One Bossy Dare

I wish I could just take the compliment and move the fuck on.

Not spiral into the dark crevices my brain keeps tumbling into.

How much time has he spent staring at my daughter’s face? Every time I read a news story about some sick fuck who goes after a child, I bristle, so maybe I’m just extra-sensitive.

I know Troy. He’s nothing like that. There’s no double meaning or innuendo in his words.

Christ, I need to get a grip.

This guy was my best friend once. He truly was like a stand-in uncle for Dess during her first five years of life.

Just because we drifted apart after everything that happened is no excuse to treat him like a criminal.

“What was she doing, anyway?” I ask, raking him with a look.

“Huh?”

“You said you saw Destiny.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It was right after I got here and they were hauling my luggage in. I think she was standing on the hill, looking out at the sea...” His face falls and he turns away from me. “I hope she wasn’t looking for the spot,” he adds in a whisper.

My jaw tightens like a vise.

He means that beach. That scene.

Aster’s twisted, cold body lying on the sands with the foamy waves still washing over her. My gut twists.

Fuck, those doubts I had come crashing down like a load of bricks.

I agreed to this trip for the lucrative Winthrope deal, but am I really ready?

Here I am, ready to beat the shit out of an old friend and excellent employee for telling me that my daughter looks like my dead wife.

I’m on knife’s edge. Just waiting for something to go wrong.

Fortunately, my staff starts filing past us in the hall a minute later, putting an end to this conversation.

Seeing Eliza helps in the worst way.

My breath fucking catches in my throat the second I look at her.

She’s wearing a pale-blue island dress today. It’s strapless and looks like a towel that would only take the slightest pull to rip off her.

I’m staring, frozen and dumbstruck and well aware I shouldn’t be.

I don’t care.

Not until I sense Troy’s eyes following my gaze.

Shit.

My heart slams my rib cage. I don’t want to give him a chance to talk to her, but I also don’t want to be a raging dick to an old friend.

“Eliza, join us,” I say, waving a hand.

She comes over obediently and stops beside me with none of the usual suspicion on her face.

What? Is she going to give me less shit now that we’re on a first-name basis?

I look at Troy and gesture to her. “This is Eliza Angelo. She’s our new R & D beverage specialist.”

“Ahhh, our ace with those scorched drinks, right?”

“Campfire drinks,” she corrects softly.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Gina couldn’t say enough good stuff about you in the emails.” Troy’s eyes roam up and down her barely clad body.

I belatedly realize I’ve altered my stance.

Now, I’m partially blocking her from his view. I’m also fighting the sudden urge to drag her off after this for a talk about dress codes and company events.

Not that it’s her fault Troy keeps gawking at her like he’s having the same diabolical thoughts about that dress—like the fuck wants to strip it off and hurl it to the trade winds.

“Thank you, Mister...?” she trails off.

I realize I never introduced him.

“Clement,” I supply.

“Mr. Clement, Cole—uh—Mr. Lancaster tells me we’ll be working with the peaberry bean. I’m pretty pumped about that. I’ve never worked with anything so rare, let alone this fresh.”

Troy’s lips turn up, his smile almost predatory.

“You’re in luck, Ace. The farms here use the latest harvesting techniques. We should net just enough small-batch peaberry loads to keep up with demand for the resorts. But since this crop is more delicate, you’ll probably have to test them over and over to find just the right method for your campfire brews. I’m no expert in development, of course, just a thought.”

I hate how she looks at him.

Why is she smiling?

And what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

“I don’t mind the testing. It’s my favorite part of the job, actually, but are you sending the peaberry beans to Seattle? I don’t have a lab set up here, so—”

“You have everything you’ll need in a sunroom on the other side of the house,” I bite off, cutting in. “It’s not as large or as glamorous as your usual workplace, but with your skills, you’ll manage.”

My fists are slightly more relaxed as her smile shifts to me and her cheeks go pink.

“Oh, wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you!”

Any-fucking-time.

If only a hundred scenarios weren’t stampeding through my head every time my eyes try to see through that dress.

All of them end with her under me, scratching my back as she screams, battle scars I’ll gladly show to goddamned Troy so he knows she’s off-limits.