Chapter 315
**Sara**
I hugged his pillow closer, burying my face in the expensive fabric to hide my embarrassment. The faint scent of his cologne only made me feel more foolish. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, okay? I was too busy plotting your murder." The last part came out muffled against the pillow, but I knew he'd heard me by his answering chuckle.
"Ah yes, the murder you can't actually commit because you can't legally enter the country."
"Don't be smug." I pointed at the screen. "I could swim?"
His laughter filled the room. "Swim to Australia?"
"Sharks are overrated."
"And the distance?"
"I took swimming lessons when I was five."
"Did those lessons cover international waters?"
I buried my face in his pillow. "Shut up."
"What about the great white sharks?"
"I'll befriend them."
"Of course you will." He loosened another button on his shirt. "And after you've made friends with the sharks and survived the swim, how were you planning to get past customs?"
"I'll figure something out." I waved my hand dismissively. "Maybe I'll disguise myself as a kangaroo."
"A kangaroo."
"Yes. They're very common in Australia, right? No one will notice one more."
"Absolutely." Tom leaned back, his shirt now dangerously unbuttoned. "The customs officers will just wave you through. 'Oh look, it's Sara in a kangaroo suit. Let her pass.'"
"You're mocking me."
"I would never mock a woman in a kangaroo suit swimming across the Pacific Ocean to murder me." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "That would be suicide."
I hugged his pillow tighter, trying not to focus on how his partially unbuttoned shirt revealed tantalizing glimpses of skin. The man was infuriating, gorgeous, and completely aware of both facts.
"So..." I cleared my throat, attempting to drag my eyes away from where another button had mysteriously come undone. "About these models. Shouldn't they have arrived by now?"
His lips curved into that devastating smirk. "What models?"
"Don't play innocent. Sarah and Emma? The ones you were so excited about having private discussions with?"
"Ah, those models." He stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to make my mouth go dry. "Funny thing about that..."
"What's funny about it?"
"There are no models."
I blinked. "No models?"
"None at all." His eyes locked with mine through the screen. "Why would I need models when I've got someone far more gorgeous wearing silk pajamas in my bed?"
The pillow slipped from my grasp. Heat flooded my cheeks as his words sank in. "I... you... that's not..."
"Not what?"
"Fair! You can't just say things like that!"
"Why not?" His voice dropped lower, sending shivers down my spine. "It's true."
"Because!" I scrambled to gather my scattered thoughts. "Because you spent the last hour torturing me with stories about Australian supermodels!"
"Did I?" His innocent expression wouldn't have fooled a blind man. "I was just testing a theory."
"A theory about what? How many ways you could drive me crazy in one night?"
"A theory about whether you'd get jealous."
"I wasn't jealous!"
"No?" He raised an eyebrow. "So you weren't planning to swim across the Pacific Ocean to murder me?"
"That was..." I huffed, crossing my arms. "That was completely unrelated to jealousy."
"Of course. You regularly threaten to swim to other continents."
"Maybe I do! You don't know my life."
His laugh echoed through the phone. "Sara Parker, professional international swimmer, and shark whisperer."
"Stop it!" But I was laughing too, the tension from earlier melting away. "You're terrible."
"Terrible enough to make you jealous?"
"I wasn't-" I caught his knowing look and deflated. "Fine. Maybe I was a tiny bit jealous."
"A tiny bit?"
"The tiniest." I held up my thumb and forefinger barely a millimeter apart. "Microscopic, really."
"So microscopic you were ready to fight sharks." His eyes danced with amusement. "And customs officers. In a kangaroo suit."
"Listen." I jabbed a finger at the screen. "The kangaroo suit was a perfectly reasonable solution to an impossible situation that you created."
"By mentioning non-existent models?"
"Yes!" I flopped back against his pillows. "Which you still haven't explained, by the way. What was the point of that whole charade?"
"Entertainment." He stretched lazily, his shirt riding up again. "You're cute when you're jealous."
"I'm always cute."
"True." His voice dropped lower. "Especially in my bed."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Stop changing the subject. Who are the dynamic duo if they're not models?"
"Leo and Kate."
I shot up straight in bed. "Wait, what? You said you were going to Australia alone. How is Leo there with Kate? Are you lying to me right now?"
"Not lying." Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief. "They showed up this morning. Surprise visit, apparently. They're staying in the suite across from mine."
"And you didn't think to mention this tiny detail earlier?" I grabbed his pillow again and hugged it close. "Instead, you let me believe you were off gallivanting with supermodels?"
"Where's the fun in that?" He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. "Besides, watching you plot an international swimming expedition was far more entertaining."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do." I buried my face in the pillow. "I'm making a list of reasons right now. Number one: you're evil."
"Evil?" His laugh rumbled through the speaker. "For not mentioning my brother and his girlfriend?"
"For torturing me! You knew exactly what you were doing with all that 'private discussion' talk."
"Did I?"
"Don't play innocent. You're about as innocent as... as..." I waved my hand, searching for words. "As a shark in a business suit!"
"A shark in a business suit?" His eyebrows shot up. "Is that the best you can do?"
"I'm tired and emotionally compromised. You try coming up with clever metaphors after thinking your boyfriend is off drinking champagne with models."
"Boyfriend?"
My heart stopped. Did I just...?
"I mean... not boyfriend-boyfriend. Just... you know. A friend who's a boy. Who happens to be... um..." I scrambled to recover, heat flooding my cheeks. "A professor! Who I'm definitely not dating because that would be inappropriate and-"
"Sara."
"What?"
"You're rambling."
"No, I'm not!" I pressed my palms against my burning cheeks. "I'm explaining. There's a difference."
"Explaining how I'm your boyfriend?"
"I'm not explaining how you're my boyfriend!" I pressed my face deeper into his pillow. "I'm explaining how you're not my boyfriend. Which you're definitely not. Because that would be complicated."
"Complicated?" His voice held that infuriating hint of amusement.
"Yes! And stop smirking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you know something I don't." I sat up straighter, pointing at the screen. "And prove that there aren't any supermodels. And that Leo and Kate are really there."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me?"
"After the last hour of torture? Absolutely not."
"Fair enough." His lips curved into that devastating smile. "Check Leo's Instagram."
"His what?"
"Instagram. You know, the app where people post pictures?"
"I know what Instagram is!" I fumbled for my phone, nearly dropping it in my haste. "What's his username?"
"Leonardo underscore Blackwood official."
I typed it in, scrolling through the results until I found the verified account. "Found it!"
I scrolled through Leo's Instagram feed, my eyes widening at the most recent post. There he was, Tom in his perfectly tailored suit, caught mid-eye roll as Leo snapped photos of their elaborate dinner spread. The Sydney Opera House glowed in the background, its white sails catching the city lights.
"Oh my god." I zoomed in on Tom's face. "You weren't lying."
"About Leo and Kate being there? Or about the non-existent models?"
"Both!" I swiped through the series of photos. Leo had gone full food influencer mode - artistic angles of perfectly plated dishes, candid shots of Kate laughing, and Tom looking increasingly annoyed with each snap.
"He spent twenty minutes getting the perfect shot of those scallops."
"Only twenty?" I laughed at a particularly grumpy expression on Tom's face. "The lighting looks pretty dramatic."
"Don't encourage him. He'll start calling himself a professional photographer next."
I couldn't help but smile as I scrolled through more photos. Even with his annoyed expressions, Tom looked unfairly handsome in every shot. The way his suit fit perfectly across his shoulders, how his hair fell just right even when he was mid-eye roll - it wasn't fair for someone to look that good while being irritated.
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