His brain stopped functioning.
This woman was going to kill him.
Once he paddled them out, Verena called, “Straddle the board. Let’s get a kiss out here.”
It was the first time she’d said it so directly. And Sofia didn’t hesitate.
She cupped his face and kissed him, deep, slow, confident. No warm-up. No acting.
Their mouths moved like they were made for each other. Tongues tangling, lips bruising, heat rising. He slid his hands beneath the water, found her thighs, and teased. Just a light brush at first, testing the hem of her swimsuit.
Sofia let out the softest moan into his mouth, barely a sound, but it vibrated through his entire chest.
Fuck. He wanted to rip that suit off. He wanted her straddling him, not the board.
“Perfect!” Verena called. “So much passion! I love it! We’re done for today!”
Sofia broke the kiss, stepping back slightly, lips swollen, breath shallow. Her eyes held fire.
Then came the smirk. “Did Drunk Sofia tell you she liked how you kiss?”
“She did.”
“Drunk Sofia is a little slut,” Sofia muttered, sliding off the board into the water.
Ilias threw his head back and laughed.
29
SOFIA
Tú me Dejaste de Querer – C. Tangana, Niño de Elche, La Húngara
The photoshoot had been wild.But even wilder was how it had shifted something between them.
Now, alone, traveling together to Sydney, they were closer. Always holding hands in public, hugging, kissing—well, cheek kisses—but with an ease she’d never experienced before. Not with anyone. It was as if they’d slipped into the role too well… maybe because it wasn’t just a role anymore.
But when they were alone, it was different.
Sofia still hadn’t broken through the wall she’d built after the breakup with Thomas. She hated how tightly that armor still clung to her. And now, knowing he would be at the same fucking conference? She wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
She sat at a small coffee shop near the conference center, legs crossed under the table. Ilias was across from her, already changed into his “formal surfer” version of attire: a light linenshirt—half unbuttoned—a silver chain peeking from beneath, and his curls just the right amount of tousled.
Unfair. He was walking sex.
Sofia had chosen a white tank top tucked into loose beige linen pants, cinched with a brown belt, and nude heels. A risk for comfort, yes. But worth it. She’d seen herself in the mirror before they left the hotel and she knew she looked good. Knew Thomas would choke on his own spit. Let him eat his fucking heart out.
“The plan,” Ilias said, pulling her from her mental vendetta, “is to act as in love as possible. Just to make him jealous.”
Sofia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not trying to make him jealous. That would mean I want him back. I want him to regret every single thing he did to me, professionally and emotionally.”
“And you're using me,” Ilias said casually, unfazed.
Her expression twisted. “I’m not using you.”
One brow arched as he stirred sugar into his coffee. His hazel eyes sparkled with challenge.
“No?”
