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She floated to dinner—head in the clouds, stars in her eyes, feet never touching the ground. Even the prospect of Luc’s displeasure at her tardiness couldn’t dampen her mood. Rider wanted more, too. More than a vacation escape. More than a week of fun and games. They weren’t just playing anymore. With those happy thoughts spinning in her head, she walked up the stairs, across the terrace, and into the lounge from the side opposite the main entrance. Even with his back to her, she spotted her father right away, seated in the corner table, flanked by an older couple she assumed to be the Templetons. A disorienting sense of déjà vu struck her as she approached.
Her father turned, saw her, and stood. The tall, trim man on his right did the same, and the woman opposite him sent her a friendly smile, even as her light brown eyes discreetly assessed. Arden smoothed a palm down the side of the sleeveless red sheath she’d changed into, and then checked to see if the hibiscus from Rider that she’d tucked behind her ear on a sentimental whim had survived the walk from her villa to the lounge. The satiny petals kissed her fingertips.
“Arden.” Her father leaned in and kissed her left cheek, then her right. “I see you’re on island time.”
“My apologies.” She turned and extended a hand to the other man. “You must be Mr. Templeton?”
“John,” the man said with a smile as he took her hand. “And this is my wife, Evelyn.”
“So nice to meet you.” She clasped the older woman’s hand for a moment and then took the empty chair opposite her father.
“Lovely to meet you, too,” Evelyn replied, and absently touched the double strand of pearls around her neck. “I’m so glad we got the chance.”
“Me, too.” The déjà vu returned. Arden looked from John to Evelyn and gave her head a little shake. “I’m sorry. I just have this feeling like…have we met before?”
“No. I’d definitely remember,” Evelyn replied.
“But it’s possible you’ve seen us around,” John supplied. “Your father mentioned you arrived over the weekend. We’ve been in and out of the hotel this past week.”
Evelyn nodded. “Yes. In fact, we were right here last Sunday, having drinks with our nephew. I understand you’re going to meet him Saturday?”
Suddenly, everything clicked. “You had drinks here last Sunday with your nephew?” And then he’d come over to the bar and bought her a drink, and the rest, as they say, was history. Rider the astronaut was actually Dr. Nicholas Bancroft, the man her brother might trust with a bad case of the flu, but not his sister. Nick Bancroft, the player. The man taking her to dinner Saturday night. The man who, less than an hour ago, had given her a blinding orgasm and left her a cute note insinuating he wanted something with her beyond a vacation hookup.
Even as her heart imploded and left a gaping wound in her chest, her mind scrambled for an explanation. Maybe he’d forgotten about the stupid date? Maybe he’d fallen so hard for her, it had slipped completely off his radar?
“I-I think so.” She forced her stiff lips to form the words. “If he’s still up for it?”
“Oh yes. I just spoke to him last night. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
So much for dropping off his radar.
Her father gave her a pointed stare when she didn’t reply, and interjected, “She’s looking forward to meeting him as well.” Then he turned the conversation to the possible joint venture. She looked down at her shoes—shoes she’d worn while he’d fucked her seven ways from Sunday—and shook her head in denial. The move dislodged the flower from behind her ear. It landed like a bloodstain on the marble. She kicked it under the table so she wouldn’t have to see it. Discussion flowed around her, but she couldn’t keep up with it. Her brain stalled out
on one simple fact.
He’s a player, and you just got played.
…
Nick drove up to the main entrance of the resort, a little surprised to see Arden waiting out front for him. She looked cool and remote in her dark sunglasses and slim white sundress. He pulled in and stopped beside her. “Zdrah-stvooy-tee.”
“Hello, Rider.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t lift up her glasses. Something was off. Was it his imagination, or had her voice gone steely over his name? “You know, Czarina, I think I speak more Russian than you.” He kept his tone light but unfastened his seat belt.
Her eyebrows rose over the tops of her glasses. “Are you suggesting I’ve been less than honest with you?”
Yeah, something was definitely wrong. He got out of the car and walked around the front toward her. “I’m not suggesting anything, but when it comes to honesty, we could both do better. Are you okay?” Had he freaked her out with his note? Was she wondering how she was going to collect her last orgasm and then end this thing so she could go on a date tomorrow night with a clean conscience?
“I’m fine.”
But she rubbed her forehead, and he could practically see the nerves pounding above her eye.
“Taken anything for the headache?” He pulled her glasses off and watched her pupils dilate. That would be a no.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, and then let out a slow breath. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours.” She held out her hand for her glasses, and he gave them to her.
“Well, Czarina, I’d suggest rescheduling, but you’re busy tomorrow night, right?”
