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I’ve seen him before.
Recently.
My family was on vacation at the Parish, the family’s private island in Greece. My friends and I were laying out with our moms. Wearing very, very dark sunglasses so no one would see us checking out all the hot single brothers who were spending their time off surfing.
He’s got one of those big black circle tattoos on the left side of his chest. The kind that the brothers who join the Brotherhood in Greece often have inked to their chest. I saw the tattoo when he was walking down the white sand beach.
Shirtless. Gorgeous. Cocky as hell.
Even Hannah, the least flirty of all of us, lowered her own Jimmy Choo cat-eyed sunglasses to take a peek. Hella loyal to her husband, like the rest of the wives are, she still couldn’t hold back a kitten-like growl.
Running a lazy hand through his thick, dark hair that’s just long enough to curl at the ends like he’s a model in one of those black-and-white perfume ads, the savage cruised right by us, smiling right at my mom.
I can see part of the tattoo right now, peeking out of the collar of his short-sleeved black shirt. I’m not sure why, but when I see that black, swirling ink, something goes fluttery in my belly and melty between the tops of my thighs.
The breeze blows by, ruffling his hair. He glances up at the sky, his hand reaching up to slick his thick, dark, wavy hair back into place, like he did on the beach that day.
I snort. “Must be your signature move, Mr. Guapo.”
He takes off his black sunglasses, folding them carefully before slipping them in the front pocket of his designer shirt. His emotion-filled eyes are dark as coal as they follow the line of windows, grazing right past my own.
“Shoot.” I duck down to the floor, hiding from his view.
He’s soon to be my bodyguard.
He’s so freaking cocky. I just hate him. My distaste doesn’t make me blind to his looks, or my body a corpse. Yeah—he’s giving me a bad case of what the girls would call kitty quivers. I pop a gummy worm in my mouth, chewing past the pent-up sexual frustration I live with on the daily.
I have strict rules for myself. I’m saving my V-card for my husband to cash out. And kissing…kinda embarrassed to say I haven’t done that either. I just haven’t liked anyone enough to kiss them.
“You might be hot, but that’s where it ends. Gotta save myself for the hubby.” I head to the door, perching the glasses back on top of my head. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m outta here.”
But first, I have to live through this twenty-first b-day without losing a cheek to the pinching—sure to happen from the older aunties.
One more gummy worm for the road. The fruity sweetness explodes in my mouth. The sugar rushes through my bloodstream. I’m ready to run. Now to write a note to leave on my bedroom door warning everyone not to disturb me. That I’ll be doing some studying then going to bed early to rest up for my party.
Under-eye circles are not the accessory you want to wear at your twenty-first birthday gala bash.
With Savage to keep my mother and father occupied—no doubt they will have long lists of instructions for my visit—no one is going to be looking for me. I know exactly where I’m going. My favorite place in the entire world.
The one space I feel exactly like myself, that I feel free.
Excitement bubbles up as I grab the crystal doorknob of my bedroom. I fling the door open. My stomach sinks while my heart lunges into my throat.
I’ve been caught red-gummy-bear-handed.
I’m not alone.
The glamorous face of my mother, Paige, stares back at me.
“Oh.” Her lipsticked lips form an “o” of surprise, her manicured hand hovering in the air, ready to knock on the door I just opened. She’s in one of her modest dresses, black with short sleeves, one she wears for family business.
“Hey! Uh, heard you at the door.” I let the strap of the backpack slide down my shoulder, tossing the bag to the left. It lands on the floor with a light thud. At least it’s hidden by the door. “I thought you’d be with Sav—Paolo, prepping him for the trip. What’s up?”
My mother’s perfectly microbladed brows arch. “Hey yourself. What are you up to? That’s the real question.” She peers over my shoulder into the room.
“What do you mean? Why do you always assume I’m up to something?” I glance behind me. All I see is a beautiful room decorated in pale blues and soft silvers, a four-poster princess bed at the center of it.
“What’s the ugly backpack for?” She narrows her gaze. “And the Givenchy’s? The sun’s going down soon.”
