Love Island

Chapter 3

There was nothing like an early morning run on the beach as the sun turned the sky pink. The rumble and the hiss of the surf underscoring the pounding of his sneakers on the wet sand, his only company the gulls and pipers foraging in the washed-up kelp. A chance to reflect on the day before. To plan the day ahead.

And, if Zac was honest, to excise thoughts of a certain blonde who had invaded his home and his brain.

He pushed himself harder, trying to sweat her out of his system. It ran in rivulets down his face and neck soaking his T-shirt. When he reached the rock jetty at the end of the beach, he pulled up short and bent over at the waist, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

It had been a mistake bringing Fatima to Flamingo Key. But it was one he was in the process of fixing ASAP. Until then, he would keep his distance. With more than twenty rooms and an entire island to work with, that shouldn't be a problem.

His resolve steeled, Zac straightened, wiped his brow with the hem of his T-shirt and started to retrace his steps, picking up the pace as he went. By the time he reached the stretch of the beach in front of the house, he was winded and drenched with sweat again, the warm, peaceful waters of the Caribbean screaming for him to dive in and cool off.

It was a siren song he heard on almost every morning run but usually ignored, in too much of a rush to get a head start on his business day before the rest of the world woke up. But not today. Today he had a damn good reason to stay on the beach as long as humanly possible.

He kicked off his sneakers and peeled off his socks and shirt, leaving him in only lightweight running shorts. Not his typical swimming attire, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

As he neared the water's edge, he could make out a small silhouette cutting through the waves like an Olympic Medalist. No way either of the Worthington could swim like that. Or Michael, who had just learnt to put his head under water and preferred their Infinity pool to the salty ocean. Jakes was a strong swimmer and sometimes took a dip before breakfast, but he'd taken the launch to Key West for supplies.

Which left only one possible person. The very person Zac was trying like hell to avoid.

The smartest option would be to get the fuck out of there before she saw him. But then she stood rising from the sea like a goddess and slicked back her long black curly hair. Well damn, she ditched the wig. The movement arched her back and thrust her breasts against the thin, almost sheer fabric of her one piece swimsuit. It left so little to the imagination it might as well have been a dental floss bikini.

Zac froze, all his good intentions— and any semblance of rational thought—evaporated. He stood transfixed, wishing his damn running shorts were a little less from fitting, as Fatima wring her hair out and blinked the water from her eyes.

The second she spotted him, the relaxed smile playing around the corners of her lips disappeared, replaced by a hard, thin line. Her hands balled into fists then slowly loosened, as if she had to will her fingers to relax.

“Miss Wilson.” He nodded a greeting. “Great minds think alike.”

“I hope it's not a problem.” She folded her arms across her chest, hiding her scantily clad breasts from view. He didn't know whether to say a silent prayer of thanks or curse his lousy luck. “Michael's still sleeping, and Mrs Worthington said he wouldn't be out of bed for at least an hour.”

“It's hard to resist the call of the Caribbean. You might as well take advantage of it while you are here.”

A shadow crossed her beautiful face, and her eyes darted back to the beach behind him. “Right. I'll let you get back to your swim.”