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“Orana, Ryker.”
Her greeting takes me back a couple days ago. Her cheeks redden and she drops her gaze to the ground, smoothing out her dress. Seems she remembers, too.
“Mr. Dallas, can we help you?” the lady behind the desk asks.
“Nope. I’m good, thank you.” As soon as my attention is off A, she slips away, hopping in the cart.
“Wait,” I blurt out, jogging the couple steps to the golf cart. She looks at me, impatiently. I have two seconds to figure out what my next move is. Afraid she might drive off, I hop into the passenger seat and her eyes widen.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a tour guide.”
She blinks and then points. “The excursion desk is over there.”
“I know. But I need a discreet guide.”
“Mr. Dallas.” Her tone turns serious. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but I am not for sale.”
I throw my hands up. “No. That’s not what I meant.” I run my hand against my jaw, irritated that I’m fumbling with my words. “I’m supposed to stay out of the public eye so I need to hire someone to take me around the island for the day. But I don’t want any record of it.” She stares at me and I’m sure she’s about to kick me out. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
Her mouth gapes open before she shakes out of her stupor. She squeezes the steering wheel and I can see she’s fighting herself over taking the job.
“Why me?” she finally asks.
Because you’re beautiful and intriguing and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking of you. I hold that piece of information to myself. “Because you know about the island and I understand you perfectly.”
She laughs. “You sir, are the one with a funny accent. Not us.”
“Touché. But even with your island accent, I don’t have to think about what you said.” She blows out a breath and sits back in her seat with her arms crossed, contemplating. “And no shagging,” I add, chuckling at the word. Even though if it happened, I wouldn’t care what she called it.
“Why do you find that funny?”
“It’s not. The word is funny. I don’t think I’ve ever used it.”
She turns in her seat, amused. “Then what do you call it?”
“Sex. Screwing. Fucking. Getting laid—”
“Oh my. You and I have totally different views on getting lei’d.” Her freckled nose scrunches and I laugh. “Okay. But I have to finish my deliveries this morning. I’ll meet you at your hut at ten.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her foot presses down on the gas the second my feet hit solid ground. Not until a lady behind the desk clears her throat, do I catch on that I’d been staring at her cart until it was out of sight. I shove my hands in my pockets and give the ladies a courtesy nod before turning and walking back to my hut with a little bounce in my step.
Chapter Five
Aspen
Damn that crooked, sexy grin. I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, regret that I agreed to be his tour guide multiplying by the minute. Why did he buy all twenty seats on the excursion the other day with Dante? Why didn’t I question his reason for not wanting a receipt for today? It’s odd. Yet, I agreed to take him. Money seems to talk louder than common sense these days.
“Aspen?”
I yelp in surprise at my dad’s voice. He stands in the doorway to my private house on our property that he built for me so I could stay close to him. “Hey, Dad. You scared me.”
“I see that. Finish your deliveries?”
“Yes, sir. Done for the day.” I glance at the kitchen filled with dirty bowls and cookie sheets, thinking I should stay and clean up rather than going out with Ryker. But I can’t back out now. “I got another job today, so I’ll be home later tonight. Are you feeling okay?” He doesn’t typically visit me here. He dislikes chaos and uncleanliness. And my place is always a mess from baking.
