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Read Online Books/Novels:


Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Heidi McLaughlin

Book Information:

He’s British.
She’s American.

They meet on vacation.
And agree to fake name each other.

One is lying about everything.
The other is telling the truth.

They’re about to embark on a sexcation.
But what happens when it’s over?

Books by Author:

Heidi McLaughlin Books




That is where I am. The pink sandy beaches of Bermuda have been calling my name for months, ever since a few of my clients raved about visiting. I wanted my best friend to come along, make a girls’ week but she was adamant that I do this alone. This being what she refers to as a life-changing vacation. I’m under strict orders to not be my usual self, to get out there and be free. None of which I can see happening. I’m rather content to sit by the pool or by the ocean and people watch or read one of the novels I brought with me. That is definitely not life changing for me, except for the sandy beaches. The only thing different from my day to day is that I’ve shut myself off from the outside world. My phone is off and my laptop didn’t make the trip.

The weather right now in Bermuda is perfect. It’s not too hot, at least by my standards. As far as I’m concerned, it’s perfect. I’d live here, if given the chance. And maybe I can someday. The resort isn’t even close to capacity, which is nice considering that I’m alone. So very alone in all the ways that matter. The last thing I want to see are couples constantly cuddling on the chaise lounges, kissing, and making ‘come fuck me’ eyes at each other while I try to get a tan. And I so desperately need a tan.

My room has an ocean view, which was well worth spending the extra money to walk out on my balcony and sip my early morning coffee without having other guests mingling around me. I need those small moments after I awake. My only gripe about my room is that it’s adjoining, and honestly, that freaks me the hell out. It also slightly pisses me off that I have to share my balcony. What if, whoever is staying there gets the sudden urge to knock in the middle of the night? Or, God forbid, they lose their key and want to use my room to get to theirs? I shudder at the thought.

The sliding glass door for the shared room opens and I find myself holding my breath in anticipation. I was hoping that the room would be vacant to save me the curiosity of wondering who is staying there, but that wouldn’t be my luck. No, my luck is having the man that I was checking out earlier when he was checking in as my neighbor. It was his suit and the way he spoke to the receptionists. His voice was smooth and British. So very British that I found myself rubbing my thighs together and mentally cursing myself because where there’s one, there’s plenty, and I don’t know if I can handle that. Who would’ve thought an accent could elicit such a tantalizing effect on me?

And now that man is standing in the shared balcony space as I am, and for the life of me, I can’t take my eyes off him. He was and still is dressed in a black suit and white button down that I saw him in not moments ago, but now his eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators and I only know this because he’s staring at me or through me. He’s returning the penetrating gaze that I gave him earlier, at least I think he is. When his head cocks to the side and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, I turn away quickly, embarrassed that he caught me gawking, but I couldn’t help it. There is something about a finely dressed man in paradise.

Stepping back into my room, I pull the heavy curtains shut and turn up the air conditioner to try to curb my overheated skin. Even as I stand in front of the mirror, which happens to be next to the adjoined door, my heart races, wondering what the man on the other side of the wall is doing, or who for that matter. A man like that doesn’t come without a woman or have an entourage waiting to worship at his feet.

“Snap out of it,” I tell my reflection, who seems to mock me.

I’m here to clear my head, not fantasize about the other guests at the resort, and that’s what I’m going to do. Clear my head. I change into my swimsuit, apply sunblock to every visible body part, and slip my cover-up over my head before grabbing the stack of magazines that I bought at the newsstands outside the airport terminal, my sunglasses, and hat before heading down to the pool. I’m cautious though when I open my door, checking first to see if he’s coming out as well, and only when the coast is clear do I speed walk to the elevator, praying that my mystery neighbor stays locked inside his room.

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