Chapter 14

Daisy

Ican’t lie. I’m glad to be back on firm ground.

‘What do you think, landlubber?’

How does Hart do that, home in on exactly what I’m thinking? He gestures at the stunning vista before us, squaring his shoulders in pride, like he manually constructed Gem Island by hand.

‘You’re right. This is the perfect spot to take pictures of the island for the revamped brochures and online advertising.’ I squint a little. ‘Though to be honest, it’s almost too picture perfect. Tourists will think all that cerulean ocean and lush greenery is digitally enhanced.’

‘Isn’t the whole point of PR to talk up the place so they come and see for themselves?’

‘Yeah, but this…’ I sigh, wishing I could be so lucky as to live and work here permanently. Hart has that opportunity but he can’t wait to escape. Madness. ‘It takes your breath away.’

‘I thought that was me.’

I chuckle. I love a dry sense of humour and he has one of the best when he lets his guard down, which isn’t often enough. ‘Keep telling yourself that, stud.’

‘I didn’t hear any complaints earlier,’ he murmurs, his deep voice so compelling I feel it all the way down to where he had his tongue buried earlier on the boat.

‘I’ve praised you enough for that.’ I sound priggish and toss my hair for good measure.

He laughs, a genuine bellow that startles some parakeets out of a nearby palm tree. ‘You can never praise a guy enough for his prowess. We’re a bunch of egotistical Neanderthals that way.’

Enjoying our sparring more by the minute, I respond, ‘Well, just so you know, I don’t give praise lightly and there’s a lot of difference in prowess between Neanderthals.’

‘Then I’m flattered.’

‘You should be.’

His expression is relaxed, almost serene, and at complete odds with his perpetual glower. All this playful banter about him giving me the best head of my life has me focussing on his mouth and remembering…

‘You’re easy to read, you know that?’

I drag my eyes from his mouth to find him staring at me, wild-eyed, like he did back on the boat right before we went down to the cabin.

‘So I’ve been told.’ I circle my face with a fingertip. ‘Open book here.’

‘We all have secrets,’ he says, eyeing me with an intensity that makes me want to tear off my clothes. ‘And I don’t give a shit. All I care about right now is fucking you.’

His husky response ripples over me like a physical caress and my skin pebbles. My nipples are tight peaks, begging for attention. But I know it can’t be all about me, not this time.

I glance around the secluded slice of beach hugging the south side of this tiny island. He moored at a jetty about a mile away and we walked along a rough-hewn rocky path between lush, jungle-like foliage to get here. It’s uninhabited, owned by some preservation society determined to protect islands in the Whitsundays.

I’ve never been gladder for the conservationist cause because if we’re alone in paradise I know exactly what to do.

‘Come with me.’ I grab his hand and tug on it. His eyebrow rises but he lets me drag him higher up the beach towards the tree line.

When we reach the shade of the palms, I glance around one last time, nerves making me second-guess this wild decision. But we’re completely alone, and unless there are some serious badass zoom lenses on a satellite far above, no one can see what I’m about to do.

‘What is it about island heat that makes me so damn horny?’

He doesn’t answer my rhetorical question as I release his hand and reach for his zipper, his eyes wide, his expression solemn.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters as I lower his zip carefully, delighting in his tortured expression.

This is going to be fun.

I undo the top button of his shorts, then slide my hand inside his jocks and encounter velvet steel. Hard. Perfect.

He moans as I take his cock out and kneel. The head brushes my cheek and I turn, swiping it with my tongue.

‘Fuck, Daisy…’

‘You will, later,’ I say, before taking him into my mouth.

He tastes salty, musky, delicious. I work my hand up and down his shaft in time with my mouth, an easy rhythm that makes me feel confident and empowered.

He starts to thrust and we work in sync, my tongue swirling while my hand pumps, over and over until he’s muttering incoherently.

It’s heady stuff, knowing I can make a commanding guy come undone. It’s incredibly empowering, and I squeeze and suck harder at the same time, relishing his moans.

‘Daisy…’ His cry is raw as he comes in a hot rush, followed by a long, drawn-out guttural groan that is so damn honest I feel like a queen.

I ease away and when I stand he’s staring at me like I’ve bestowed the greatest gift.

‘You are phenomenal.’ He cups my face, the intensity of his stare beginning to unnerve me.

Oddly bashful, I try not to squirm. ‘One good head deserves another.’

The corners of his mouth lift. ‘You’re mixing up your metaphors or analogies or whatever it is.’

‘I’d rather we continue to mix business with pleasure.’

I need to get away, to put some distance between us, because I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me.

Like I matter.

I got the message loud and clear on the boat: we’re sex, nothing more. He’s my sorbet. That’s it. Any bonding is superficial at best. I want it this way.

So why do I get the feeling that having scorching sex with this guy has the potential to lead to complications neither of us want?