"Should I be worried that your friends don't think we're crazy?" Daisy asked Hunt later that night, scanning the array of dresses on her bed. Cobalt blue, sky blue, pastel green, and ... more shades of blue.

"I thought you'd be relieved," he replied, his voice muffled behind the closed bathroom door. "Why would that concern you?"

"Oh, I don't know." She narrowed the outfits down to two, snapping a quick picture and sending it to the group chat. "Maybe because it's making me wonder whether pretending to be in relationships with strangers is a regular occurrence for you three?" Seriously, the speed with which Hunt's friends not only believed everything they'd confessed, but encouraged them to keep up the act ... it wasn't what Daisy had expected. And it was making her wonder how her friends would react if she—

No. They'd probably plan an intervention. The good reverend might organise an exorcism.

"So you admit it?" Hunt asked.

Honey text back first. Love the green.

"Admit what?"

"That the thing we're pretending to do here is a relationship? Not a fling?" He was smirking. She could hear it.

"You're the one who introduced me as your girlfriend," she reminded him. "Twice now."

Blue, Laia and Belle replied.

The bathroom door opened as she hung the green dress in the closet by the entryway. Draping the cobalt mini over her arm, she turned to find Hunt standing by the door, folding back his sleeves. Had he done something different with his hair?

"You really don't like labels, huh?" That wicked flame crackled in his eyes. "Lucky for you, tiger, labels don't bother me. You can call me whatever you like."

She stuffed her makeup bag under her arm, throwing him a dry smile. "I'll stick with Jerk Face."

He whistled under his breath as she slipped by, closing the bathroom door behind her. "What did I do to deserve that?"

The list was long, and her time was better spent curling her hair.

She did just that, then built up the shadow around her eyes and opted for a coral lip to contrast her dress.

"He looks familiar," she said at one point. "The lifeguard."

"Adam," Hunt provided.

"Is he from Brisbane, too?"

"No. He grew up around here, actually."

She frowned. She knew she knew his face, she just couldn't place it.

"Do you keep up with surfing?" Hunt asked as she dusted bronzer over her cheeks. She heard him loop his belt through his pants, and her spontaneous case of acid reflux returned.

"Wait ..." Daisy scrunched her nose at her reflection. "Adam's a surfer?"

"One of the best in the country."

"What the hell's he doing working here?"

Hunt chuckled at the same time as Daisy's stomach began flipping like a fish out of water. She eyed the toilet as he explained, "The resort outsources their lifeguards through the local lifesaving club. Adam practically grew up there, and he still volunteers during the off-season. They can't get rid of the guy."

There was something quite endearing about that, and Daisy made a mental note to Google Adam later. Strictly for curiosity's sake. Not because of the six-pack she'd glimpsed through his putrid yellow polo.

It was as she was wriggling into her dress that her mind latched on to something Adam had said—right after Hunt told them how she knew his ex.

Anyone who hates Vanessa is a friend of mine.

She'd laughed at the time, but even then, the statement hadn't hit her as truth.

"I never hated her, by the way."

Something was being spritzed on the other side of the door, and Daisy wondered whether Hunt was applying the cologne that gave him that fresh, woodsy scent that reduced any good sense she had to wisps of smoke. She had to get the name of that thing. And douse every guy she slept with in it from here on out.

"Hated who?" he asked.

She made a face in the mirror. "Vanessa." Who else?

There was a pause. The kind that buzzed with disagreement Hunt wouldn't dare voice.

"I didn't," Daisy insisted. "Actually, I admired her."

"Why?"

Daisy often wondered that herself. "At my first recital—I was eight, maybe—I watched her do her ballet solo from the wings. And I just ..." Daisy shook her head, her mascara wand hovering by her eyes. "I thought she was so beautiful. So graceful. Everything a dancer should be. The day I was moved into the older class, I was so excited to dance with her, and ..." She swallowed, the memory of that first lesson so clear in her head it was like it was playing out on the glass in front of her. A bitter laugh cracked out of her, and she didn't bother swallowing it. "Well, you know what they say about meeting your idols."

"What about that time you tripped her on stage?" Hunt asked. His voice sounded closer, like he was standing right on the other side of the door.

Daisy inched her face toward the sound. "Tripped her?"

"Yeah. I didn't see it, but she never shut up about it. She always said the beer thing was karma."

Daisy frowned. She didn't remember ever being the instigator in any situation that concerned Vanessa—

"Wait ..." She blinked. "You're not talking about Swan Lake?"

Daisy could practically hear him shrugging. "No clue."

Glancing at her reflection, she replayed the concert over and over in her head. But ... there was no way Vanessa could have spun that night to make Daisy look like the bad guy ...

Then again, it was Vanessa they were talking about.

"She stole my costume!" Daisy screwed the lid on her mascara, throwing it in her bag and zipping it shut. "She locked me in my dressing room! By the time the stagehand found me, Vanessa was already in the wings, getting ready to go out and do my routine in my costume. By then, I'd had enough. I wasn't going to let her push me around anymore. So, when she went out on stage, I went out as well. And she wouldn't relent, she wouldn't get out of the way ..." She had to stop, because her pulse was definitely racing, her voice was definitely unsteady, and it was definitely ridiculous to get so worked up about something that happened so long ago.

She pushed herself off the basin, giving her reflection a one-over before aiming for the door. "So, yeah, we collided, and she fell, but I didn't ... I didn't trip her. I wouldn't do that." Even if the psycho deserved it.

She swung the door open with a little too much pent-up energy. She'd been right. Hunt had moved closer. He was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, his arms folded over his chest. And he was looking at her again, just like he had by the pool before his friends showed up. But the expression on his face as he ran his gaze over her outfit, frozen in place ... she couldn't place it.

Daisy reined in a wince. It was like opening the door rattled her guard; she became acutely aware of how vulnerable she'd been. Of how much she'd overshared. It'd been easy, so damn easy to open up like that when Hunt was on the other side of the wall. When she could pretend that she was just talking to herself and her reflection.

But she hadn't been. She'd been talking to him—to Hunt Shepherd, Vanessa Barinov's ex. He hadn't said anything since she'd emerged from the bathroom. She quickly realized why.

"You don't believe me."

In half a second, Hunt's eyes left her dress and fastened on hers. They widened, his whole expression shifting with them when he launched himself off the wall. "No, I do."

She cocked her head. How could he? He knew Vanessa. He didn't know her. Daisy wouldn't blame him for taking his ex's side. She was Vanessa, after all—all beautiful and poised and charming and Vanessa. She'd cheated on Hunt, and he was still pining after her, to the point where he couldn't thread a sentence together in her presence.

But a whole new look hardened Hunt's features. Pensive. Contemplative. His gaze moved to the window behind them, taking in the view of the darkening rainforest beyond as his mouth settled into a firm line. Softly, more to himself than to her, Hunt repeated, "I do."

"You don't have to say that—" She was cut off by her phone buzzing.

I know you and Tarzan are probably just staring at each other, Laia had written. Can't blame you. But Amira and Co are here, and they're NOT pleased that you're still MIA.

Daisy gulped, grabbing her heels with one hand and Hunt's arm with the other. She dragged him to the door, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped again when he quickly submitted to the command.

The sound of ice rattling in glasses and murmured conversation folded into a recording of chittering birds, the walls and plants in the bar a blur of mahogany and emerald as Daisy whizzed by, trailing Hunt to the back of the packed space. They were within sight of the rest of their group when he stopped suddenly, almost causing her to crash right into him.

"Brake lights, Shepherd," she muttered. She'd learned his surname that afternoon—and was most definitely lording it over him. "Jesus—" 

A bug was in her hair.

Daisy almost yelped, raising a hand to slap it, but ... Not a bug. Hunt. His hands, at least.

Again?

Daisy went to swat him anyway. "What are you—"

He mussed up her hair—hair she'd just curled and styled to perfection, if she said so herself. He roughed up the copper strands, petting her head like he was petting a dog. Then he lowered his hand.

And smudged her lipstick.

Smudged. Her. Lipstick.

"Hunt," she near-screamed, shoving him in the chest.

He barely stumbled a step.

She ducked under his arm, glaring into the sheen of the pillar behind him, which, thank the lord, blocked her friends' view of them. Daisy saw her reflection and almost died then and there. "You prick!" she hissed. Was he committed to having his eyes clawed out?

He just said, "Look closer."

"At what?" Her windswept hair? Her smudged lipstick? He really hadn't changed, had he? There he was, sabotaging her again. She looked like ... like ...

Like she'd been caught amidst a make-out session.

Sure enough, when Daisy swivelled back around, Hunt was standing behind her, peering into the gleaming onyx pillar while he roughed up his own silken strands. Now they both looked like they'd practically run here—after spending a good thirty minutes with their fingers in each other's hair and tongues down each other's throats. Which, she guessed, was the whole freaking point.

Daisy glared. It was such a guy thing to do, to think about. Granted, it was smart.

But she wouldn't let him know it.

She folded her arms. "You are so—"

"Brilliant?" Hunt supplied, applying the finishing touches to their latest lie—the residue of her coral lipstick from his thumb onto the collar of his shirt. "Quick on my feet?" He paired his shit-eating grin with a wink. "Thanks, tiger."

Daisy wanted to punch him in the stomach.

She closed the distance between them. His pupils expanded, like he read the bloody intention in that step. And didn't hate it. She indeed aimed for his lower stomach—but didn't strike. Just lifted her hands to his shirt.

And undid two buttons.

It was Hunt's turn to go still. He might have sucked in a breath. Might have swallowed as her fingers worked.

"In public, sweetheart?" Was it just her, or had his voice dropped a few octaves?

Daisy tried not to think about it. Quickly, she looped the bottom button through the wrong hole. Like whoever had done it up had been in a hurry. Had been ... distracted.

Hunt hummed his approval as he realised what she was doing. And then she realised what she was doing—and how damn intimate it felt. She swore she could feel the heat of his body radiating through his shirt. Swore every one of her nerve endings crackled in reply, like they were reaching forward, trying to steal a bit of his warmth. She caught a glimpse of golden skin just above his waistline. And didn't at all like the way her fingers fumbled over the buttons as she tore her eyes away from the promise of everything below.

Letting out a shallow breath, Daisy stepped back to survey her handiwork. She could feel Hunt peering down at her. Sense it. Summoning confidence that tasted suspiciously like raspberry vodka, Daisy sauntered out from behind the pillar, leading Hunt back into the fray.

Trailing her, he murmured, "We should hold hands."

It was Daisy who came to a crashing halt that time. "You want to hold my hand?"

"Isn't that what couples do?"

Right.

Still, she rolled her eyes. "Maybe in primary school—"

"Joshua doesn't hold your hand?"

She groaned. "This again?"

A too-innocent smile flirted with his lips. Over his head, Laia stood from a booth facing a small stage to wave at them—as though their spontaneous pit stop in the middle of the bar was because they needed directions, and not simply because Hunt was once again insulting Daisy's ex-boyfriend. Not that Joshua was her—

Whatever.

Hunt shrugged, half turning away. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I just thought—"

"No, you're right." She drew a deep breath, perhaps inhaling some nerves of steel along with it. Before she could reconsider, her hand was reaching into the pocket of his jacket where he'd shoved his. She drew it out, weaving their fingers together. "We should make more of an effort to look ... couple-y." Especially because his friends had seen right through their charade in the space of two seconds. No thanks to her. She'd totally balked.

She had to do better. Though his question got her thinking. When was the last time she'd let someone hold her like that?

Her friends shuffled over to make room for them in their booth, and while Amira made some comment about hoping their absence wouldn't be a recurring theme throughout the rest of the program, she didn't seem as irritated by their tardiness as Laia had implied. In fact, as their therapist regarded them—regarded the smudged lipstick, the messy hair, the hastily done-up shirt—Daisy could have sworn she caught the whisper of a smirk.

"Hey," Laia greeted over the music, unwrapping herself from Kenji to scoot closer. She'd opted for a cherry-red dress that matched the bursts of colourful flowers peeking out from the garlands draped through the rafters. "I was wondering if you could help me find my best friend? She's around five-six, with long, ginger hair, pretty blue eyes, and a wardrobe the Hadids would kill for. She can usually be seen—I don't know—attached to my hip."

After glancing to the next booth, where Vanessa was sipping her wine and watching Zaid speak to the younger couple, Daisy threw her best friend a tilted grin. "Hi, Laia."

"Hi, Sugarplum."

Heat devoured Daisy's cheeks. She shoved Laia gently. "Shut up."

Lai's laugh was like a dose of serotonin, but it was Hunt running his thumb over Daisy's that made her pulse trip. She hadn't realised they were still holding hands. He must have misread her surprise for annoyance, because within half a second, his hand was gone.

He started to rise from the booth, and Daisy thought better of tracking the movement too late. Their eyes locked. Hunt hovered, half-sitting, half-standing, the faintest of smiles tugging at a corner of his mouth. He leaned in. Daisy's stomach twisted. His hand hovered in front of her face, and before she could blink, he was sweeping his thumb over her lips. Again. What was it about that man and touching her?

His eyes went a bit distant as he continued rubbing her mouth. "You have a little ..."

"Evidence?" Laia muttered into her martini glass.

Daisy's cheeks flamed. "At least I can get dressed by myself," she quipped, nodding to his shirt.

He didn't even blush. "Where's the fun in that?"

Daisy batted him away, snatching Laia's phone and pulling up the camera app to fix her face and hair herself.

Hunt waited a beat before straightening. "Drink?" he asked, aiming for the bar. "Raspberry vodka?"

"Just soda, please."

"You can drink, you know." He sketched a smirk. "I don't mind."

She rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about you, Shepherd." Despite whatever nonsense Joshua had been alluding to on the phone, she barely drank much anymore. Hadn't since—

Nope. She wasn't thinking about that tonight.

"Just soda, please," she repeated. She dug her card out of her purse and went to hand it to him, but Hunt frowned at it like it was a knife. Actually, Daisy thought as he joined Ruby at the bar, he might have preferred if she pointed a knife at him. Maybe she should test that theory out some time.

Like when he was sleeping.

Before her thoughts seeped further into serial killer territory, she turned to Laia, handing back her phone. "How was the Gorge?"

"Good." Laia shrugged. "Boring."

"Boring?"

Her best friend pouted behind her martini. "We agreed to this thing so we could hang out, remember? And I know your man's pretty and you've clearly spent all afternoon sucking his face off after not seeing him for weeks, but that's really no reason to kick me to the curb. "

Daisy gawked, glancing at Hunt to make sure he hadn't heard any of ... that. There was a lot to unpack there, and none of it would do anything but inflate his already inflated ego. Luckily, he was happily distracted, trawling through the nibbles menu with Ruby. He said something that made the female bartender laugh.

Laia clicked her fingers in front of Daisy's face. Which made Daisy realise that she was scowling.

She shook herself off. "I thought you and Kenji would be happy that I've made a friend. You don't have to babysit me anymore."

"Oh, please." Lai laughed again. "You know it's mostly me and you babysitting him."

Beside her, Kenji mumbled, "I can hear you, darling."

"Love you, baby." Laia swept Daisy's hair over her shoulder so she could whisper in her ear. "We still need to debrief, you know."

A cold draught skittered over Daisy's skin. 'Debrief' was their codeword for spilling every last detail about their new partners, starting from the moment they met and often including very intimate details about very intimate items. It was something they hadn't yet done for Joshua, even after Daisy invited him to the retreat. Because Laia would have asked too many questions, and truthfully, Daisy didn't really know enough about Joshua to answer them. It just ... hadn't been that deep for her.

"I have a lot of questions," Laia added, quite literally reading Daisy's mind.

"I don't doubt it." Daisy tried to laugh, but suddenly everything in that bar became too much; the music was too loud, the booth was too cramped, and Kenji was looking at her a little too closely.

But Laia was right. The three of them had given into Honey's pleas to