“Just call me Mr. B.” He winks.
Mr. B. Holy crap.
Mr. Barlowe. He’s the mysterious owner of this island resort. And he knows who I am.
“Wait, so how do you know my name? Do you make it your business to know everyone who stays at your resort?”
“I make it my business to know everything about the woman who is currently holding all my attention. Which is why I know that your name is Nicolette, but you go by Nikki. You’re thirty years old. Live in Manhattan. Currently single.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Should I go on?”
I gape at him. “The resort files all that information?”
He smiles wickedly. “No. But your Instagram is quite informative. Might want to make your profile private if you don’t want strangers knowing your business.”
Shit. I really need to be more careful with my online activity.
“I can’t believe I put all my information out there. I should just delete the damn app at this rate.”
He chuckles. “Or you can be like me and create a separate fake account. That way, no one knows who you are, and you can keep a pulse on everything happening online.”
“Wait.Youhave a finsta? A fake Instagram account? Why?”
He appraises me, then softly says, “Sometimes I like to play in the shadows.”
I feel a chill run down my spine. Something tells me I should excuse myself and leave this man alone. But clearly, I’ve never been one for self-preservation, so I push him instead. “Is that why no one knows who you are or the fact that you’re here? At your own resort?”
“That’s not important.” He waves my question away. “I’d rather focus on the fact that my sources tell me that you were very much upset that you had to share a room with the man you arrived with, which leads me to believe that I, at the very least, have a shot at convincing you to stay in mine.” He leans in closer. Way too close for comfort.
I’m too mindfucked to realize that a raging bull has joined the party, and he’s none too pleased.
“I’m going to need you to back the fuck up from my girl,” Tony barks from behind me. He’s shirtless and dripping in sweat like he just jumped off a running treadmill.
My girl?
Myfuckinggirl?
Mr. B. looks Tony up and down like he’s the dirt beneath his shoe and smirks.
The move instantly makes me want to throw the rest of my mimosa in his face for taunting Tony like that, but he stands before I can react.
“Nikki, my offer stands. I’m sure I’ll see you at the New Year’s Eve party.” He winks and saunters away without another look at Tony.
I sigh a breath of relief when he’s gone, knowing that we didn’t cause a scene. Or better yet, get kicked out for fighting with the owner of the resort. But that relief is short-lived once I meet Tony’s searing gaze.
“What the fuck was that, Nikki?” he fumes.
I’m taken aback by his harsh tone. Definitely not the sweet and funny Tony I’ve quickly grown accustomed to.
“I’m going to need you to simmer down a bit and take a deep breath.”
“Were you really flirting with that guy?” he yells and runs a hand over his face. “For fuck’s sake, not again,” he says mostly to himself.
“Again? What are you talking about?” I huff. “If you took that breath I suggested, I would be able to tell you that he came on tome,” I point at myself, “not the other way around.”
His pained gaze takes me aback. He moves quickly as he places one hand on the bar and another on my stool, effectively caging me in. “You drive me fucking insane, you know that?” he says, his eyes fixed on my lips.
We don’t move a muscle as we breathe in each other’s air. That is, of course, until my idiotic brain spits out, “You called me your girl.”
And just like that, the air around us shifts as he takes two big steps away from me. “I’m gonna go for a run around the island. I’ll text you when I’m back in the room for a shower.” And he takes off without waiting for my response.
