‘Is that a gun in your swimming shorts or are you just happy to see me?’ Avery fires an antagonising wink my way from the sun lounger beside me. She’s on her third cocktail. Like I said—reckless, attention-seeking, and incapable of staying out of trouble.
And worse again—she looks fucking delectable in fire engine red bikini bottoms.
Yeah, you heard.
Bottoms.
My newest charge is sitting two feet away from me with her spectacular tits out for all to see. Thank fuck for the Ray-Bans. At least this afternoon, unlike this morning, I can steal the occasional glimpse.
‘It’s a gun.’ Although there is another weapon digging into my shorts too. And even with her oversized Chanel sunglasses on, it’s impossible to miss her eyes drifting towards it.
‘Shame. For a second there, I thought you might have something going for you.’
‘Like I said yesterday, you’ll never have to worry about it.’ I reach for the bottle of water on the table beside me and take a few mouthfuls. What I wouldn’t do for a Beckett’s Gold, but I’m taking this threat seriously, even if Avery isn’t.
The beach is blissfully quiet; most of the wedding guests are up at the main pool where James and Scarlett are hosting their post-wedding barbecue. The Caribbean Sea stretches endlessly in front of us, a sheet of rippling turquoise that catches the afternoon sun like scattered diamonds. I catalogue every detail—force of habit. My security team maintains their positions—Sterling by the beach bar, Thomson near the water sports hut, Walsh scanning the treeline. I’ve had them re-run background checks on every single wedding guest, and every staff member turning over everything from social media profiles to tax records. Nothing flagged. Nothing suspicious. Name by name, photo by photo, we dug deep—criminal records, financial histories, travel patterns. Which means either our stalker isn’t here, or he’s a better actor than anyone in attendance.
‘Why can’t we go to the barbecue?’ Avery whines.
‘Because there’s a crazy bastard hell-bent on tormenting you.’
‘Pretty sure there’s one sitting right next to me too,’ she mutters, tossing her thick golden hair over her shoulder. Her face lights when she spots a passing waiter. ‘Excuse me?’
He turns with a smile that morphs into a mass of shock when he registers Avery and her transcendent tits. His face might be funny if I didn’t want to punch it. His jaw drops so fast it may need to be surgically reattached. And for reasons that I do not want to analyse, him drooling over her annoys the fuck out of me.
‘Can I get two more dirty martinis, please?’ She flashes him a megawatt smile. Her tinkling laughter echoes through the air. ‘And have you got any mint chocolate ice cream? I don’t normally eat sweet stuff but, feck it, I’m on holiday.’
His eyes fixate on Avery’s bare breasts for a long moment before they snap to her face.
I stare at him stonily.
It’s day one, and this is already officially the worst job I’ve ever had.
Not only am I battling a permanent erection, but I’ve had to grill Avery for details of every man she’s ever had sex with, been on a date with, or refused a date with, and run checks on them too, and I have no idea why every single part of it enrages me.
Yes, she’s attractive.
Yes, I fancy the fuck out of her.
But do I want any part of her drama in my life? Unequivocally not.
Yet I now find myself with a long list of men I want to eradicate from the planet.
The waiter finally manages to pull his tongue back into his mouth. ‘Yes, Ma’am. Certainly.’ He angles towards me. ‘Sir, can I get you anything?’
‘Is a different client too much to ask for?’
‘Sorry?’ A look of confusion flits across his face.
‘Never mind,’ I shoo him away and he retreats towards the white wooden beach bar.
‘Did you just make a joke?’ Avery screeches, shoving her sunglasses on top of her head. She twists to stare at me like I’ve got ten heads and six cocks.
‘I was deadly serious.’ I look at my watch pointedly. It’s barely three o’clock. ‘Do you really need two more cocktails?’
‘Do I really need you, Killian?’ She wrinkles her nose in disgust.
‘Unfortunately for both of us, yes—you do.’
She exhales a dramatic sigh and flops back on to the plush, plump mattress. ‘Kill me now.’
‘Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.’
The flash of a camera in the distance catches my attention. If it’s that prick Thorne making good on his promise to photograph Avery on the beach, I will bury him ten-feet under the sand. His background checks might have come back clear, but I haven’t ruled him out—not by a long shot.
I touch my earpiece. ‘Incoming. Six o’clock. Looked like the flash of a camera.’
Sterling’s rough Belfast accent blasts through the tiny piece in my ear. ‘It’s Rian.’
I twist my torso to see my youngest brother strolling towards us with a shit-eating grin on his face and his mobile phone in his hand. If he’s filming Avery without her clothes on, I will legitimately kill him. My parents won’t be happy about it, but needs must.
‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ He whips his sunglasses off shamelessly in order to get a better look.
‘Rian!’ Avery beams up at him like it’s normal that she’s only wearing a tiny pair of crimson bikini bottoms.
Then again, she’s a glamour model—it probably is normal for her.
And technically, I’m sitting here in a pair of shorts and no top, so why shouldn’t she? It’s what people do on holiday—in addition to drinking martinis and eating mint chocolate ice cream apparently.
I’m torn between being impressed with her obvious body confidence and being unscrupulously horrified by it. Again—I categorically refuse to analyse why.
‘The best man and the bridesmaid, huh?’ Rian’s pupils dart between us with delight. ‘So cliché!’
‘It’s not like that,’ I mutter. I told James everything this morning, and we both agreed the less people who know about Avery’s stalker situation, the better. As far as anyone else is concerned, we’re just hanging out.
‘Yeah? Well, I heard that Avery moved into your room last night.’ Rian takes a seat at the bottom of Avery’s sun lounger and she slides her long, toned legs up to make room for him.
‘She was drunk. I was making sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit.’ I nod towards her again. ‘And the way she’s sinking martinis, tonight will be the same.’
‘Lighten up! This is supposed to be a celebration.’ Avery shimmies her shoulders, drawing my gaze downwards. Fuck, she really is the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen–and the biggest attention seeker of all time. She reaches for the SPF bottle beside her, squirts a huge dollop of oil into her palm and precedes to rub it into her shoulders.
Nothing shocks me. Not anymore. I’ve seen too much. But as my latest charge works oil lower over her pert, gravity defying tits, my mouth pops open and my dick strains against my shorts like a feral beast.
She’s trying to kill me—death by dick combustion.
‘Damn, girl.’ Rian whistles lowly. Her lips lift in a smirk. She’s torturing both of us, and she fucking knows it. The woman lives for attention.
‘Need a hand?’ Rian offers with a twinkle in his eye.
I’m going to kill him.
If he so much as places a finger on her, he’ll lose it.
A low noise rumbles in my throat. I mask it with a cough.
‘I’m good, thanks.’ The soft warm breeze carries Avery’s tinkling laughter, the scent of coconut oil, and peony perfume. It’s going to be a long day.
‘You ever heard the saying “Three’s a crowd” little brother?’ I shoot Rian a look that would make a lesser man squirm.
He guffaws. Actually guffaws, then slaps his thigh. ‘I knew there was something going on with you two!’ His pupils flit between us gleefully.
‘If she was mine, do you think I’d let you share her sun lounger and drool all over her tits?’ I hiss. ‘If you must know, we were in the middle of a conversation.’
Rian swats a hand in front of his face. ‘You haven’t held a proper conversation in years. We’re lucky if we get a few sentences out of you.’
Avery’s head whips up. ‘Lucky? I’d call that a blessing, given every word he utters is an insult or a complaint.’ Her palm glides over her nipples with the oil.
Holy fuck.
I need Rian to leave.
Now.
‘How’s Alexia this morning?’ I demand, pointedly.
‘As ever, you don’t miss a fucking thing, do you?’ Rian’s lips crack open, revealing perfect white teeth.
‘It comes with the job description.’
The waiter returns, balancing a tray with two martinis in one hand and the mint chocolate ice cream in the other. He nearly trips over his tongue as Avery continues to rub oil over her smooth, flawless skin.
‘I’ll take that.’ I snatch one of the martinis from the tray and knock it back. It tastes like shit, but one thing’s become abhorrently clear—if I’m going to survive this afternoon, I’m going to need alcohol.
‘Better bring two more,’ Rian says.
‘Don’t. He’s not staying.’ I slam the glass back on the tray and hand the waiter a fifty-euro tip before dismissing him. I turn to my brother, ‘If you took a photo of Avery for your wank bank, get rid of it, before I get rid of you—permanently.’
‘What do you take me for? Some sort of pervert?’ Rian’s palm flies to his chest, resting over his heart. ‘I was taking a picture of the beach for…’ His face falters for a second. ‘A friend.’
‘You fucking better have been.’ I motion for him to hand his phone over.
‘Are you defending my honour?’ Surprise spikes Avery’s tone.
‘I’m defending your right to privacy. Not that you seem to care much for it.’ I gesture in the direction of her nearly nakedness.
Her comment yesterday about the ‘Eyeful’ vagina shot struck a chord with me. I assumed it was a publicity stunt. Bad publicity is better than no publicity, or whatever. But the hurt on her face was real. The way her voice cracked when she spoke about it was real. Which is why the pap responsible, Anton Roche, is currently in one of my warehouses in the Wicklow mountains waiting for me to return. Until then, three of my men will entertain him. The bastard had a history of assault allegations that never stuck. Three prior charges, three times he walked. The last one was on a minor. He won’t walk this time. In fact, he’ll never walk again.
‘He’s just trying to protect you.’ Rian stands, plucks his phone from his pocket and shows us the photo he took. It’s all blue sea and white sand. ‘I know Killian looks like an emotionless fucker, but my big brother is the most loyal man on this planet.’ Rian looks at Avery. ‘If you’re in his inner circle, he will kill or die for you.’
I shake my head. I don’t need a fucking wingman. What I need is for my brother to piss off so I can get back to work scanning the perimeter.
Avery studies me thoughtfully for a few seconds. Her blue eyes blaze with open curiosity again. Like I’m a code she can’t quite crack. Bad enough I have to put up with her beautiful body, but I point blank refuse to spend the foreseeable future being watched and scrutinised like a Freudian experiment.
Rian backs across the sand in the direction of the main hotel, ‘And one more thing, Avery…’ I roll my eyes, waiting for whatever punchline he’s about to deliver. Probably his phone number.
‘If you haven’t shagged him yet, you should. Becketts are blessed, if you know what I mean.’ He winks and grabs his crotch. ‘And if he won’t prove it to you, I will. Enjoy the cock…tail.’ Rian snorts as he saunters away.
For once, Avery is speechless.
