‘I thought the Queen of Chill would be more into lazing around on the beach soaking up some rays.’ Preferably in a skimpy bikini; even better if Olivia was in need of a handy sun-cream applier. Sure, his libido might not be in control, but it deserved something; he might not be able to bed her, but there was nothing wrong with a bit of healthy appreciation.
A resolute shake of her head indicated disagreement. ‘I may never get to visit Thailand again—I’ve got to make sure I see everything.’ She picked up her glass and took a gulp, then transferred her attention to the serviette. ‘There’s this tour where you trek through the jungle, climb up a dried-up waterfall and get to a limestone cave. It sounds awesome.’
‘I know the one,’ he said. ‘One of my favourite places.’
‘Perfect. We’ll definitely go there, then. And there’s a national park with a lighthouse, and loads of other stuff. First thing tomorrow I’ll need to get some proper shoes and suitable clothes, though. I didn’t really pack for a holiday.’
‘What did you pack for?’
‘Meeting Zeb.’
‘I’m not entirely sure I’m with you.’ Presumably beach clothes were beach clothes.
‘Well, take this for example.’ Olivia waved a hand at her outfit. ‘I put a lot of thought into it. Grey trousers and a light grey tunic top. Muted colours, but not funereal. Non-threatening, non-judgemental. I was aiming for soothing and neutral.’
‘Is that how you think all the time?’
‘What do you mean?’
Adam glanced down. ‘I look at my clothes and I think blue T-shirt and beige chinos. You use your clothes to play a part.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then what’s your style? Enquiring minds want to know.’ His theory was that Olivia used clothes to define her, wore them as armour.
‘It’s all my style. I’d never wear anything I didn’t like.’
‘I get that. But it seems like all your clothes have a purpose—to set you up in a certain role. You’re always projecting an image.’
For a second a look of confusion entered her hazel eyes. As if he’d flummoxed or at the very least flustered her.
She took another hefty swig from her glass, almost draining it. ‘That’s all so much psychobabble,’ she declared as she put her glass down with exaggerated care. ‘Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk with your co-ordinated-by-someone-else wardrobe.’ She rested her elbows on the table so she could prop her chin in her hands and surveyed him a touch owlishly. ‘I think you should let me dress you.’ Tilting her head to one side, she gave a slightly fuzzy smile. ‘Oops. That may have come out wrong.’
‘Nah. It would have come out wrong if you’d asked if you could undress me.’
The giggle she gave was infectious, ‘Seriously, though, let’s go shopping. It could be fun.’
Fun? What the hell...? But maybe it would be—and it was her holiday, after all. Perhaps he could persuade her into buying that skimpy bikini or a tiny little pair of shorts that would barely cover her heart-shaped derrière. Hell, yes.
‘OK. I’m in. You choose me some clothes and I’ll choose you some clothes. I don’t want to spend a week with you dressed in your “soothe Zeb” outfits. I want to be seen with—’
‘Oh, here we go!’ Olivia shook her head and her lush lips actually curled.
‘Here we go, where?’
‘To the part where you want to display me on your arm as some sort of trophy.’
‘Olivia. What the hell are you talking about?’ He poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table.
She eyed it belligerently before picking it up. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She waved the glass and water droplets fell onto the tabletop. ‘Let’s have another drink. My round.’
‘Uh-uh.’ Adam shook his head. ‘No more beer until you explain.’
Olivia chewed her bottom lip for a moment and then shrugged. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Masterson. Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. It’s complicated, being beautiful.’
‘Are you for real? Women would kill to look like you and you’re complaining?’
She shook her head. ‘It means men only want you for your looks.’
‘Not only. There’s more to it than that.’
‘Hornswoggle.’ Olivia looked impressed with the word, her lips formulating the syllables again. ‘Take us, for example. You and me. Not that there is a you and me any more. But when there was. You with me?’
‘Faint but pursuing. Keep going.’