Realising that I’m watching him and getting the beginnings of a stiffy while he’s not paying any attention to me makes me feel a bit pervy, so I adjust myself quickly and turn my back on him, putting my phone down and making my way over to the fridge set under the polished table. I open it and wave some small bottles at him. “Which goes best with burgers? Jack Daniel’s or gin?” I shake my head. “We’ll have all of them. I can never understand hotel fridges. They’re either intended for alcoholic pixies or the manager is a half-hearted member of the temperance society.”

I hear a laugh and look up as he comes towards me. He’s wearing blue checked pyjama shorts and a white T-shirt that makes his face glow with his tan and his eyes seem very blue. I swallow hard and pass him the bottles. “There’s some ice in there too,” I instruct him. “You do the drinks while I get out of this suit.” I pause as he obeys me. “I must say I’m enjoying this new dynamic where I tell you what to do.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he advises me, and I sigh and slink over to my case. I rifle through it, pulling out my pyjama shorts and a T-shirt, and then seeing his jaundiced gaze fixed on the clothing spilling everywhere, I huff and start to hang everything up. The food arrives as I’m putting the last bits away, so I cram the rest of my clothes in higgledy-piggledy, and after a short battle with the wardrobe door I manage to force it closed.

I eye it dubiously and then shake my head. Food.

When I walk out onto the balcony, I find Zeb laying the food out neatly. Glasses full of ice and alcohol are set meticulously in the correct position and the cutlery is set neatly on the other side. I shake my head fondly. It’s burger and chips, but it looks like we’re expecting the queen.

He looks up and I don’t miss the way his eyes flit down my body. It’s a quick but comprehensive glance, and by the time his eyes raise up to my face again I’m half hard. Our eyes seem to meet and catch for a lovely, sleepy moment full of promise, but then he clears his throat and shutters his expression.

“Come and eat,” he says, his deep voice slightly roughened. “Before you faint away.”

“You joke,” I say judiciously. “But it’s a real threat.”

“Okay, Camille.”

I eye him as I lift my burger up and take a huge bite. “You think I don’t know who that is but you’re wrong,” I say indistinctly.

He shakes his head. “Isn’t it rude to talk with your mouth full?” he observes, shaking out his napkin daintily and forking some lettuce up.