by S. C. Daiko
Eventually, Brash indicated it was time to return to our rooms. I met him at the foot of my ladder. “I wish I’d brought an underwater camera,” I sighed, pulling off my mask.
Ignoring my statement, he shook the drops of seawater from his thick, dark hair. His eyes had taken on the blue hues of the lagoon.
That damned smirk again. “Tomorrow morning you’ll have your work cut out for you. We’ll be heading out for some big game fishing. Tuna. Environmentally friendly if caught with rods.”
I was surprised he’d felt the need to clarify. “What’s the plan for the rest of today?”
“I’ll leave you to your own devices. Stroll around and take photos. My staff will answer any questions.” He shrugged. “I have some online business meetings, then we can catch up for dinner.”
I thanked him and hauled myself up the ladder before peering down. His gaze was on me. If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d been checking out my ass.
“You know what they say?” I just had to ask.
“What?” he shielded the sun from his eyes with a hand.
“All work and no play turns Jack into a dull boy.”
“Are you insinuating I’m boring?” he snarled.
Oops! Maybe that was going a tad far.
“No, but you could lighten up a little…”
“Don’t tempt me,” he quipped. Then, with another flip of his butt, he dove again, leaving me staring at the bubbles he’d sent rising to the surface of the lagoon.
Asshole. Gorgeous body. Amazing eyes. But a complete asshole.
Chapter Sixty-One
Brash
Sixteen feet below the surface of the ocean, in my aquarium-style undersea restaurant, I helped myself to a spoonful of caviar. Aly had messaged she was on her way, saying she’d only just finished taking pictures of all our different styles of accommodation. The dress code at dinner was smart… I’d asked her to wear something elegant.
Correction.
Not asked but ordered.
I knew I’d been rude to her earlier, and I made no apologies for it. People called me Brash because that’s what I was. Dad once said the men in our family were alphaholes, and we were. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
“Everything to your liking, sir?” My head waiter bowed.
I looked out through curved transparent acrylic walls at spot-lit views of the vibrant coral gardens surrounding us. The sixteen by thirty-foot transparent arch, which spanned the entire room, provided a feeling of being completely at one with the underwater environment. “Perfect,” I said, and it was. Seating only fourteen people, my recently installed restaurant offered one of the most intimate and exclusive dining experiences in the world.
Didn’t get much better than this.
I pulled at my dress shirt collar. Aly had accused me of being a workaholic, and it was true. The quest for mega wealth took hold of me when I was in college. I’d started investing in cryptocurrencies and reinvested my profits in property. I’d been a gamer as a kid, loved taking risks, so for me it was the logical progression— especially after the only girl I’d ever loved told me she could never be more than a friend. That was it, as far as I was concerned; I’d focus on becoming a multi-billionaire and wouldn’t put myself in the firing line of getting my heart broken ever again.
I liked women and they liked me. If they agreed, I gave them a good time in bed, without promising more than what they received. Most were okay with that, and I didn’t care about those that weren’t— they’d been warned and only had themselves to blame. I never fucked them more than once.
No one had ever called me boring, though. Aly Abramovich had taken the wind out of my sails and I’d been tempted to teach her a lesson.
Bend her over my knee and spank that sassy ass.
I was a master at resisting temptation, however.
We were in the Maldives for business. I’d managed to ignore her on the trip over here; I’d make damn sure I carried on in the same vein. The relationship between us would stay strictly professional.
In any case, she was a spoiled, self-entitled mafia princess. A good photographer, granted, which was why I’d hired her. I’d keep my hands to myself, despite those perky tits barely covered by a bikini top which I’d secretly ogled as she’d snorkeled past me this morning.
The buzz of conversation in the restaurant suddenly hushed.
I stared at the woman coming toward me.
Aly.
Two words sprang to mind: statuesque and striking. She’d styled her long blonde hair in a classy chignon and was wearing something that looked more like a damn petticoat than a dress. Every man in the room had their eyes on her, like me, and my guess was they’d grown as hard as I had.
A waiter rushed up and pulled out a chair.
She sat and gave me a smile that went straight to my dick. “Wow, this place is amazing.”
“I got the idea from a resort I stayed in on my first visit to the Maldives five years ago.” I couldn’t help a proud grin. “Made sure the island I bought had the right kind of lagoon.” I paused. “You’re looking lovely, by the way.”
“This dress elegant enough for you?” She asked in a snarky tone. Plainly not expecting an answer, she stared out at the shoals of technicolor marine life attracted by our lights. “Isn’t it a little cruel keeping the fish awake? Surely, they should be sleeping?”
“We feed them on a regular basis. They rest when we do,” I muttered.
“If you say so.” She opened the menu and perused what was on offer, creasing her forehead and pulling at her bottom lip. “What do you recommend?”
“Maldivian lobster is one of our specialties. The veal tenderloin is also good.”
She lifted her head and met my gaze. Fuck, her eyes were beautiful. The same turquoise as her dress. “I love lobster. Can I have that, please?”
I had to admit her manners were impeccable. Except when she was being a brat. I snapped my fingers and our server appeared. “We’ll have the lobster for our main course,” I said. “And bring a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Aly shuffled forward in her seat. “What made you decide to invest in the Maldives?”
“It was after I visited the first time. The beauty of this place blew me away. It’s not that well-known back in the States, and I decided to look for somewhere that would make an ideal escape for people wanting to get away from it all.”
“Well, you sure found it here. I love what you’ve done to the place. It’s not too flashy like some resorts. You’ve kept it small and intimate.” Her cheeks pinked. “Not that you need my opinion.”
“I appreciate it all the same.”
And I do, for some reason.
Our waiter brought the champagne, uncorking it with a pop. I tasted and gave my approval. “Here’s to a successful photo shoot, Aly.” I raised my glass. “Think you’ll get it all wrapped up tomorrow?”
“Absolutely, although it’s a shame to be rushing home the day after…” She gave me a wistful look.
“I need to be back in New York on Thursday for an important meeting.”
And away from you, Miss Fuckable.
Jesus, where had that come from?
“Maybe you could have a vacation here one day with the man in your life?” I asked.
“Yeah, maybe…” She eyed the black-tip reef shark which had made an appearance on the other side of the transparent acrylic wall. “That’s one scary fish.”
“He’s more scared of you than you are of him.” I frowned. “There hasn’t been a shark attack in the Maldives in over thirty years.”
My phone buzzed as our food arrived, and I took a quick business call before starting to eat. A run-down hotel in London had caught my eye; I’d go there next month to seal the deal.
“Don’t you ever stop?” Aly spat the question like it was venom. Whoa, clearly, she didn’t like being ignored.
I’ve ignored her for barely five minutes, for fuck’s sake.
&nb
sp; “Nope,” I came right back at her.
If she wanted me to be like everyone else, she was up for a disappointment. I liked the way I was. The only people who saw a different side to me were my immediate family; I kept them and my business life totally separate.
She patted her delectable lips with a napkin, seeming about to say something.
I got in first.
“In a few years I aim to establish a global empire of hotels to rival Hilton. I won’t let up until I do.” I paused for a beat. “Don’t tell me I’m boring, Aly. I don’t fucking care. I’m not here to entertain you. This is purely business.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
I kept my stare fixed on her turquoise irises, forcing it to stay there and not drift down to her luscious breasts.
“How dare you talk to me like that?!” She lifted her chin. “God, you are so rude.”
Her gaze clung to my face and I glared back at her.
“I live up to my name,” I growled.
“That’s not an excuse,” she retorted, her eyes burning with enough anger to set fire to the restaurant.
She placed her knife and fork together on the plate, patted at her lips again with her napkin, and said, “I’m tired. It’s been a long day— I’ll see myself to my room.
I shook my head. “I can walk you back, no problem.”
I might be an asshole, but I’m not an ogre.
“I’ll be fine,” she gritted out, getting to her feet.
“Don’t forget we’re going big game fishing in the morning. Order yourself an early breakfast from room service. We set off at six a.m.”
“Sure,” she forced a smile.
“Sleep well,” I said for good measure.
She didn’t respond; she simply turned and made her way toward the spiral staircase, leaving me staring at her retreating back, my balls heavy as bags of sand.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Alyona
Jesus, Brash is insufferable. I freaking hate him.
Anger spiraling through me, I strode up the walkway and let myself into the water villa. I dragged my hands through my hair and loosened my chignon. Focus on the task at hand. I was here on an assignment; I didn’t need to make friends with the douchebag.
I inhaled a long breath, picked up the phone and ordered tomorrow’s breakfast. My muscles felt tense as I changed out of my dress; I slipped on my sleep shorts and a cami, then opened the sliding doors to my deck. I sat on a lounger and took in the view as I listened to the gentle sounds of the sea beneath me, the salty tang of the ocean in my nostrils. Slowly, I began to relax.
So romantic, shame I’m not here with someone I love and who loves me...
The new moon had cut a thin sliver of silver in a sky that billowed with stars. At home the city lights made it impossible to see the constellations. I gazed out over the surface of the lagoon; phosphorescence from plankton glowed in the moonlight, lighting up the waves crashing over the barrier reef. A cool night breeze caressed my bare shoulders; I was tempted to sleep out here, but I might be eaten alive by mosquitoes.
I went back inside and transferred the pictures I’d taken today to my laptop, saving them in cyberspace. Logging onto Facebook, I noticed Emma was online. We chatted for a couple of minutes. I was tempted to tell her about Brash’s assholery but decided against it. Didn’t want her to know he’d upset me. Instead, I said I was having a great time and was looking forward to showing her the photos when I arrived back home. We signed off with emoji kisses.
Lying in bed, I closed my eyes and thought about Brash. I’d never met anyone as rude as him. I’d grown up Semion Abramovich’s cosseted daughter, beloved by my family and popular with my friends. I considered myself to be a nice person, yet Brash gave every impression of disliking me. I tossed and turned on the firm mattress, AC cooling the air around me.
I was being silly.
Brash liking me or not was irrelevant.
The day after tomorrow we were returning to the States and I’d probably never see him again.
I’ll make damn sure of it.
I woke at five; breakfast arrived almost as soon as I’d had my shower. Freshly squeezed orange juice, croissants and coffee. I shuffled on a tee and a pair of shorts, then ate hurriedly before packing my camera bag.
A knock sounded at my door and I opened. Brash was here. “Ready?” he asked curtly.
“Yep.” I grabbed a baseball cap, shoved it on my head and pulled my pony through the gap at the back.
I’d be as curt as him, I decided.
He took my bag from me and I followed him down the wooden walkway to the beach. A boat was tied up to the dock and we made our way toward it as the sun lifted off the horizon in a burst of orange.
Beautiful.
My chest panged there was no one with whom to share the romance of this glorious place.
On board the boat, Brash introduced me to Captain Hussain, a swarthy dude who resembled an Asian Homer Simpson. “It’s considered bad luck to have a woman on board,” the captain grunted. “But Mr. Collins insisted.”
I made a conscious effort to stop my mouth from falling open. Catching the eyes of the four male crew members on my bare legs, I swallowed hard. The culture was different here; maybe I should have worn jeans? But the weather was so hot and humid I’d wanted to feel comfortable. The Maldivian climate reminded me of the steam room in our home gym. Sweltering didn’t even begin to describe it. I took my bag from Brash, unloaded my camera and stared back at the ogling men. “I’ll be taking photographs,” I reminded everyone. “Please act as if I’m not here.”
Soon we’d left the atoll behind and were heading toward the open sea, hurtling at a rate of knots over the rolling waves. Brash hadn’t asked if I suffered from seasickness or offered any meds. Thank God I was a good sailor. Even so, the low wide boat, built from fiberglass, with a large tank filled with water underneath to carry live bait, was rocking and rolling like a hula-hoop.
I held onto the railings. Without warning, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I turned around. One of the crew, a scrawny dude with beady eyes, bared his crooked teeth at me, making my flesh crawl. I swallowed my reticence and went to stand next to Brash. His powerful presence gave me a sense of feeling protected. From what, I didn’t know, but I was grateful for it all the same.
“Tuna,” he yelled excitedly, peering through his binoculars.
“How do you know?” I stared at the ocean.
“Dolphins. They swim with them.” He pointed. “Look.”
Dark shapes were curving in and out of the water about one hundred yards away, and the boat turned toward them. Gulls also circled above, another sure indication there were fish below. I attached a wide-angle lens to my camera and started snapping.
Brash made his way to the stern as a crewman reached into the hold at the center of the lower deck to scoop out bait. He tossed live fish into the water at the side of the boat, where another dude was firing spray into the sea.
“Why’s he doing that?” I screwed up my face at the smell.
“To make the water appear as if there’re more fish. They’re creating a feeding frenzy,” Brash said, picking up a long pole with a small fish-shaped hook. I framed him for a shot.
A tuna quickly bit. Brash flipped his rod backwards and sent the fish flying over his head to land on the deck.
“Wow, so that’s how we get ‘line caught tuna’,” I marveled.
I realized I’d found an issue to photograph when Brash and the crew chucked any undersized fish back into the sea for them to reach spawning age. Truly, this was sustainable fishing at its best.
“What will you do with the catch?” I asked, standing next to Brash at the prow as we cruised back to the resort an hour or so later.
He squinted his eyes and pulled his shades down. “The captain and his crew will keep most of it, but I’ll give some to my chefs to make tuna curry.”
My mouth watered and I waited for him to invite me to eat with
him. In vain. “You’re a good fisherman.” I decided to try flattery to see if I could elicit a friendly reaction. “What else do you do with your time?”
“I never stop working.” He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Today’s exercise was for a purpose. Now I’ve trialed the activity I will buy a fast boat to pull the lures quicker. It’ll have outriggers for at least four lines, plus a fighting chair for catching bigger fish like giant trevally.”
“Seemed like you were enjoying yourself, though. It wasn’t all work,” I said in a steady tone.
“I didn’t dislike it.”
I waited for him to elaborate.
Nothing.
Like drawing blood from a stone.
We were approaching the resort, cruising toward a break in the barrier reef. I kept my eyes fixed ahead, but the skin on the back of my neck prickled like before and I swiveled around.
Scrawny dude was staring at me again, making me feel naked under his lustful gaze. I inched closer to Brash. Should I say something? Nah, we’d be off this boat soon enough and going home to the States tomorrow. No need.
“Is there anything you’d like help with to complete the assignment?” Brash asked, surprising me as we walked toward our rooms a short while later.
“I’ve photographed all your facilities. If you’d like to volunteer, I could set my timer and get some shots of the two of us,” I said. “You wanted the story of a vacation here.”
He rubbed his chin, appearing to consider. “Don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I stopped in my tracks and planted my feet apart. “Why?”
“I’m too recognizable, and so are you. I’ll get my manager to find you a couple of honeymooners who wouldn’t mind a reduction in their room rate in exchange for posing. How does that sound?”
