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The minute Corinne Emerson left my office, I called in some favors. A client’s nephew is a private investigator on the island, and in exchange for a reasonable fee and some investment advice, he quickly learned that Parker’s sister is staying here and is scheduled to depart Sunday morning.
So that part of her story checks out. I’m still waiting on the rest.
As if the PI has ESP, my phone rings. “Perfect timing, Owen. Talk to me.”
“Either this girl is really slick at covering her tracks…or she’s being straight-up with you. She paid for her plane ticket with her own credit card. Same with her hotel stay. Apparently, she told friends she’d always promised herself a vacation in paradise if her jewelry business ever had a six-figure year. Now it has, at least according to her most recent bank statement, but she’s only staying a few days because unfulfilled orders are piling up. And she has a meeting on Monday morning with a local bank to discuss a small business loan. They’re going to reject her since she has no collateral. Despite having good credit, it will be her third rejection.”
Damn, this guy is fast. I won’t ask how he comes up with this kind of information in a few ticks of the clock. If Corinne is here, asking me to invest, she must expect the bank will turn her down again. “Thanks. Anything else?”
“Her brother seemingly has no idea where she is. Or if he does, the two of them are putting on a hell of a show, because, according to social media, his new girlfriend is trying to set Corinne up with a co-worker and thinks they’ll be double-dating tomorrow night.”
Not conclusive proof that Parker’s pretty sister is telling the truth, but it makes her story seem more legit.
I stop and take in the full-frontal ocean view from the hotel’s lobby. Yeah, that never gets old. Despite three years of living on Maui, I’m still struck dumb every day by how beautiful it is.
“Did you get Corinne’s room number?”
“Hours ago. Just before I called, I sent you an email detailing everything I know so far. I’ll wait while you look, see if there’s anything else you need before we hang up.”
He’s being extra helpful and attentive, probably because he’s hoping I’ll take him on as a client. No can do, but I’ll make sure he’s handsomely rewarded if his information pans out.
Seconds later, I scan my email. Sure enough, Owen sent everything I’ll probably need in order to watch Corinne for the next forty-eight hours—or until I’m convinced she’s not BSing me on her brother’s behalf. After I commit her room number to memory, I end the call and head for the elevators. Halfway there, I stop dead in my tracks.
She’s perched on the edge of a stool in the bar, wearing a figure-hugging dress that clings to the tops of her thighs and shows off a tongue-swallowing amount of toned legs. The curve of her ass is impossible to miss—and even more impossible not to gawk at. Her dark curls brush the small of her back with her every move and gesture.
Where is she going all dressed up? And who is she going with? I wish I’d fucking asked Owen if she traveled here alone…
Nothing about Corinne gives me a hint. In fact, she looks almost out of place among the other guests who have obviously baked in the sun all day. Despite her sexy dress, she still looks so untouched—either by the rays or a man’s hands.
As she smiles, the bartender says something, likely in an attempt to flirt. She dips her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. I catch a glimpse of her lips, glossy and plump and so kissable. I can’t remember the last time I was this tempted after a mere glance.
I need to focus or I’ll fall for the first BS story she tells me, especially if it comes with sex. According to my brothers, that’s another hallmark of the Reeds. If we aren’t careful, we’ll think with our sex drives first. If there’s fucking involved, our brains come in a distant second.
She sips on some bubbly cocktail and scrolls through her phone. I don’t see her looking around for a significant other or even a guy to spend the night with.
While her attention is diverted by whatever TikTok nonsense she’s probably watching, I slip into a corner of the bar, half hidden behind a potted palm, and sit. It’s the perfect position to watch her.
A waiter comes by. I order a scotch neat. He brings it promptly and asks if I want a menu. Normally, I’d be hungry for dinner at this hour. But watching Corinne, my stomach takes a back seat to lust.
Around me, other men notice her. The guy two stools down is definitely eye-fucking her. He looks forty if he’s a day. Plus, his ring says he’s married. She ignores him. There’s another guy who’s clearly with a big party edging away from his crowd and closer to Corinne. Then the bartender, in between pouring patrons’ drinks, walks his stare all over her again.
