I rolled my eyes. Was it really necessary to take off your shirt like that? Who peeled their shirt off in slow motion, like they were shooting content for their OnlyFans account?
No one, that’s who.
Who then proceeded to rub shiny, slippery oil all over their chest and smear it across their abs in slow, sensual movements?
No one, that’s who.
But he was doing it! He trailed his fingertips along his collarbone, lingering just a little before sliding his hands down to his abs, arguably his best feature, and running them over every single one of the muscular ridges. It was slow, methodical and entirely maddening. And it was all for my benefit. He was trying to distract me, throw me off my game, and I hated to admit it – oh, did I hate to admit it – but it was working.
‘Shit,’ I mumbled under my breath, and quickly looked away when Cam turned towards me, as if he knew I’d been watching him. I pulled my iPad out and tried to appear busy, but in my peripheral vision I could see that he was now walking towards me. I adopted my best don’t-fucking-come-near-me attitude, and didn’t bother to look up when his shadow fell over me.
‘Don’t suppose you’d rub some lotion on my back?’ he asked. The gall. The cheek. I wanted to kill him.
‘No, I’d much rather see you get third-degree burns,’ I said, casually flipping through my home screens looking at nothing at all.
‘I’ll rub yours if you rub mine,’ he said, clear amusement lacing his words.
‘Cam, it will snow in the Seychelles before I rub anything attached to your body.’ He burst out laughing and I finally looked up at him. ‘How is this all so amusing for you?’
‘Come on, you have to admit it’s funny. You and I, trapped in a cupboard together. On the same island.’
‘There’s a fine line between comedy and tragedy,’ I said. ‘What do you really want? Because I doubt you care this much about sun protection.’
‘You stick out like a sore thumb, Lizzy. You’re sitting on a lounger fully clothed, looking angry, working on an iPad. You’re going to give yourself away and screw up my investigation too.’
‘What?’ I stood up and squared off in front of him. ‘Do not tell me how to do my job. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m very good at it. Besides, I thought you were here to watch Victor, not me.’
‘You’re making it rather hard not to watch you. If I didn’t know you better, I would say that something had you rattled.’ His words cut me to the quick, because they were true.
‘Get out of my face, Cam.’
‘Or what, going to do this to me again?’ He tilted his arm, exposing the bruise that had formed at the top of it.
I smiled. ‘I have sharp elbows; you shouldn’t run into them.’
Cam matched my smile, which was no longer a friendly one. It was the show of dominance two animals might give each other in the wild as they pulled their lips back to expose their teeth. Did he think I was in his territory? The unbelievable arrogance of this man!
He glanced around pointedly. ‘Look where we are, Lizzy. A tropical island. Have a fucking swim, read a book; blend in instead of sitting here looking like you want to kill someone. It’s not very island vibe.’ He gestured to his shorts. ‘Be more like me.’
‘Island vibe?’
‘Yeah, island vibe. In fact, I’d just decided to have a swim.’
‘Really? Is that why you were putting on a show by undressing like a stripper?’ I folded my arms and glared at him.
‘There. See. That.’ He pointed at my face. ‘Like you want to kill someone.’
‘That’s because I do.’ I looked him up and down pointedly, just in case he hadn’t caught the not-so-subtle meaning of my words. ‘And if you were wondering . . . No. I was not distracted by your little show.’ Only that was a blatant lie.
Cam’s grin changed into something else – something smug and oh-so-irritating. He gave me one last look, a quick check up and down my body, and I swear I caught the telltale sign of dilated pupils,even in this bright sunlight. I’d seen that look before. I knew exactly what it meant, and now I really was going to kill him. Slowly.
‘Loving the whole miserable homicidal tourist look you have going on, by the way,’ he said, tossing the verbal grenade over his shoulder before sauntering off.
My stomach plummeted like a stone dropped off a cliff. Because, dammit, he was right. I did stick out. I glared at him as he walked back to his lounger and sat down with an exaggerated show of Zen relaxation.
Fine. If he wanted blending in, he was going to get it. I slid my sunglasses into place and pulled the elastic from my hair, letting my curls tumble dramatically over my shoulders like I was starring in a shampoo commercial. Then I grabbed a towel and some sunscreen and strutted across the beach. By the time I’d reached the water’s edge – perfectly in his line of sight – it was time to put this stupid bikini to good use. Game. On.
Slowly, just as he had – because there was no way I was letting him walk away feeling like he’d won – I pinched the hem of my dress between my fingers and began pulling it up. Inch by tantalising inch. Every movement was slow, deliberate, like I had all the time in the world and zero concerns about who was watching me.
