The Billionaire's Island Mistress

4

“What are you thinking?” he asked, stirring me back to consciousness.

“Your name.”

“My name?”

I nodded. “Pierre calls you Monsieur. But I know Monsieur is French for Mister. Are you French?”

He stared straight into my eyes. I guessed he still thought I was pretending, but he obliged and answered without leaving my eyes, “Blum. Name’s Blum. I’m not French. I’m American and you know that. My grandpa Blum was German, though. And my mom is part-Pakistani, 12.5 percent. I bet you didn’t know that.”

“Oh, you bet right I didn’t. So do I call you Monsieur Blum or—?”

“Cooper. I’m Cooper Blum, but you very well know that. Drop it already, Georgia. Give it up.”

I ignored his remarks. I couldn’t fathom why I felt so positively giddy at the knowledge of his name. “It’s nice to meet you, Monsieur Cooper Blum,” I said, offering a handshake.

He raised an eyebrow, shook his head, then took my hand with a bemused smile on his face now. I probably looked really silly. My heart began to hammer when he squeezed my hand and didn’t let go, his eyes boring into mine. “You’re really damn good carrying it off.”

“C-carry what off?”

“The amnesia scheme you’re trying to pull on me. Acting like you have honestly forgotten who I am.”

Now my heart was hammering for a different reason. I tried to pull my hand but he only held it tighter. “I haven’t forgotten. The thing is, I don’t think we’ve even met at all.”

“You do it so damn well, Georgia, I’m almost convinced you’re someone else.”

“But I really am someone else, not Georgia!”

“How do you know that when you have amnesia?” His voice was laced with scorn.

“I just do.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t feel like a Georgia Grant at all. There is something about Victoria, though, that I wish to learn—not the place, but the name.” I pulled my hand with more force, succeeding this time. “What if that’s my name? Look at this,” I gushed, tugging the neck opening of the dress I was wearing down to the part where the pendant could be seen hanging on the gold chain.

Cooper gawked, not at the piece of jewelry but at my cleavage.

Rolling my eyes, I smoothed the neckline and hid the ornament. “My name must start with a V, or else I wouldn’t be wearing the darned pendant, right?”

“Damn.” His eyes were out of focus. “Let me see them again.”

What them?

“Show me my babies,” he drawled. “You’re wearing one of those bras I’d asked Dominique to buy and bring here. Damn, is that the full C-cup... or is it the D?”

“It’s the damned bikini.” I blushed like a nun and when he chuckled, I wanted to slap him. “Tell Dominique I said thanks,” I said to divert the subject away from my C-cups. I didn’t even know who Dominique was.

His grin turned to a wholesome smile. “She wanted to see you but she had to be back on Praslin right away. She works there, introducing the infamous Coco de Mer to tourists and dancing to the moutya beats, among other things.”

“I know Coco de Mer!” I blurted with excitement and at once dismissing my annoyance with his prior display of lewd behavior. “It’s that weird coconut shaped like a girl’s bum.”

His lips twitched into a half smile. “And the male variety that’s shaped like a horse’s dick.”

“Really? There’s a male variety?”

He went on to explain how the male and female sort of ‘mate’ through pollination and all the science. I was awed. The conversation had turned surprisingly geeky and so safe that for a few moments I’d forgotten that I was in a pickle of a situation I could see no way out of.

“So, since you already have your bathing suit on, by all means off with the damned dress and show me the package,” Cooper said afterward, grinning. “I’ll be with you... warding off any possible pirate or shark attacks.”

“I’m thinking maybe we should grab something to eat first.”

“Pierre will call once breakfast’s in order.” He was already taking off his shirt, followed by the surfer shorts.

I lifted my eyes off him. The abs, the pecs, the biceps—they caused further damage to my already badly bungled brain.