“What?” He jolted upright. “Are you telling me you’re playing strip poker?” Damn Luke. He’d told Tyler’s brothers they had to watch out for her, not take advantage of her. “I’ll kill him.”
“Calm down. I get to put that clothing back on if I win that hand. Luke insists it’s to help me concentrate on the good card I just got dealt. It’s a little bit of reverse psychology, and it’s working. I’m incredibly focused on not ending up naked.”
“You have to watch Luke.” Luke was the youngest, and at twenty-three, a terrible flirt. His short nails bit into his palm. No one was permitted to see Saria naked, not even him. One morning he’d actually caught her coming out of her bathroom after she’d showered. She’d been wrapped in a fleecy white towel that barely covered her breasts and bottom. That image would be forever seared into his mind. He’d certainly struggled to turn around and walk back out again when all he’d wanted to do was strip her bare, toss her onto the bed and touch her as he’d always longed to. He groaned then forced his wayward thoughts back into the dark hole they needed to remain in. “No nakedness is permitted on board that ship. You hear me?”
“Is that an order, Hammers?” One sexy smooth tone, the words delivered in a way that had those thoughts slipping free again. Hell, he loved it when she called him Hammers.
“If you ever wish to play strip poker, then let me teach you.” Damn. He had to get himself under control. He’d taken an oath to protect her, which meant even from himself.
“Is that a promise?” Was she flirting back with him?
“No.”
“Spoilsport.” A soft sigh.
“Morning there, neighbor.” The elderly man from across the other side of the road waved as he strolled along the pavement.
“Morning,” he called back and turned away so he wouldn’t invoke further conversation. “Saria, I need to go. I’m attracting some attention when I shouldn’t be.”
“Where are you?”
“In the driveway, but wishing I was throttling Luke instead. You’re not to remove any more clothing, okay?” Two birds shrieked from the highest branch of the old oak tree gracing the front lawn as if adding their agreement.
“Funny, but sure, I’ll let Luke know he’ll have to tangle with you if I do. Don’t forget to call me tonight. I’ll be waiting.”
“I’ll call you when I get to the airport, about ten. Talk to you soon.” He hated hanging up, but he did before he gave in and stayed on the line with her. He’d have to find a way to insert some distance between them while at the island, but at the right time so they both managed to come out of this codependency they’d formed unscathed. He’d certainly never experienced these kinds of emotions with any other client he’d lived with, but then Saria was different. He’d known from the moment he’d met her that maintaining any emotional distance wouldn’t be easy. She loved with all her heart, and made his heart want far more than he could ever have.
The secret of his unfortunate birth had decreed his future. One of utter solitude.
Which meant Saria was out of bounds.
His disgusting father had so much to answer for.
In bed, Saria tossed and turned, the white sheet covering her more like a stifling weight than a piece of thin cotton. The bedside clock ticked over to 6.00 AM. Ben should have called eight incessantly long hours ago, yet every time she picked up the sat phone and tried to get a dial tone, nothing happened. Last night the captain had said they’d moved out of satellite range. They needed to move back within it, or even better, arrive at the island, which had its own cell phone tower and connection to the mainland. She had to know if Ben had traveled safely.
She untangled her legs from the sheet, shoved her feet over the side of the queen-sized bed and palms on the windowsill, leaned her forehead against the wide sheet of darkened glass. Along the horizon, red blazed across the dawn sky and the ship slowed as the tropical island appeared like a hidden treasure within the expanse of blue. A long wharf jutted out, and at the top end of the walkway, a dark-skinned Polynesian man with springy black hair waved them in toward their berth.
The motor rumbled as the captain reversed into their slot, and the islander in his yellow shorts and polo with the resort’s logo emblazoned on it, snatched the end of a coiled mooring rope and tossed it to a crewmember waiting at the stern. The rope tightened and the ship knocked gently against the piling and settled.
Past the wharf, a clear white sand beach curved around the bay, and a mass of swaying palm and coconut trees gave glimpses through the foliage of the resort beyond.