Bora Bora is as beautiful in real life as in the photographs—no, more beautiful. The turquoise water is crystalline, the breeze blowing off the ocean is gentle and forgiving. It’s paradise.
Our hotel’s lobby, restaurants and other common facilities are on solid, palm-shaded land, but all the suites are in bungalows on stilts over the reef-protected tropical waters. A network of raised boardwalks connects them to the main buildings.
“Your husband won’t arrive for another few hours, Mrs. Maxim.” The private concierge who introduced himself as Sven wears a burgundy short-sleeve button-up shirt and matching pants—they are ironed and crisp in a way that makes my skin itch in the warm weather. “He has arranged a prenatal massage for you in the suite.”
“Oh,” I say. How thoughtful. But also controlling…trying to tell me what to do with my few hours alone.
“Is that okay?” Sven asks, his voice unsure.
“Yes, that’s fine,” I say, feeling the twinge in my lower back from the flight.
Sven bows before leaving me alone in the bungalow above the sea. A king-size bed covered in white bedding that looks like whipped cream is scattered with rose petals. Tropical flowers overflow from a low vase on the glass coffee table. My eye catches on a note in the blooms.
As I pluck it from the bouquet, I look closer at the glass table top—through it I can see the water. What the? A fish swims by, purple and gold flashing against the sandy bottom. Wow. Just…wow.
I open the note. Sydney, enjoy your massage. It’s not me trying to control you. It’s me showing that I’m thinking of you and your needs. X Robert.
My lips press together as I read. “Don’t act like you know me,” I mutter to myself, dropping the card on the table before heading out to the balcony.
The sun glitters off the water. A spiral staircase leads down into the ocean. We have the last bungalow at the end of the wooden walkway so the view is all ocean and sky—blue meeting blue with a spray of white in between. On the distant reef rough ocean waves break at the horizon line.
It’s beautiful and luxurious and totally unfair that so few people get to have this…that I am here because a rich and powerful man wants me. Claims to love me.
I sigh and Blue’s wet nose touches my fingers. I pet his head. “It’s just wrong,” I say. Lacking the ability to respond verbally, Blue leans his weight against my side, comforting me.
The massage therapist arrives—a short woman with brown eyes and hair, wearing a white outfit that looks kind of like what medical professionals wear and kind of like pajamas. Professional and relaxing. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees Blue. “He’s very friendly,” I promise Which is true…sort of.
“He’s beautiful,” she says, smiling at him. “My name is Clara.”
“I’m Sydney, this is Blue.”
“I’ll set my table up by the door, so we have the breeze. There is a robe in the bathroom, if you want to go ahead and get undressed.”
“Sounds good.”
The bathroom offers more guilt-inducing luxury—white marble, gold fixtures, and teak countertops. Blue lies on the plush bath mat while I take off my clothing and slip into the white robe, tying the belt above my belly. I run my hand over the bulge—it’s solid and my son shifts, pressing against the skin. A smile tugs at my lips.
When I come out Clara is standing by her table just inside the open doors. It has a bunch of extra pillows on it, all set up so there is a place for my face and my belly. “How many weeks are you?” she asks.
“I’m just starting my third trimester,” I answer.
“How wonderful.”
“You have kids?” I ask.
“Four.”
“Wow, impressive,” I say.
She grins. “I love being a mom.” Clara turns her back so I can climb under the sheet, positioning myself on the pillows just so.
Light music begins to play and Clara gets to work. “Is that a good pressure?” she asks. All I can do is moan in response.
Between the gentle breeze, Clara’s ministrations, and my damn pregnancy hormones, I doze, drifting between the golden reality of the bungalow and the gentle lull of sleep.
“Sydney,” I hear my brother’s voice and a smile presses my cheeks into the pillows supporting my face. “This is nice,” he says.
I huff. “Everything okay?” Clara asks, pulling me from the dream.
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”
After Clara leaves, I stand on the balcony in my robe, staring at the horizon, my skin slick with oil. “How about a swim?” I ask Blue.
He sits, apparently not interested.
Glancing around, I make sure that I’m hidden from the other bungalows and then slip out of my robe and climb naked into the sea. It’s cool, the change in temperature raising goose bumps on my skin as I push away from the structure. It’s not deep, my feet can touch the soft sand bottom, but I paddle around, dunking my head and reveling in the cool wonderfulness of this moment.
Blue barks and I look up at the deck. He stands looking down at me, and then barks again before turning toward the door, barking a greeting. Oh shit. Robert is here. This was not the plan. This is horrible. Fuck me. I mean, don’t! Shit!
I reach the steps. Blue’s bark grows closer. I’m never going to make it to my robe in time. Taking a deep breath, I release the stairs and submerge again, tilting my face up to the deck. My feet touch the bottom, the water reaching to my neck.
Robert appears—he’s wearing a pale linen button-down and charcoal gray pants. His sunglasses are mirrored so when he looks down at me, there are two naked me’s looking back at myself. The water blurs out most of my body but it’s obvious I’m not wearing a suit.
The smile that crests his lips...
“Sydney,” he says, his voice all calm and subdued. “A pleasure to see you again so soon. And so much of you.”
“Shut up and turn around. My robe is on the chair there.”
He doesn’t move. “Is it?”
“If you turn around, I’ll get out and put it on.”
“Will you?”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
He leans his elbows on the railing and reaches up to take off his sunglasses. The two me’s disappear and his eyes meet mine. The Caribbean and the Arctic—blue and green—hot and cold. His smile grows. “You’re beautiful.”
“You can’t even see anything,” I protest, shrinking even farther into the water so only my face is fully visible.
His eyes drop and I resist the urge to cover myself further with my arms. “Robert,” I say, my tone turning warning. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Robert’s gaze comes back to mine and glints. He’d like it if I hurt him. Shit. “Seriously, I’ll sic Blue on you. Go away.” Robert stands and takes in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the water again. “Robert!” I yell.
“What?” he says, his eyes still focused on the water. “Like you said, I can’t even see anything.” But the smile on his face implies that he can.
I splash at him but it doesn’t even get close. “Seriously, I will make Blue attack you.”
“Blue likes me,” Robert says. Blue thumps his tail as if agreeing. Traitor. Robert’s eyes meet mine again. He raises one brow. “And I am your husband, Sydney. You don’t need to be shy around me.”
“It’s not that I’m shy,” I say. “It’s that you’re…”
“That I want you.” Something about the way he says it makes it suddenly hard to swallow. “That I’ve spent years pursuing you and now that I have you naked in front of me…” He raises one brow. “Do you know for a brief moment I thought maybe you planned this, that you’d finally decided to allow yourself this…”
“No,” I say quickly.
“You are still denying your pleasure, Sydney?”
“No,” I say again, just as quickly.
“Then you worry for your heart?”
“This is an annoying conversation to have naked, Robert.” He places his sunglasses on the railing and begins to unbutton his shirt. “What are you doing?” I ask, panic coming into my voice.
“I want to get some sun,” he says, as if it makes total sense to take one’s shirt off in the tropics while on one’s private terrace. Which it does!
My lips purse, anger starting to rise in my throat. “You know how I respond to pressure,” I say.
“Yes, I do.” He slips his shirt off and I do not look at his chest. I do not notice his shoulders. “Physical retribution is your favorite, I believe. That’s what I’m counting on.”
I swallow, refusing to break from his gaze. Refusing to lose this staring contest. Robert’s hands drop to his waistband. It feels almost like we are playing a game of chicken. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I say.
He pulls his pants down and I do not notice the black boxer briefs hugging his body because my gaze is locked onto his…and he is loving every second of this game. Standing up there all tall and in control. Me down here all naked and not.
My eyes narrow. I do not like this at all. Then why is my heart pounding? Why does this feel like fun?
When he goes to push down his boxers, he wins and I drop my gaze. “Fuck you,” I say.
“Yes, please,” he answers.
His footsteps move toward the stairs and I swim away, heading under the hut. Maybe I can climb up through the coffee table. But all I find under there is shade and a shallower bottom.
I go to swim back but Robert is in the water, only fifteen feet away. “Sydney,” he says, swimming toward me, a note of teasing in his voice. “Are you fleeing?”
“I’m getting out.”
“Be my guest.”
I have to swim by him to get to the stairs. Or swim around and look like I’m fleeing. He keeps coming toward me, his strokes slow and steady—like the press of time. Like the persistent press of him coming for me for so damn long now.
That sense that we are playing a game of chicken comes over me again. Except that he has no reason to veer off course…and maybe I don’t either.
I lift my chin, determined to stand my ground. He glides up to me, his eyes holding mine as he slides right into my personal space. His arm wraps around my bare waist under the water. My breath hitches at the contact—even though he didn’t hide his intention.
Robert pulls me forward, so that I press against him and my bare breasts meet his chest. Our eyes still hold. “What are you—” I don’t get to finish the question because his mouth comes down onto mine. Warm, commanding, insistent. This kiss is not a suggestion and he is not a chicken. But this might turn into a fight…