But what really caught my attention was the faint scent lingering in the air. Weed. Subtle, but there. Before I could even form the question, Legend spoke—like he had read my mind.

“You smoke, sweetheart?”

I glanced at him as he strode toward the mini-bar, muscles flexing as he reached for a bottle of Tequila. “Sometimes,” I admitted, slipping my clutch onto the counter. “I can smell you do.”

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Sometimes.” Which probably meant all the damn time. He grabbed a glass, poured the Tequila over ice, and then gestured for me to follow him.

I hesitated, but only for a second before trailing behind him down a hallway, the whole time acutely aware of how powerful, effortless, and dominant this man moved. It was low key unsettling… and fucking sexy.

His bedroom was just as impressive as the rest of the house, but less about the design and more about the energy. Dark, masculine. Soft lighting, massive bed, another floor-to-ceiling window with an uninterrupted view of the ocean. Legend handed me my drink, eyes flicking down the length of me as I took the glass.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he murmured, moving to the dresser.

I exhaled slowly, turning to look around before sitting down at the edge of the bed, my dress riding up just a little as I crossed my legs.

Legend caught the movement, but instead of reacting, he grabbed a wooden box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small jar of what I knew was probably the finest weed. He didn’t rush, didn’t even seem to notice the silence stretching between us. He just set up deliberately, effortlessly breaking the bud apart between his tattooed fingers.

The slow precision of it had me watching, mesmerized until I finally realized what I was doing and looked away, focusing on my drink instead.

“So, you live on the island?” I asked, trying to break the tension.

He glanced up briefly, smirking as he reached for a rolling paper and leaf. “When I want to. This is one of my vacation properties.”

I took a slow sip of my drink as I nodded, the Tequila smooth as it burned down my throat. “So,” I said, licking my lips. “Is this the part where I ask you what I should expect this weekend?”

Legend’s hands never paused as he rolled the blunt, but I saw the way the corner of his mouth ticked up. “You don’t strike me as the type to need instructions,” he murmured.

I tilted my head. “Maybe I like to be prepared.”

He lifted the blunt to his lips, running the tip of his tongue along the edge to seal it. And fuck. It was the most casual, unbothered thing, but the way he did it? Focused. Slow. Unapologetically deliberate. My thighs clenched instinctively. His eyes flicked to mine, amusement flashing in them like he had caught it. He leaned back against the dresser, lighting the blunt, taking a deep inhale before exhaling slowly... all smooth and shit... watching me through the smoke.