“Oh thank God!” I laugh with relief. “Whew, dodged a bullet there.” I pretend to swipe the sweat from my forehead and realize I’m really sweating. And so is he. Is it suddenly hot out? Or is my entire body blushing?

“So what’s your handle?” he asks as he leans over the side of the raft to reach into the floating cooler. I study his back and have to physically restrain myself from touching him. I’ve studied every part of his body in every public picture ever released. I feel like I know that back intimately.

My hand reaches out and my fingertips do a hover trace down the length of his spine. Jesus. I might not be able to control myself.

He finds what he wants and suddenly leans back, colliding with my outstretched hand.

“Were you trying to touch me?”

“Yes,” I say automatically. “I mean, no!” Shit. “No! Of course not. No!”

He leans all the way back again so that our shoulders are touching and then pops the cap off a beer and hands it to me. “I like that.”

“What?”

“Your automatic response was to tell the truth.” He flashes that movie-star smile again and I die a little inside from the cuteness of it. How old is he? Thirty-two, I remind myself. I know this. His birthday is two days after mine. But he looks boyishly young right now. Like he did back in his teens when he was doing Disney movies. He clinks his bottle to mine and takes a swig.

I’m still in shock so I just hold my beer out in front of me like an idiot.

“So what is it?”

“What?” I manage.

“Your Twitter handle?”

I do a pfft complete with a raspberry that makes me come off like a two-year-old. “Sorry, I do not care who you are, that’s a name you’re never getting. I’ve said so many filthy things about you on Twitter…” I can only shake my head. “No. Never.”

“Like the one this morning? Is your pu**y really bare?”

My mouth opens and stays that way for several seconds.

“Would you like to know what my invisible tongue can do to it?” he asks.

I’m throbbing.

“Or would you rather try out the visible one?”

I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help it. And then before I can collect myself he jumps off the raft and starts walking towards shore. “Think about it, Grace,” he says, looking back over his shoulder as he gets to the concrete edge of the river and lifts himself out of the water. Every muscle in his back and arms is defined and rock hard as he stands up on the walkway and turns back to me, dripping wet. I glance down at his key lime shorts and see his bulge and then glance up quickly to find him smiling again. “Because that’s an offer. I’d be happy to play the part of soft tropical breeze caressing your bare pu**y.”

And then he walks off, his feet slapping in the puddle of water his body is creating.

My mouth is still open and even though I’m still on the raft, he’s not the only one sopping wet.

Chapter Six

GodIHopeHeLikesThatShit

HOW did he know my name?

This question runs through my mind all the way back to the bungalow. I saw him in the bar and outside of the lingerie shop.

Is he stalking me?

Grace, you have lost your freaking mind! He’s a movie star! He doesn’t stalk nobodies, nobodies stalk him!

I shake my head and laugh as I push the key card into the reader on the door. It flashes green and I push it open. The air-conditioning makes me sigh as I kick off my flip flops and fall back onto the bed.

I met Vaughn Asher.

I scream and kick my feet. I met Vaughn Asher!

Oh my God, I’m having a fangirl moment. I get my phone out and text Bebe.

You are never gonna believe who I just met.

I add some hearts and flowers and then press send as I wait for her reply so we can play the guessing game.

He was every bit as much the Prince Charming in person as he is in the movies and magazines. Better even, because you never know how many of those pictures are retouched and how many of those interviews are fake. I barely got a look at his abs, but they were just as delicious as his back. And even though he was sorta dirty-talking to me, in his defense, I started it with the tweet. He is…

Lickable. Definitely fairy tale material.

I giggle and look down at my phone screen. “Where are you, Bebe?” I say to the empty room. They should be done parasailing by now. How long could something like that last? I need to tell her everything. I need to get her to tweet things to the Dirty Heaven list for me just in case he’s watching for his name. He cannot find out who I am on Twitter. No.

I blush just thinking about it. Jesus, the things I’ve tweeted about him over the years. I would never be able to look him in the face. I tweeted about things I’d like to do to his face—hehe, I have to stop and take in a quick breath at that. The man’s got a nice chin. I tweeted about how I imagine his c**k looks. Another chuckle escapes. Thick and hard. And I should know, I saw it through his wet shorts.

Oh God. Whew.

The room phone rings and pulls me out of my erotic dreaming. I roll over on the bed, reach for it, and put it to my ear. “Bueno, Señorita Kinsella speaking.”

“Miss Kinsella,” a male voice says from the other end. “I have a message from Miss Chambers.”

“Oh, Bebe! Where is she?”

“She is spending the night on Water Island and will be back tomorrow. She sends her apologies.”

“Hmmm.” That’s disappointing. “OK, thank you.” I hang up the phone and roll back over on the bed. I’m really not clingy, but this is a little much. I mean, we’re on our honeymoon!