The Two Week Stand (Sizzling Beach 1)

To be fair, they’re perfect for each other. Both inconsistent, lying, cheating, will shit on anyone—even their own children—scumbags.

But I’m not thinking about either of them today.

I’m thinking about West and these sexual feelings between us… well, they’re all my own. He’s done nothing to ignite them. Except for look so frigging gorgeous, of course. Oh, and the flirt he was giving me this morning … which I’m not actually sure was him flirting with me or just me interpreting it that way. God, I’m so off-balance at the moment; I can’t even tell if a guy is flirting with me or not. I didn’t used to be this bad with men. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary glitch.

And I’m not normally an instant-lust gal.

Maybe it’s because I’m on this island, where every fucker is in love, and it’s addling my brain. Or it could be his American accent that has bedazzled my hormones. And his face. And his super-hard, insanely fit body. And—

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop thinking, Dillon. It’s bad for your health, and it’s all inconsequential bullshit.

You fancy the guy. End of story.

Admitting it doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.

Wow. I feel so much better now.

Okay. Cool.

I have the hots for West, and it’s okay because nothing is going to happen.

And I’m spending way too much time in my head and not in the real world. Meaning talk to the guy and stop staring at him like a numpty.

“So—” I start.

“Right, people!” A happy-sounding guy dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with the resort logo claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention, cutting off whatever shite I was about to say to West. “Good morning! I’m Aden, and over there is Zaim.” He points to the other guy, dressed in the same clothes as him, who is standing by the boat. “Zaim is our boat captain, who will take us to the beautiful reefs. We will both be your guides, here for whatever you need, and I very much hope you are all enjoying your first full day with us. Now, it’s time for us to get started. Would you please head over to the hut?” He points to where West and I are standing, and everyone’s eyes volley in our direction. “Where Kayden and Mahmoud are waiting to fit you with a snorkel, goggles, and flippers. Once you have them, please board the boat. Once everyone is on, then we can be on our way to see the beauty that the Maldives has to offer.”

This guy sounds just like the brochure that got me to book this place.

And bonus: West and I are first in line to get our things, thanks to him standing right by the hut.

“You stood here on purpose to be the first in line,” I murmur to him as we head inside and are greeted by the happy, smiling faces of Kayden and Mahmoud.

His eyes flicker down to me, a secretive kind of smile touching those full lips of his. He gives a slight shrug. “I’m not the kind of guy who is ever last in line for anything.”

Oh, I bet he’s not.

“Hello! You are Mr. and Mrs. …”

“Oh, we’re not—” I start to say, but I’m cut off by the deep sound of West’s voice.

“Oakley. Mr. and Mrs. Oakley.”

I’m sorry, what?

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Oakley!” The guy beams. “You are a very handsome couple.”

“Yes, I’m a very lucky man.” West slings his big arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, giving me a squeeze.

And me? Well, I’m just standing here, mouth open in utter shock. Because apparently, I just got fake married.

seven

Dillon

With my bright pink matching snorkel, goggles, and flippers in hand—Kayden was insistent that I have the bright pink because, apparently, it’s my color, although I’ve always thought red suited me better—I walk back out of the hut, West walking silently beside me, and I have about a hundred and one questions about what the heck just happened in there bursting to come out of my mouth.

The instant we step out of the hut and pass the line of our fellow islanders, we’re ushered onto the boat.

I climb aboard with the help of the man already aboard the dhoni. The words I want to say to West burning on my tongue. West climbs aboard behind me.

I quickly walk to the back of the boat and sit down. West strolls toward me like he has all the time in the world. I give him an expectant look, and all I get in return is a grin.

The second he sits in the seat beside me, I jump on him. Figuratively, of course. “Um, what the hell was that?”

He gives me a look of innocence. “What?”

“Um, Mr. and Mrs. Oakley ringing any bloody bells?”

“Bloody bells?” He gives me an amused look.