I scowl a bit. I’m not getting into that because that’s exactly what Kristen wants, and my mind’s been made up for years now.
Shoving everything out of my head, I finish changing and slather some sunblock on my exposed skin. After dropping off my bag with the front desk, I go to the sitting area in the lobby to catch up on emails. I didn’t get done as much as I expected during the flight for one very obvious reason—Elizabeth.
I scroll down my inbox and rub my lower lip. Still no update from Antoine on Julian. What’s taking so long?
Patience. Julian has tons of business deals and interests, and Antoine believes in being thorough. I appreciate that, because it’s saved my ass a few times. I just wish speed came with the thoroughness.
Suddenly my nerve endings tingle, and I can sense—rather than see—Elizabeth. I swivel around and—
The air clogs my throat like a physical lump, my blood running hotter and faster as my heart pumps harder. She’s pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, the golden, silky mane swaying with every step. Some kind of aquamarine wrap dress is draped around her, but the fabric is virtually sheer, displaying her gorgeous body, from her slender shoulders to plump breasts, the tiny waist and the sexy curves of her hips.
Her bikini is hot pink accented with plum. And although it isn’t that tiny, it seems to reveal too much of her flesh anyway—flesh I used to kiss and stroke to climax. An absurd urge to hide her away so no asshole can ogle her floods my mind. I bite back a curse.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Putting away my phone, I get up. “You look nice.”
As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I regret it. Nice is an idiot word, something you choose when you can’t think of anything because your brain isn’t working well. The weather is nice. Vodka is nice.
Elizabeth is beyond nice. She’s perfect.
“Thank you. So do you.” She puts on sunglasses with light umber lenses. “Ready?” I nod, placing a pair of shades on my face.
Beige tote bag slung over her shoulder, Elizabeth takes me out to the beach. The weather is just right for a party—the sky high and blue with a few white clouds on the horizon over a brilliant ocean. The sand is warm from the sun.
A huge section is cordoned off, and music blares from speakers. Asian men in black suits and earpieces stand around, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Don’t mind the men,” Elizabeth says. “Bao Ming Ming’s big on peace of mind. And I’m sure her head of security believes there’s going to be a pipe bomb or something at the party.”
I raise an eyebrow. I might take what Elizabeth said seriously if it weren’t for a small smile on her lips. “Is the man prone to theatrics?”
She shakes her head. “No. But he’s paid to be paranoid. And”—she lets out an exasperated sigh—“he got a call earlier.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she keeps walking. After a few yards, I realize she’s not going to explain.
She approaches one of the men in black. He doesn’t smile, but he nods in recognition. “Ms. Pryce-Reed,” he says in heavily accented English.
“Hello, Mr. Chu. It’s good to see you again.”
“An honor.” I can feel his gaze sliding over to me. “And this is…?”
She gives him a reassuring smile. “My date—Dominic King. I told Ming Ming I was going to bring him.”
He pulls out his phone and checks a few things. “Ah, yes. I see.” He waves us in, placing an index finger on the earpiece and speaking in Chinese.
“Let’s grab something to drink and see if we can find Ming Ming,” she says.
“Is this Ming Ming the birthday girl?” I hate flying blind. I wasn’t able to look anybody up since Elizabeth was tight-lipped about the party—who was hosting it, who was coming, what was it for.
“Yes. She’s a socialite from Hong Kong. I met her in Europe when we were twelve. Since then we’ve been very close friends.”
“More than just close friends. Best friends.”
Elizabeth and I turn around and see a petite Asian woman with a wide smile. She’s in a bright lime-colored bikini with gold hoops, which doesn’t do a thing to flatter her. Although she doesn’t have the muscle tone of a gym rat, her body doesn’t have an ounce of fat—or breasts, or hips. Her skin’s exceptionally milky—a shade paler than Elizabeth’s—and her face is doll-like with large black eyes I can see over the sunglasses, a tiny nose and bee-stung mouth tinted crimson.
“Ming Ming!” Elizabeth embraces her.
“Hey, best friend.” Ming Ming hugs her back, exchanging air kisses.