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Why not revisit it? This was her last hurrah before her marriage. A chance to hang and shop with Alana. A little time to decompress, loll by the beach, watch chick flicks in her hotel room, then enjoy a charity gala. All without her family or Ajax around.
This was just a part of that. A little time off from being Rachel Holt, beloved media figure. Rachel Holt, who was doing her best to represent her family, to do what was right.
She needed some time to just be Rachel. Not New Rachel. Not Old Rachel, either. Just Rachel.
She stopped in front of the yacht and took a deep breath that was choked off.
Then she looked up, and her gaze crashed into the most electric blue eyes she’d ever seen. Followed by a slow, wicked smile, a flash of bright white teeth on dark skin. He was even more beautiful up close. Utterly arresting. He pushed dark curls out of his eyes and the motion made his muscles flex. A show just for her. And her hormones stood and applauded. And cheered for an encore.
Stupid hormones.
“Are you lost?” he asked, his English heavily accented. The same accent as Ajax’s. Greek. And yet it didn’t sound the same. It wasn’t as refined. It had a rough edge that abraded against something deep inside her. Struck against the hard, dry places inside of her and set off a shower of sparks that sat smoldering, building.
And all that over three words. She was doomed if she did anything other than walk away.
But she didn’t. She stayed rooted to the spot.
“Um...I was...I was just there,” she gestured back to the wall where she’d been standing with Alana, who was now absent. “And I saw you.”
“You saw me?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a problem?”
“I...” she said, stumbling over her words. “Not a problem, no. I just noticed you.”
“Is that all?”
He put his foot up on the metal railing that surrounded the deck then jumped down onto the dock, the motion fluid, shocking and...darn hot.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Your name?”
“Rachel Holt.”
She waited. For recognition to flash through his eyes. For him to get excited at being in front of someone who had a certain level of media fame. Or for him to turn away. People did one of those two things. Rarely anything else.
But there was no recognition. Nothing.
“Well, Rachel,” he said, that voice a rush of liquid that pooled low in her body, “what is it you noticed about me?”
“That, um...you were hot,” she said. She’d never been so forward with a man in her life. Though, honestly, she wasn’t sure if she was being forward or being an idiot. She was good with people. The consummate hostess. Everyone, even the vicious press, liked her. A reputation that had been carefully cultivated—and fiercely guarded.
But she was a lot more experienced at offering people cold beverages than she was at offering them her body.
He arched one dark brow. “That I was hot?”
