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He grabbed her arm. “Wait. We’ll see the boat from far.” His tone held a plea. “Come sit with me.”
Not waiting for an answer, he flopped down in the sand and pulled her in front of him so that her back rested against his chest. It felt peaceful. Safe. They sat quietly together until an engine became audible in the distance.
Detangling herself from his arms, Asia pushed to her feet. “I should go sit with Leona.”
“Leona’s passed out. It’ll look strange. Just sit here by the bar. That would’ve been the normal thing to do.”
He took his place behind the counter while she slipped onto one of the bar stools.
After sending the barman for more ice in the cooler, Sean poured a drink and threw half of it onto the ground. He kicked sand over the wet patch and put the drink in front of her. “That looks normal.”
Her stomach pulled into a ball as the inflatable raft pulled up on the shore. The men jumped off, flashing teeth. Apparently, the fishing trip had been successful. Ignoring the drunk people sleeping on the beach, Juan made his way to the bar.
“You seem to be the only sober one,” he said to Asia with a smile. “I see the barman kept you company.”
Her throat tightened. “Luckily. This party was terribly boring.”
Juan tapped her nose. “Don’t sulk. I have a surprise waiting for you back at Isla del Pirata.”
She managed a smile, avoiding looking at Sean. If she had, Juan would’ve known from one look at her face what was really going on.
Back on the island, Juan took her to his lounge. They were alone. He was in an exceptionally good mood after the good catch and the bet he’d won with Tony, but her stomach was still in a knot. She was worried that he’d touch her and her repulsion would show on her face.
Taking her elbow, he led her to the table where a flat, square velvet box waited. “Your surprise.”
She looked between him and the box.
“Take it, Marina.”
She wished he wouldn’t call her that. Her hand shook when she picked up the box.
“Open it,” he urged, sounding excited.
She lifted the lid. A long string of black pearls rested on a bed of white silk.
He looked at her with expectation. “Do you like it? I had it brought in this afternoon.”
“It’s beautiful.” It was. But she didn’t want it.
He removed the pearls from the box. “Turn around.”
She turned obediently, grateful that he couldn’t see her face. When he lifted the leather string with Sean’s pendant, she caught his fingers on impulse.
Pushing her hand away, he said, “I’ve been looking at this cheap necklace for far too long. You deserve something better.”
She stood helpless as he lifted Sean’s gift over her head, discarding it on the table before replacing it with his own, more expensive version. The pearls fell heavy and cold around her neck. He twisted it twice to arrange it in three strings and then turned her around.
“Perfect,” he said with a satisfied smile. His gaze lowered to her cleavage. “Absolutely perfect.” Then he added abruptly, “Go to bed.”
He didn’t have to invite her twice. When she reached for the pendant, he grabbed her arm. “No more cheap jewelry, Marina. If you’re going to be my wife, you better start looking the part. Go.” He tilted his head toward the door. “April is a long time away.”
She rushed to the door and down the stairs, the heavy necklace swinging like a chain around her neck. In her own room, she yanked it over her head and dropped it in the dressing table drawer. Watching her reflection in the mirror, she placed a palm over the empty spot in the center of her breastbone. Without the pendant, she felt strangely naked.
Unprotected.
Unsafe.
To Sean’s relief, the evening gig was cancelled. The hungover partygoers trailed to their rooms when they got back to the main island shortly after sunset. Half of them had burned their lily white asses and pink willies, and the other half were too drunk to navigate food onto their plates. Those who’d stayed behind on Isla del Pirata were having a quiet dinner for a change. A few men were playing cards on the deck with the usual half-naked women draped over their laps.
After offloading the surplus booze, he headed to his hut. He’d just finished his shower when his phone rang. The number was unlisted.
“Yes?” He never answered with his name, just in case.
“Sean Rivers?” a woman said.
“Who’s this?”
“Armelle Francis. Alan gave me your number. He said you’d like to get in touch.”
The geomancist. “I expected your call.”
“Tell me your problem.”
He rubbed the excess water from his hair with a towel. “Is the line secure?”
“Scrambling it as we speak. You can talk.”
“It’s about my art.” He dumped the towel on a chair and walked naked to the sliding door. Staring non-seeingly at the sea, he said, “It’s kind of dead.”
