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Joss inhaled deeply, staring at the door. Mine, his heart and mind said.
“What’s with all this male testosterone?” Clelia asked.
He turned to face her. Goosebumps had broken out over her skin.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“Stop growling.”
“Was I?”
“When you spoke just now, it sounded more like a tiger roaring than a man asking me if I was cold.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“You’d better change anyway.” He motioned at the bag on the bed. “I bought you some things.”
Her gaze followed the action. “Why?”
“I was in Vannes,” he said, as if that explained everything.
The truth was, he could’ve easily stopped by her house and picked up more of her clothes, or he could’ve taken the dirty ones to the laundromat, but he wanted her to have some of the pretty things women liked.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said, searching his face for truths he couldn’t admit. Not yet.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “You can give it to someone if you don’t like it.”
“I meant you shouldn’t do nice things for me.”
Not wanting to talk about the warped situation anymore, he said, “I went to see your animals.” The way her face lit up was a dagger in his heart. “I arranged for the local vet to take care of them.”
Just as quickly, her expression dropped. “Because I’m not going back.”
He owed her at least this truth. “Erwan isn’t coming, it seems. We have to take you to Paris with us until Cain comes up with another plan.” He dropped his shoulders in defeat. “He gave me forty-eight hours. Our time is up.” At her petrified look, he added, “The fires have stopped. The French government gave us carte blanche for one week only. After tomorrow, they won’t let us investigate freely.”
“You mean they won’t turn a blind eye to your illegal methods.”
“Something like that.”
When she hugged herself, he had to cross his arms to prevent himself from wrapping them around her.
“I have a meeting with Cain,” he said. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll call Maya.”
He winced inwardly. It was what he’d asked from her—to put a damper on their attraction. It was as good as asking her to deny what was happening between them. As for him, he’d never deny he was falling in love. He’d just suffer it in silence. For now.
“As you wish,” he said, shutting the door and trapping her image behind it.Chapter 18Unable to contain her curiosity, Clelia peered inside the boutique bag. Joss might be trying hard to push her away, but buying her clothes was a strangely intimate act, and she wanted to see what he’d chosen.
She pulled out black yoga pants with a red stretch top of soft cotton. He’d paired it with a red scarf wide enough to double as a shawl. It was a practical and comfortable outfit. Not so much the short silk nightdress with a low neckline she took out next. The decadency of the matching lace underwear sets caused a heated, fuzzy feeling in her chest. He even got her size right. He’d obviously checked the labels on her clothes he’d packed.
The rest of the content included a cute knee-length dress with a cherry blossom motif, lace-up boots in undyed leather, and an exquisite mid-length coat. The hem, priest-style collar, and cuffs were trimmed with faux fur. She stroked a hand over the softness of the fabric and admired the craftsmanship of the tailoring before folding everything neatly and packing it back into the bag.
After changing into her denim shorts and a T-shirt, she rinsed out Maya’s bikini and hung it in the bathroom to dry. Then she sat down on the bed, letting the sway of the ocean rock her while she gathered her thoughts.
Joss had come for her. She realized it with a sudden, startling insight. When he finally realized she was the prize and not the bait, he’d have no choice but to kill her. Cain was right. It would be an impossible choice for Joss to make. Yet, she wasn’t going to sit here and let them kill her—sacrifice herself—like Cain had suggested.
The moment was near. Saying goodbye to Joss, forever this time, would rip out her heart, but she knew how to survive. She’d had a lifetime’s practice of one-sided love. Although, before she’d been intimately acquainted with Joss’s touch, her unrequited love had been more sufferable. Now it would be a wound that could never heal, but if her longing kept the memory of how he’d felt inside her alive, she was prepared to live with the pain.
She’d paid careful attention to their course. It was Lann who watched, or maybe controlled, the weather from behind the wheel of the yacht, but it was Maya who determined the path of their cruise according to the tides. She sensed Maya’s bond with the water. Even if Clelia’s own element was fire, and water was her natural enemy, she had the advantage of having been raised by a fisherman who read the sea like a chiromancist would read the palm of a hand. She’d memorized their navigation, dictated by slipstreams and tides. They’d pass Île aux Moines at sunset. She’d worked out her plan to the last detail.
