Page 86 of Beauty and the Beach

“Get rid of it,” he says with a nod. “We will.” Then he sighs, his hand playing absently with my hair. “I never let myself think about stuff like this—holding you, touching you. But…”

“It’s nice,” I finish for him. I snuggle further into him, and his arm tightens around me.

“It is,” he admits.

“Hey,” I say as a question pops into my mind. “What am I supposed to call you?”

“I don’t know,” he says after a second. I can feel his jaw moving against the top of my head as he goes on. “Just notFlamingo.”

I smile, pulling back slightly and tilting my head up. “Honeybuns?” I say.

“Pass,” he says in a dry voice.

“Sweetie Pie?” I press a kiss to the base of his neck.

“Also pass.”

“What aboutBaby?” Another kiss, longer this time, right over his Adam’s apple. His breath hitches.

“Holland,” he says, warning in his voice.

“Hmm?” I move up to his jaw, skimming my nose over his skin until I find a good place for my lips. “Babe?” Kiss. “Lover?”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says as his hands clench convulsively, digging into my skin.

“Mm-hmm.” I press a kiss to the spot just below his ear—and that’s when he snaps.

He curses softly and hauls me up, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss. “Call me whatever you want,” he growls.

I just smile and kiss him back.

Because the stormhas knocked out cell service, Phoenix doesn’t receive Mavis Butterfield’s raging message until the next day. I can tell something is wrong immediately; his face hardens as he listens to what sounds like an angry tirade, and when he puts his phone down, he looks as grim as I’ve ever seen him.

“It would seem that Mavis has somehow gotten hold of our contract,” he says.

My heart sinks as a jolt of panic hits. “She did?”

Phoenix gives a clipped nod as his lips turn down even further. “And now she’s demanding an immediate audience with me…” He trails off, his eyes flying to mine. “And my fake wife.”

Phoenix

“Why aren’tyou stressing about this?” Holland asks me three days later, her fingers drumming nervously on her thigh.

“Because depending on what Mavis has to say, things aren’t going to go her way,” I tell her, putting my hand over hers so the finger-drumming will stop. “Just calm down for now.”

She slaps my hand away. “Are you familiar with the Venn diagram of women who were told to calm down and women who subsequentlydidcalm down? It’s something you should take a look at,” she says. “Let me be antsy. It relieves stress.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say under my breath, but I don’t attempt to calm her again. I just let her stew in her agitation, her foot bouncing nervously in the passenger seat of the golf cart, her hair blowing in the wind as we drive.

The whole island has been in chaos mode after the storm, but even though things aren’t completely back to normal yet—cell service is still spotty—the ferry is finally up and running.

Which means we’re headed over to the mainland to visit my dear grandmother.

Soon. Soon I won’t have to jumpwhen Mavis tells me to; soon I won’t have to bow and scrape and live on the edge of my seat waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Wyatt and I have moved our timetable up, now that Mavis has questions about the validity of the marriage.

How did she get that contract?

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