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Lana: Fine…you can blame your office besties.

Rolling my eyes, I put down my phone. I’m not mad. Am I surprised? Absolutely. But I’m not going to lie…I’m going to look delicious in that red bikini.

And a part of me really wants to watch Tristan squirm.

Chapter twelve

Tristan

We’ve been in ourroom for thirty minutes and I already have no idea how I’m going to spend the next month with Kennedy. Was it mean of me not to tell her we would be sharing a suite? Probably. But what were we supposed to do? The furniture hasn’t arrived yet for the other rooms. Since the presidential suite features unique pieces of furniture, it was ready first. There was no way of avoiding this situation, so why rock the boat before we even arrive?

Besides, seeing her flustered is my favorite part of the day. Her cheeks flame to a deep red that almost matches her hair, and her hands clench at her waist, as if she’s debating on punching something. But she never overreacts. Nope, Kennedy always forces her reactions down and puts in place this polished version of herself.

One of these days, I’m going to get her true reaction, and it’s going to be a day I celebrate. I know there’s a firecracker waiting to detonate and the real Kennedy Reed will make her appearance.

I admire the design much like the main space as I stand inside the primary bedroom. A four-poster bed sits in the middle, with a clear view of the Caribbean in front of us. The neutral bedding looks soft and inviting, and I’m fighting the urge to take a nap. The stress of thelast forty-eight hours is catching up with me. And there’s nothing we can really do about it until Monday when offices open.

Knowing there’s a perfectly good hot tub, I unzip my luggage and dig through the mess of clothes I hastily packed until I find teal swim trunks. After shucking off my dress pants, I slide into the mid-thigh shorts and let out a sigh of relief. Wearing slacks and dress shirts is a hazard to the job, but there’s nothing I love more than a pair of athletic shorts and a fitted tee. Only now, I’m skipping the shirt and heading straight for the hot tub. My muscles could use the heat to relax, even though it feels like the devil’s armpit.

I notice missed calls from my dad and my brother as I place my phone on the nightstand, but decide they both can wait until later. I’ve been in business mode for hours, answering their emails on the flight and giving updates as they come in, which have been few and far between. For the next hour, I need some time for myself. Sliding the glass door open, I’m met with the salty breeze, and I inhale deeply. Smells like serenity.

As I pad over to the hot tub, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and freeze. Lounging in a chaise is KennedyfuckingReed. My gaze locks on where she’s sprawled out in the chair, one leg propped up while the other stretches in front of her, her flawless sun-kissed skin glowing in the late afternoon sun. My eyes trail up her oiled legs to the barely-there red string bikini that accentuates her slightly curvy hips, showcasing her toned stomach and her ample breasts that practically pour out of the nylon swimsuit top, if you can even call it that. The vibrant color contrasts beautifully with her copper red hair messily piled high on the top of her head.

The scene is straight out of an ad for the resort, and for a moment, I’m wondering if the heat and exhaustion have me hallucinating her presence. The way she lies there, exuding confidence that’s as intoxicating as it is irresistible, while she’s completely at ease and owning the space around her.

Frozen in time, I can’t peel my eyes off her. My tongue is practically hanging out of my dry mouth.

“Take a picture and it’ll last longer.” She interrupts my blatant ogling, her sunglasses tilted down the bridge of her nose to stare at me.

“Can I?”

“Jesus, Tristan,” she purrs, or at least that’s how I imagine she says it, as she slides her glasses back to their rightful place. “Wait!”

My eyes pop up to where she’s removing her glasses again as she leans forward, which gives me an even clearer view of her boobs. I’m praying she doesn’t have a wardrobe malfunction, because I’m having a hard time fighting an erection as it is. And there’s no way I’ll be able to hide it in these tiny swim trunks.

“Did you reconsider your offer of letting me take a picture?”

Her eyes roll and, suddenly, I’m imagining myself standing over her, having her eyes roll for a whole other reason.

“Is that a thigh tattoo?”

Glancing down at my exposed leg, I look at the black ink as if I’m just remembering I have a tattoo. I find her gaze locked onto my leg as I smirk up at her, and if she keeps staring down there, something else is going to make an appearance. My brain goes to her on her knees, tracing the intricate lines inked into my skin.

“Does that surprise you?”

She flops back in her chair. “Yeah, it does. I never would’ve imagined that Prince Nelson has ink.”

“Prince Nelson?” I’ve heard her call me by my full name, by Golden Boy–which I hate, and now Prince Nelson. Based on the number of nicknames she has for me, you’d think she’s secretly in love with me, not busy hating me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Nah, Firecracker, I’ll leave that to you.”

I send her a wink as I walk past. Climbing up the single stair, I enter the hot tub—or what I thought was a hot tub. Turns out, it’s just a private plunge pool, and I can’t say I’m disappointed. Even though I was looking forward to relaxing against the hot tub jets, the water inside the pool felt incredible.

Dropping down into the water, I tip my head back to the cloudless sky and release a moan. “This feels incredible.”

“Mind if I join?” she asks, startling me, and when I glance over, I find her standing on the step, waiting for me to answer. Biting my lip, I try to think of anything else besides Kennedy in that scrap of fabric.