Daisy was weighing up the pros and cons of drowning.

Really, what kind of safety hazard was that, anyway? Having an open stream running through a hotel lobby? Sure, kids weren't allowed on this side of the resort, but were kids the only ones at risk of falling to a watery grave? What about five-foot-something gingers who once knocked over an entire corps de ballet after tripping over a toadstool during dress rehearsals?

In all fairness, the stagehand had put the toadstool in Daisy's line of fouetté fire.

Alas, it wasn't clumsiness tempting her to sign up for a meet and greet with Nemo and friends. Rather, if Daisy had to listen to the sound of lips smacking and tongues colliding for one more second, she was absolutely diving headfirst into the indoor waterfall—brand new crop top, matching blue skirt and all.

Pro: I won't be able to hear couples swapping saliva underwater.

Con: It would be a shame to ruin such a cute outfit.

Daisy's best friend, Laia, picked that exact moment to plant a kiss on her fiance's cheek as he retrieved their room card from the ever-smiling concierge. And if it wasn't Laia and Kenji battling it out in Tongue Twister that afternoon, it was Belle and her girlfriend of three years, Ruby. What might have been worse, Daisy thought, was being subjected to watching whatever Honey and her husband, the good reverend Matthew, interpreted as kissing—which she couldn't help but think looked a lot like two newborn aliens exchanging parasites.

Not that she'd ever tell the reverend that. She didn't need a sermon about aliens like the one he'd given about vampires that time she made a Twilight joke. Lesson learned.

"I take it you're lodging on the other side of the resort?"

Daisy whirled to the front desk, her copper hair doing some smacking of its own against the reverend's cheek.

Whoops.

"Oh, no," Laia cut in, answering on Daisy's behalf. She peeled her arm from Kenji's and linked it through her best friend's, her long, ebony hair shimmering like silk as she shook her head. "Daisy is staying with us. At the couples' retreat."

The concierge slicked back his already slicked-back hair. Like the valet and doorman before him, his uniform—a tailored khaki shirt and silky brown scarf—was giving off some serious Indiana Jones vibes.

He pursed his lips. "The couples' retreat is only for couples, I'm afraid."

Daisy couldn't argue with that logic. It was pretty sound.

Something sharp jabbed her side. Retracting her elbow, Laia widened her russet eyes, adorned with her signature flick of liner.

Right. Words. Because Daisy was an adult capable of conversation.

Allegedly.

Clearing her throat, she tried to mirror the concierge's Cheshire Cat smile. "My..." Boyfriend? Fling? "Joshua's flying in tonight. He's been away. On business."

Laia made a throaty sound Daisy knew meant, He's always away on business.

Right, Daisy's expression replied. And that's how I like it.

The concierge nodded. Daisy felt like that nod was laced with pity. "The cocktail mixer does start at six sharp. And ..." He conferred something on his computer. "Oh, dear. I see you're all booked under the group special. He'll need to check in by the end of the mixer for you to claim the discount—"

"He'll be here before the mixer," Daisy blurted. Wow. Was it just her, or did she sound a tad ... panicked?

She tried to smile her tone away.

She didn't think it worked.

And the resounding look the concierge gave her ... She knew that look. It was the same one the waiter at Pierre's had given her two weeks to the day when Joshua couldn't make it to their dinner reservation. Had he not made it up to her later that evening—and footed the tab for the extremely expensive bottle of wine she'd consumed waiting for him at the restaurant—he might have left her apartment with one less body part than he'd arrived with.

As it turned out, that one body part happened to be his saving grace. Not to mention the fact he'd agreed to come on this very trip to make up for whatever that body part hadn't.

The concierge's smile was beginning to look quite strained. His eyes may or may not have darted to his colleague and widened slightly.

Pro: Surely he wouldn't patronise a waterlogged corpse.

Con: Living out a ghostly existence as a waterlogged corpse.

Daisy levelled her chin, not letting an inch of doubt cross her face. But ... god. It was as though she'd committed a war crime, and not just shown up to a couples' retreat solo.

"Speaking of the mixer," Laia said, inserting herself between the very awkward, very obvious stare-down playing out, "do you mind directing us to the hall it'll be held in?"

The concierge's ability to switch up his expression was giving Daisy whiplash. "Of course, madam." He grinned, his brown boots clipping on the dark stone as he came around the desk.

Over their eleven years of friendship—starting on their first day of year seven, when Laia sat beside Daisy at assembly and asked if she wanted to be best friends—the pair had mastered an array of secret glances. The one Daisy levelled now, which she often utilised to thank Laia for saving her ass from certain embarrassment, was quickly becoming one of their top three.

Laia squeezed her arm gently, tugging her in the direction of the rest of their party. But Ruby said something funny, and Belle giggled loudly, and then the two of them were doing a lot more than just smacking their lips together. Daisy blamed the decor for the sudden lust replacing her friends' brains with mush; aside from the stream slicing through the fern-coated floor like a writhing python, home to colourful fish that sparkled like jewels under the warm lighting,
lush shrubbery sprouted through stone walls, vines choked thick black columns, and butterflies flitted between orchids and wildflowers. Even Daisy could admit that it was all very romantic.

Which she hoped her lawyers would add to her claim when they sued the hotel for her wrongful death.

"You know what?" Daisy untangled herself from Laia, waving a hand. "You guys go ahead. I'll stay with the luggage."

"I'll keep you company," Kenji offered, breaking rank with the reverend—and not looking all that sad about it.

Daisy's friendship with Kenji ran almost as deep as her friendship with Laia. She spent most of high school pretending not to know that her friends were madly in love with each other. And, while she loved them both dearly and loved them together even more, sometimes she missed the days when their public displays of affection were limited to not-so-hidden glances at one another across homegroup.

Just as the thought popped into her head, Kenji gave his fiancee a parting kiss that dipped into something a little less fleeting, and Daisy was one lip-smack away from taking up deep-sea diving. Without scuba gear. It was a tad ironic, she thought, since she couldn't swim.

But that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

"It's fine. Really." Daisy pulled out her phone. "This is a couples' retreat. Go do couple stuff." Away from me, preferably.

"Are you breaking up with us?" Laia gasped.

Daisy flicked one of Lai's tassel earrings. "Wouldn't dream of it. But I should touch base with Joshua. His plane should have landed by now."

"If you're sure ..." Kenji said, and after a little more assurance, the happy couple joined the other happy couples slipping down a corridor lined with pictures of colourful birds.

Suddenly, Daisy could breathe.

She downed a breath that tasted like fresh grass and damp moss. The constant trickling of water rivalled the recording—was it a recording?—of chittering birds and frogs and cicadas as the leading mood setter. If Daisy closed her eyes, she could smell it. See it. That vast, ancient rainforest just beyond the cavern walls. If she strained her ears, she might even be able to hear it.

If the lobby wasn't overrun by couples constantly smacking their lips together.

Cursing her great hearing, she gathered the luggage around her and leaned back against the front desk, focusing on her phone. Joshua still hadn't replied to her last message—Have a safe flight!—or the one before that—Let me know if you need directions. We're a little off the grid. He didn't have his read receipts on, but both messages said 'Delivered'.

Was it normal for messages to say 'Delivered' when a phone was in flight mode?

Granted, Joshua had been a little surprised when Daisy invited him on the trip. She hadn't really wanted to go herself. A holiday with her loved-up friends and their partners? Sounded like a one-way ticket to Von Rothbart's lair. But Honey had been adamant about getting that group discount, and Daisy had genuinely worried her friend might leverage her husband's connections and put her on God's naughty list if she didn't fill the fifth and sixth spots.

Hopefully, the week-long affair would be a little more palatable when her not-as-serious-as-a-boyfriend-but-not-as-casual-as-a-fling turned up.

Or answered her messages.

Locking her phone, she glanced up.

And was greeted by the sight of another couple playing tongue-tug-of-war as they entered the cavernous lobby through the rotating glass doors. They looked younger than her, too.

The final straw.

With a huff, Daisy shoved their key cards into her bag. She plucked a resort pamphlet with a map from the stand, gripped the handles of two suitcases in each hand, and aimed for the exit. From a glance at the map, she knew the path outside forked before diving into the rainforest proper. To the left was the couples' retreat, home to the elevated treehouses Honey had talked their ears off about for weeks. To the right was what the concierge had not-so-fondly referred to as the other side. Open to the general public—as though general was an icky word—it was equipped with water slides and lagoons and nightclubs and, in Daisy's opinion, sounded like a lot more fun than a week of yoga and hiking and relationship deep-diving.

She strolled past the bar, then the gift shop, where she overheard an older couple discussing which postcards to send to their grandchildren. Why that conversation involved heavy petting, she didn't know. She did know that she needed to get out of the horniest lobby in the Southern Hemisphere before she made good on her new plan to hang herself from the vines waterfalling from the roof.

Which would be a lot easier to do if she was just carrying her own luggage—a sensible, single-person-sized suitcase—and not that of her six companions as well—copious, overstuffed, happily-married-couple-sized suitcases.

Well, one happily-married-couple-sized suitcase. Laia and Kenji were engaged, and Belle and Ruby were yet to tie the knot. She had that, at least.

What she did not have was luck. Because just as the glass doors seemed close enough to touch, one of the suitcases exploded.

Literally.

Daisy jumped, causing the other three suitcases to topple like dominoes.

She blinked down at the mess. At the clothes and underwear and whatever the hell else two of her friends had stuffed into a case she could now see was not big enough. Not at all. But at least no one in the lobby was kissing anymore.

Because they were staring.

At her.

And, faintly, someone was laughing. Laughing. Daisy whirled. What kind of jerk would laugh at—

Ah. Right.

That kind of jerk.

Hovering half in and out of the entrance, the jerk's sparkling brown eyes were unmistakably pinned on her. Yeah—his eyes sparkled in the sunlight pouring in through the glass doors, even though the immaculate contours of his face were doused in shadow. Daisy only just glimpsed the guilty smile curving his full lips before he hid it behind a broad hand. But the shoulders sheathed in a khaki shirt were shaking. Because he was still laughing. Even though the look Daisy was giving him ...

Oh, she knew her blue eyes were two tiny balls of propane.

He must have registered it at the same time as she did.

"Sorry," he ground out, the word still laced with laughter. Clearing his throat, he propelled himself forward. "It's not funny."

Gone was the mossy tang in the air, swallowed right up by something woodsy. Citrusy. He was woodsy and citrusy, and the reason Daisy knew that was because he was suddenly on the ground below her, hurriedly packing the spilled contents of her friends' luggage back into its case.

"Then why are you still laughing?" she asked, crouching in front of him. Because while she could only see his profile—all strong lines and smooth skin and golden, symmetrical features—she could quite clearly see that he was still battling a smirk.

His head shot up.

Jesus.

His eyes weren't just brown. Under the light from a mellow sconce shrouding them in gold, Daisy could see they were a rich mix of mahogany and honey and green—like smoky quartz flecked with topaz and emerald.

Tall, dark, and handsome with glittering, hazel eyes. Why did the jerks of the world have all the luck? Why did they have the audacity to just stare, like this jerk was doing right now?

No, not just staring.

He was extending something to her.

He was extending a pair of fluffy, cheetah-print handcuffs.

"They're not mine" were, for some reason, the first words that rolled off her tongue.

He quirked an eyebrow, those full lips curving upwards. "Of course not."

"They're not!" Daisy insisted, snatching the handcuffs from his right hand and a flaming red bra from his left. She threw them in what she realised was Belle and Ruby's suitcase. She quickly retrieved a pile of their clothes, stuffing them on top of the cuffs as though burying the latter would simply make them go away.

Mistake.

Huge. Ass. Mistake.

The handcuffs were nothing. Out from the clothes she'd lifted toppled an entire arsenal of after-dinner treats. The kind of after-dinner treats that should not be sprawled out on a hotel lobby floor at prime check-in hour when face-to-face with the kind of jerk who couldn't keep his immaturity in check.

Like repacking luggage was an Olympic event and Daisy was competing for gold, she grabbed her friends' toys and shoved them into their suitcase, making a mental note to kill them for the way that elderly couple looked between her and the whip she was trying to stuff between twin leather outfits as they passed through the doors to the yard.

And then Jerk Face was right next to her, doing the same thing. He had a skirt that looked to be part of a nurse's costume in one hand, a cylindrical something-or-other in the other, his lips clamped together so tight that magnets would be jealous of the strength.

A tear trickled down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, it's just ..." Nope. He was laughing too hard to talk now. His shoulders were doing that thing again—shaking with built-up hysteria. God, they were some broad ass shoulders, and they filled out his khaki shirt remarkably well—

Daisy stilled.

Khaki shirt. Topped with a short, silky scarf ...

"Are you serious?" Jerk Face worked for the hotel. Daisy swallowed the urge to slap him as he wiped the tear from his face. "You know, you could help me!"

He waved his hands about—hands that went to pick up a g-string before he realised what it was and jerked away like it was on fire. "Isn't that what I'm doing?"

She grabbed the underwear. "I meant you could help me get my friends' stuff to our rooms!"

"Right." There was that cryptic look again, dripping in insinuation. "Your friends."

Daisy didn't condone violence.

But she was going to hit him.

"Yes, my friends. I told you, this isn't mine!" Closing the lid on the suitcase, she tried to figure out the zipperless-clasp situation, praying she didn't have a repeat of the whole explosion thing as soon as she stood. "Believe it or not, not all of us have the muscle mass to haul four suitcases from one side of the resort to the other." She tried to ignore the fact she'd implied she'd been ogling his muscles. But despite that tall, slim build of his, they were pretty hard to miss, given he chose that exact moment to roll up his khaki sleeves.

"Wait ..." Jerk Face reached over, forearms tensing as he secured the clasps with ease. Naturally. "You want me to help you?"

"Is that too much to ask?"

He ... blinked.

"No, of course not." He stood, shaking his head. "I mean—yeah. I'll help. Sure."

Grabbing two suitcases in each hand, he made a start for the doors.

"I've got this one," Daisy grumbled, prying her luggage back.

"It's okay—"

"I've got it," she repeated, and he relented, stopping by the door and waiting for her to slip through.

Okay, that was nice.

Or was it just the bare minimum, given he was literally hotel staff?

Daisy tried to smile. It was probably more of a grimace. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he uttered, and she heard the amusement in his voice.

She reined in an eye-roll, stepping into the fern-peppered yard. Jerk Face aimed for the right path, and when Daisy directed him down the left, it led to some comment about how she was staying on the couples' side of the resort.

"You have a boyfriend or something?" he asked, gaze roaming over the ancient trees towering above them.

A knot formed in her stomach. "Something."

"Why isn't he helping you?"

"He's not here yet."

The bellhop made a low, throaty sound. Her irritation soared, and she committed herself to silence.

They followed the signs down the marked path, immediately swallowed by the waiting rainforest. The hotel was designed to disturb the natural surroundings as little as possible, the restaurants and lodgings at one with giant ferns and trees that climbed into the cobalt sky. The late-afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, washing the greenery in fractured shades of gold, and a chill laced the damp air as they neared the steps that led to the elevated hotel rooms.

"Number eight," Jerk Face announced. He hesitated before asking, "Do you want me to bring the luggage up for you?"

She held back a frown. But what kind of bellhop was he?

"That would be great." Again, she tried to smile. Again, she thought embarrassment and irritation were suppressing her ability to do anything but grimace.

He didn't have the same issue, flashing a grin that triggered his right dimple before leading her up the wooden stairs. After taking one step onto the landing, Daisy forgot how to breathe.

The group accommodation had a shared living and kitchen space, the areas not exposed to the elements enclosed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down into the jungle. Four bridges veered off the lounge, leading to identical timber treehouses shrouded within pillowy clusters of trees. It was a far cry from Daisy's usual view of the bustling Brisbane streets.

Yep. She could get used to this. The view would make a nice backdrop for all the activities she expected Joshua to treat her to later as part of his apology.

"I've never seen this side of the resort." The bellhop was peering into the rainforest beyond the glass, marvelling at the view. The glaze over his eyes distracted Daisy from how strange a statement that was for hotel staff to make. "Beautiful," he murmured.

She came up beside him. "Have you just started or something?" At least that would explain why he was terrible at his job.

His gaze snagged on a pair of rosellas. "Started what?"

One of the birds stretched, fanning its feathers in the fleeting beams of sun. Smiling softly—because that bird was damn cute—Daisy clarified, "Working at the resort."

"I don't work at the resort."

The rosella shook itself off, its red and blue coat gilded by the light, and Daisy wondered if—

Her smile fell, and then she felt like she was falling.

"What?" she shrieked.

Jerk Face jumped at the sound, which ... yeah, it was a little high pitched.

"You don't work for the hotel?" she asked, still shrieking like a bird.

"Um ... no?"

"Then why did you bring my stuff here?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but something flashed in his eyes. The tiniest smirk pulled at his lips.

"I thought it was your friends' stuff?"

Instead of hitting him, like she for some very unknown reason wanted to do, Daisy edged back a few paces, her back hitting the kitchen counter. "Why did you bring my friends' stuff here?"

"Uh ... because you asked me to?"

Fair. But—"Why are you wearing a concierge uniform?"

"I'm not—"

"Whatever; a bellhop uniform."

He threw up his hands. "I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not—"

"You are." Because there was no denying it; his shirt and god-awful scarf were just like the patronising concierge's. So Jerk Face either worked for the hotel, or he was pretending to.

But what kind of person stole a bellhop's uniform and helped young women bring their luggage to secluded hotel rooms in the middle of a—

Oh.

Oh.

Okay. Yeah. Violence was sometimes the answer.

Daisy grabbed the closest thing on the bench. She held one hand out in warning and her makeshift weapon above her head, poised to strike.

Frenzy ensued.

"Woah!" Jerk Face exclaimed, jumping behind an emerald green chaise lounge. "Easy, tiger—"

"Why are you wearing a bellhop uniform?" she repeated.

"I'm not—"

"You are—"

"It's my ranger uniform!"

"I don't know what that means."

They were both still shouting at each other.

Daisy thought they were giving the kookaburras gathering opposite the rosellas a run for their money.

Jerk Face made a move to come around the lounge, but she drew back her weapon.

He cursed, holding his hands by his face. "I'm a park ranger!"

"And I'm the Sugar Plum Fairy."

"No, I'm ..." He arched an eyebrow, the greenery behind him highlighting the barely-there flecks of green in his eyes.

She didn't know why her mind had gone to The Nutcracker, and didn't for one second doubt that if she even uttered the word nut to clarify, Jerk Face's shoulders would be doing their I-swear-I'm-not-laughing dance.

Clearing the panic from his throat, the bellhop who wasn't a bellhop repeated, "I don't work for the hotel. I'm a ranger. In the forest. A tree came down near the Gorge, and I let the hotel know so they can pass it on to any guests planning to go."

That ... sounded like it could be true.

But Daisy also listened to true crime podcasts. She knew how being cornered by rugged men in the middle of nowhere ended.

Granted, they weren't really in the middle of nowhere. Jerk Face was rugged, though. His brown-so-dark-it-could-have-been-black hair was bordering on ... shaggy. Not unkempt. Just tousled enough so that if she wanted to, say, run her fingers through it—

Shit.

Was he Ted Bundy-ing her?

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," she decided aloud.

Jerk Face scowled. "I'm not lying—"

"So what would you do if I asked you to leave?"

"I'd leave. I'd hate for you to ... whisk me to death."

Her glare wilted. She was officially confused.

Until she followed the line of his eye.

And found that her makeshift weapon was, indeed, a whisk.

Slamming it down on the counter, she took a deep breath. "Can you just—"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. And she found herself wondering—whether his eyes were still sparkling. "I'm going to go."

Footsteps sounded, headed back the way they came. She didn't turn to watch him leave, peering at his shrinking reflection in the window instead.

Just as he reached the stairs, she felt something strange. A heaviness in her chest.

Guilt.

Not a concierge, or a bellhop. And maybe she shouldn't take murderer off the table so soon, but ... he had helped her. When she'd been a bit off a raging cow.

"Thank you."

He froze.

She turned. Met his cryptic gaze in the flesh.

"For helping me," she clarified. "And sorry for ..." She gestured to the whisk, not really sure how to appropriately apologise for threatening to turn someone into cake batter.

A low, throaty laugh snagged her attention. Standing by the stairs, Jerk Face shook his head. "Consider us even. I shouldn't have laughed at you earlier. It's ... a nerves thing."

She didn't know whether she believed that a man who looked like that could ever get nervous.

In any case, sex toys sprawled out on the floor of an expensive hotel was kind of funny. Maybe not right now, when the memory was still coated in copious amounts of embarrassment, but perhaps someday she'd be able to look back and laugh.

She didn't know what Jerk Face sensed. Maybe her hint of embarrassment, stirred by the image of her surrounded by whips and lingerie on the lobby floor. Maybe her pinch of amusement as she imagined her friends' reaction when she told them about it later. Whatever it was, his mind wandered where hers had.

Nodding to Belle and Ruby's suitcase, he said, "You tell those ... friends of yours to have a good night."

She scowled. The way he said it ... friends. Like they were as real as Barney or Santa or the damn Sugar Plum Fairy.

But then he made it worse.

He winked.

And his eyes were definitely sparkling.

And the whisk just missed his head on its journey from her hand to his stupid, smirking face.

He tutted.

"Such a temper," he crooned, lingering long enough to run his gaze down the length of her body.

And narrowly missing the spatula she threw at his head as he turned and disappeared down the steps.

A/N: Hi lovely readers!

Thanks so much for checking out chapter one of Faking Love! I'm thrilled to have you here, and so excited to finally have this story out in the world.

Don't forget to mark the date you started reading and let me know how you found the story! >>>

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Please note this story is new adult, NOT YA.

Danielle x