Chapter 11

11

JACK

My mind reels from everything Ella told me, including her name. I knew Jasmin was an alias, and now I understand why.

If my father is the king of cunning, she’s the queen of clever and resourceful and hardworking and loyal … and beautiful. The only thing different about her since the first time I saw the pretty woman at the Beachside three years ago is that she’s missing the ruby heart necklace.

Her laughter changed my molecular makeup that day. I’ve never been the same.

I follow her down the hall because, of course, she knows her way around the resort—almost better than me, considering she works here. Her legs are strong and tan. Her hips curve lusciously, and I wonder what it would be like to slide my fingers through her long wavy hair.

She gets major credit for everything she’s been through and still waking up with a smile. Well, when I saw her this morning, it was more like an upside-down smile, which may have been a frown because she probably wasn’t expecting me to barge into the Ruby Room—that’s been my go-to since I was a kid. Mom and Dad always stayed in the Jewel Suite.

I cannot believe I didn’t recognize Ella, but my head has been elsewhere. Now, it finally feels like it’s screwed on straight. Like I woke up from the bad dream that was this entire past week and am back in reality. For the record, I prefer this one to the situation I experienced with my coach and then my father.

When we reach the end of the hall, Ella pauses outside the door. A line forms between her eyebrows. “This might mean I lose my job.”

Tongue out, Bark Wahlburger waits expectantly.

“I won’t let that happen.” Multiple circumstances would prompt me to contact management, but Ella isn’t harming anyone—just sleeping where she’s not supposed to. The target is Slater if that’s his real name—for robbing her and impersonating the resort owner’s son. If that guy is saying he’s me, he’d better be handsome. A stud. Charming, too.

“Because you’re the owner’s son,” she says, finally believing me.

I smirk. “Told you.”

“So that means Slater?—”

“Is going to be tracked down and?—”

She presses her hand to her forehead. “If he isn’t who he said he was, that means he probably robbed me. It was all a big scam. I was cat-baited. Or catfished—what’s the expression I’m trying to think of?”

I grip her shoulders, trying to steady her, to allay her distress. “He will get what’s coming to him and you are going to enjoy your stay here as you were meant to as a guest of the resort owner’s son. Room service, spa treatments, whatever you’d like.”

Liquid fills her eyes and she quickly wipes them. “You don’t understand. This is going to change the dynamics of everything. My coworkers will realize who I am and they’ll treat me differently. There’s already a pecking order and those of us who work at the ‘back of house’ are treated as inferior to the Yvonnes who represent the front.”

“My father won’t like that his beloved resort is little more than a chicken coop,” I say to lighten the moment.

“A very ritzy one, but I’m just saying, I have to keep this job. I don’t have anywhere to go if I leave. I’d have to start over. I’ve researched boarding houses and homeless shelters. After selling everything we owned, it’ll be really hard to get back on my feet in Philadelphia, and my father needs my help. His care is super expensive.”

“Please don’t worry about that right now. Just enjoy the ritzy chicken coop.” I smile because I’m going to figure out something to help Ella. It’s not because I pity her. It’s more like I just can’t help it … or help myself.

She shakes her head. “You’re being very gracious, especially since I’ve broken employee rules and lied to you about my name. Thank you for your generosity, but I can’t.” She presses the keycard into my hand.

I take it and our skin brushes, lighting me up the same as happens every time we have physical contact. Forget the high of a goal or the absolute thrill of a win, Ella is the real prize.

I glance at the plush carpet, wondering where on earth that came from.

She starts to back away and make some quick calculations. She’s about five feet seven, meaning I have nearly a foot on her. Slender. Curves. She did mention kicking earlier, but that may have been part of her trying to save face. I’ve gotten worse on the ice so I do what any self-respecting, hockey-playing, billionaire’s son—who maybe, kind of likes this woman—would do.

I scoop her into my arms at the same time I swipe the key and then rush into the suite, carrying her over the threshold, wedding day style.

She yelps and then laughs. I’m about to toss her on the bed when the infinity pool lights glowing off the veranda reminds me of when we kissed.

Still secure in my arms, she must read my mischievous expression and swings her legs down. They fall and she slowly slides along my chest until her feet touch the floor.

Her eyes are wide and warm. When they connect with mine, they dip toward my mouth, and her lips part.

My exhale shakes. Whatever this is, I feel it in every muscle, every bone, and every fiber of my being.

Bark Wahlburger settles down on the carpet with a contented sigh.

Ella and I inhale at the same time, telling me the feeling is mutual—whatever this feeling is. Intrigue, desire, longing …

“Thank you for not kicking me,” I say, my voice husky.

“Thank you for not dropping me,” she whispers. “Or throwing me in the pool.”

“I’d never. I was going to toss you on the bed but was thinking about the night we went swimming.” My heart drums in my chest.

Ella’s cheeks turn pink. She looks away as if she doesn’t want me to notice.

Heat creeps across my skin because there’s no denying I want her. We want each other.

“What would you do if I did throw you in the pool?” I ask when what I mean to say is, What would you do if I kissed you right now?

“In my clothes? I’d splash you until you were soaked, too,” she threatens with a laugh.

Her gaze traces mine as if she remembers our swim in the pool and what followed.

The kiss lives rent-free in my mind.

Ella is impossible to forget.