Page 61 of Hate To Be Mine

And that wasn’t going to happen.

I hadn’t seen him the night before. We agreed it would be one time to get it out of our systems. Then we’d go back to being professional. Plus he’d texted saying he was prepping for today’s shoot and would be working late. Which was fine. Good, even. Exactly what we’d said we’d do.

So why had I felt disappointed when I’d gone to bed alone, listening to the sound of the ocean and thinking about his hands on my skin?

Focus. You have a job to do.

I gathered everyone who’d be working near or in the water. Every model, all the camera operators, lighting crew, and even Sebastian. We needed a quick safety huddle.

“Alright, everyone,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the ambient beach noise. “Water safety protocols. I know some of you think this is overkill, but it’s necessary.”

Half the crew rolled their eyes right on cue.

“Guys, I know it seems ridiculous, but I need everyone to listen. The surf conditions today are moderate, but they can change quickly. Rip currents, unexpected waves, slippery rocks—all of these are real hazards.”

I went through the basics. Sebastian stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, listening intently.

After I finished my little spiel, I looked to him to see if he wanted to laugh at me or tell everyone I was just being my usual uptight self.

“Everything Ms. Simmons just said is important,” he said. “Follow her protocols. If anyone has questions about water safety, ask her, not me. She’s the expert.”

Sebastian backing me up in front of the crew was becoming a habit. A good habit. One that made my chest feel warm and tight and dangerous.

I caught his eye for just a second. He gave me a small nod. I looked away before anyone could see the way my cheeks flushed.

This was fine. We were being professional. No one would suspect that two nights ago I’d been in his bed, learning what he sounded like when he exploded inside me. Or how good he was with that tongue and those fingers.

Stop it. Focus on the work.

The morning shoot went smoothly despite my concerns. I felt like I had run a marathon with all the running around I was doing. If I had the ability to put up a forcefield bubble thing, I would do it in a heartbeat. I felt like one of those sheepdogs trying to herd a hundred sheep on my own. Granted, the number was much smaller, but the job was just as hard.

But when I did give myself just a few minutes to catch my breath, I had to admire the beauty. The models looked incredible in the surf. Elizabeth’s swimwear designs photographed beautifully against the ocean backdrop, and miraculously, no tourists ruined any shots.

But I kept stealing glances at Sebastian. Couldn’t help it. The way he directed the models. They listened to him like he was some god on high coming down to give them the secrets of the world. I watched him check with the photographers to make sure they were getting what they needed. And every so often, he would look my way and flash that sexy smile at me.

Me.

Bernadette Simmons.

I’m not falling in love. That would be insane. We barely know each other. It’s only been a few days.

It was just the place. That’s all. There was a reason they chose the island for the shoot. Everywhere you looked was gorgeous and romantic. The sunset-painted skies, the crystal-clear water and even the lush tropical vegetation that hid untold threats were beautiful.

I reminded myself this was just a little vacation from my real life. A fun story to look back on years from now. When I’m old and gray and petting my Siamese cat, I’ll think back to the crazy two weeks when I had a fling with a male model on a tropical island. It’ll be my proof that I had been young and spontaneous once, before I went back to my office and my father and my real, boring life.

That’s all this was.

During the lunch break, I noticed Sebastian wasn’t at the craft services tent with everyone else. I scanned the beach and spotted him jogging along the waterline, his stride easy and rhythmic.

I sat in the shade with my sad salad—some things didn’t change even in paradise—and watched him run. He was pushing himself. I could tell. Faster than a casual jog. Like he was trying to outrun something.

After about twenty minutes, he came back, breathing hard. And then he pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.

Holy shit.

I’d seen him shirtless in photoshoots. I’d seen him naked two nights ago. But there was something about seeing him like this, unposed and unselfconscious, muscles defined from exertion with his skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight. If there was ever a fantasy, I was staring at it.

I wanted to take a bite out of him. Just walk over there and put my mouth on that ridiculous body and then run my tongue over the spot where my teeth had been. I had never licked a man from head to toe, but I wanted to now.