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And she would survive this trip.
After all, she’d survived far worse.
Lifting her chin, she pulled out a lipstick and swiped it over her l
ips. She might come out of this affair emotionally battered and bruised, but she would come out of it as herself.
Turning, she pushed open the bathroom door and walked determinedly back into the cabin.
‘Ready?’ His voice was distracted, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone.
She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up, watching his eyes narrow appreciatively as they switched from his phone to her glossy lips and long bare legs.
She met his gaze. ‘I’ve never been readier,’ she said slowly.
CHAPTER FIVE
STARING OUT ACROSS the turquoise-blue sea, Malachi felt a ripple of satisfaction break over his skin. Beside him in the speedboat Addie sat gazing out across the water, her long red hair blowing across her face, her slender legs curling against the smooth suede upholstery. He could imagine how they must appear to everyone around them: the perfect honeymooning couple on their way to paradise.
Beneath his expensive sunglasses his eyes glittered. Except that they weren’t. Yes, his wife was there, her warm, seductive body just inches away from his. But, glancing at the pure line of her profile, he knew that her thoughts were far away. No doubt dealing with the unfamiliar sting of having her warm, seductive body turned down.
He shifted in his seat, his groin tightening uncomfortably. It might be rather more painful than he’d anticipated but he’d proved his point. She wanted him—and badly. Remembering those blue eyes dilating in helpless response, her body twitching beneath his, he felt a rush of triumph. Only it was tempered with a slight sense of relief, for he had come dangerously close to taking her there and then and he hated feeling that frantic. It was too raw a reminder of how his life had used to be, watching and waiting for his parents’ parties finally to end.
But soon he would ease his body into hers. Only for now let her be the one feeling out of control.
As though sensing his thoughts, she glanced up and gave him an icy glare.
‘Everything all right?’ he said softly.
He watched her fingers curl into her hands.
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Really? Only you seem a little tense.’ He gazed at her levelly. ‘Is it the boat? I could rub your back if you think it would help...’
Oh, she was tense, all right. She’d tried and failed to cover it up, for he’d noticed the wary uncertainty in her eyes, the nervous flush of colour in her cheeks the moment she’d walked out of the bathroom. But there was no place on this trip for feelings—her feelings, for of course his weren’t ever going to be a problem. He’d learned the hard way that life and particularly relationships were simpler, smoother, sweeter all round if emotions were removed from the equation.
His eyes fixed dispassionately on a distant speck of green and brown, rising out of the sea, and his mouth curled into a tight smile. It was the face he presented to any unfortunate gambler who got caught breaking the rules at his casinos.
And Addie had broken the rules. The first rule of the house.
She’d interfered with the run of play.
His mouth thinned. Or rather he’d let her interfere with it. Let her catch him off guard.
Beside her, Addie felt Malachi move, but she ignored him. She was still fuming over that last remark. Rub her back? She’d rather jump overboard. Or better still push him in. For a moment she allowed herself to picture Malachi walking a plank.
Imagining the splash he would make greatly restored her spirits and, feeling able to face him again, she looked up and said sweetly, ‘Everything all right with you?’
‘Everything is fine.’
‘Really? Only you seem a little restless,’ she said.
He held her gaze. ‘I was just thinking about poker.’
She glowered at him. Typical! So nothing had changed. She was still three steps behind him and he was thinking about cards. Carefully she turned her body away from his.
Gazing past Addie, remembering again how close he’d come to losing control, Malachi frowned. He’d been completely unprepared for the way she’d taken his hand and led him upstairs. More mind-blowing still had been how she’d kissed him. The touch of her lips on his had been like napalm—a flash of raw white heat, explosive, all-consuming. He’d been out of control, reduced to no more than a pulsing mass of heat and longing. And for that moment he’d wanted whatever she wanted and more.
