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He followed her to a nearby food stand near Mallory Square. After placing her order, Louisa turned and thrust a piping hot fried pastry, wrapped in a napkin, into his hands.
“What’s this?” he said, staring down at it.
“It’s a conch fritter,” she said, taking a bite of it. “Try it.”
He tried not to watch the way her mouth moved as she chewed the greasy fried pastry. She licked a spot of grease from her lips, and he nearly shuddered.
Then he realized she was waiting expectantly. He reached for his wallet.
“No. My treat,” she said brightly, stopping him. “You came all the way from Paris. It’s the least I can do to feed you before you leave.”
It was the second time she’d made the not-so-gentle hint about him leaving. But could he blame her, after the way he’d treated her? “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Shall we go sit down?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather just walk as we eat.”
“It’s crowded.” He felt the stares of passing tourists, and other people, locals who greeted Louisa by name with big smiles. Some of them were men. It irritated him to no end. He glanced at the wide vista of the beach. “How about we walk by the beach?”
“By the boardwalk? Sure. There’s a path. Come on.”
They walked in silence, the only sound the soft crunching of sand beneath their feet as they crossed the path. He felt the hot wind blow against his skin.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He’d missed her. Dreamed about her. And now, seeing her like this, wearing almost nothing over her curvaceous body…
He wanted her.
So much he shook with it.
She ate with gusto, swiftly finishing her fritter. Lifting her eyebrows, she looked at his own fritter. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, her eyes glinting at him in the sunshine. She was daring him to say no. Taunting him to admit he only liked fancy gourmet food, the kind she’d prepared for him while she was his housekeeper in Paris.
She didn’t know about all the years he’d barely existed in New York, where he’d started his commodities trading firm while still in college. He’d poured all his money into investments, barely surviving on the cheapest food he could get.
But he hadn’t had to live that way for long. Success had come easily for him. He’d found that all it took to do well in the world was charm and confidence, and never, ever admitting when he had no clue what he was doing.
And the same was true of love affairs. No matter what women said, they did not want a man who was vulnerable. Kindness? They saw it as weakness. Whatever they said, women were attracted to one thing only: power.
Looking straight into her eyes, he took a bite of the conch fritter.
“It’s good,” he said. He took another bite, though he barely tasted the food. How could he explain that he had no appetite? He wanted only one thing.
He wanted Louisa in his bed.
“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to,” she said mockingly. “It’s not exactly caviar and steak tartare.”
He stuffed the rest of the fritter in his mouth, not tasting it at all. He put the napkin in his coat pocket. He stopped halfway across the beach and looked at her.
Wind swirled her dark honey-colored hair around her face. Behind her, he could see the green leafy palm trees and brilliant bougainvillea. But the pink of the flowers was nothing compared to the roses in her cheeks, to the deep red of her lips.
He reached out to push back the dark blond tendrils of hair from her face. His fingertips brushed her warm skin. Touching her burned his fingertips.
She looked up at him, so close beneath the bright Florida sun, and he noticed for the first time that the eyes he’d always believed to be a regular brown were actually hazel, gleaming with a thousand tiny slivers of green and blue and brown like an explosion of light and color.
He took a deep breath.
“Come back to me, Louisa,” he whispered.
She sucked in her breath, staring at him.
