Hart Matthew stood by the sleek, stainless-steel outdoor grill, staring at a marinated chicken breast as if it were a hostile takeover target.
"Flip at four minutes," he muttered to himself, checking his diamond-encrusted watch. "Internal temperature must reach 165 degrees."
He was wearing swim trunks—dark navy, perfectly tailored—and nothing else. His broad back was tanned, his muscles rippling as he adjusted the gas dial with surgical precision.
"Is the chef ready?" Eunice's voice drifted from the patio door.
Hart turned around, holding the metal tongs like a weapon. "The protein is—"
The tongs clattered onto the wooden deck with a loud clang.
Eunice stood in the doorway. She was wearing the red bikini.
It wasn't skimpy, but it was… red. Bright, bold, fire-engine red against her pale skin. The top accentuated her curves, and the bottoms sat low on her hips, revealing the very slight, soft swell of her lower abdomen where the twins were growing.
She looked glowing. She looked healthy. She looked devastating.
Hart's brain, usually a supercomputer of logic and strategy, short-circuited.
"You dropped your tongs," Eunice pointed out, trying to hide her own nervousness. She felt exposed. She hadn't worn a bikini since college, and definitely not in front of a man who looked like that.
Hart didn't pick up the tongs. His eyes traveled slowly from her bare feet, up her legs, lingering on her stomach, and finally meeting her eyes.
"That suit," Hart said, his voice sounding like he had swallowed gravel. "Is it… regulation?"
Eunice laughed, stepping onto the warm wood of the deck. "Regulation? Is there a dress code for your private island, sir?"
"There should be," Hart grumbled, finally bending down to retrieve the tongs. He cleared his throat, turning back to the grill to hide his reaction. "It is… bright. I can see you from space. Good for safety."
"You are impossible," Eunice shook her head, walking past him toward the infinity pool that spilled over the edge of the cliff toward the ocean.
She sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her legs in. The water was cool and refreshing.
"Are you coming in?" she called back. "Or are you going to analyze the chicken until it turns to charcoal?"
Hart looked at the chicken. It was fine. He turned off the burner, covered the grill, and walked toward her.
He didn't take the stairs into the pool. He walked to the deep end and dove in with a clean, silent splash. He swam underwater the entire length of the pool, surfacing right in front of her.
He pushed his wet hair back from his face, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
"In," he ordered, holding out his hands.
Eunice hesitated. The water was deep here.
"I've got you," Hart promised, his voice low and serious.
She slid off the edge.
Hart caught her immediately. His hands gripped her waist, his skin warm against the cool water. The buoyancy took her weight, but Hart held her steady, pulling her legs around his waist so she wouldn't sink.
They were face to face. Chest to chest. The red bikini top was the only thing between her skin and his bare chest.
"You're buoyant," Hart noted, his eyes locked on hers.
"It's the twins," Eunice whispered, feeling breathless. "Two extra passengers."
Hart's expression softened. He moved one hand from her waist to her stomach, his large palm spreading over the wet fabric of her swimsuit bottom. He held the bump—his children—under the water.
"Do they like it?" he asked softly.
"I think so," Eunice said. "They're quiet."
"Good," Hart murmured. He leaned closer. The water lapped around them. The scent of the ocean and his skin filled her senses. "You look beautiful, Eunice. Not just the suit. You."
He wasn't looking at her like an employee. He wasn't looking at her like an incubator for his heirs. He was looking at her like a man who was starving.
Eunice's heart raced. "Hart..."
He tilted his head, his lips inches from hers. The water bobbed them closer.
"Kiss me," he whispered. "Real this time. No judge. No contract."
Eunice closed the gap.
She pressed her lips to his. It tasted of salt water and desire. Hart groaned, his arm tightening around her back, pulling her flush against him. He kissed her deeply, passionately, his hand on her stomach moving to caress her side.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sun, the water, and the man holding her up.
Then, a smell drifted over the pool.
Acrid. Sharp.
Smoke.
Hart broke the kiss abruptly. He sniffed the air. His eyes widened in horror.
"The chicken!"
He released her (making sure she was holding the edge of the pool first) and scrambled out of the water like a madman. He sprinted to the grill, throwing the lid open.
A cloud of black smoke billowed out.
"Dammit!" Hart coughed, waving the smoke away. He poked at the charred, black lumps that used to be lunch.
Eunice floated in the pool, watching the billionaire CEO curse at a piece of poultry. She touched her lips, which were still tingling from his kiss.
She started to laugh. She laughed so hard she splashed water everywhere.
Hart turned, covered in soot, holding a burnt piece of chicken with the tongs. He glared at her, but there was no heat in it.
"I got distracted," he admitted, looking at her red bikini. "It is your fault."
"My fault?" Eunice giggled. "I didn't tell you to burn lunch!"
"You wore the suit," Hart stated simply, tossing the burnt chicken into the trash. "And you kissed back."
He walked back to the edge of the pool, crouching down.
"Get out, Mrs. Matthew," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "We are having peanut butter and pickles for lunch. It is the only thing I cannot burn."