I'm lying by the pool, my sunglasses on, listening to Mary J. Blige's heart bleed through my headphones. I feel like some of her songs were written just for me. No one sings about heartbreak with more feeling than she does.

But right now, even Mary J can't help me escape. I didn't come here to meet a man. In fact, I came hoping the exact opposite would happen. I needed to relax and clear my head, and instead I'm irritated and something feels off.

"You want a drink?" Porsha pulls the earpiece away from my head and shouts in my ear.

"Yes, but I'd also like to keep my eardrums, thanks."

She sucks her teeth in irritation and scans the pool area. It's littered with women in bikinis and swim short-clad men, all determined to bake themselves under the hot Sub-Saharan sun.

"Let's just go. I'm tired and hot," I whine, my head falling back on the chaise in despair.

"We paid twenty US dollars to use this pool, and we're going to enjoy it," she declares as she sits up. "Useless staff. I have to go in search of my own drink," she grumbles.

"You could just drink your water. Or we could go," I snark, pushing up the sleeves on my tunic.

She eyes me dispassionately. "If you’re hot, that’s your fault. I don't know why you're dressed like that.” She flings her hands in the direction of my tunic and palazzo pants. “We're at the beach. You're in Africa." She enunciates every syllable in Africa as if I might not understand otherwise.

I roll my eyes at her. "I know where I am. I just thought we'd be sightseeing, not lying by a pool all day. I can do this in Miami."

"Well, I can't do this anywhere else. And it's my vacation, too," she snaps. "You promised me you'd try. That you'd smile and be nice. You barely even looked at that beeee-autiful man this morning. You're crazy. If you don't want him, then next time we see him, I'll be trying my luck.” She points a finger at me, scrunching up her nose and squinting at me, a wide grin on her face. “Never let it be said that Bambi Goldarella looked a gift horse in the mouth."

I laugh at her ridiculous name and tuck a stray curl back into the bun I’ve pulled my hair into. I don’t like the way my stomach clenched when she joked about trying her luck. I know she doesn’t mean it, but I shouldn’t even care. But I do. Fuck. I glare at her. “Fine, but stop trying to push me into something I don’t want.”

“Oh, please. Shut up,” she says around a frustrated groan. “I was there this morning. You tried to act unaffected, but I saw the way you looked at each other. He wants to take a bite of you, and you look like you wouldn’t mind giving him a little nibble.”

I can’t help but laugh.

She claps her hands together in approval. “You’re laughing. Keep doing it. Try to have fun, let him woo you. You’re on vacation. It doesn’t matter what you do while you’re here. He doesn’t even know your name. You can be whoever you want,” she leans toward me and says. I have to admit that I like the idea of being able to pretend that I am Emma, whoever she is.

I concede. I don’t want to ruin her vacation. And she’s right. Laughing just now had felt good. "You're a pain in the ass. But fine."

She nods, satisfied. "Good. Now, I'm going to get a massage. I saw there’s a lady giving them down on the beach, and on my way back, I'll find us some drinks." She strolls off, and I envy how easily she walks around in her skimpy bikini, not even bothering to put on the cover up she shoved in her bag as soon as we got to the pool. I can’t even remember what that kind of nonchalance feels like.

I stretch through a huge yawn. As I rub my tired eyes, I curse myself for leaving my sunglasses at home.

Last night, I hadn’t been able to get thoughts of the rude, gorgeous Brit out of my head. I'd cursed him for stealing my sleep. I tried to guess what he was doing here. What his name was. If he was single – I couldn’t imagine that he was. And then I cursed myself for caring.

The minute I woke up, I looked at my bedside table, and the first thing I saw was the wad of cash he'd dropped on the bar before he walked away. My anger reanimated, my embarrassment felt as fresh and terrible as it had the night before. I’d been carrying the money in my little purse, with plans to hurl it at him the next time I’d see him.

Instead, when he'd appeared at breakfast this morning, I'd found myself completely tongue tied. I had to stop myself from ogling him. I felt him watching me while I got my breakfast, but I hadn't been prepared for the look in his eyes when I turned around, determined not to look at him. I plastered a smile on my face, hoping to look oblivious and content. But I hadn’t been able to help myself from stealing a glance. And when I turned my head in his direction, it was like being hit with jolt of electricity. His heavy, expressive brows had been raised, as if he were glad I’d caught him watching me. And to my horror, his brazen appraisal sent a thrill through my entire body, it left me wanting to be seen, rekindling a flame I thought I’d snuffed out a long time ago.

I came here in hopes of taking the first steps toward reclaiming parts of myself that I lost five years ago. I want to enjoy my life again.

But what I don’t want to reclaim is my foolish and false sense of security when it comes to sex and men. The way I live now is much safer. For the last five years, and up until a few days ago, I could have sworn, it was also enough. The fact that he’s making me question myself should send me running for my life. Instead, I’m going to dinner with him. I close my eyes and groan out loud. And as if in commiseration with my mood, the sun disappears under a cloud.

“You’re on vacation, sounds like that are illegal.”

The cloud obscuring my heat source is not a light, fluffy thing that’ll be moved along by the next strong wind. Instead, it's six feet, three inches of beautiful, terrifyingly persistent man. It’s like I conjured him.

I want to scream "why?” but instead I hit pause on my phone, pull my earphones down and glare up at him. His eyes are shielded by dark aviator sunglasses, but from their upward tilt to the smirk on his lips, I know he’s amused.

"I thought we weren't meeting until dinner?" I can hear the petulance in my voice, but I can’t help it. He’s completely unaffected by it and gives me an amused smile.

"I finished early. Why in the world are you wearing those huge headphones? Your ears must be sweating," he says as he flops down on the chaise next to me. He lays on his side, props his head up on his hand and eyes me like I’m wearing a tin foil hat on my head.

I return his perusal, taking in his long, oh so perfectly muscled legs that are displayed to perfection in his board shorts. Even his feet are nice, damn him. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt that's seen many wash cycles; it’s practically threadbare, and I can see hints of his skin through it. I look away and pretend to look around.

"There are about a hundred other chairs around this pool. Why did you choose this one?" I demand.

"The shade’s stronger here.” He says breezily.

"Actually, it's not. You'd do better over there." I point at nothing in particular. "Go away." I sniff and stare straight ahead.

He laughs out loud and settles back into his chair. "I don't think I will.”

I turn my head to look at him and find him watching me with a satisfied grin.

“I like you. And I think you like me, too."

I flush and say, “I do not.” And then, pull my earphones back on and press play.

He pulls one of the ear phones away from my head. And I jerk out of his grasp and demand “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, looking at my headphones in confusion. “Don't you have ear buds?"

“Why do you care how I listen to my music?” Self- conscious now, I pull my headphones off and drop them in my lap. As soon as I do, he grabs them and swipes a finger across the leather-bound cushioning that had been pressed to my ears.

"I knew it," he declares triumphantly. "They're wet."

“So, what?” I put my hand out for them. He hands them over, but peers at me curiously.

"Your head is sweating, your hair is stuck to the side of your face. Though that might be due to the fact that you're dressed for autumn instead of the heat. You know, they invented these things called swimsuits. If you look around, you'll see it's what most people wear to sunbathe.”

I shove my headphones into my beach bag and grab my phone. I swing my legs over the side of the chaise and slip my feet into my sandals.

"Where’s Bambi?" he asks, sounding more amused than anything, but he sits up, too.

I almost respond with "who?" before I remember our stupid name game. Porsha would murder me if she came back and found me gone.

Even though it’s hotter on the beach than the pool, I decide I’ll go join her there after all. I’d rather risk a sun burn than try to contend with him and his looks, innuendos and infuriating smiles.

"She's on the beach, getting a massage. I’m actually supposed to go join her," I say, annoyed that I’m letting him drive me away.

He puts a hand on my arm, and I freeze.

Oh God.

His touch is so gentle.

But, I don't let men touch me. Unless we’re fucking. And even then, I'm firmly in control. Always on top. Always.

I stare at his hand, and his thumb brushes short, slow strokes on my forearm. Each gentle swipe creates small ripples of heat that I feel straight to the tips of my toes.

So, this is instant, animal attraction. Unbidden and unruly — a law unto itself. I've read about it, dismissed it as a flight of fancy, but now I'm feeling it.

I don’t want him to stop.

I look up at him then, and he's taken off his sunglasses. As soon as our eyes lock, I fall into the chocolate depths of his. His thumb comes to rest on the pulse point on my wrist and his eyes widen as if he can feel the increase in its pace.

His eyes soften and roam my face briefly before he makes eye contact again.

"Listen, I didn’t mean to run you off. I’m sorry I poked fun at your headphones. And I'm sorry about last night. It was an accident, but my apology was lacking.” His voice is gentle but gruff and I can see that even though he’s been teasing me since he sat down, he’s sincerely trying to make amends.

Oh, no.

I don’t want him to make amends. It’s bad enough that he’s handsome, and determined, but now, he’s being nice too? I need to leave.

I clear my throat and pull my hand away. "Fine. Thank you." I snatch my arm away and stand up, almost knocking the chaise over in my haste.

"No, I'm just going to find P--Bambi. She's been gone a while."

He swings his legs around to stand up, too.

“Where are you going?” I ask. Alarm widens my eyes and makes my question come out like a squeak.

“Calm down, I’m not following you,” he says with a dry smile and stands all the way up.

"I only came out here because I saw you. I’m pretty tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. So, I'm going to my room for a bit before dinner."

“Why don’t you just sleep for as long as you need? We can do dinner another time,” I say hopefully.

“Oh, no. Kojo’s excited to meet Bambi. And I’m excited too,” he says slowly, his smile positively sinful.

That stops me in my tracks. I forget my desire to flee, and with my hands on my hips, I scowl up at him. “Why? I don’t understand it. We’ve done nothing but argue since we met,” I say, feeling exasperated but also truly curious.

He tilts his head to the side and studies my face with interest, and then he smiles. He takes a step toward me. I don’t move. His eyes are hooded and focused on my mouth.

“You know what? I don’t understand it myself.” He smiles gently and shrugs his shoulders.

He tips his head to the side and reaches out and strokes the tip of my nose before tracing the line of my top lip.

My pulse gives a little leap at the warm, intimate caress.

I shouldn’t allow it.

I can’t bring myself to step away from it.

“So, I’ll see you later,” he says casually and drops his hand. There’s an undercurrent of anticipation in his voice that both scares and excites me. Without saying bye, I turn around and rush toward the beach and safety.