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His mind had been elsewhere—that was how he’d forgotten. Arriving at the office at seven a.m. after a restless night, he’d tried to focus on work and instead found his mind returning repeatedly to the events of yesterday. In particular his abrupt treatment of Jordan by the pool.
He’d seen the hurt in her eyes before he’d walked away. Hurt she hadn’t deserved. He’d rejected her for the right reasons, but the way he’d gone about it had been harsh. Wrong.
And walking away from her, shutting himself in his study for the rest of the evening, hadn’t stopped the incessant wanting.
He had only himself to blame. Yes, she had provoked him, flirting with that guy on the beach, shoving the brother thing in his face, knowing it would push his buttons, but he’d spent a lifetime training himself not to react impulsively to provocation.
But this time he had reacted.
He’d kissed her out of anger and an inability to subdue his desire. Then he’d punished her for it, shutting her out, speaking barely a word to her afterwards.
By mid-morning a tight knot of guilt had settled in his gut.
He prided himself on being a man of principle and str
ong moral character—better than those who would undermine him—and yet he couldn’t view his behaviour yesterday with any sense of pride.
As for his behaviour today...
He clenched his jaw and stared down at his white-knuckled hands, reluctant to look at his reflection in the mirror for fear he would see not himself but some half-crazed Neanderthal he hardly recognised.
How the hell had he ended up doing what he’d just done out there on the sofa?
It had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d picked up the phone and called Rosa.
His plan had been simple. As simple as he and Jordan sharing a polite, civilised meal that would allow him to claw back some self-respect and prove he wasn’t the bastard she had every reason to believe him to be.
Above all he’d resolved to keep a lid on his lust and, if necessary, rebuff any of her advances.
Gently.
Except when he’d called his housekeeper to tell her he’d be home to dine with his guest this evening Rosa had promptly told him his guest was gone.
At first he’d thought she meant that Jordan had ventured out for the day, and for a second he’d regretted not having had the forethought to put a car and driver at her disposal.
But, no. Rosa had meant gone gone.
Not coming back gone.
For ever gone.
Shock had mingled with disbelief, making his stomach harden, his chest tighten.
And then the anger had come—swift and hot and all-encompassing.
She’d left.
Of course he’d known her time in Barcelona would be limited. But to leave without a word? Without so much as a goodbye?
He didn’t think his heart had ever thundered with such ferocity in his chest.
During the trip to the ferry terminal his blood had pounded with increasing agitation.
He knew there was only one daytime sailing to Mallorca, the other being late in the evening, so his chance of intercepting her was good.
But what if Rosa had been wrong about Jordan’s plans?
Fortunately Rosa had been right.
