Page 95 of PR Stunt

“There’s only one bed,” I declare.

He turns to me, brows raised. “I don’t see the problem in that, sweetheart.”

My hands clench at my sides. “There are supposed to be two.”

His mouth curls, and I know he’s about to piss me off further.

He sighs and then strides right past me, grabs the phone from the console table, and dials.

Grayson stands by the window, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in low, measured Spanish. I catch a few familiar words, no hay problema, gracias, something about a suite, but the rest is a mystery. Still, I can tell from his tone that he’s being charming.

He hangs up with a casual, “Gracias.”

“Well?” I ask, watching him. “What did they say?”

He turns back to me, leaning a hip against the desk. “I asked if they had a suite with two rooms.”

“Okay…” I frown. “Then what? What reason did you give her?” It would clearly be suspicious to ask.

Grayson’s lips twitch. “I told her you fart in your sleep.”

I gasp. “Grayson!”

I grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him from the couch. He catches it easily, laughing—actually laughing—his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re such a shit!”

He shakes his head, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. “I’m going for a dip. Wanna come?”

He grabs his suitcase and makes his way to the bathroom.

Over his shoulder, he calls, “I’ll sleep on the couch. No stress.”

The door clicks shut behind him. This trip is either going to cure me or ruin me. There is no in between.

Chapter 28

The moment I step into the bedroom, I shut the door behind me and try to steady my breathing. There’s a romantic dinner for two on the schedule, but we’ve got time to kill. I push the thought aside and unzip my suitcase, wheeling it toward the walk-in closet. The space is bright and airy, all wooden shelving and woven storage baskets that fit the villa’s vibe. A full-length mirror leans against the wall, and a row of empty hangers waits. The second I check in, I have to unpack. It’s just how I am. Living out of a suitcase? Not for me.

I hang up my dresses, tuck loungewear into drawers, and line my shoes on the bottom shelf. With everything in place, I already feel more grounded. I head into the bathroom. Warm stone walls. Soft lighting. A rainfall shower built into the ceiling. A freestanding tub beneath a wide, open window, sheer curtains billowing in the breeze. It’s serene.

At the sink, I pull out the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, skincare. I brush my teeth, strip off my clothes, and toss them into the laundry basket tucked in the corner. Now for a bikini. I skim my options and pick a simple white one, tying the straps before twisting my hair into a claw clip. Then a little glow. I pump body oil into my palms, smoothing it over my arms and collarbones. It smells like summer in a bottle.

I plug my phone in by the bed, but just as I set it down, the screen lights up.

Junebug

Have fun. I mean it! xoxo

I toss my phone back onto the nightstand and then grab my sunglasses, a pool towel, and my book before glancing at myself in the mirror. Here goes nothing. I push open the bedroom door and step out onto the patio.

Grayson is leaning against the far edge of the pool, his toned back to me, elbows resting on the stone ledge. His head is tilted slightly upward, dark, wet hair slicked back, now nearly black from the water. Droplets trace down his tanned skin, shimmering as they glide over the defined lines of his shoulders. He turns, trailing his gaze down the length of my body.

I keep walking, stepping toward the cabana chairs lined up along the poolside. The air is hot against my skin as I shake out my towel, laying it over the cushion before easing down onto it. I adjust my sunglasses, open my book, and settle in, the pages bright under the golden sunlight.

But I can still feel his eyes on me. I exhale through my nose, flipping a page. Then, without looking up: “Yes…?”

“Mexico looks good on you.”

My lips press together, fighting back the small, traitorous smile threatening to form. Instead, I tilt my chin slightly, testing. “Thank you.”