It’s not even six in the morning, but the sun is bright and dances off the surface of the water. There’s little else to disturb me. My exhaustion has eased, helped by the lack of activity over the last two days. The slow and rhythmic glide of my arms through the water is calming, waking me up.
The distance is enough to get my heart rate up, and I stop to tread water as I arrive close to the other bungalow. I manoeuvre close to the steps that would take me to the terrace, but as I consider climbing up, I hear the unmistakable sounds of someone retching in the bathroom. The grin that stretches over my lips doesn’t hold any sympathy. Been there. Done that. Too much sun and alcohol are a deadly combination out on these islands. It seems my diamonds will have a babysitter for the next however long.
Of all the places I could have ended up, this is one of the better split-second decisions I’ve made. Two weeks to shake any shadows from the busted drop, catch some sun, and build my next plan of action.
Perfecto.
By lunchtime, I’ve completed my daily tour of the resort, added to my understanding of security, and memorised the timetable for the sea taxi to and from the mainland. It would be easy to get lost the first time you come down to the beach as all the bungalows look the same.
Staff are littered about and ready to answer your every whim, and if it’s not staff, there are couples everywhere. I’ve identified a dozen couples I’ve seen on multiple occasions and believe the cleaning, bar, and other staff are all on separate rolling shift patterns. It’s force of habit to research and learn my surroundings. Although there’s no diamond job here. Just my own safety. I’ve never had this feeling before, like I’m waiting for something bad to happen. It’s haunting.
I’m the only single woman I’ve seen. Not that romance is anywhere on my radar, but on a paradise island, even my heart can’t help but wonder.
It’s only been two days, but I’ve already got itchy feet. Being reliant on myself and having little in the way of company isn’t new. But being stranded on an island leaves little to keep me busy. Sitting and staring out at the ocean view doesn’t provide the distraction I need. The hairs on the back of my neck send a shiver along my spine every few minutes, like a dodgy sixth sense trying to tell me something’s wrong.
I need a distraction.
Keeping half an eye on the bungalow now worth over ten million dollars, I pick up the resort’s excursions book and bring it back out to my seat. I scan through the options and choose a short trip to get me out of the bungalow.
“Hello, reception. Is there space on the one o’clock boat trip? Great. Yes. Sofia Andreas. Thank you.” A two-hour boat tour around the resort with a snorkelling stop will keep my mind free of doubt and help keep my cover intact. I should be enjoying myself after all. There’s certainly no one here to keep me locked away inside all day.
The sun will set on another day in a few hours, but I don’t want to go back to the villa just yet. Being alone gives room for my fears to creep in. There are several regulars I’ve seen about the resort, and there’s less threat in numbers.
I drag my feet slowly through the sand on the beach, enjoying the warmth of the tiny specs over my skin. The main bar comes into view as I round the final curve of the beach. A tall glass filled with something fruity, strong, with plenty of ice is just what I’d like. My taste buds practically salivate at the thought.
The thatched roof and open terrace make the bar open and light, with the added benefit of air-conditioning. Bliss.
“I’ll have the passion fruit mojito, please.”
“Yes, Madam.” The barman smiles before digging a silver cocktail shaker into the bucket of crushed ice behind the bar. Several long pours, shakes and squeezes later, I have a delicious drink sitting on the bar for me.
“Merci.” I sign some resemblance of the signature for Sofia Andreas—my current alias for this trip—on the bill and slip off the stool to grab a secluded table overlooking the lagoon.
It’s too early for the bar to be full. But this time of year in Bora Bora means an early sunset. I sit back and sip the strong drink, cooling me from the humidity still hanging in the air, despite the lowering sun.
My vantage point gives me a beautiful, safe view, and I’m content to take it all in. There’s peace here, tranquillity that soothes the soul without you even trying. It’s a far cry from the pulsing rat race my brother thrives in.
If my mind wasn’t lost in worry over the consequences of the botched deal, this would be the kind of place I could plan and research without interruption. Without dangers or anything else getting in the way of my target.
My mind replays the job again, frame by frame. With the time I’ve been here, the footage has come together like pieces of a jigsaw. The only problem is, I can’t decipher it. It could be an inside job, but this feels bigger, more planned somehow. There were too many wheels in motion for it to be an unplanned hit. I may not approve of my brother’s dealings, but he’s not sloppy. He wouldn’t be as successful as he is without checking the details, but what other explanation could there be?
The pouch of cut diamonds hidden away is the only merchandise still salvageable from the meet. A little over ten million in GIA certified diamonds. I take a long draw of my cocktail and let it cool my thoughts. I didn’t come here to solve the problem. I ran here to escape.
A couple I haven’t seen before saunter into the bar. She’s dressed in a skin-tight white dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. Even her nipples are visible under the thin material. Her hair is pulled around to the side, but what really has me staring is the string of diamonds around her neck and wrist.
Simple and classic, the design is beautiful. But her unmanicured toes, and the material of her dress are in direct contradiction to the value of the stones. If they’re real.
The man escorting her has a pot-belly and a ghastly signet ring on one hand. They walk around the central bar and take a seat in the more secluded areas.
As they pass, my eyes land on another new resident. A man. Alone.
A glass of amber liquid sits in front of him.
The guy hunches over his drink, his arm muscles straining against the cuff of his sleeve. He’s not been here long. He doesn’t have enough colour on his skin, but his profile is handsome. Fierce. As if he needs someone to lighten it for him.
Why shouldn’t that be me?
The thought explodes inside my mind and I don’t want to try to avoid it.
I leave a scant inch of liquid in my glass before heading over to the only unattached guy I’ve seen at the resort.
“Hey.” I pull out the free chair and perch on the edge. His eyes widen, and I keep my giggle to myself. Now I have his attention, I make a show of slowly crossing my bare legs and enjoy his inability to take note. “Are you here alone?”
He stares for a few seconds, scanning my body again.
“Yeah,” he replies, nodding.
His voice is deep and rough, but I can’t tell if it’s a natural edge or a result of the liquor he’s drinking. I’m hoping it’s not the later. There’s something sexy about that low baritone.
He finally raises his face to mine, and I see the purple tinge of a bruise marring his cheek. But his eyes…his chestnut eyes pierce through me, taking my breath away. For a moment, frozen in time, everything around us stands still, and I’m only aware of the dilation of his pupils and the hammering of my heart.
Instant attraction as strong as this has never struck me before. Sure, I’ve found guys attractive and had a handful of one-night stands, but the thudding of my heart, the hum of my nerves, and the anticipation from my body are new.
And delicious.
“I’m...Gabby.” I regret how unsure I sound, but it was a snap decision. For some reason I want him to know my real name. I slip my drink onto the table, the ruse of this little greeting almost forgotten.
“Nate. You here to keep me entertained?” He looks back at my legs as his tongue licks over his lips.
“Excuse
me?” I’m lost by his comment.
“You certainly are fine.” He stands, raising himself up to over six feet. “Just what I need to unwind.” He takes my hand, sending a pulse of excitement racing through me, and then tries to lead me away from the bar.
“Um, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Villa,” he says, pointing out towards the ocean. “I’m not one for fucking in public.”
I whip my hand from his and freeze in place, causing him to stumble to a halt and sway a little.
“What? Payment up front?” He rummages in his pocket and pulls out some notes, letting them scatter around him to the floor. “Fine. Take it all.” My eyes widen as I eventually cotton on to what he’s suggesting.
“You think I’m a prostitute?” I hiss at him.
“Well, you—”
I grab my drink and toss the remaining alcohol over him, hopefully shocking his system. Idiota. How dare he? His face is a picture, all surprised and dripping with liquid. But then his furious, slitted eyes land on me. His hand reaches out again and I worry that I’ve done the wrong thing. I turn to flee, panic infusing me. My feet hurry back to the beach to escape to the safety of my bungalow.
“Wait,” he calls. I ignore him and continue to walk. “I said hold the hell up.” He grabs my hand again and his fingers pull me towards him.
“Will you stop grabbing me, imbécil,” I spit out, shaking him off.
“Well, that’s not fucking polite.”
“Neither is calling me a hooker.” He steps back a fraction and nods, a smirk settling into his features, as if he’s realised his mistake and couldn’t care less.
“Suppose I should apologise.”
My brow raises, waiting for whatever he has to say. All that happens is his smile increases. It’s sadly glorious, which doesn’t help my need to stay angry at him. “Goodbye.” I turn to go again, refusing to accept his handsome features as an apology, but my hand is still in his.
“You gonna let me buy you a drink, Gabby? Make up for the one I’m wearing?”
His voice is full of a husky edge, the bourbon he’s been drinking only making it sound sexier. He gives me another lazy smile, and I imagine the countless women he’s been able to win over with a glance alone. Well, not tonight.
“How about you give me that apology and then sober up.”
“I think you’ve sobered me up just fine.” His eyes dart between my mouth and my eyes, and I can’t help the thrill it sends through me despite the chauvinistic and degrading comment that started this.
“Apology?”
He snorts and walks backwards towards the bar again, towing me with him somehow regardless of the lacking apology. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, Gabby. I promise.” I doubt there’s anything good about this man’s behaviour, but I smile and keep following. “And judging by the taste of this drink all over my face, you’ve got a sweet tooth, right?” He looks me up and down again slowly. “I’m thinking everything else is just as sweet.” My eyes narrow, but for the life of me I can’t take my gaze off his.
“It’s a passion fruit mojito.” I smile a little, watching as his fingers crawl my arm to lead me back to the table.
“Sweet and passionate. Good odds.” I frown at his words, wondering why I’m accepting his behaviour at all, let alone coming back for more. “Maybe we start again? You up for that?”
“Only if you stop drinking and let me catch up.” My words betray how oddly intimidated I feel around him, but Nate has something about him that makes me want to take a risk.
“Deal.”
We walk the few steps back to the bar and he raises his palm, signalling to the barman, and points between us. Two minutes later, we both have fresh drinks at the table. A glass of water for him.
A loud bang echoes around the bar and my hands plant on the table in shock as I suck in a breath. I look around for the source of the gun, expecting to see men in black again.
“Easy. Just a champagne cork.”
“Sorry, it startled me.” I shake my nerves off as embarrassment creeps across my cheeks. My heart pounds in my chest and all I want to do is look around to check the bar, again. “So, Nate. Now you know I’m not a hooker, when did you arrive? I’ve not seen you before.” I force the question and get lost in Nate’s eyes again. A perfect distraction.
“You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”
“No.”
“Yesterday. And you?”
“A few days ago.” I look out at the view on purpose, hoping to calm down and start over with him.
“No one with you?” Nate’s not shy in making sure I’m alone here.
“I’ve been alone since I arrived. Until I met you, of course.” I turn back and hold his gaze. There’s a spark between us, a heat that has nothing to do with the warmth of the island. My comment earns me a full smile this time, which comes with all sorts of sexy connotations attached.
“I’ll assume you’re here for pleasure then?”
“That remains to be seen. But I’m pretty sure you are with your opening remark to me.” I take a sip of my drink.
“Amongst other things.” Nate pulls a silver lighter out of his pocket and flicks it open and closed a couple of times.
“Smoker?”
“One of my vices.”
“Strike one. And it was going so well.” There’s nothing more unattractive than a man smoking.
“And you’re a saint, then?”
“Oh, I never said I was. But I don’t smoke. And I don’t do drugs.”
“Well, I agree on the important half of that.”
We both turn to our drinks and let the conversation quieten. There’s a pull between us. Like the gentle waves pushing closer to shore, I feel myself wanting to get closer to Nate. His eyes aren’t on the vista before us. They are firmly on my body. His gaze sends a tingle of anticipation over my skin.
“Have you thought that perhaps we’re in the wrong place? Or rather we should be here with someone else?” I muse.
“Honestly, I don’t give a damn right now. Why did you pick this place if you knew you’d be alone?” Nate sits forward and rests his arms on the table, swirling his water in his hand before raising it to his lips.
“Aren’t we all looking for someone else? Something exciting?” He looks confused, his dark brow lifting at my continued musings. I giggle a little and take a sip of my drink. “It was just a last-minute decision.” Andreas might suspect what I spend my time doing, but he doesn’t know for sure. And if he’s looking for me, if anyone is looking for me, this will be the last place they’ll think of.
“Something else in common.” He tips the last of the water down his throat and raises a hand, signalling his order of another round. “Two more, not water this time.” I look him over, noting the business-like trousers and shirt.
“Well, our clothes certainly aren’t. Are you going to a meeting?”
He snorts. “Like you said, last minute.”
I smirk as the conversation stills, unsure what’s next. This drink needs some food to go with it, that’s for sure. Otherwise who knows where this is going to end.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“No. But they serve food here. Hell, we’d be served food wherever we asked for it. It seems nothing is too much trouble here.”
“You keep the drinks coming and I’ll arrange food.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Deal?” He nods.
“Perfect. Just no fancy vegan crap.”
“Don’t panic. I didn’t have you down as the vegan type.” I push my chair back and stand to give him plenty of time to follow me with his eyes, turning and swaying my hips just a little more than usual as I head to the bar to talk about dinner options. Turning would spoil my assumption that Nate is watching every step I take.
Two steaks, a portion of tempura vegetables and a mango salad—the waiter delivers them to our table as Nate orders our third round of drinks. Drinking alone isn’t something I’m fond of, so indulging now is fu
n, but also risky. The alcohol is going right to my head. Nate, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten about water and is back to alcohol.
“So, you’re clearly American. Which part are you from?” I ask as we both slice into the juicy steaks.
“Between New York and Chicago, mainly. What about you? I can’t place your accent.”
“Oh, here and there. I grew up over the border, but I’ve been in the States since I was a teenager. Moved around since then.” The conversation isn’t awkward. It just holds that first date, stilted tone that you have to endure to get to the good stuff.
We continue to eat and weave through small talk.
“Family?” he asks.
“I’d need another night and definitely more alcohol to cover that topic.” The diversion covers a host of reasons why I don’t want to talk about my brother. He’s the only family I have, but I’m not proud to admit he’s my brother.
“That can be arranged. We’re the only two singles I’ve seen here.” He raises his glass. “To possibilities.”
“Possibilities,” I repeat, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth. The alcohol seems to be growing in strength the more I drink, and I can feel the buzz filter through my blood even with the food.
The sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, and the flickering lights of the burning lanterns illuminate the beach. Music from the bar is turned up and ramps up the atmosphere on what was a romantic and restful setting.
“Do you dance?” I ask Nate, knowing full well he doesn’t.
“No.”
“Okay.” I stand up and gently sway my hips to the beat, right in his line of sight.
My feet move back and forth, and I turn to see the bar has filled with people, all looking to enjoy their time. As I finish my rotation, I’m back facing Nate. He’s lounged back in his chair, his body telling me he’s perfectly comfortable to make this a spectator sport. Too bad I want some company.
I lean forward and take his hand, planting it on one side of my hip as I take his other to pull him up. His palm scorches my skin through my dress as he digs in with his fingers. There’s nothing soft or relaxed about it, and it takes all my willpower not to pull him against my body and kiss the lips I’ve been watching all night. But that’s not what this is about. Tonight is about having some fun and enjoying a little company. If he thinks I’ll fall right into bed with him, he’ll never show me any respect. Especially after how this conversation started.
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 4
