One Night in Paradise

by Maisey Yates

  Sick. It was sick.

  And now she was really going with him to Chiang Mai to play the part she knew he’d never really consider her for?

  She needed to get a life.

  She was right. What she’d thought earlier at the hotel had been right. A moment of clarity. It wasn’t healthy to have him in everything. He was her boss, her best friend. He filled her work and personal hours, and even when he wasn’t around, he was in her thoughts. Zack had dates, he had a life that didn’t include her and she … didn’t. She couldn’t do it anymore.

  “If I do this. If I do this, then it’s going to be the last thing I do at Roasted.” She thought about the bakery, the one she’d been dreaming of for the past few months. The one she’d drawn up plans for. It had been in her mind ever since Zack and Hannah got engaged. Just a mere fantasy of escaping that painful reality at first, but now … now she thought she needed to make it happen.

  She needed to make some boundaries. Have something that was hers. Just hers.

  “What?” he asked, his dark brows locking together.

  “If I go with you and play arm candy then I’m done. It’s not … it’s not the first time I’ve thought of this.” It wasn’t. When he’d come into the office with Hannah and announced that the whole thing was official, well, she’d just about handed in her resignation then and there.

  But of course his smile and his innate Zack-ness had stopped her. Because in her mind, it was better to have crumbs from him than everything from someone else. Because he was so enmeshed in her life, so a part of her routine. Her first thought in the morning, her constant companion throughout the day. And it was his face she saw when she drifted off to sleep.

  He was everything.

  And the real truth of the situation was that while Zack cared for her, and even loved her, possibly like some sort of younger sister figure, she wasn’t everything to him. And he didn’t want her the way she wanted him.

  “What the hell?” he asked.

  “I’m. I’m having a revelation, hold on.”

  “Could you not?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m. I’m sorry, Zack. This really has been. It’s been brewing for a while and I know it wasn’t the best day or the best way to say it, but … it does have to be said.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. Because it’s eating my life!” The words exploded from her. “And if that isn’t made completely obvious by the fact that I’m agreeing to drop everything at the spur-of-the-moment to fly to Asia to go on your honeymoon in place of your fiancée and pretend to be your new girlfriend … well … I can’t help you.”

  “No. No, I don’t agree.”

  “And what, Zack? You can’t force me to stay at my job.”

  He looked like he was searching for some loophole that would in fact give him that authority.

  “I need a good severance, too. I want to open my own bakery.”

  “The hell you will!” he said, his voice hard, harsher than she’d ever heard.

  “The hell I won’t,” she returned, keeping her own voice steady, though, how she managed, she wasn’t sure.

  “Non-compete.”

  “What?”

  “You signed a non-compete.”

  “A bakery would not compete with Roasted, not really,” she said, planting her hands on her hips.

  “It could, on a technicality, especially as we’d likely share a very similar desserts menu, seeing as you planned all of mine.”

  “I’m not talking about a worldwide bakery chain, I’m talking … I want to open one up that I run myself. Here in San Francisco. Something personal, something me. Something that would give me a chance to have a life.”

  “No.”

  It was shocking, Zack’s transformation from unaffected, jilted groom, to this. She would have expected this kind of reaction from Hannah not showing up to the wedding, not to her asking to quit the business. Where was his control? Zack always had control. Always.

  Except now.

  “Then I won’t go with you. And I get the feeling that a female companion is a bit more important than you let on. I know you too well for you to hide it from me.”

  His gray eyes glittered in the dim light of her apartment. “There is some competition. Sand Dollar Coffee is competing for the chance to get these same roasts, and Mr. Amudee, traditionalist he is, is very likely to give preference to their CEO. They were just there for a week in the villa, Martin Cole, his wife and their four children. Mr. Amudee was charmed.”

  “So you do need me. You need me to give you an edge. To make sure Amudee knows you’re a macho man who can have his way with whomever, whenever. We’re friends, Zack. I don’t know why it has to be like this..”

  “You were the one leveraging,” he bit out.

  “Because I can’t do this anymore. The beck-and-call thing. I need more. You were getting married, you should get that.”

  “You want to get married?”

  Her stomach tightened. “Not necessarily. But I don’t even have a hope of it as long as I’m working sixty-hour weeks. And since I don’t believe in practical arrangements, like the one you and Hannah have, that will keep me from having a successful relationship.”

  “Fine,” he said, the word stiff. “But you stay on until the deal with Amudee is done. Got it? I’ll need you to be around, at the business, my assumed lover, until the ink is dry on the contract.”

  It was cold and mercenary. And it was tempting. Tempting to play the part. To immerse herself in it for a while. Just thinking about it made her stomach tighten, made her shiver.

  No. You can’t forget. This is just a game to him. More business. “Yes. I won’t let you down. If I say I’m going to do something, I’ll do it.”

  “I know.”

  “And when it’s over?”

  “You can open your bakery. I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time here.”

  Clara stuck out her hand, her heart cracking in her chest. “Then I think we have a deal.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ZACK was in a fouler mood than he’d been when the double doors of the hotel’s wedding hall had opened to reveal, not his bride, but a very panicked wedding coordinator who was hissing into her headset.

  He leaned back in his seat on his private plane and stared at the amber liquid in the tumbler on his tray. Turbulence was bouncing the alcohol around, sending the strong aroma into the air. He wasn’t tempted to take a drink. He didn’t drink, it was just that his flight attendant had heard about the disaster and assumed he might be in need.

  He looked across the wide aisle at Clara, who was, sitting on a leather love seat in the living-room-style plane cabin, staring fixedly at her touch-screen phone.

  “Good book?” he asked.

  Her head snapped up. “How did you know I was reading?”

  “Because you always read.”

  “Books make better company than surly bosses.”

  “Do they make better company than bitchy employees? If so, perhaps I should read more.”

  She looked at him, her expression bland. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “No. You wouldn’t. Look, I gave you what you asked for.”

  “After a big ugly fight.”

  “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

  A strange expression flashed in her brown eyes. “Right.”

  “You’ve been here since the very early days of Roasted, and you’ve been key to the success of the company, of course I don’t want to lose you.”

  She looked back down at her phone. “Well, I can’t live my entire life to make you happy.”

  He frowned. “That’s not how it’s been, is it?”

  “No,” she said, her tone grudging. She put her phone down and stretched her legs out in front of her and her arms straight over her head, back arching, thrusting her breasts forward. His body hardened, his blood rushing through his veins hotter and faster.

  That was a direct result of the fact that he was supposed to break
his long bout with celibacy tonight, on this very plane, and it wasn’t happening now. Still, his body hadn’t caught up with his mind yet. Damned inconvenient considering he was now fixating on his friend’s breasts. Breasts that he was not supposed to fixate on. Basically two of the only breasts on earth that were off-limits to him.

  More inconvenient, considering they were about to spend the week in Chiang Mai in a very secluded and gorgeous honeymoon villa. Even more when you considered that she was leaving the company soon after.

  Well, that wasn’t happening. He would make sure of that. He would offer her whatever he had to offer to get her to stay, and until then he would simply nod whenever she brought it up.

  He wasn’t sure how he would convince her, only that he would. He’d successfully stolen her away from her bakery job back when he’d only had a handful of coffee shops to his name. He had no doubt he could do an even better job of keeping her now that he had so many resources at his disposal. He could give her whatever she wanted, more freedom, more time off. And she was his friend. She wouldn’t leave him.

  She was just mad about the whole fake fiancée thing. But she would get over it. She always did. It wasn’t the first time he’d made her mad. Likely it wouldn’t be the last. But that was just how it was. She wouldn’t really leave him.

  He was a master negotiator. And he didn’t lose. He was good at keeping control, of his life and of his business.

  “The property we’re staying on is supposed to be amazing. It borders a Chiang Mai, and there’s a spa right on site. It’s more of a resort than anything else, but you have to be invited to stay there by the owner. Very exclusive.” He got nothing but silence in response.

  “They have unicorns, I hear,” he continued, “with golden hooves. You’ll love it.”

  He heard her try to stifle a very reluctant snicker.

  He leaned in and looked at her face, at the faint shadows marring the pale skin beneath her eyes. “Are you tired?” he asked.

  She leaned back in the chair. “You have no idea.”

  “There’s a bedroom.” His blood jumped in his veins again, like the kick-start on a motorcycle. “You could lay down for a while if you want.”

  “How long have we got?”

  “Ten more hours.”

  “Oh, yeah, I need sleep.” She stood up and did another little stretch move that accentuated her breasts.

  Clara needed more than sleep. She needed to get out of the tiny, enclosed space with Zack and all of his hot, male pheromones that were wreaking havoc on her good sense. If she had any at all to wreak havoc on. Well, she did have some. She’d used it to ask for her out.

  For a little bit of a chance to move on and forward with her life. Because Zack hadn’t married Hannah today, which was fine and good, but he would marry someone. He’d decided to, and when Zack put his mind to something, he did it. That meant it would happen, sometime in the very near future, she imagined, now that she knew love wasn’t necessarily on the docket. Heck, if he smiled just right at the flight attendant they would probably be engaged by the time they landed in Thailand. And then she could sleep in the guest room in the villa.

  She snorted.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “The scariest word known to man when issued from the lips of a woman.”

  Her lip curled voluntarily at his statement. “Sexist.”

  “I prefer realist, but you’re free to call it as you see it.”

  “So tell me this, Zack.”

  “What?” he asked, one dark eyebrow arched.

  “I assume you’ll attempt marriage again.”

  “If I find the right woman.”

  “And by that, you don’t mean the woman you love?”

  Something in Zack’s posture changed, subtle but obvious to her, his shoulders straightening, his muscles tensing beneath his expertly tailored shirt. His eyes changed, too. There was something dark there, haunted, something she’d never seen before, not this clearly. She’d felt it before, an intensity lurking beneath his cool exterior, but she’d never seen it so plainly.

  It was almost frightening in its intensity, transforming a man she’d seen every day for seven years into a cold stranger.

  “I don’t do love, Clara. Ever.” He turned his focus to the newspaper that was folded on his lap. “Good night.”

  Clara turned toward the bedroom, exhaustion burrowing beneath her skin, down into her bones. Yesterday, everything had been the way it had always been. It had sucked; it had been heading in a direction she hadn’t liked, but for the most part, it had been the same.

  Today everything felt different. Most of it was her fault. And even though she wouldn’t change it, she hated it.

  “We just landed.”

  Clara sat up and pushed the wild mass of auburn curls out of her eyes. She blinked a few times and Zack’s face came into focus. For a moment, she didn’t do anything. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, she just concentrated on his face being the first thing she saw.

  She’d never woken up next to a man before. And, yeah, this wasn’t really waking up next to a man in the traditional sense. And he was more leaning over than next to her. But it was a really nice thought, and it was a very nice sight first thing in the morning. If it was even morning. She had no idea.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “It’s 10:00 p.m. local time.”

  She flopped backward. “Oh, no. Why did you let me sleep?”

  “I tried to wake you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did, you were out.”

  She felt a strange sort of disappointment curling in her stomach. She wished, well, part of her did, that he had woken her up. She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like it was lined with cotton. It was far too easy to think of a lot of very interesting ways he might have woken her up.

  No. Bad.

  “I’m going to be a wreck.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I take it you didn’t sleep?” She looked down and realized she was still wearing her jeans.

  “No. But then, I don’t sleep all that much.”

  That didn’t surprise her. She’d never really quizzed him on his sleeping habits, but honestly, he just didn’t seem like the kind of man who could sleep at all. He had too much energy and drive to stop even for a moment. Whenever she’d thought of him in bed … well, it hadn’t been images of him sleeping plaguing her.

  “We’re at the airport?” she asked, peering out one of the windows, confused by how dark it was outside.

  “Don’t know if I’d say airport so much as landing strip. We’re on Mr. Amudee’s property. It backs the city, but there’s a lot of forest in between his land and civilization.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s a car waiting for us, and your luggage, such as it was, is already loaded in it.”

  She stood and her breasts nearly brushed his chest. She’d misjudged the distance. Her breath caught in her throat and nearly choked her.

  Zack didn’t seem affected at all. He just smiled at her, one of his wicked smiles, all of the ghosts she’d glimpsed in his gray eyes before she’d gone to sleep were banished now, leaving behind nothing but the glint that was so familiar to her.

  “I didn’t have—” she had to take in another breath because being so close to him had kind of sucked the other one out of her “—that much time to pack. Otherwise I could have had just as many bags as your high-maintenance ladies.”

  “You aren’t like the women I date. You aren’t high maintenance. I like that about you.” He turned and headed out the bedroom and she followed him, her chest suddenly feeling tight.

  What he meant was, she wasn’t beautiful. Not like the women he dated. The women who were all high-fashion planes and angles. And cheekbones.

  Her mother was like that. Her sister, too. Tall and leggy with hip bones that were more prominent than their breasts. And that was the look that walked runways. The look that was f
ashionable, especially in southern California.

  And she just didn’t have the look. She had curves. An abundance of them. If any of the chi-chi boutiques had bras with her cup size, they were very often too small around, meant for women who’d gone under the knife to give them what nature had bestowed upon her so liberally. And her stomach was a little bit round, not concave or rippling. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen her ribs.

  Standing next to the women in her family just made her feel … inadequate. And wide. And short. She’d tried to subsist on cabbage and water like her mother and sister, but frankly, she’d felt like garbage and had decided a long time ago that feeling healthy beat being fifteen pounds lighter.

  Of course, that decision didn’t erase a lifetime of insecurity. And that insecurity wasn’t all down to weight, either.

  “Great. Glad to be so … easy.”

  The door to the plane was standing open, and a staircase had been lowered to the tarmac. Zack stood and waited for her to go in front of him. She passed him without looking, trying not to show the knockout effect the slight scent of his cologne had on her as she moved by him.

  “I wouldn’t call you easy,” he said.

  She stopped, third stair from the top, and whipped around to look at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Not what I meant, either,” he said, his expression overly innocent.

  “Yeah. Right. Are you determined to drive me absolutely insane for this whole trip?” She continued down the steps and hopped onto the tarmac, the night air balmy and thick with mist, blowing across her cheeks and leaving its moist handprint behind.

  “We are supposed to be a couple.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She was reluctant to get into the glossy black town car that was parked right by the plane. Because she’d only just gotten Zack-free air, and she didn’t really relish the thought of getting right back into a tight, enclosed space with him.

  She needed to be able to breathe. To think. And she couldn’t do it when he was around.