• • •

When we finally made it down to the beach, Fiona was chatting with the photographer, Gentry. A girl was sitting in a makeup chair with her back to me while a makeup artist worked on her. Ben’s coworker today, obviously.

When she turned I instantly recognized her. London. One of Ben’s former girlfriends I’d met last summer in Paris. I hadn’t known that she’d be here. She was clad in a barely-there fire-engine red string bikini so small I could see her ovaries.

When she hopped down from the chair my breathing faltered. She was perfectly tanned and toned with bouncy curls and smoky eye makeup. She looked stunning. A slow smile curled on Fiona’s lips as she watched me look over London.

My heart throbbed in my chest as I watched Ben warmly greet London. Why hadn’t he told me his ex would be here? She pointed at the assortment of briefs he’d be expected to wear and they shared a laugh.

Ben approached Gentry next and shook his hand. They talked for a few minutes then he disappeared inside the onsite trailer to change into his first swimsuit.

I stood there, uselessly digging my toes into the sand, feeling utterly alone and out of place without his presence. There was no way I was talking to Fiona and I was too shy to approach London. I doubted she’d remember me from our one awkward encounter during the industry party in Paris. That was the first night Ben informed me, and the world, that I was his girlfriend.

Several minutes later the door to the trailer opened and Ben stepped out.

Holy Speedo, Batman.

His abs and chest looked amazing but when my gaze traveled lower to the large bulge protruding proudly in his snug briefs, I nearly choked on my own tongue. God, he was delicious. All hardened muscle and masculine beauty wrapped up in one tempting package. I wanted to throw a towel around him and shield him from view. Obviously a ridiculous notion considering what he did for a living.

Ben padded barefoot over to the makeup artist, who mussed up his hair so it was perfectly rumpled and then dotted concealer on a few spots before rubbing down his naked skin with bronzing lotion. I wondered if that lotion was edible because he looked good enough to lick.

They got into position and began shooting, several poses together lounging in the sand and playing in the surf, and then changed swimsuits, repeating the process.

I normally loved watching Ben work, but watching him cuddle in the sand with London, wrapped up in each other’s arms and frolicking in the waves, was not fun. Not one bit. I hated seeing Ben’s perfect hands, his long fingers, gripping London’s trim waist. I hated the familiar way her hand curled around his bicep. My stomach twisted like someone had twirled a fork inside me. I felt sick watching them.

They looked great together. The perfect couple. Just knowing they’d been a real couple, that they’d been intimate, that London was one of the three girls Ben had slept with killed me. Deep-seated fear and insecurity rushed up inside me, clouding my head, and making me question everything.

Needing a minute to myself, I turned my back on the shoot and walked off down the beach. I gulped lungfuls of fresh ocean air, pushing away the urge to cry. It was stupid. Ben loved me. He’d told me that repeatedly. But there was no denying that watching him pose, hold, and caress his ex on set was hard. I wasn’t that secure in our relationship to begin with. And London, well . . . she was a perfect ten. Winner of the genetic lottery. And she’d slept with my boyfriend. Awesome.

When I made it back to the set everyone was packing up. Ben and London sat at the edge of the water, butts planted in the sand and feet out in the lapping waves. Ben tipped his head back, obviously amused at something she’d said. Taking a deep, calming breath, I boldly approached them. Ben rose to his feet, pulling me into a hug.

“Baby, there you are. Everything okay?” His hazel gaze probed mine.

“Fine,” I lied.

London stood, dusting the sand from her petite bottom. “Hi, Emmy!”

“Hi.” Gosh, she was gorgeous and nice too.

“That outfit fits you perfectly, I’m glad to see.” She smiled at me.

My brow creased as I struggled to understand her meaning. Ben shifted uncomfortably next to me.

London tipped her head back, laughing. “Ben called and asked for my help shopping for you. I picked out all your vacation clothes.” She smiled at me again, her bright white teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

My stomach dropped like a stone. I thought Ben had picked out and packed the pretty clothes for me. Learning that it was actually his ex-girlfriend stung like a venomous bite. “Oh. I hadn’t realized. Thank you,” I managed to choke out. “Yes, the clothes fit.” No doubt several sizes bigger than London herself wore. Lord, that was embarrassing. The diet started tomorrow. I would wake up early and run every morning, not eat carbs, or anything processed . . . I began dictating the diet plan in my head when Ben’s arm slipped around my waist and tugged me closer.

“Talk to me. You seem upset.”

My gaze traveled to London and she returned my uneasy expression.

“Hey.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Ben and I dated several years ago. It was short lived and”—sorry, she mouthed to Ben—“not all that meaningful. We’ve both moved on. And I’ve never seen him happier. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thank you.” I nodded. It was stupid and insecure of me to feel threatened by their friendship. I repeated that over and over in my head. I didn’t want to be that type of girlfriend. But my damn heart was still throbbing painfully in my chest as I watched London walk away.