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She chewed her lower lip, considering my offer. “Only if you show me around the island, too. I want to see the places only locals know, not the touristy things.”
I stared back at her, lowered my brows, and tried to stare her down, which wasn’t easy, looking over my shoulder and all. “You think I got nothing else to do, principessa?”
She cocked her head and glared at me. “Don’t call me that. And yes, I think you are the boss of your time.”
I glared back, frustration and intrigue bubbling up. “If I waste my precious time on you, there’s one condition.”
She cocked her head.
“You have to promise to behave.”
“Fine,” she said, smirking. “But only if you buy me ice cream and lunch. And you have to show me the most beautiful place on this island.”
“Always making demands, aren’t you?” I chuckled, unable to resist her charm.
She raised a single eyebrow.
“Alright, princess. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
With that, she wrapped her arms tightly around my waist as we set off to explore the island together.
What a dangerously stupid idea.
Her body pressed against mine felt like it belonged there, and I had to remind myself not to get carried away by the sensation.
There was more to Fiona Donelly than met the eye and I was far more intrigued than I’d realized, or liked, or accepted.
She was off-limits.
As we continued our day out, I bought her sunscreen and a hat—which she appreciated and returned the favor by gifting me an Orrajt? keychain.
Typical tourist move.
Fiona easily connected with the locals we encountered. She seemed to have a natural ability to charm people—unlike me.
A trait I admired and which pissed me off equally. Why was she so nice to everyone but me?
And while I got cast suspicious looks, she was the newest best friend to whomever we met within minutes of meeting.
Once or twice I got the feeling of eyes on us, but every time I tried to pinpoint anybody who might be following us, I couldn’t detect anyone suspicious or anything out of the ordinary.
At one point, during lunch in a small restaurant, frequented by local fishermen, Fiona struck up a conversation with an elderly fisherman who shared his thoughts of how she should be suspicious of men with tattooed necks—me.
Fiona got a kick out of it. “See, Alex…I shouldn’t hang out with you. You’re bad news.”
I glared at the guy, who was missing a few teeth, was probably at least half my weight and three times my age, but who grinned at me—zero fear, zero respect.
And I liked it.
Fee was mellowing me out.
“Let’s start keeping a distance starting tomorrow. Don’t want your pristine reputation to take a hit,” I said, then looked at her.
She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a couple of seconds before expertly changing the topic and asking the guy questions about his job and the underwater population.
She got the guy talking until he shared his thoughts on the importance of preserving Malta’s unique ecosystem.
“Nature is a gift,” Fiona said passionately, her eyes sparkling with conviction. “We need to take responsibility for our actions and protect this beautiful Earth.”
