“There are parts of the island where the tree canopies are so thick, sunlight can’t penetrate.It was already named before my grandmother purchased it.”
“Ah, I see.Whew.It’s warm in here.”
I motion for the attendant to lower the temperature.
Salem leans forward in the seat and begins to unbutton the black jacket of a suit that’s seen better days.Underneath it, she’s wearing a silk shirt with a vee cut low enough for me to see the swell of her breasts.
I turn away but the image burns into my brain.If she weren’t married, I’d playfully flirt with her.I’d show her the world then keep her up all night making her moan.I’d make her mine and never let her go.I don’t understand why I feel so connected to her or how my heart mourns the loss of something that never was.
“You said it’s a short trip from one resort to the next.Why does the company have resorts so close together?”
I keep my attention on the window.“The Island of Midnight is an invitation only resort.The guests are usually billionaires.”
“Instead of the usual run of the mill rich people,” she says with a soft laugh.
I laugh too, glancing over just as she crosses her legs.The action snugs her pants, pulling them taut.
Oh, Siren.What are you doing to me?I’m thankful she’s not in a short skirt.
“What does your husband do for a living?”I ask, surprising myself.I never get involved in the private lives of my assistants.
She tenses, clasping her fingers together tightly.“He works from home.”Her tone is cautious.
I make a mental note that she’s protective of her husband’s privacy.It’s a good thing but it irks me.“Doing what?”
“Marketing.His job enables him to stay home with Princeton.”
“Princeton?”
“His son.”Her lips curve into a sweet smile.“He’s almost three and so smart.”
I swallow hard.She has a husband.She has a child.Go ahead and laugh, gods.You fuckers.
Chapter Four
Salem
Afterthetriponthe private jet, we travel by speedboat operated by a smiling man wearing a sea captain’s hat tilted to one side.He seems to know Locke and the two communicate with gestures rather than trying to talk over the noise of the engine.
My stomach doesn’t like being on the boat.I practically lived in the water growing up and never had an issue with sea sickness.I’m wondering if it’s nerves or the fact I didn’t eat supper last night.Or maybe it’s the close proximity to the man I find devastatingly tempting.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long until we dock.Locke springs easily from the boat, hesitates, then offers me his hand.
Since I’m feeling woozy, I gratefully accept the help and slide my hand into his.Heat races up my arm.The feel of his skin on mine makes me feel like I’ve been touched all over my body.
I make the mistake of looking at him.Our gaze tangles.Holds.
I shiver, then blink.What the hell am I doing?I’m married.Sort of.I pull my hand free, stammering out a thank you, not liking that I saw the desire I feel mirrored in his eyes.
Now he’s looking at my with curiosity and that’s dangerous too.
Curious people ask questions and my web of lies won’t stand up to close scrutiny.
“Did the motion affect you?”He gestures back toward the boat as we walk along the dock toward the island.“You seemed like it did.”
I thought he was focused on the boat’s operator.Instead, was he paying attention to me?I missed that.“No,” I say quickly, putting a hand against my queasy stomach.
Now his attention drops to my abdomen and he raises his eyebrows.
