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He saw.
He saw the small details, the tiny giveaways that his grandfather was so adept at concealing. The slight shake to his fingers, the pallor beneath his eyes, the way he was limping a little, and sitting when he would ordinarily have leaped up to accompany Ava himself, without hesitation.
Guy stood, reaching for his champagne with a tight smile for Santiago, and prowled across the deck, following Ava’s trajectory.
She lifted her eyes to him and he saw the world of confusion in them.
“Beautiful women should not be left to watch a sunset on their own,” he repeated with a wry smile, and saw Ava’s face pale.
She hid it, turning away from him, forcing a tight smile to her face.
“He’s very nice,” she said softly.
“Yes. Don’t get any ideas, querida. You are too young for him.”
She gasped, a noise of surprise, and angled her body to face him. “You’re kidding?”
He shrugged, lowering his voice. “I presume once this week is over you’ll be looking for the next wealthy idiot you can con into bed.”
“How dare you?” She threw the question at him and had the satisfaction of seeing his face darken.
“I dare because I know you.”
“You think you know me.”
“And whose fault is that?” He volleyed back.
She opened her mouth, furious suddenly, needing to make him listen to her, to disavow the idea that she might be planning to seduce his grandfather – or any other man for that matter – for financial gain!
Only he didn’t give her the chance to speak. He crushed his lips down on hers, hard and fast, with no warning, so that his kiss became her breath, his touch her lifeline. She made an angry noise of surprise, pushing it into his mouth, and her free hand lifted to his chest, clutching at his shirt, holding him for balance, support, gripping him like he was her salvation.
A whimper came from deep within her throat and his kiss changed tempo, morphing from an angry silencing technique to a slow, sensual exploration. His tongue dueled with hers; she let him win. She was weak against his body, her every sense absorbed by what they were sharing.
For six months, she’d dreamed of this. She’d remembered it, she’d craved it, and now, it was so much better than she’d hoped. Completion stormed her body; relief relaxed her.
And then, he pulled away, his eyes glittering as they stared down at her, his expression unmoved. But it was a lie. She could see the dark slash of colour that ran along his cheekbones, the desire that had been stirred within him as much as within her.
“Do not argue with me at his house. I do not care what you say on the boat, but here, at Santiago’s, you will show some respect.”
“I’ll show some respect?” She repeated, desire being consumed by angry disbelief. “You’re the one who suggested I might try to seduce your octogenarian grandfather before the week is out! My God, Guy, don’t tell me we can’t discuss the past if you’re going to throw your misconceptions about it in my face at every opportunity.” She was whispering, but there was no mistaking the strain on her face, nor the urgency of her voice.
Guy shifted his body, concealing her completely from Santiago’s view, just in case the older man were inclined to turn and check up on them. Her words stormed around him, angry like a hurricane, their logic indisputable. But he didn’t want to agree with her, nor to find logic in a damned thing she had to say.
“It is not the past I am discussing so much as who you are,”
“Which is informed by your view of what happened between us. A wrong view. If you want me to show respect then I suggest you do the same.”
Her chin was tilted at a defiant angle and her eyes, her enormous, buttery golden eyes were spitting chips. Her fury was something he’d never seen before. Not the whole time they were in London. Even when they’d broken up, he had been furious and outraged.
She had been … broken. Sad. Grief-stricken. Shocked. And yes, apologetic.
Fury was new. Fury did strange things to him. Fury was hot. Fury made him want to ignore common sense and make love to her – but not love. The kind of angry, passionate push and pull that only fury could ensure.
The idea of making her body his once more came to him and he jerked in response. He was hard and suddenly the idea of spending any more time here with his grandfather was unpalatable and irritating.
He was tempted to tell her she was right.
Because she was. He’d bound her up, and along with it, any right she had to defend herself. He didn’t want to hear more of her lies. He knew he would never trust her again, so what sense was there in listening to her stories? In giving her another opportunity to make a fool of him?
