The Resort

I should have asked what the wristbands were for.

At Les Jardins, the band on your wrist is a standing invitation — it tells every gorgeous guest and every obliging waiter exactly what they may do to you. No questions asked. Green means watch. Blue means touch. Silver means join. Gold means anything. Everything. Anyone.

I grabbed mine because it matched my top.

I was raised to be a good girl. Good girls read serious literature by the pool, wear sensible sundresses, and don't stare at strangers — no matter what those strangers are doing to each other on the daybed across the water.

One accidental group project, one patient man with a gold band, one woman with a very talented mouth, and one week that ruins me for my old life — and I'm done being good. I'm done waiting my turn.

Am I ready to go all the way for the gold... band, that is?

You'll have to read to find out.

The Resort is a spicy, unapologetically filthy freeuse vacation fantasy — no cheating, no cliffhangers, and exactly the kind of scenes you're imagining right now.