I move in behind her, sizing up the guy flirting with her. He glances up at me, gives me one of those conspiratorial smiles that says, Watch me bag this one. I keep my gaze locked on his as I lean down until my mouth is at her ear. “Having a good time?”

Amalie gasps and spins around. Sweet mother of fuck. She looks like sin. The neckline of the dress plunges low, giving me an incredible view of her cleavage. And the dress, if it even qualifies as one, is white. And so very, very short. I bet when she stands up it barely covers her ass. Her lips are glossy pink and pouty, and those pretty blue eyes find mine.

She bites her lip, and then her tongue peeks out as a slow smile spreads across her face. She puts a hand on my chest. “Lexington. You’re here.” She makes a fist and taps on my chest. “I knocked but no one answered.” She turns back to her friend, her hand still on me. “Rick. Rich. Ricky?”

His smile is stiff. “It’s Eric.”

“Right! Eric.” She smacks her forehead and giggles. “I’m so bad with names. Eric, this is Lex. He’s my friend. He’s so nice to me. He punched my husband in the dick today.” She leans into me, her head resting on my pec as she looks up, smiling. “It was so sweet. You’re so sweet.” She pats my cheek. I wonder if she might be a little tipsy.

Eric’s smug smile drops. “Husband?”

Amalie waves a floppy hand around in the air. “Non-husband. Or he will be when he signs the annulment papers. He got a blow job at our wedding, not from me.”

“Eric, could you excuse us, please.” I smile, but it’s not friendly at all.

“He doesn’t have to go.” Amalie frowns and turns to Eric. “You don’t have to go. He’s being rude.”

He glances from Amalie to me and back again. He seems to realize that his conquest is over. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I move into his now-vacant seat. “Emily?”

“He got it wrong the first time and I didn’t feel like correcting him.” She sips her martini. “Why’d you send him away? I liked him. He was a good listener.” She crooks a finger and beckons me closer. “I think Eric wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh, and why do you think that?” Of course he wants to fuck her. Every guy in this room wants to, married, single, almost dead, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has a dick and it’ll get hard, they want to get in her. Myself included.

“Well.” Amalie props her chin on her fist. “He said he wanted to fuck me, so that’s how I know.”

“He what?” I scan the bar, looking for Eric, who I’d like to punch now, but Amalie fists my shirt, drawing my attention back to her.

Her eyes bounce around my face. “Do you wanna fuck me?” She drags her fingertips down my cheek. “God you’re so hot. Why’re you so hot? Did I say that aloud? I did. I can hear myself talking. That was supposed to be in my head.”

I cup her chin. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Just two? Fuck-me Eric bought me one and I had one before that on my own. Wasn’t that nice? What time is it?”

“It’s an all-inclusive resort, Amalie, he didn’t buy you anything.”

“Oh, right. Hmm. Well, now I’m less impressed.”

I laugh, because I’m not sure how to gauge her right now. She’s definitely tipsy, but not full-out drunk as far I can tell. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

“That’s probably a very good idea. I spent a lot of time in the sun today. Water might help me keep my inside thoughts from coming out of my mouth.”

“I like it when your inside thoughts come out of your mouth.” I signal the bartender and order water. A few drinks is understandable after what she’s been through. Although, I would prefer if she didn’t get drunk without me around to keep her safe. She’s far too vulnerable to be left to her own devices.

“Of course you do. All my inside thoughts about you are filthy.” She makes a face, like maybe she didn’t mean to say that.

I push anyway, because tipsy, filterless Amalie is fun, as long as her lack of filter isn’t directed at douches like Fuck-me Eric. “Is that right? How filthy are we talking?”

“I think I should take a vow of silence for the rest of the night. Talking to you is going to get me into trouble.” The bartender sets a glass of water in front of her. “Oh! Thank you.” She drains the glass in three long gulps. I wait until she’s done before I introduce them.

“Declan, this is Amalie. She’s a personal friend, here on vacation from New York. Amalie, this is Declan, the head bartender.”

“Hi.” Her hand shoots out. “Excuse my rudeness. It’s so nice to meet you.”

The bartender gives me a questioning look but takes her hand and kisses her knuckle. My expression must tell him I’m not pleased because he releases it quickly and offers her a refill.

I sit at the bar and chat with people most nights, but I don’t get involved with guests. That’s bad for business. Amalie isn’t a typical guest, though, and I’m taking it upon myself to make her well-being my priority.

Declan sets a fresh glass of water in front of Amalie.

“Thank you. I didn’t even realize how thirsty I was. Plus, if I’m chugging water it saves me from saying more incriminating things to this one.” She thumbs over her shoulder and pokes me in the chest. “He already knows he’s hot, so he doesn’t really need me to tell him. But seriously, so hot.” She raises her glass, takes a few small sips and chugs the rest. She frowns as the ice cubes clink in the bottom, then turns to me. “I don’t think the water is helping me censor myself the way I’d hoped.”

A few stray hairs stick to her glossy lips. I carefully pull them away, skimming her cheek. “I think we’ve already established that I don’t mind your lack of censor.”

Her eyes flutter shut, fingers coming up to graze the back of my hand. “When you touch me like that I feel it right between my . . .” Her eyes pop open and she purses her lip. I’m disappointed I don’t get to hear the end of that sentence. “I should probably go back to my room before my mouth embarrasses me more than it already has. I’m not always this unstable. I promise I don’t do this all the time. The drama or the martinis.”

I fight to keep my smile from turning into a laugh. “Would you like me to walk you back to your bungalow?”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s that word again. Let me make sure you’re safe, Amalie.”

Her eyes are wide and searching. “You’re so nice to me. Why’re you so nice?”

“Do I need to have a reason?”

I hold out a hand and she places her warm hand in mine as she slips off her chair. Her hands are delicate, just like her face.

Her heel catches though, so she stumbles forward, grabbing for my bicep as she steadies herself. “I’m not drunk, these heels are just new.”

“However you want to spin it.”

“Seriously. It’s the first time I’ve worn them.” She uses the edge of the bar for balance and adjusts the strap at her heel.

“I’m not judging.” But I sure am checking her out.

I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened with Fuck-Me Eric if I hadn’t shown up when I did, though. I don’t know Amalie well enough to be able to say with any certainty how compromised her decision-making is when she’s been drinking and under stress apart from at her wedding, and those were extreme circumstances.