Judging from the position of the moon and the incoming tide, midnight is fast approaching. She’s small, and the wind begins blowing. Her nipples turn hard, and I have to remind myself her reaction isn’t because she wants me again.

I’ll work on that.

I pull another round of gentleman out of my ass, scoop up her clothes, and hand them over. “You got it.”

She wraps her dress around her damp body. It clings everywhere. I stop in the middle of shaking sand out of my pants to stare. She simply sparkles.

“Hurry.” She curls her arms around herself.

I can almost hear her teeth chattering as she shoves her bra in her dress pocket and fetches the bottle of wine.

I’m looking around for my damn boxer briefs when sand pelts my back. It sticks to my skin, and I know it’s going to be impossible to get every grain off before I have to slip my clothes back on.

I whirl around to find Keeley holding in a laugh. “You threw sand at me?”

Her eyes dance. “Oops. My hand must have slipped. My bad.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

That makes her laugh more.

I raise a brow at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you back.”

“Oh, big man with big words.”

“No. Big man with big promises.” I fumble around in my clothes until I finally find my underwear, then do my best to brush off what sand I can before thrusting them on.

“I’ll look forward to that,” she taunts.

I finish dressing and we make our way back toward my unit. She tosses the wine bottle in the nearest bin, and I grab her hand. It feels automatic. By her own admission, she likes me and doesn’t seem to mind that I’m the kind of guy who puts business first. Maybe that will work in my favor tomorrow.

When we reach the condo, I direct her to the guest suite, which has a private bath attached to the separate bedroom. Moments later, the water turns on, and after some rustling, I hear a grateful sigh. I would rather have showered with her, but I have so much sand stuck to my body, I’m not sure I can get clean without getting her dirty again. Okay, that’s not the only issue. I’m also out of condoms in my bathroom.

Once we’re both showered and in the bedroom, though? Yeah. I smile and melt under the spray of water.

As I’m stepping out, my phone rings. I look at the clock. Eleven fifty-two p.m. It’s either an emergency or an international buyer, but either way, there’s no question I’ll answer.

“Maxon Reed.” I wrap the towel around my waist.

Twenty minutes later, I hang up with the client from London who conveniently forgets about the time difference a lot and leave a quick e-mail for Britta about follow-ups from the conversation. I also tell her I’ll be in late tomorrow. I don’t say why, but I know talking to Keeley about Project Griff isn’t likely to be a five-minute process.

Once finished, I pause. I’m not hearing rustling around the rest of the condo. I get the feeling that quiet from her can be dangerous. I frown. Has she gone back to the lanai? Or fucking left me?

After throwing on some shorts and a T-shirt, I charge into the living room—and stop short at the sight of Keeley asleep on my sofa. Her damp hair is wound on top of her head in a haphazard knot. Her face is completely devoid of makeup. Without all the color and sparkle and vampy lipstick, she looks young. And really lovely. I’ve been with women who wear their cynicism all over their faces, even when they sleep. Keeley lies in repose with her hands pressed together under her cheek, every muscle in her body perfectly relaxed.

Do I ever allow my guard down this much and just let go?

I stare a moment more. Should I wake her up and move her to a bed? That strategy holds the most potential for another round of sex. I don’t want to pass up that opportunity, especially if she stops talking to me tomorrow.

“Keeley?” I shake her shoulder.

She doesn’t even open her eyes, merely swats at me with a halfhearted backhand. “Go away.”

I can barely understand her mumble. “Don’t you want a bed?” I fondle my way up her stomach to cradle a breast, and the second I get her flesh against my palm I get hard. “How about round two? C’mon, sunshine. Let me make you feel good again.”

Her little grunt is cute. “No. Happy.”

She rolls over and turns her back to me. I stand, stare, blink. Then I have to hold in a laugh. Apparently, she doesn’t like to have her sleep interrupted. Message received, loud and clear, even if I don’t like the content.

I sigh and fish a blanket out of the closet near the door, then spread it over her supine form. She lets out a contented little sigh. Her rhythmic breathing tells me she’s fallen into deep slumber.

So…I guess that’s it for tonight. I should go to bed and try to grab a few hours of sleep myself. I need to hit tomorrow hard. I have a Griff problem to solve and Keeley is key. I hope she’ll be open to remaining lovers. But from everything I learned about her, I don’t expect it. And if it’s a choice between keeping the woman or crushing my adversary…Griff is going down.

Sunlight burns through my lids as I swim to consciousness. It’s already after sunrise?

Stunned that I’ve overslept—I can’t remember the last time that happened—I open my eyes. The clock in front of me shows three glaring red numbers—9:18?

I’ve normally fielded a dozen calls by now. The damn device starts ringing in earnest at just after six most mornings, but a glance at my nightstand tells me my phone isn’t there.

Gaping, I sit up, raking a hand through my hair. I might have been disoriented a few moments ago, but I’m wide awake now.

“Good morning,” a soft female voice says beside me.

I turn to find Keeley. The previous evening rushes back to me.

So does the task before me today.

God, she looks gorgeous, face freshly scrubbed, hair falling in soft waves around her as she reads my morning paper with a glass of orange-mango juice in hand.

“Morning.” When did she get in bed beside me? “Um…”

“I hope you don’t mind. When I woke up about three, your bed looked more comfortable than the sofa, and I wanted to be with you.”

I’ve been curled up beside her for hours and I didn’t know it? I’m slipping. I wish I had a do-over so I could do her again. At the very least, enjoy that the sheets beside me are warm and smell like her. I’ve had my fun, though. I hate it, but the time has come to shift focus from pleasure to business—at least for now. “Do you know where my phone is?”