“Fine. Just—give me a minute.”
She slipped out of his arms and moved toward the edge of the patio, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was too low to hear, but her body language had stiffened. Whoever was calling, it wasn’t a casual catch-up.
Maybe her boss, checking in to see why she was off schedule? But Dakota watched and a chill crept into his chest.
Focus! Falling for her wouldn’t help him keep a sane mind to determine whether she might be playing him. Whether the suitcase really belonged to her.
Whether she might be an assassin.
She had secrets. He’d known that from the beginning. But watching her take that call, watching her shoulders tighten and hearing her voice drop, he was reminded that he didn’t actually know who she was. What she was hiding. Why someone might want her dead.
“Young love.”
Dakota turned. Gerald had appeared beside him, wineglass in hand, wearing a benevolent smile.
“I’m sorry?”
“You two.” Gerald nodded toward Jayden, then back to Dakota. “So romantic. The way you look at her—reminds me of my wife and me thirty-seven years ago.” He sighed happily.
Dakota opened his mouth to correct him. Then he stopped.
If the tour group thought they were together, thought they were a unit, maybe whoever was targeting Jayden would think twice. A solo woman was vulnerable. A couple was more complicated. Witnesses. Protection. Someone who would notice if something went wrong.
“Yes,” Dakota heard himself say. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Gerald’s smile widened. “I could tell. The way you danced with her—a man doesn’t hold a woman like that unless he’s completely gone.” He patted Dakota’s arm. “Treasure her, son. The good ones are rare.”
“I know,” Dakota said. And suddenly, weirdly, he meant it more than Gerald could possibly understand.
The older man wandered off toward the bar, and Dakota stood alone by the pool, watching Jayden finish her call.
She hung up and frowned, looking at her phone.
Dakota made a decision.
He crossed to her in three strides, took her hand before she could speak, and pulled her toward the lobby.
“Dakota—what?—”
“Come with me.”
She didn’t resist. Let him lead her through the green-armchair lobby, past the navy reception desk, the big-leafed plants they’d walked by a dozen times now. Into the elevator. The doors closing behind them with a soft chime.
Suddenly the space felt very small. Very intimate. Dakota was aware of her breathing, her warmth, the faint scent of her mixed with chlorine from the pool.
“Dakota.” She was looking at him with those striking whiskey-brown eyes, curiosity and something else flickering in their depths. “What’s going on?”
He turned to face her. Took a breath.
“Will you marry me?”
She’d officially lost her mind.
There was simply no other explanation for the fact that (1) she’d said yes to Dakota’s crazy proposal and (2) she didn’t hate it.
Will you marry me?
Yes, for a long second she’d simply stared at him, her heart in her throat, wondering if . . . well, he couldn’t be serious, right?
