Acouple days later, I’m boarding a private jet for the first time in my life.
A week ago, the idea of a Hawaiian trip was outrageous.
Going to Hawaii specifically to play with coffee beans from a Kona farm never even occurred to me. But in roughly six hours, we’ll be touching down on the island.
A literal tropical wonderland where I’ll be breathing the jasmine-like scent of blooming coffee cherries.
Holy hell.
“I’ll get that for you.” Cole takes my bag as we climb up the steps to the jet.
“It’s cool. I’ve got it.”
“Don’t be stubborn. It’s bigger than you.”
“Not really, and you’ve got your hands full.”
He already has his own bag slung over one shoulder and Destiny’s bag in his hand. “Madame, I’ve carried far heavier loads than this. Trust me.”
I might not believe him if he didn’t have the muscle to back it up—but it’s also four a.m. If he wants to carry my bag that badly, fine.
I’m exhausted.
The life goes out of me the second after I step on the plane and I’m standing in what I guess must be the center aisle. Hard to say because this spotless white cabin with the stained wood and gold finishes resembles no plane I’ve ever been on.
It feels like a leather-wrapped bus, all plush and comfy with a few clusters of recliners and a round table with bench seating in the corner. Just scanning the place is overwhelming.
Cole drops the bags he’s carrying on the bench around the table and sits beside it. An attendant scurries up a minute later to stow them properly.
Destiny drags into the jet behind him with a loud yawn. “Can I go back to bed yet? I’m dying here.”
“Since when do you ask? Just go,” he tells her.
She collapses on the first available recliner and puts the foot rest out, curling up like she’s done this a thousand times before.
“Hey, Dess.” Cole stands over her when I look up, waiting for her eyes to open. “You need a blanket?”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles groggily.
He opens a small compartment next to the seat and gently tucks a fluffy blue-and-white blanket around her.
For a second, she’s five years old, not fifteen.
And he’s just a dad, not an office dictator and the bane of my existence.
My heart melts helplessly. I also have a horrible desire to be tucked in by this man—this Cole. The one who can actually be decent rather than a grumpasaurus rex.
But a memory of an older, devilishly attractive man folding a sheet around me comes back.
Derek could be kind, too. And I let him melt my heart with a big greasy lie that made me the other woman in his life.
I flinch with surprise when Lancaster finally sits down beside me again.
“Did she turn in the big project yet?” I ask, nodding at a gently snoring Destiny.
“Solid A. Why do you care?”
“Sorry, it’s not my business. I just got kinda invested when she was shadowing me.”
He nods. “Understandable. She could’ve had the entire summer off, but she insists on squeezing in a few credits for college over the summer. I enrolled her in a private school after Aster died, so if I needed to take a trip, she could tag along without getting behind during the school year. They’re generous with remote work and making up credits elsewhere.” He shrugs. “In the early days, I’d bring along a tutor to help her, too. She was too smart and disciplined for it by the time she hit middle school.”
“Aster is her mom?” I don’t know if I should point out the name he mentioned, but I do.
For a second, he rakes me with that harsh blue-eyed lightning. I think I’m about to get chewed out until his expression abruptly softens.
“Was her mother, yes,” he says numbly.
There’s a new tension in my shoulders.
Does it mean anything that he called her by name? Or that he didn’t say “my late wife.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”
“You’re a good dad, Lump,” I add, not daring to meet his eyes.
“And still a blackhearted lump of coal, apparently. What would I do without your constant reminder, Miss Angelo?”
I roll my eyes. “Hey, you get an exception with Destiny. With her, you’re no lump of anything but love.”
He smiles at me so sincerely my heart flips over.
“Badger Lady, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. This trip is off to a damn good start already.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I throw back, feeling my face heat.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Kate boards the plane last after a few other staff and settles into a recliner. From their chatter, she made a last-minute decision to join us on the trip. There are a couple other senior staff types I recognize by face but not by name.
From the looks of it, I’m the only person aboard who isn’t part of the c-team except for the flight crew. “Who do we have with us?”
“Most of my executive team, you, and Destiny,” he answers, staring at his phone.
Hmm.
Why did he pull me in over Gina with her seniority? What we’re really doing jetting off to Hawaii has still been awfully vague, aside from the ‘lucrative new opportunity’ mentioned in his email the other evening.
Goosebumps form on my arm when he says “you and Destiny.”
This is also new.
Referring to us—to me—so casually.
Eliza, stop. It’s not personal.
He’s not playing you like Derek—and even if he wanted to, he’s still your freaking boss.
Cole Lancaster is not that stupid.
Every better instinct I have tries to choke the dreamy side of me trying to read way too much into mundane changes in his word choices.
But if I’m being honest, his age, chiseled appearance, and dangerously overconfident attitude aren’t my biggest problems.
My fingers were practically in his mouth.
Our mouths were inches apart when I tripped and crashed into his chest.
We lived the awkwardly funny setup of every bad romantic comedy and—
—and Commander Snarlypants wasn’t even interested.
He ran off to go plan this trip like I was radioactive.
What do you even make of that?
No one likes rejection. But I’m lucky that he isn’t interested in me that way—right?
Otherwise, I’d just get played again, and this time wind up jobless.
I inhale sharply—another thing I instantly regret.
His scent is flipping intoxicating today. Citrus and dark roast and raging testosterone.
He’s sexier than ever without even trying to be.
This man’s very presence is determined to complicate my life.
Something about his immaculately pressed grey suit against the spotless white leather of the jet feels tantalizing. It’s like I’m seeing him in his natural habitat, like a tiger relaxing under a tree between hunts.
I’m sure I’m about to regret asking this, but I have to know.
“Question.” I wait for him to look up from his phone.
He’s not annoyed. Good sign, I guess.
“Why am I the only person along for the ride who isn’t part of the executive team?”
“It’s your coffee, Miss Angelo. Only you know if the beans are absolutely right, how much to use, and how to roast them,” he says, returning to his reading.
Oh. That makes sense.
My stomach drops with shame. I’m not sure what I was expecting.
Would I have really liked it better if he’d said, “Because I couldn’t handle a week without seeing you.”
You know the answer, idiot.
Sweet agony, your name is Eliza.
Four a.m. flights weren’t meant to be shared with Big Daddy incarnate lounging across the table from you, his long legs splayed out casually, his fingers stroking his beard in a way that’s almost obscene without even trying to be.
Even when he changes seats several times, he’s always too close. Looming too large in my field of vision.
I’ve got to get this billionaire incubus out of my head.
Also, I need a cup of coffee.
I don’t know how these things work on a private jet. People knock commercial airlines, but at least you know that half an hour after takeoff, you’ll get a mediocre cup of joe. Bad as it may be, it’s still coffee.
“You’re quiet today,” he says just as I’m about to get up.
“I wish you were.”
He looks up over his phone, not amused.
“Not fair. I even carried your bag, brat.”
I gasp when he calls me that and instantly regret it. Those sky-blue eyes are laughing at me, even when his lips are barely quirked.
“I was going to grab breakfast. Do you want a cookie?” I ask.
He leans in closer and whispers, “Only if it’s dark chocolate over graham cracker—and you shovel it into my face again.”
Oh, God. Oh, God.
My stomach knots. Is he trying to kill me with flirting or confusion?
…because that sounded like a bona fide Cole Lancaster flirt.
My throat closes up. Almost like I’m allergic to handsome men messing with me.
I don’t know what to say.
But I can’t leave a deafening silence, so I say, “I’m sure I could find a badger to feed you cookies, if that’s what you really want.”
“Maybe. I do have a specific badger in mind, and I think she’s the only one allowed on this flight under Hawaiian environmental regulations. Any invasive species can be seriously destructive.”
His stare never leaves my eyes.
That was definitely a flirt, even if it was a weird one.
I’m still plummeting into his eyes and I’m not coming back.
My face flames.
Forget breakfast. I pull out my laptop, open the lid, and try to hunker down behind the screen so he doesn’t see my cheeks on fire.
I pretend to work, tapping out the equivalent of War and Peace in total nonsense and F5 screen refreshes so I don’t have to make eye contact. I’m able to keep up the front until the pilot announces we’ve hit thirty thousand feet.
This trip is way too slow.
I can still feel him there, invading my space, even when he’s not looking directly at me.
Every so often, whether he means to or not, his foot brushes mine under the table.
Sweet Jesus.
I’m going to explode in a mess of jitters before I’ve had that coffee.
Eventually, I shut the laptop and stand.
“Something wrong, Miss Angelo?” Cole asks, sitting up in a tall, gentlemanly way.
Yes, and you’re the reason why.
“No,” I lie, walking to the makeshift galley. I’m not waiting for a flight attendant.
I don’t even glance back at him, either.
“Can I help you?” A woman wearing a pale-blue polo shirt with the Wired Cup logo embroidered on her chest pocket sits on a small bench.
Oh, great.
My eyes flick to the tiny coffee pot bolted to the plane. “Hi, I just wanted to make some coffee.”
She stands up with a plastered-on smile. “Great timing! I was just about to brew a fresh pot. Allow me.”
“Umm—any chance I can try?” I force an awkward smile. “See, I’m a bit of a coffee nerd and I’ve never made it on a plane before. So, uh, if it’s not against FAA regulations or anything, I’d love to try.”
Embarrassing.
Why am I a stammering mess?
She probably thinks I’m sneaking off to snort cocaine rather than find a cup of joe.
Nope. I just have the hots for the boss from hell and I can’t think when I’m stuffed into a seat next to him.
She nods pleasantly, eyeing me carefully. “Certainly. We’re stocked with standard Wake Up Call blend and decaf. I’ll show you how to make it.”
She gives me a quick rundown on how the machine works. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, minus a few extra safety mechanisms.
“Let’s do the standard blend,” I say.
She opens a drawer, pulls out a bag of ground coffee, and hands it to me.
While I let her in the small galley, I notice Cole staring at me more than once while I linger just outside.
I fuse my eyes to the percolating pot and her hands, avoiding his magnetic gaze.
But when I look up again, Kate Storm is right behind us, looking like death.
Oops. There’s actually a line of three or four people, all waiting impatiently for their coffee. I’m holding up the show.
I’m sure that also explains why the grump keeps giving me that evil eye. He probably just wants his caffeine hit, too.
Oh, but he’ll get his last.
Once the pot is brewed, I pull out the big sealed carafe and tell the attendant I’ll be back to brew more.
“I could take these for you, or I could start the next pot,” she offers.
“Thanks, but it’s a six-hour flight. I like staying busy.”
“Ah-ha, my favorite kind of passenger.” She smiles.
I take my three disposable cups and hand one to Kate before I pour fresh, fragrant coffee.
“Thanks,” she says.
I point to the guy in the cabin next to her seat. “Is he asleep?”
“…huh? Is that coffee?” he pops up, muttering drowsily.
“Here’s a cup for him, too,” I say, passing the extra to the attendant.
I grab the carafe and make the rounds, saving the attendant some extra work.
“Hi, Eliza,” Destiny says, rubbing her eyes when I pass her seat.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.” There’s an empty seat beside her, so I sit for a moment. “I thought you’d nap the whole way there.”
“I can’t go back to sleep now. I don’t know, something about plane pressure never feels quite right.”
“Sorry, hon. Do you want some coffee?”
She nods. “But, um, I like cream and sugar…”
I place the cup securely in the holder beside her. “Let me start another pot, and I’ll be right back to sweeten it up.”
“You rock!”
I return to the galley and start a second pot. I’m scooping ground coffee into a filter when an unexpected warmth against my ear makes me jump.
Before I even turn around, I know.
I can smell him. Earth, citrus, a hint of espresso, and overpowering alpha male.
“You just can’t sit still, huh? You had to take over the flight attendant’s job?” His voice is a low rumble, a purr that plucks at my nerves.
The attendant rounds the corner and gasps. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir! I offered to do it, but she said she wanted the experience. I didn’t see the harm…”
“Guilty,” I say without looking at him. “I couldn’t pass up a chance to join the coffee mile-high club.”
His eyes flash with a wicked gleam when I realize my mistake.
“Are you done bothering me, Mr. Lancaster?”
He smirks at the flight attendant. “It’s fine. I know how Eliza gets.”
What? He doesn’t even know me.
Why is he acting so familiar?
First the flirting, and now this?
Did he really bring me on this trip for the sake of coffee science? What do I know about Kona beans, anyway? I’ve never picked them by hand.
The sudden crisis of confidence hits like a Mack truck.
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ve got this. I think we’re the only people left without coffee,” I say, ignoring how he squeezes into the tight space next to me.
Lancaster doesn’t move. If anything, he inches closer, watching how I tremble every time he brushes me and—oh, God. He’s enjoying this, isn’t he?
When I grab the new carafe, I almost elbow him in the gut on my way out.
“Do you mind? Like I said, I’ve got this.”
His look reminds me how very little I’ve got anything when it comes to self-control. I almost drop the coffee container on the floor.
When his hand darts around my wrist, I almost hit the ceiling.
I’m barely breathing as he moves his fingers slowly up my hand, gently lifting the carafe away from me.
“You’re shaking like a leaf with a container of hot liquid. Are you sure you don’t need a hand? Serving coffee isn’t below my pay grade, sweetheart,” he whispers.
Dear Lord.
I shake my head fiercely, until he gives up the carafe again when I reach for it, touching his fingers.
For the faintest second, my hip brushes his.
“I can handle my coffee, Mr. Lancaster, but…but thanks.” And because I can still feel his breath when he’s so achingly close, I add, “It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”
He clears his throat loudly.
At first, my mangled words don’t register.
Shocked that this self-possessed man seems so flustered, I replay the last two lines in my head.
Oh. Shit.
It hits me what that must have sounded like.
Double entendre? More like death warrant.
He’s still staring at me as I turn, giving him an apologetic look.
“Umm—making airplane coffee. That’s what I meant! Not—y’know.” I stop cold and swallow. “It’s not any harder than doing it on the ground.”
The relieved smile that lights up his face almost makes me boneless.
He’s barely moved by the time I’m done serving everyone seconds and I squeeze past him again.
The galley’s tight, and Cole’s large, muscular body fills it.
Every accidental touch makes me eat my words.
There’s nothing soft about any inch of him whatsoever.
I’m sandwiched between him and the coffee pot bolted to the wall.
A fat bead of coffee splatters against hot metal and sizzles.
“Don’t know how they do this full-time. It’s steamy as hell in here.” His voice is low, all flames.
I think I just died.
I’m quiet so long he finally moves away, his heat trailing his heavy footsteps.
It’s been days since my fingers touched his lips and I saw myself kissing him.
I want to be reckless.
I want to turn around and bite him on the lower lip just to see how he responds.
Just to inject the slightest sanity back into my life by getting this craziness over and done with.
Then I remember his daughter is in the front row.
We’re on a plane full of senior staff, and he’s still my boss, basically a prince of Corporate America.
Seriously.
What kind of fresh, caffeinated crapstorm even is my life?
All the travel videos on social media can’t prepare me for Kona’s breathtaking beauty.
It’s lush and green and mountainous with a salty, sun-kissed breeze and strewn with colorful flowers bursting to life.
Even the airport is open, letting the outside in, immediately welcoming me to a different world than anything I’ve known.
Most of the gorgeous homes we pass on the SUV ride are that way, too.
Of course, Cole’s beachfront estate outshines them all.
It would be imposing if it weren’t for the soft red woodtones and tall windows. The place is just off a beachfront stolen from heaven, surrounded by acres and acres of coffee plants and greenery so bright it nearly burns my eyes.
The inside smells like orchids and sandalwood. Until now, I’ve never stepped inside a house that has its own perfume.
But in Kona, the Lancaster mystique has a scent.
When a friendly staffer shows me to my room and I step outside onto the open lanai, my jaw hits the floor.
It’s my own personal riviera. Manicured gardens, turquoise waters, gold-white sand, and blue, blue skies as far as the eye can see.
No postcard could ever capture this beauty.
No Instagram shot could ever do it justice.
And for however long we’re here, it’s mine, and I so don’t feel worthy. I’m floating through a freaking fairy tale.
Apparently, the whole team is staying at the estate, too. Cole had part of it refurbished for makeshift office space and meeting rooms before we arrived, and another wing set aside as guest rooms.
I frantically unpack my main bag before I walk around the estate.
Southern California might be lovely, but it has nothing on this island.
I want to take it all in before I can worry about minor details like work.
Walking through the coffee trees, I try to get my pictures done early, snapping strange, fragrant flowers I’ve never seen before and silvery waves lapping against the beach. I haven’t made it far when I hear footsteps approaching and turn.
“Hey, Destiny. I thought you’d be at the beach?”
Her goofy teenage smile fades. “Um, beaches and I don’t quite vibe…”
That gets my attention. My head tilts, and I notice the tension taking over her face.
“But you came to Hawaii?”
She shrugs, her bare shoulders rippling in her tank top and already soaking in the sun.
“I just wanted to get some sun and see some cool animals. Plus, I didn’t want Dad coming here alone.”
Why does it sound like she’s protecting him?
I stare at her, bewildered.
Cole must have flown tons of amazing places without her and survived—hasn’t he?
“That’s considerate of you,” I say gently. “Looks like he’s brought the whole crew, though. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
The idea of this tiny fifteen-year-old protecting her billionaire hulk of a father is both adorable and unsettling.
“Can I walk with you?” she asks hopefully.
“Sure!” I nod, gesturing her to follow me along a big line of palm trees.
It is a little dark and jungle-like here, so maybe she’s uneasy. Thankfully, the Hawaiian islands are one tropical hotspot where you don’t have to worry about dog-sized lizards or snakes looking for a two-legged snack.
“It must be awesome being back here, no? Your dad said this place was in your family for years. I figured it would be like a second home for you…”
She shakes her head, biting her lip.
Why does she look so conflicted?
“Neither of us have been here in a really long time, actually,” she says quietly.
I wait, but she doesn’t elaborate. Dess just swings her head around, not staring at anything long enough for it to register. It’s more like she’s looking for a certain something in the landscape.
Odd.
The guy swears this breathtaking place is family property and he spent whole months here when he was young, but he never brings his daughter? What gives?
We walk through a breezy nirvana while she tells me about her classes coming up next year and how pissed her friends are that she’s in Hawaii and they’re not. The trees only get lusher, and I see several overflowing with bananas.
“Oh my God, do you harvest those for breakfast?” I point up at the trees. “This place is so beautiful. I can’t believe you guys don’t come more often,” I say, somewhat giddy.
Destiny offers a smile that’s too worn out for any normal teenager. “The bananas, maybe. I think most of the plants are decorative. They help with shade and nice views because they’re so pretty. You should see the coffee trees Wired Cup owns.”
“There’s more?” My mouth is hanging open.
“I’ll show you when we get back, Eliza.” She grins, her nose scrunching up adorably under the sun.
We take a few more steps, working our way down a hill and exploring our surroundings in a friendly silence.
Destiny stops as we near a rocky path that looks like it ends at the beach. She releases a long sigh.
“I can hear the waves. We should go back…”
“You don’t even want to see it?” I look at her.
Her jaw is clenched like she’s about to pop bone through her cheeks.
No, she mouths.
“Destiny, I don’t mean to be nosy but…are you okay?” I lay a hand on her shoulder.
Her weak nod tells me she isn’t.
“I’m fine. Sorry if I’m ruining your fun…”
“Dess, no. I’m the one who’s sorry. If I can get you anything, just let me—”
“Can we just head back to the house?” She says it quickly, which tells me again how not fine she is.
I follow her back the same way we came.
Good thing she was paying more attention than me. I’ve lost my sense of direction and I’d never make it back to the house without a guide.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way she tensed up the second she said she could hear the water. Like it was some kind of shock to her?
I don’t understand.
We’re on an island. A gorgeous one she’s visited before. Surely, she remembers these dazzling beaches and the ocean?
I know I shouldn’t keep pushing, but I can’t help it. I’m worried.
“If you weren’t okay, you’d tell me, right?”
“Eliza—I’m fine.” It’s the closest she’s come to snapping at me since I met her.
O-kaaay then.
I drop it for the rest of the walk to the big house.
About halfway up the hill to the huge porch, we see Lancaster—and I’ve never seen him like this.
He’s changed into black shorts, showing off those tall legs that look like they could kick someone’s ass to the moon and back.
Despite probably never wearing shorts at home—I can’t picture it—he’s not pale like I imagined.
How did I never notice how strong his thighs are until now?
How defined his calves are.
How tight that butt looks with the fabric hugging it, all sculpted muscle, a machine that could send him crashing deep into any woman lucky enough to wind up under him.
God.
Even if he was born that way, he clearly pays his dues at the gym.
My brain is rabbiting, imagining the appalling things those muscles would be good for—and none of them require a treadmill. My face burns.
Thankfully, I can blame it on the evening sun.
“You two look like you’re settling in,” he says.
“We were just exploring. The beach is that way, Dad. Same as ever,” Destiny says sheepishly, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder.
“I know, Dess.” He looks at her so gently. “How are you feeling?”
“Hot.” Destiny fans herself, puffing out her cheeks. “I’m gonna need a day or two to get used to the humidity here. Even with the breeze, it’s nothing like home.”
Smiling, he meets my gaze. “You’re flushed. Don’t tell me honey badgers melt in this climate.”
“You’re not that lucky. I’m just hot, like she said.” I point a thumb at Dess.
“Let’s find you some shade,” he tells me, turning to the thick leafy trees closest to the house.
“Knock yourselves out, guys. I’m going inside,” Dess tells us, starting to move until her father holds up a hand.
“Show me your phone first.” He gives her a severe look.
Wrinkling her nose, she pulls the phone out of her pocket and holds it up.
“Good. Text me when you’re supposed to check in. If I don’t hear from you in an hour, young lady, you won’t be going anywhere alone until we’re back in Seattle.”
“Damn, Commander. You’re this strict in paradise?” I whistle.
He glares at me.
“Okay, okay.” Destiny sprints toward the house without looking back.
I watch her white sneakers as she runs.
“Is she okay?” I ask softly. “She seemed a little off when we were down by the beach, honestly.”
“She’s settling in,” he says harshly. “I’ll talk to her when we get back this evening.”
Oof. Why won’t he look at me?
“I thought you should know…she kinda freaked out when she heard the waves. Before we even got to the beach, she wanted to turn around.”
For the briefest second, the color drains from his face. It’s not the soft orange sunlight splashing him through the shadows, either.
“I was worried about that,” he mutters, like he’s forgotten I’m here.
Yep. I’m officially weirded out.
The girl’s reaction to the ocean was eerie enough, but Cole acts like he expects it. I wonder what big, scary secret I’m missing.
“Let’s find shade,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for me, just continues in the direction he’d started moving.
I tag along, making my heavy feet work.
When I’m at his side, he rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me along.
My mind jumps back to the plane, the way our bodies touched in that cramped galley. It’s almost worse that he’s in shorts now.
There’s even less between me and whatever he’s packing below the belt line.
This should be uncomfortable—he’s my boss—but it’s not.
It feels too natural. I don’t know what that means.
“Here.” He places his hand in a thick mass of banyan tree roots and pushes them apart, making room for us.
I step through the curtain of greenery and come out the other side. I’m not expecting to see a giant flat stone.
The start of a walking path?
Cole moves behind me, so close his heat adds to the balmy air.
“It’s not far now. Watch your step. The rocks are raised up a bit, almost like steps.” He moves ahead of me to the next stone and holds a hand out.
I grasp it, feeling his strong fingers wrapping around mine as he helps me up. We repeat this until we’re heading up a small elevation.
The stones get bigger, flatter, and soon we’re on the highest stone that’s big enough to hold two people.
“Have a seat, Miss Angelo.” He never let go of my hand. He’s still holding on tight as he guides us forward, stopping just where the stone touches another large, ancient-looking banyan tree.
Through the roots and greenery, there’s a faint window to the ocean quietly lapping the shore.
We sit down, stretching our legs over the edge.
A few distant birds call, new sounds I’ve never heard before, and lovely enough to be in a fantasy movie.
So, this is why people rave about Hawaii.
I’m transfixed, staring out at a vast ocean and a beautiful forest in the same view. It stretches on as far as the eye can see.
Cole points to the edge of the forest. “See where those lower bushes start in the distance? That’s all a hundred percent Kona coffee.”
“Oh, wow,” I whisper, accidentally squeezing his hand.
He doesn’t let go.
“Out of all the Kona coffee plants, only a few rare bushes produce peaberry beans,” he says, his gaze sharpening.
“Peaberry beans? Aren’t those crazy expensive? I have to admit I haven’t worked with them much.” I’m not sure why I blurt that out, but it’s true.
They cost more than your average bean, even by pricey Kona bean standards.
I’m gobsmacked that he even has his own supply. I doubt that they actually go into any Wired Cup products.
“Then you know why they’re so rare and highly sought,” he tells me. “They’re delicate, refined, and delicious. With Kona peaberries, there’s always that added sweetness. And that’s exactly why they’re a natural choice for Brock Winthrope’s discerning tastes.”
“Oh, so that’s what you’re planning to serve up at the resorts?” I nod. There’s no denying it’s the perfectly exquisite and exclusive rich person’s coffee. “Sounds like a coffee snob’s wet dream.”
He snorts. “And just what would you know about that?”
I scratch my suddenly hot cheek, ignoring his question. “Are you sure you still want it modeled on the new drinks? I mean, a peaberry campfire brew seems almost like a waste of that beautiful bean.”
“You’re not wasting anything, Eliza. You’re enhancing it.”
For a second, my breath stalls.
I think he’s just as shocked that he slipped and said my first name.
“Forgive me—” he starts.
“No. We can drop Miss Angelo. If I call you Lump, it’s less stuffy and formal if you just call me Eliza.”
“Eliza,” he repeats with a touch of reverence. “If that’s what you prefer…”
Holy hell.
I shudder. Is it just my imagination or do those vivid blue eyes match the ocean murmuring in the distance?
I’m lost in his gaze until a familiar scent makes my nostrils flare.
Is that—yeah. Definitely coffee.
The smell wafts in, mingling with the sea breeze like natural incense.
Also, there’s hints of citrus and a strong undertone, almost like leather?
Wait. I’m smelling Cole.
The faint sheen of sweat in this climate mingled with the trade winds must release more of his dangerously alluring scent.
Either that, or I’m too well aware of it now. I’ve got to get back to my room before I do something hilariously stupid.
The drug-like effect this man has on me should be illegal.
“And I bet you’ll be blowing up my inbox with all kinds of peaberry details soon?” I say with an awkward smile. “Guess I’d better go sleep off that jet lag…”
I start to stand, but my legs are wobbly. I slip.
But Cole springs to his feet, catching me effortlessly before I skid off the stone surface.
Yikes. Here we go again.
His arms feel good around me, holding me up. The back of my head lies against his chest, and soon I’ve got a lungful of badly behaved bossman.
I’m flipping shaking, and it has nothing to do with losing my balance.
Very slowly, I lift my head and meet his eyes.
I don’t make any effort to pull away—and I should.
…right?
He chuckles, this low, pleasant sound that makes the birdsongs sound like a crude reverb. “Understandable. I’ll need your full attention tomorrow. Let me walk you back to the house, and do tell the staff if there’s anything they can do to help you settle in. For this job, I need you at your best.”
I know what I need, what every bit of me keeps screaming for.
A mystery man built like a Roman statue and cursed with the soul of Jekyll and Hyde. That would be a fantastic way to scratch the itch in my lady bits.
But I’m guessing his house staff can’t help me there.
Since I can’t speak, I just smile at him.
For a heady moment, we linger, until I finally move again, stretching my legs out.
We silently start descending from the rocks, taking them carefully one at a time.
I know exactly what I need to do.
Get back to my room and pray the plumbing delivers a cold shower. A very long, very ice-cold shower.
Cole climbs down the rocks behind me, his eyes glued to me the whole time. Is he just looking out for me or does he like what he sees in front of him?
I hate that I wonder.
“You don’t have to come. I think I know the way from here,” I say, after pushing my way through the curtain of banyan trees again.
He laughs. “And risk you falling before tomorrow’s meeting? No. Someone has to keep you vertical, woman. I don’t trust your clumsy-ass feet.”
Damn this man.
I want to tell him it’s not necessary—or at least respond with some equally stupid retort ending in Commander Coffee. But all I can do is laugh.
I walk to the grassy hill feeling dizzy, hungry, and slightly overheated. But before I can waver too much, he takes my hand.
Cole Lancaster never lets go the entire way to the back door.
