She shook her head, a pretty smile on her mouth. “Thank you for ordering breakfast. This is delicious.” She nibbled on an apricot pastry drizzled in honey. Part of me wanted to keep quiet, to let her assume it was me, but an annoying voice in the back of my head pointed out that Fiona was likely to mention something about sending us breakfast. I needed to prove to Emmy that I could be honest about the big stuff as well as the little things.

“Actually, Fiona had it sent over,” I murmured in between sips of coffee.

Emmy’s eyebrows shot up and she dropped the half-eaten pastry to her plate as if suddenly losing her appetite. She roughly swallowed the bite she’d been chewing, the food visibly being forced down her throat. “Oh.” She rose from the table. “I’m going to shower.”

Shit.

Having lost my appetite as well, I called the concierge and requested that the food be removed right away so it’d be gone before Emmy was out of the shower.

I would have ordered her breakfast and fed it to her in bed if Fiona hadn’t interfered. Christ, what a mess being stuck between these two women.

* * *

When Emmy emerged from the bedroom dressed in a pair of cutoff jean shorts, red tank top, and tan sandals, it seemed her good mood was back. She looked adorable and sexy at the same time. A smile overtook my mouth. “C’mere, pretty.”

She hesitated, blinking at me.

“Emmy.” I held out my hand and she crossed the room and took it. “Are you okay?”

She nodded thoughtfully but didn’t speak.

“Don’t let her take this from us. I was so happy last night and this morning waking up with you.” I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I’m yours, baby. Trust me, okay?”

She nodded again, blinking up at me with unshed tears. I cupped her jaw and angled my mouth to hers. I felt her arms wind around my waist. We fit perfectly together. I just needed to keep reminding her of that. And the only way I seemed to know how to do it was with physical affection. I wasn’t good at pretty words. I was better at fucking and dirty talk.

“As pretty as you look in these little shorts,” my hands slid down the sides of her thighs, “I need these and your panties off.”

Her eyes darted up to mine and she dragged her tongue across her top lip. “I thought we were going out.” Her voice was quiet, timid. I had to show her that she was mine. Desire flared up inside me and I answered it the only way I could.

“Let me fuck you,” I whispered near her ear and felt her shudder.

I quieted her fears about us, about Fiona, the best way I knew how, by clearing her head of all thoughts but one—getting me inside her. I wasn’t sure why, but I loved to hear her beg for my cock to fill her. Watching her come undone was the best fucking sight in the world. And the way she fit around me like a glove was unreal.

When I started pushing her shorts and panties down her hips, Emmy was already squirming for my touch, already making those tiny whimpering noises that I loved.


Emmy

We’d had two rather unproductive days on the island so far, preferring to remain locked away in our room making love rather than facing the world. We’d christened every room in the suite, having loud, sweaty sex. Part of me wanted to stop him, to tell him that he couldn’t chase away our difficulties with sex. Yet, of course, I hadn’t. I’d let him take me. I was too greedy for his touch.

But this morning we were both up and getting ready for Ben’s first photo shoot in Fiji. I gulped down the remainder of my coffee and checked the clock. We had to be down to the beach in twenty minutes. I wanted to get there early to check on everything, though I supposed worrying about the set details was no longer my concern. My only job now was to make sure Ben arrived on time.

I grabbed my camera and packed it into my oversized purse. I planned to take a few behind-the-scenes photos today and post them to Ben’s various social media sites for his fans to enjoy. A pang of sadness welled up inside me at the thought. Millions of women admired this man. Would he ever really be mine?

Dating someone in the public eye was all new for me. Ben had graced the covers of men’s magazines, billboards, and advertisements around the globe. People worldwide had seen his provocative ads, women everywhere had fantasized about this man. And now he was choosing me. It was a lot to take in.

But I was a firsthand witness to the man himself, the actual person behind the glossy magazine pages. I’d seen him at his best, his worst; knew about his many prescription medications, his long-standing affair with his agent. He was known the world over for his physical beauty and stunning physique, but I knew what was in his heart, in his mind. Loving him provoked an achy intensity inside me. I wanted to soothe him, and hide him away from the world. But it was now my job to help promote him.

Realizing we had only fifteen minutes left to go, I pushed away the thoughts. Crossing the room, I tapped on the bathroom door and pushed it open. “Ben?”

“Almost done, babe.” He shut off the water and stepped out the shower, reaching for a towel.

“Holy crap,” I muttered, pressing a hand over my mouth.

“What?” His gaze followed my line of vision south, and he smirked.

He’d shaved.

Everything.

“Nothing,” I murmured. “You just . . . um, look a lot bigger.”

His thick cock hung flaccid down his thigh. And as I watched it, it began to rise.

“Ben! We don’t have time for that. We have to go.”

He chuckled, the rich sound rumbling from his chest. “Then stop looking at my dick and telling me it’s big, sweetheart. Guys tend to like that.” He wrapped the towel around his hips and secured it into place. “You can play with him later, I promise.”

“Just hurry up, I don’t like being late.” I strode from the bathroom and left him alone.

Lord, that man had an insatiable sexual appetite. I was fucked. Literally.

* * *

When we finally made it down to the beach, Fiona was chatting with the photographer, Gentry. A girl was sitting in a makeup chair with her back to me while a makeup artist worked on her. Ben’s coworker today, obviously.

When she turned I instantly recognized her. London. One of Ben’s former girlfriends I’d met last summer in Paris. I hadn’t known that she’d be here. She was clad in a barely-there fire-engine red string bikini so small I could see her ovaries.

When she hopped down from the chair my breathing faltered. She was perfectly tanned and toned with bouncy curls and smoky eye makeup. She looked stunning. A slow smile curled on Fiona’s lips as she watched me look over London.

My heart throbbed in my chest as I watched Ben warmly greet London. Why hadn’t he told me his ex would be here? She pointed at the assortment of briefs he’d be expected to wear and they shared a laugh.

Ben approached Gentry next and shook his hand. They talked for a few minutes then he disappeared inside the onsite trailer to change into his first swimsuit.

I stood there, uselessly digging my toes into the sand, feeling utterly alone and out of place without his presence. There was no way I was talking to Fiona and I was too shy to approach London. I doubted she’d remember me from our one awkward encounter during the industry party in Paris. That was the first night Ben informed me, and the world, that I was his girlfriend.

Several minutes later the door to the trailer opened and Ben stepped out.

Holy Speedo, Batman.

His abs and chest looked amazing but when my gaze traveled lower to the large bulge protruding proudly in his snug briefs, I nearly choked on my own tongue. God, he was delicious. All hardened muscle and masculine beauty wrapped up in one tempting package. I wanted to throw a towel around him and shield him from view. Obviously a ridiculous notion considering what he did for a living.

Ben padded barefoot over to the makeup artist, who mussed up his hair so it was perfectly rumpled and then dotted concealer on a few spots before rubbing down his naked skin with bronzing lotion. I wondered if that lotion was edible because he looked good enough to lick.

They got into position and began shooting, several poses together lounging in the sand and playing in the surf, and then changed swimsuits, repeating the process.

I normally loved watching Ben work, but watching him cuddle in the sand with London, wrapped up in each other’s arms and frolicking in the waves, was not fun. Not one bit. I hated seeing Ben’s perfect hands, his long fingers, gripping London’s trim waist. I hated the familiar way her hand curled around his bicep. My stomach twisted like someone had twirled a fork inside me. I felt sick watching them.

They looked great together. The perfect couple. Just knowing they’d been a real couple, that they’d been intimate, that London was one of the three girls Ben had slept with killed me. Deep-seated fear and insecurity rushed up inside me, clouding my head, and making me question everything.

Needing a minute to myself, I turned my back on the shoot and walked off down the beach. I gulped lungfuls of fresh ocean air, pushing away the urge to cry. It was stupid. Ben loved me. He’d told me that repeatedly. But there was no denying that watching him pose, hold, and caress his ex on set was hard. I wasn’t that secure in our relationship to begin with. And London, well . . . she was a perfect ten. Winner of the genetic lottery. And she’d slept with my boyfriend. Awesome.

When I made it back to the set everyone was packing up. Ben and London sat at the edge of the water, butts planted in the sand and feet out in the lapping waves. Ben tipped his head back, obviously amused at something she’d said. Taking a deep, calming breath, I boldly approached them. Ben rose to his feet, pulling me into a hug.