It takes me a second to meet his gaze. He’s just so intense. Flirty and sarcastic one second, demanding the next.

His thumb traces my bottom lip. It’s the gentlest, barely there touch. I almost think I imagine it. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I try to compartmentalize the emotions I don’t seem to have control over.

“Let him make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect. He has no idea what he’s given up. That he had you at all is a travesty. He doesn’t deserve any part of you, least of all your heart.” He searches my face, eyes warm and honest.

I brush his forearm with shaking fingertips and find myself leaning in. Which is the exact moment the goddamn flight attendant stops by with her cart of beverages and her too-sweet smile. Wasn’t she just here?

Lex clears his throat and points to my empty bottle. “Would you like another?”

I place a hand on his forearm. “That would be lovely.” It’s a possessive, unnecessary action. I need to stop flirting with him and save it for someone else. Some single hottie in Bora Bora looking for a good time who I’ll never have to see again once I leave.

I quickly move my hand to my own lap, smoothing down my skirt. “And sparkling water, please,” I add. Too much more in the booze department and there’s no way I’ll be able to keep Anarchy Amie on a leash.

Lexington passes me the champagne first and then the glass of sparkling water. I sip it daintily, and when the attendant moves on I chug the rest.

“You all right there?” he asks, as if that moment never happened. As if I hadn’t almost considered kissing him again.

“Fine. Just thirsty.” I struggle with the champagne. The flight attendant didn’t even offer to open it for me.

“Need some help with that?”

“I’ve got it.” I put the bottle between my legs and attempt to twist out the cork.

Lexington’s hand covers mine and his fingers curl under to stop me. “You’re going to take your eye out, or soak yourself, or both.”

“I can cork a bottle,” I snap defiantly.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m trying to be a gentleman, Amalie.”

I realize I’m being unnecessarily difficult, so I let him take the bottle and remove the cork with a soft hiss. He leans over enough that his arm grazes my breast as he pours me a glass, and I might lean into him to help maintain the contact.

His eyes dart to mine.

“Thank you.” Dammit. Why do I have to sound so breathless?

“Anytime you need to be corked, you just find me and I’ll help you out.”

I roll my eyes and sip my fresh champagne.

“And if you’re bored while you’re working on your tan, or you need any assistance with that treasure chest in your carry-on, I’m more than happy to lend a hand with that, too. Both, actually.”

And we’re back to the flirting. “Is that right?”

“I could be your beta tester.”

“Beta tester?”

“That’s a thing, you know. I’m sure the wrist strain must be difficult to manage. You’re on holiday, you should be relaxing. I could help out. Take the pressure off.” He winks.

I scoff even though I suddenly feel hot everywhere. And there’s an ache between my legs again that I’d like to take care of. Actually, I’d like Lex to take care of it for me. Which is just . . . so messed up.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can manage myself just fine.” I cross my legs. Uncross them, smooth my skirt out, and cross them again. I need to stop fidgeting.

“I’m sure you can. I’m sure you’re orgasmically good at it.” He puts away his lap tray and grabs his armrests.

“What’re you doing?”

He pauses, his forearms flexing and points to the overhead storage. “Just getting something. You need me to grab anything from your carry-on while I’m up?”

“Wouldn’t you just love it if I said yes.” I flip open my magazine, dismissing him.

He chuckles and stands. I sneakily check out his package. At least I think I’m being sneaky.

He drops back down beside me, arm touching mine as he whispers, “Wondering whether what I have is better than what you’ve got in your treasure chest?”

I choke back a snort, flip the magazine shut, and decide a pretend nap is a smart idea. How did I get into this situation? Why does he have to be so flirty and hot? I always assumed that Lex’s reputation with women was a given truth. But I’m really not so sure. In all the time I’ve known him he’s never had a girlfriend—not one that I’ve seen. And then there was that one rumor about how well he took care of his bachelor auction date last year—she paid over one hundred grand, so I suppose it’s possible he gave her full service, but it’s all just gossip.

The part of me that I’ve kept buried for the past year, the part that says fuck all the consequences, would very much like to find out if the rumors are true. That’s asking for trouble, though.

So much trouble.

But I kind of want to get into a little of that while I’m in Bora Bora. Or maybe a lot.

Eight: Don’t Touch That

Lexington

Amalie fell asleep an hour ago, which is a good thing. I can’t flirt with her when she’s unconscious. I can, however, be considerate and thoughtful.

I tipped her seat back and pulled out the footrest—all without disturbing her. I’m that smooth. I secured a pillow for her and even tucked it under her head, twice, but she seems to prefer my shoulder. She’s currently curled up on her side, hugging my bicep. I’ve used my jacket to cover her from the waist down, because her skirt keeps riding up, exposing the lacy top of her thigh highs. I’d like to say I’ve covered her up because I’m a decent human being, but the truth is, there’s an old guy to the left of us who keeps looking over every time she moves. It’s okay for me to check out her thigh-highs—him, not so much. Also, it’s giving me a hard-on I can’t do anything about.

Amalie’s not a silent sleeper. She makes these soft little sounds, moans and sighs. She mumbles too, and based on the way she keeps inching closer, she’s a snuggler.

I hate that the image of her curled around my cousin’s arm pops into my head. I hate that he’s had her, been inside her, knows what she sounds like when she comes. I hate that he’s humiliated her in such a public way, made her question her value as a person, her worth. I hate that he asked her out before I could.

I’d been watching her all night, just completely in awe of the way she handled the room, her interactions with people. I’d wanted a chance to find out what was under that sweetly polished exterior. I never should have left her side the night I met her. If I’d been smart I would’ve taken her with me to the bar, and kept her away from Armstrong. But then, even if I’d managed to get her to go out with me, he would’ve found a way to fuck it up for me. He always has. I don’t intend to allow him another opportunity to mess with me. Not after this.

I move stray hairs from her cheek. She really is absolutely gorgeous. The vibe she gives off isn’t quite sex kitten. Her face is too sweet, her features fine, delicate. It’s what makes the fact that she has a trunk of sex toys that much more intriguing. She certainly doesn’t look like the kind of woman who would be toting a collection of butt plugs. And that stainless-steel number. Fucking hell. I’d give my left nut to put that to use. Okay, maybe not a nut, but I’d give up something good to have that opportunity.