One Bossy Dare

“Out of all the Kona coffee plants, only a few rare bushes produce peaberry beans,” he says, his gaze sharpening.

“Peaberry beans? Aren’t those crazy expensive? I have to admit I haven’t worked with them much.” I’m not sure why I blurt that out, but it’s true.

They cost more than your average bean, even by pricey Kona bean standards.

I’m gobsmacked that he even has his own supply. I doubt that they actually go into any Wired Cup products.

“Then you know why they’re so rare and highly sought,” he tells me. “They’re delicate, refined, and delicious. With Kona peaberries, there’s always that added sweetness. And that’s exactly why they’re a natural choice for Brock Winthrope’s discerning tastes.”

“Oh, so that’s what you’re planning to serve up at the resorts?” I nod. There’s no denying it’s the perfectly exquisite and exclusive rich person’s coffee. “Sounds like a coffee snob’s wet dream.”

He snorts. “And just what would you know about that?”

I scratch my suddenly hot cheek, ignoring his question. “Are you sure you still want it modeled on the new drinks? I mean, a peaberry campfire brew seems almost like a waste of that beautiful bean.”

“You’re not wasting anything, Eliza. You’re enhancing it.”

For a second, my breath stalls.

I think he’s just as shocked that he slipped and said my first name.

“Forgive me—” he starts.

“No. We can drop Miss Angelo. If I call you Lump, it’s less stuffy and formal if you just call me Eliza.”

“Eliza,” he repeats with a touch of reverence. “If that’s what you prefer...”

Holy hell.

I shudder. Is it just my imagination or do those vivid blue eyes match the ocean murmuring in the distance?

I’m lost in his gaze until a familiar scent makes my nostrils flare.

Is that—yeah. Definitely coffee.

The smell wafts in, mingling with the sea breeze like natural incense.

Also, there’s hints of citrus and a strong undertone, almost like leather?

Wait. I’m smelling Cole.

The faint sheen of sweat in this climate mingled with the trade winds must release more of his dangerously alluring scent.

Either that, or I’m too well aware of it now. I’ve got to get back to my room before I do something hilariously stupid.

The drug-like effect this man has on me should be illegal.

“And I bet you’ll be blowing up my inbox with all kinds of peaberry details soon?” I say with an awkward smile. “Guess I’d better go sleep off that jet lag...”

I start to stand, but my legs are wobbly. I slip.

But Cole springs to his feet, catching me effortlessly before I skid off the stone surface.

Yikes. Here we go again.

His arms feel good around me, holding me up. The back of my head lies against his chest, and soon I’ve got a lungful of badly behaved bossman.

I’m flipping shaking, and it has nothing to do with losing my balance.

Very slowly, I lift my head and meet his eyes.

I don’t make any effort to pull away—and I should.

...right?

He chuckles, this low, pleasant sound that makes the birdsongs sound like a crude reverb. “Understandable. I’ll need your full attention tomorrow. Let me walk you back to the house, and do tell the staff if there’s anything they can do to help you settle in. For this job, I need you at your best.”

I know what I need, what every bit of me keeps screaming for.

A mystery man built like a Roman statue and cursed with the soul of Jekyll and Hyde. That would be a fantastic way to scratch the itch in my lady bits.

But I’m guessing his house staff can’t help me there.

Since I can’t speak, I just smile at him.

For a heady moment, we linger, until I finally move again, stretching my legs out.

We silently start descending from the rocks, taking them carefully one at a time.

I know exactly what I need to do.

Get back to my room and pray the plumbing delivers a cold shower. A very long, very ice-cold shower.

Cole climbs down the rocks behind me, his eyes glued to me the whole time. Is he just looking out for me or does he like what he sees in front of him?

I hate that I wonder.

“You don’t have to come. I think I know the way from here,” I say, after pushing my way through the curtain of banyan trees again.

He laughs. “And risk you falling before tomorrow’s meeting? No. Someone has to keep you vertical, woman. I don’t trust your clumsy-ass feet.”

Damn this man.

I want to tell him it’s not necessary—or at least respond with some equally stupid retort ending in Commander Coffee. But all I can do is laugh.

I walk to the grassy hill feeling dizzy, hungry, and slightly overheated. But before I can waver too much, he takes my hand.

Cole Lancaster never lets go the entire way to the back door.

10

Bitter Cup (Cole)

I make an extra lap around the farm on the ATV the next morning, enjoying the pristine view and pleasant breeze.