That’s it. That’s all she wrote.
I feel like I’ve swallowed a hive of bees. My nerves are jagged inside of me. Temptation simultaneously drags at me and lifts me up.
‘We’re two people who got screwed by our exes,’ he says, and I’m jolted back to the present, to this aeroplane, to the fact I know nothing about him really, and a thousand questions spawn in my mind. ‘So why don’t we have fun screwing each other for a few days?’
‘Finish what you just started and I’ll think about it,’ I murmur, my eyes hooded.
He laughs, a soft sound, and shakes his head. ‘How else will you know I mean what I say?’
I purse my lips. ‘I’m happy to act on faith there.’
He grins. ‘No need. I’m a man of my word. I’m telling you—in the daytime we’ll be all business, and afterwards...all pleasure. Deal?’
No! I want to scream. Because I need him to get his mouth back down there and make me come. I could do it myself. I could drop my hand right now and within seconds I’d be falling apart. And I’m so tempted. But I don’t want to do this without him—I want it to be him that tips me over. I want him.
‘You drive a hard bargain,’ I say with mock annoyance.
‘You’d better get used to it, Miss Llewellyn.’ He turns away from me, moving back to his chair. But as he sits down I smile, because his cock is at a right angle to his body and I take great pleasure in staring at him, in showing him I see him.
When I lift my gaze to his, he’s watching me. ‘I’m going to fuck you hard tonight, Miss Llewellyn. All. Night. Long.’
My pulse trembles, my heart races. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Mr Hart.’
* * *
I’m divorced. She’s not the first person I’ve slept with since my divorce. But she’ll be the first person I’ve slept with over consecutive nights. The first person I’ve entered into a relationship of sorts with—albeit an unconventional one.
But it is unconventional—that’s its saving grace. I’m laying all my cards on the table—I’ve told her what I want. And she’s okay with this. Better, she’s happy. She wants this as much as I do.
‘If you look out of that window, you’ll see the golf course on the northernmost tip of the island, the resort just beyond it.’ I shift in my armchair seat, looking towards the window, bringing my attention back to the reason we’re here. The manicured course is impossible to miss. It stretches from the east coast to the west coast, an impressive expanse of gentle undulations, water courses, crisp white bunkers and palm trees. The clubhouse is a modern building, visible from our descending altitude, all white walls and expanses of glass, perched high on the course to offer spectacular views of the Coral Sea.
The golf course itself takes up almost a third of the small island, and accommodation is offered as part of the package. A hotel, offering four hundred rooms and twelve luxurious bungalows, each with two bedrooms, spa bathrooms, private pools and offering in-room chefs and masseuses.
Even before this, before flying over the stunning island, I thought this would be a decent investment. The figures stack up enough, and with some fine-tuning in how it’s marketed, the course could become truly world class. It’s expensive, though; it’s hard to say if there’s value here or if I’d be better off buying a less prestigious course and getting a renowned designer in to reinvigorate the place.
‘It looks like a golf course.’ I turn around, the smile on my lips dropping when I notice that Grace is sitting in the chair across from mine looking as t
hough someone’s turned her to stone. Her eyes are shut tight and her hands are curved around the edges of the armrests, her skin pale, a fine bead of perspiration dotted across her brow.
‘Grace?’
She opens her eyes and stares at me in what can only be described as an accusing manner. ‘Yes?’ Her teeth are clenched.
‘What’s happened?’
The plane pitches a little, the wings moving us from side to side.
She lets out a moan and then clamps her lips together. ‘Nothing.’ Her smile is a pathetic attempt. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re a nervous flyer!’ I laugh a little, shaking my head, but sober at the look she throws me, one of pure hatred in that moment.
‘I am not.’
The plane lurches again and she makes a little squeak that has my smile dropping. This isn’t actually funny at all—she’s terrified. I lean forward, put my hand on hers.
‘Close your eyes,’ I murmur. ‘And count, in twos, to a hundred.’
She glares at me with raw scepticism.