’s head swiveled to face his wife. “Do you, now?”

“Mhmm.” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows bobbed on her forehead.

Justin’s Adam’s apple lifted and fell thick in this throat, and he licked his lips. He only had eyes for his wife. We could all be on fire or fighting zombies, and the man wouldn’t have noticed. “Well, we may just have to explore this new interest of yours, darlin’. Would you like this here cowpoke to do you up right in the hay bales?”

Tate snorted next to me, and Kendra giggled.

“Darn tootin’.” She beamed.

“We made sure that those double-wide hammocks on the verandas of the villas can accommodate the weight of two grown adults . . . just saying,” Tate added with a wry smirk. “In case you find yourselves not alone in your own bed this evening.”

“What, no hay bales?” Justin asked with a chuckle, tipping back his beer.

“I’d much rather you just speak like a cowboy and bang me like a cowboy than cause me to get hay crammed and lodged in some delicate places.” Kendra laughed.

“Done and done!” Justin said. Just then the girls ran back, both of them holding what appeared to be “wands” made of carved wood.

“Look, Daddy,” Maggie said. “There’s a lady over there who makes these. Can we buy them? They’re real fairy wands.”

Justin dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet but then hesitated and looked down sternly at his two smiling pixies. “Do you two promise to sleep in your own bed tonight?”

Pigtails bounced and bobbed frantically as they nodded their tiny heads.

“All right then, here. Go pay for them. But I want my change. And you two better keep your promise.” The girls took off skipping and running back to where the Polynesian woman was manning a small table of souvenirs.

“You know they’re going to be in our bed tonight by midnight, right?” Kendra said with a chuckle, taking a sip of her virgin Bellini.

She hadn’t said anything, but just based on a few observations, I was starting to wonder if she might be pregnant. She was cautious with her movements and made sure she only ordered cooked fish, turned her nose up at the smell of Justin’s beer and had been very direct with the waiter that her drink be non-alcoholic. I wasn’t about to pry, but when she’d gotten up to use the washroom earlier, I caught myself studying her belly just to see if I could detect a bump. Her loose and flowy dress left oodles to the imagination, and I couldn’t quite tell.

“I know,” Justin murmured, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. “Looks like this cowboy is going to be getting lucky under the stars tonight.”

“It won’t be the first time,” his wife said wistfully.

He flashed her a smile that made even me swoon. “No, my love, it won’t be.”

Tate’s hand reached under the table for mine and gave it a tender squeeze, the same thought flowing through both our boozy brains. Maybe tonight we could take advantage of my hammock on the veranda. Have sex under the stars and let the night air kiss our skin.

He leaned down until I could feel his warm and faintly beer-scented breath on my neck. I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he paused for a moment and brushed a strand of hair off my face, tucking it sweetly behind my ear. The gesture was so minimal, so gentle, but the way it made my whole body burn, I was sure there was going to be a puddle in my panties.

His nose pressed into the side of my head, and he inhaled. My pulse quickened and my breath stopped.

“Yes, Parker. Yes, I will fuck you in the hammock tonight.”

* * *

“Did you have fun tonight?” Tate asked as we wandered through the gardens back at The Windward Hibiscus toward my villa.

“I had so much fun today, thank you. Justin and Kendra and the girls are wonderful.”

He nodded, and a look passed across his face, I couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed almost reflective with perhaps a dash of envy.

Do you want a family too, Tate?

But I shook that thought from my head almost as quickly as it came. He’d been upfront about how busy he was, how he had no time for family or children or relationships. He said I was more than a “piece of ass” but he never once gave me any hope that this could be more than just a ten-day fling. I guess it just helped that in addition to our sexual chemistry and being genuinely attracted to each other, we also liked and cared about each other as well. Not being one to have too many “flings,” I wasn’t sure if those things made the relationship better or worse. But one thing I knew for sure, it was certainly going to make leaving a hell of a lot harder.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, fishing my key card out of my purse.

“Off the record?”

I stopped in my tracks and spun around to face him. “This ‘off the record’ bullshit is really starting to piss me off. You agreed to have me come here and interview you and review the resort, but you’re treating this all like a fucking game. What do you think an interview consists of? Your favorite color, food and animal? I’m a journalist. I write the truth. Did you do any research on me before I arrived?”

He went to say something, but I cut him off.

“What am I saying? Of course you didn’t, otherwise you would have known I wasn’t a man. You’ve got to be the only person in the world who doesn’t Google the shit out of someone before they meet them. I would expect this from Mr. Tate McAllister if he were, say, seventy-five or eighty, but not you.”

I let out a huff and then swiped the key card. The light flashed green, my door clicked, and I pushed my way inside. I don’t know why I was suddenly so angry. We’d had a terrific day, full of laughs, adventures and new friends, but somehow his “off the record” comment really pissed me off. Maybe it was just a reminder of why I was here. That this was all just part of the job, and no matter how close we got, he was always going to be on guard and watching what he said in case it was ever “not on the record” and I wound up putting it in the article. Well, that just made my blood boil even more. The man didn’t trust me.

I spun around to face him. “I think you should leave.”

Green eyes flared wide at me, and his hands reached out to my shoulders, but I spun away from him and stalked farther into my suite. I wanted space. I needed space.

“Parker, what the hell just happened? What did I say? Why are you so mad all of a sudden?”

I ground my teeth. “Because you don’t trust me. You say you trust me, but you don’t. You feel like you have to say ‘off the record’ before you even answer me. How do you know that what I was going to ask you was even going to be work-related? Maybe I was going to ask you to stay the night. Maybe I was going to ask you if you have any allergies, or what your favorite childhood comfort food is. Maybe I was going to ask you if I could ‘friend’ Kendra and Justin on Facebook; they seem like great people, and I’m kind of lacking in the friend department right now. But you didn’t even let me get my question out before you put up this giant wall between us.”

Here I’d been working on tearing down my walls and starting fresh, and he was just putting up his own. We were quite the pair.

He let out an exasperated huff, and his arms fell to his sides with a light slap. “What do you want from me? I value my privacy.”

“And I’m just another guest you’re shtupping. Got it. Well, this shtupted guest would prefer not to be schtupted tonight, so you can get out.” I pointed at the door.

“Parker.” He took a step toward me.

I backed up a step.

“Parker.” He took another step.

So did I.

“Parker, come on. I do trust you. And no, I didn’t Google you, because . . . well, I don’t know why. I Googled your magazine, and I read a few of your articles. You write beautifully, which is why I accepted your offer. But you also don’t give any indication in your articles as to your gender. You write sexually ambiguous, if not a little blunt, like a man. Your articles are well written and captivating, but they are incredibly fact-based. Not a lot of flowery words or superfluous adjectives.”

I blinked for a second. He had read my work. And everything he’d just said was true. He also wasn’t the first person to say I wrote like a man. My boss liked to say, and I must admit it irked me, that when you want emotion left at the door, get Parker to write your story. It’d bothered me, but I’d never let it eat away at me, until now that is.

“And there was no picture and a very vague biography,” Tate went on. “I just assumed you were a dude. Just like you assumed I was wrinkled and arthritic with one foot in the grave.”

My lip twitched. I had totally been expecting some Warren Buffet-looking guy, not the sex beast with the most diabolical beard and tongue of a god standing in front of me.

“See, we were both wrong. I’m happy I was wrong. Aren’t you?” His lip twitched this time.

“Of course,” I finally said. “I don’t think the sex would be half as good if you were constantly worried about your bad hip.”

He barked out a rich and throaty laugh that sent a shiver racing across my flushed skin. He started to close in the gap between us, and this time I didn’t back away. His arms came up on either side of me before resting on my hips. “What were you going to ask me? And it can be on the record.”

I sighed heavily. “I was going to ask you if you’d mind if I ‘befriended’ Justin and Kendra on Facebook. I deleted my account when I left New York, so I’m having to build my friends list from scratch again.”

“Oh.”

“See, not everything I ask you is going to go into the article. In fact, none of the questions I’ve asked you will be going into the article, because you . . .” I trailed off and looked down between us at my feet.

One hand came up, and he placed a knuckle lightly under my chin. He applied just enough pressure that I had to lift my head and my eyes to look at him.

“Everything I’ve told you can be on the record if you need it to be. I trust you. I trust that you won’t betray my privacy or my desire for anonymity. Use what you need to make your story shine.” Hesitantly, but not without need, he leaned in and brushed his lips across mine.

“Stay the night?” I whispered.

“I can’t. But I’ll stay for a bit.”

My heart hit the pit of my stomach, and a wash of dread, loss and longing filled every crevice and dark corner inside me as he backed me up toward the bed, his lips continuing to travel across mine, then down my cheek and neck while his hands made quick work of my tank top and shorts. I was on my back and in nothing but my underwear in a matter of seconds.

“I do trust you, Parker. I don’t want to fight. I only have a few days left with you, and I’d like to spend as much of that time inside you as I can.”

Swallowing the harsh lump in my throat, I blinked up at him, determined not to let a tear slip through. He quickly undressed in front of me as I lay there quietly on the bed, watching in open awe as the Adonis revealed himself. Once he was completely naked, he scooped me up and carried me outside to the veranda. I wrapped my arms around his neck and glanced behind him, and when I knew he wasn’t looking at my face, I finally let that persistent tear fall.