Page 72 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Fans of yours,” he argues.

“Fans of ours,” I argue back. “They want to see you on that beach.”

“I’ve been on the beach,” he says defiantly. “That first night, remember? We stood by the water and kissed, and it went viral and–”

“You stood by the water. The fans want to see us in the water,” I say. “And listen, I don’t love the idea any more than you do. All this amazing food you’ve been treating me to isn’t exactly doing wonders for my waistline. God knows swimsuits have never been my best friend. But it’s what they want to see. Me and you in that water. That gorgeous, crystal-clear water in the cove. Now take off your clothes and get in the water,” I say. “That’s an order.”

Morgan snorts at that. “You can’t tell me what to do. I am your boss. Not the other way around.”

“And yet, you rely on me for ratings and reviews. So shirt off, buddy,” I say, and after some huffing and puffing, Morgan tugs his shirt off.

“Good…good…now the pants.” I nod, referring to the linen pants that I know for a fact he is wearing shorts under because I saw them on his side of the bed this morning when he was getting dressed.

“I’m not sure I like this side of you,” he says.

“Drop ‘em,” I say, pointing at him and then the ground.

“Take off your cover-up,” he says and I do. Then he drops the pants.

“And your shoes,” I say, and his eyes narrow. “You can’t go in the ocean in Sperry’s, Morgan,” I laugh.

“Lose the linen pants,” he says and I do. After that, we are both standing in front of each other in swim attire, though the way we’re acting, you’d think we were naked.

Honestly, I think I am more confident when I’m naked. That doesn’t involve cameras and a swimsuit that fit me better six months ago.

But I don’t care about that right now. I grab Morgan’s hand and drag him across the white sand towards the water. Of course, once his feet touch the lapping beach water, he comes to a screeching halt while I run in up to my knees.

“Come on!” I call to him with a laugh. “You made it this far!”

“And this is as far as my journey goes,” he calls back.

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “You have to come a little further. Just a little.”

“I’m in the water,” he says, and I don’t know if he really hates the beach this much or if he just likes making my life harder. Maybe both.

I stare at him. And he stares back. And then I splash him.

The sudden gust of water splattering all over his body catches him off guard, and his usual put-together facade slips a little.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he tells me, and there’s a mischief in his eyes that I don’t trust as Morgan takes a step towards me. Then another. And by the time I go to bolt from him into the waves, he has me in his arms, spinning and pulling us waist deep in the water.

I shriek and laugh and hug into him as a wave washes around both of us, and Morgan even laughs too.

“You’re crazy,” I tell him as he steadies us against the movement of the water.

“You’re the one that said we had to come out here,” he says. “I wanted to stay on dry land.”

I stare up at him, and he stares down at me, and I bite my lip, and he smirks.

“How about now?” I ask softly. “Do you still wish you were on dry land?”

He studies me for a moment, his eyes exploring every part of my face, every depth in my eyes, and his smirk only grows.

“What fun would that be?” he asks, and his lips press against mine. It’s slow, warm, unbothered, and sends heat up my spine until I melt against him.

* * *

“I gotta hand it to the nosy people. These photos are pretty good,” Morgan says, showing me his phone. We are sitting in lounge chairs on the beach, close enough to the bar and pool to grab a drink (some kind of local beer for him and a mocktail for me that I chalk up to not liking to drink when I’m outside in the heat, which isn’t a total lie).