It didn’t.
The harder she tried to keep her focus clinical, the more her hands betrayed her, dragging over muscle she remembered too well. By the time she was finished and the shivers hadn’t subsided, Daisy knew she was in trouble.
“Your turn.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said too fast, shaking her head.
“Daisy,” he pressed, “I’ve seen the way you sunburn. You look like an overcooked chicken. Just let me.”
Overcooked chicken. Gross.
“Fine,” she muttered, slipping her cover-up off her shoulders and onto the lounger.
The sound he made—barely a breath, a sharp inhale—wasn’t meant for her ears. But she caught it anyway. When she turned her head, she found his gaze locked on her.
Her black bikini suddenly felt microscopic. Her body had changed since she was eighteen. Her hips were fuller, her skin marked by motherhood, but Jameson didn’t notice any of that. His eyes darkened, hungry and reverent.
“Damn,” he whispered, so low she almost convinced herself she’d misheard it.
Heat crawled into her cheeks, and she turned quickly, giving him her back. “Just put it on.”
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. Then, after a pause: “But not really.”
His hands were warm and careful on her shoulders, smoothing lotion across her skin. Every brush of his palms was deliberate, almost too slow, like he was memorizing her again. His touch felt… natural. As though his hands belonged exactly where they were.
Daisy tried to hold still, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
His hands drifted lower, tracing down her back until he reached the dip of her waist, skimming precariously close to the curve of her bikini bottoms. Her breath hitched, then his hands froze.
“Shit,” he growled.
She spun to face him, confusion flashing before she caught sight of his expression—rage, not desire. Jameson snatched up his phone and stormed toward the rocks. Daisy blinked, then squinted. That’s when she saw it, the glint of a massive camera lens peeking out.
The vultures.
She rushed to Amelia, shielding her with her body.
“What’s he doing?” Amelia asked, eyes wide.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Daisy soothed, glancing back at Jameson. He was barking into his phone, pacing.
“Looks like paparazzi,” he muttered when he rejoined them. “On private property. Barry’s on his way.”
“Barry’s here?”
“Yeah. Took a commercial flight. He hates jets.”
The thought of burly Barry being afraid of small planes made Daisy snort despite the tension.
“Can we go in the water now?” Amelia begged. “I want to play in the waves.”
And just like that, Jameson’s fury softened. He bent, offering her his hand, his smile warm and unguarded. “Let’s do it, love.”
Despite the rocky start, the day turned into a magical one. Jameson and Amelia laughed and played in the surf for hours, chasing waves until they collapsed in the sand. Even Daisy found herself pulled in, shrieking when the water lapped higher than expected, letting herself feel light and free in a way she hadn’t in years.
By late afternoon, with the sun beginning to dip, they packed up and headed back to the house. Margot kept Amelia occupied while Daisy and Jameson slipped away to get ready for the charity event.
He had arranged everything—hair stylists, makeup artists, even manicures. Normally, Daisy would’ve balked at the extravagance, but tonight she’d be standing next to some of the most beautiful people in the world. She let him spoil her. Even Anna was impressed, which was a rare miracle.
