Page 53 of Under Her

“Oh, she’s in her room—sunstroke.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So, Wilder”—she moves closer to me, tilting her body toward mine—“I’m not usually this forward,” she says in a lowered voice. “But”—she hesitates, biting her lip—“I was wondering if you’d like to…come back to my room with me.”

I stare at her, waiting for something to happen in my pants.

But there’s nothing.

Not even a flash of excitement at the prospect of fucking a hot divorcee, who probably hasn’t had sex in a long time.

Fucking Morgan and the fucking voodoo she’s put on my cock.

I hate her.

Well, I don’t hate her.

The awful fucking truth is, I can’t have sex with anyone else because I want Morgan.

No one else. Only her.

And I hate the fact that I can’t have her.

I let out a breath. “I’m really sorry…” I say. I see a flash of disappointment flicker through her eyes. “It’s not you,” I’m quick to add. “You’re hot. Really hot. Any other time, and I’d be grabbing your hand and leading you straight back to your room. But”—I stare down into my beer—“I just…can’t.”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.” She plasters on a smile and downs her drink. “Can’t blame a girl for trying though, right?” She slips off her stool and picks her purse up.

“Audrey, just because I said no…don’t let that put you off. What I mean is”—I rub my forehead—“the next guy you ask back to your room will be all over that…you.” I force a smile. “If this were a few weeks ago and you were asking me to go back to your room, I wouldn’t have hesitated. It’s just…my head’s a little screwed up right now.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Love will do that to you.” Then, she walks away.

I want to call after her and tell her that I’m not in love with Morgan. My dick and I are just a little obsessed with her. Well, a lot obsessed.

But whatever.

Sighing, I drain my drink and leave the bar.

I take the long walk back to my bungalow.

When I get close, I see Morgan is sitting out on the terrace, reading a book. She’s wearing this long black caftan, and her hair is tied up in a knot on the top of her head.

Fuck. She’s beautiful.

It’s weird. For the last thirteen years, I thought she was judgmental and stuck up.

But, deep down, I liked her. I just didn’t like the fact that she didn’t like me, and I didn’t know why.

It’s frustrating to have someone hate you for no reason at all. Especially when, under any other circumstances, you would have wanted to be friends with them.

Wanted more from them.

Wanted more from her.

Like I do now.

Her head lifts from her book as I approach. She doesn’t look at me like she wants to kill me, so I take that as progress.

I sit down on the chair next to hers. “Can we have a cease-fire? We’re in this beautiful country, and I know we’re here to work, but I’d like us both to have a good time as well.”

She sighs and closes her book. “Okay,” she says.

My eyes flick to hers. “Okay?” I echo.