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CHAPTER SEVEN
How dare he?
Harper fought her manners, lifted her glass in thanks, and lay back down on the sun lounger. If Daniel Dufort thought she was going to walk across the bar and join him, he was mistaken.
Seriously, did she have a sign on her forehead saying, ‘single and ready to have my heart broken again’?
No thanks.
She wasn’t here for a holiday romance. Heck, she’d never even had a one-night stand.
Ever.
All she wanted to do was enjoy her holiday, max out her credit card, buy designer handbags and shoes, and drink cocktails under the tropical skies of Hawaii.
She was happy to make friends and enjoy a few drinks with people, or maybe even a friendly man, but it wouldn’t go further than that.
Daniel Dufort was not that man. Accepting a drink with him was like lying down and opening your legs.
Which, yes, would likely be goddamn amazing.
But no.
God, she had to stop thinking about things like that. Heat flared between her legs, and she squirmed on the lounger.
Ugh. She had to stop. A man like him would notice those signs and jump to conclusions.
She sat up and glanced over.
He stared at her.
She flushed from head to toe.
God.
She had to speak to him and be very clear their relationship was strictly business. Then he’d move on to another victim.
Harper picked up her bag and cocktail and made her way around the pool to Daniel’s table. She felt his eyes follow her the entire way.
Don’t look at his chest. Or forearms. Or...just focus on his face.
“Aloha, Ms. Kane.” His voice was deep and gravelly, and her entire body turned to jelly.
Goddamn him.
She had to get out of here.
Harper lifted her cocktail. “I just wanted to say thank you before I head out.”
As if studying his prey, Daniel’s head slightly tilted, then he nodded.
Instead of leaving, she found herself staring at his muscular body. Every inch of him was perfect. He was the ultimate rich, powerful billionaire the gossip columns wrote about. From his Prada shoes, his big fancy watch—she had no idea about brands, but it likely cost more than her house—to his Tom Ford sunglasses.
Harper didn’t care that she was wearing a fifty-dollar dress and her flip-flops had been a five-dollar bargain at The Warehouse—a big box retailer in New Zealand. She was more concerned that Daniel was looking at her like he wanted to lick her from head to toe.
And that she really wanted him to.
Her body tingled with need, and she blushed.
