There are dozens of women of different shapes and sizes fanned out on the beach. The water is warm, clear, bright, and blue farther out to sea.
I want to jump in, cool off, let loose.
But I’m here on business.
And there are no fun times to be had. My boss is a stickler, setting up the arrangements for our activities. I’m here as the muscle.
My presence is enough to threaten these men into submission.
But I don’t care about the business or the illegal dealings. It’s the girl stalking across the sand, her long blonde hair. She doesn’t fit in—her skin tan from the long hours she’s lain out on the beach under the sun.
There’s something about her that’s caught my eye. Looks aside. Not that she isn’t gorgeous and the complete package. It takes every ounce of effort not to stare at her perfect body.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” she smirks as she strides right on by me.
I shift on the stool, my beer growing warmer by the second. I swig the rest of it and stand, sinking into the abysmal sand.
“Hey, wait up!”
“I wasn’t actually offering you to take a picture, perv,” she quips, glancing at me over her shoulder.
I shuffle through the sand, and it’s like lead as I try to hurry to catch up. She doesn’t slow down in the least for me. Why would I think she’d do me the honor of having a conversation?
“I’m not—okay, I was staring,” I admit. I hold out my hand. “Antonio,” I say, introducing myself, hoping we can try this again.
She purses her lips together, and her eyes squint under the bright afternoon sun. “You’re Italian,” she remarks, quiet for a second before finishing her introduction. “I’m Aleksandra.”
Russian.
We should be enemies, but we’re on vacation. Besides, it’s not like she’s part of the bratva. Right?
She glances me up and down. It’s like she’s deciding if I’m worth her time or not. “Let me guess, you’re here on business and want to have a little fun?”
She isn’t wrong.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“The white button-down shirt and black slacks,” she says, pointing at my outfit. “Gosh, you look like the Italian Mafia. The least you could do is remove your shirt and pants. If you’re going to stare at a beautiful woman, give her something to look at too.”
There’s something about her that draws me to her. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s outspoken and fierce. Strong and determined. I ignore her mafia comment. She’s pegged me based solely on looks, and while she isn’t wrong, I don’t need to tell her whom I work for. It’s not like she knows the name Roberto Moretti. We’re far from New York City and the criminal enterprises we left behind.
“You look hot,” she says with a wry smirk. “How about we get out of here?”
That should be my line. I should be the one wooing her, convincing her to come back to my hotel room.
“Where to?” I ask. I have a dozen thoughts fleeting through my mind of places I’d love to experience with her, like ravishing her beneath a waterfall or fucking her on a yacht.
She yanks on my tie, dragging me to follow her back to her cabana.
My lips slam against hers in a hungry frenzy. I’ve wanted to touch her, taste her, feel her skin against mine.
She’s soft and a perfect fit as I strip down. I no longer care about the sand on my toes or the tiny grains against her body.
“Shower?” she asks, grabbing my hand as she leads me farther into her cabana to the bathroom. The place is vast, gorgeous, and I’m jealous that I’m not staying in one of these little huts on the beach.
“Nice place,” I say, admiring it briefly on the way to the bathroom. My gaze never left her naked body.
“It’s my brother’s for the summer,” Aleksandra says. “Mikhail doesn’t know I stole a key.”