Page 98 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

By the time he emerges, I can barely breathe. His gray-blue eyes flick up, catching mine…before they veer off into the distance.

It’s been this way since our plane landed on this side of the Atlantic.

And hell, I know I should look away. But I don’t.

Instead, my gaze trails the path of a single droplet as it slides down his sculpted chest, over the ridges of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

Doesn’t help that I know exactly what those swim trunks are really hiding from the…

"More champagne, lass?" Callum materializes beside my deck chair, his voice smooth, like a Scottish lullaby, moving with that casual grace that probably comes from actually owning pieces of Europe. His green eyes squint. “You look like you could use it."

“I’m sure look like I need the whole bottle,” I mutter, accepting the glass as I watch Connor dive again into the villa's infinity pool.

"Ah, l'amour." Callum follows my gaze. "Though perhaps less ogling, more socializing? The party is about to begin."

He's right. The sun is setting over the Mediterranean, casting golden light across Callum's obscenely beautiful villa where tonight's joint bachelor/bachelorette festivities are about to start.

The night feels like it’s on the edge of something—a climax of champagne, laughter, and whispered secrets. Below, the yachts are docked in the harbor, their lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. Inside, I can almost hear the faint hum of Mac’s voice, no doubt fretting over whether the golden lights of the villa clash with the turquoise waters beyond.

I should help her. Should play the part of the plus-one.

Instead, I’m avoiding Connor like it’s my job, and playing the part of the villain in the story that no one likes. Least of all, a “hero” like Connor.

I’m the worst.

“Jings, you stare at Ol’ Reeves any harder there, and those pretty eyeballs of yours might pop out of their sockets,” Callum notes.

“Anyone ever tell you that your group of friends is scarily alike? You guys are like personality clones.”

He grins. “I’ve been told that.”

“And hey, don’t you worry about my sockets.” I drain my champagne. “Don’t you have groomsmen duties to take care of?”

“Aye. Several, actually. But watching you and Mr. Not-So-Subtle here dance around each other is far more fun.”

Luckily, I don’t have to answer Callum’s scrutiny. Or my own, for that matter.

My phone buzzes with a FaceTime request from Lily. And I’m literally saved by the bell.

Callum takes his dark red hair and green eyes to the other end of the pool as my little sister’s caramel curls and hazel eyes appear on the screen. She doesn’t even hesitate when I answer.

“Please tell me you’re wearing the dress I packed,” she presses. “The Versace one.”

“You mean the one that's basically dental floss with glitter?”

“Yup, that’s the one!”

"I'm not wearing that," I tell her through the screen.

"Oh, she absolutely is." Mac’s younger sister—and bridesmaid—Lucia appears, her classic Italian beauty somehow even more striking in the Mediterranean light. "Mac specifically requested club attire, and your sister's taste in party dresses is..." She grins. "Inspired."

"It's a crime against fabric," I protest.

"It's Versace!" Lily shouts through the phone. "At least try to cooperate with your fashion consultant?"

“Who says you’re that?” I question.

"She's right, you know." Mac’s older sister Sofia joins us, somehow managing to look elegant even in the coastal breeze. "Truth be told: Watching Connor ‘Bachelor for Life’ Reeves try not to stare at you in that dress will be worth every inch of missing fabric."

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