Taming Lily (The Fowler Sisters #3)(14)

“No. I had my suspicions, what with the name of the club and all,” I say breezily. I’m really good at faking it when I need to. And right now? I’m totally faking it.

“So what’s a beautiful woman like you doing in Maui all alone?” he asks, his voice casual, his gaze … predatory.

A shiver moves through me, and not the good kind.

And what is it with men being so surprised at a woman traveling alone? “I needed to get away.” I don’t say anything else. I’ve discovered over the years the less said, the better.

“From life?” He smirks. It’s vaguely smarmy and I tell myself to knock it off. He’s just being friendly. I’m making too big a deal over this.

“From stress.” I smile and sip from my wine. It really is terrible, with that bitter aftertaste that still lingers in my mouth. I don’t really want to finish it, but I also don’t want to be rude.

“Ah.” He nods, like he completely understands the need to get away from it all. “Stress. It’s a killer.”

“It is,” I agree. “So can I ask you why you’re in Maui all alone?” A pause. “You are here alone, aren’t you?” If he’s married and the wife is down at the beach or pool or whatever, I’m going to smack this * upside his arrogant head.

“I’m here on business.” He chuckles when I send him a skeptical look. “A retreat of sorts. Training and meetings all morning, then fun in the sun during the afternoons.”

“Nice. You must work for a great company.”

“They’re pretty good.” He shrugs, looking ready to burst. I know he wants to tell me what he does for a living or who he works for. He’s dying to show off.

“What do you do?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.

“I’m a real estate broker.” His smile turns the slightest bit smarmy again. I can tell he’s impressed with himself. Ugh. “In Beverly Hills.”

“Ah.” I look him over as discreetly as possible, not wanting him to think I’m interested. I note the perfectly cut light brown hair, the Tommy Bahama shirt, the fact that there’s not even a single line or wrinkle in his face and I’d bet big money he’s at least ten years older than me, maybe more. Probably uses Botox. And the Rolex on his wrist is ostentatious. Big and bold, with the face trimmed in diamonds.

Hmm. He may look designer, but I bet he doesn’t have much cash in his bank account. Probably in debt to his eyeballs, trying to impress any and every silly woman he meets.

Like me.

“What do you do?” he asks as he rests his hand once more on my elbow, his fingers cupping my skin. When I send him a questioning look he clarifies, “For work.”

“Oh. I’m, um, in computers.” Not far from the truth. I am into computers. I just don’t get paid for it, not usually.

Well, there were those few times back in my late teens when Daddy would cut me off financially. I’d end up doing some IT jobs for people, work one of my good friends from high school would find me. I’d also secretly do some sneaky hacking work, but those jobs were few and far between because I didn’t want the trouble.

It’s one thing to be a teenager and change up your friends’ bad grades by hacking into the school’s computer system. It’s another thing entirely to f*ck someone’s life up by, say, depleting the person’s bank account. Or forward that extra-sexy email from a mistress to the man’s wife. I’ve had those sorts of requests more than once but I never took them. Not from strangers, and not for money.

Once I turned twenty-one and received my trust fund, I didn’t have to worry about picking up odd jobs anymore. Now any hacking work I do is for fun.

Or revenge.

And that’s what typically gets me into trouble.

“Beauty and brains, huh? Sounds like you’re the full package.” He runs his fingers down the length of my arm. My immediate instinct is to jerk away from his touch, but I don’t. I shouldn’t be so hung up on Max, especially since I’m the one who walked away from him. I need to focus on Russ. Pretend that he interests me.

Despite every instinct screaming inside of me to run away, I stay. I’ll give him another chance. But if he does one more thing that creeps me out, I’m gone.

“Why do men always assume if a woman is attractive, she must be dumb?” I keep my voice light as I ask the question, but I can see the quick flash of anger in his eyes.

He looks offended. “I never said you were dumb.”

“Ah, but you did say beauty and brains, as if you were surprised,” I point out.

“Well, I have to admit, I am surprised. You really are the full package. Hot. Smart.” He lets his gaze dip to my chest as he checks me out. Blatantly. The full-body disgusted shiver is hard to contain and I wonder if he notices.

Worse, I wonder if he thinks I’m shivering in anticipation. Ick.

I say nothing. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll probably insult him and piss him off. Luckily enough, he continues on with the conversation.

“So where are you from?”

“The East Coast.” I don’t want to say anything else personal. The less information I give him, the better. Glancing at my glass, I decide I’m not going to drink anymore. I need to get out of here. This guy gives me the creeps.