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They had two days left on the island, and then he would never see her again.
And though the thought of that did something strange to his gut, he refused to feel anything but relief. It had been a stupid plan, but it was almost through.
Whatever small part of him that wanted more from her, he wouldn’t abide by. In fact, he would delight in proving to himself that he could stick to his guns and send her away when it was time, no matter how tempted he might be to ask her to stay on in his life – as his mistress.
Yes, that’s what he wanted, he realized with a clarity that was blinding and urgent.
He didn’t want her emotionally. He wanted more of this.
Of convenient sex, of a woman in his bed and his life who demanded nothing of him beyond what he was willing to give.
His lips were a grim slash in his face. Ava was mercenary; he’d seen that for himself. Though she was very, very clever. During their month in London, she’d never once made a play for the luxurious gifts he had wanted to give her. She hadn’t particularly liked the elite restaurants and bars he preferred, nor holidays – she’d always had an excuse when he’d suggested a getaway; she hadn’t wanted jewelry or any other token of his wealth.
Of course she had, though. She’d just known to keep her true colours hidden from him to avert suspicion. She’d been playing for keeps. And he’d been so close to rewarding that. To giving in. Thank God he’d found out in time.
But now? She’d put a price on her head and he’d been willing to pay it.
And after this? What amount would make it worth her staying?
He drained the beer but continued to hold the bottle at its base, his eyes following Ava languidly as she moved closer to the boat.
The conversation with Santiago had unsettled him, mainly because the ruse was failing because of his behavior. Ava had played her part perfectly; Guy not so much.
Santiago was right. Guy was not a man to let the woman he loved slip through his fingers.
Splashing noises moved closer to the boat. He leaned over a little, watching as she climbed the ladder, her head bent. She hadn’t seen him.
A fierce burst of something had him moving closer to the ladder, so that when she stepped on the deck he was right there. She smelled so good. Like the ocean and the sun, like desire and need.
“Oh!” She startled visibly, reaching for the railing to steady herself. “You’re back?”
“As you see,” he tilted his head. The words were colder than he’d intended. If she became his mistress, he would have to find a way to treat her more cordially. It would truly be a fresh beginning.
“We skipped lunch,” he tried again. “Shall we eat an early dinner now?”
Her surprise was obvious. “Dinner?”
“Yes, querida. You know, a meal? Food? A table? Sometimes some wine? A candle?”
Her face paled before his eyes and her head shake was infinitesimal. “No, thank you,” she said, not bothering to smile. “I’ll just eat in my room.” She cleared her throat and moved past him, her head bent.
That same rush of fierce heat shot through him like the flames for Las Fallas.
“Running away from me, Ava?”
She froze, spinning around, and there was matching heat in her eyes, as though fireworks were tormenting her. “I told you, my name is Addie.”
“Fine, Addie,” he deliberately rolled her name with his tongue. She’d told him once that his accent was her ultimate aphrodisiac. “Eat with me.”
The request, such as it was, had her sobering once more. “Why?”
“Because it’s what people do,” he said with a shrug. Her eyes followed the gesture with uncertainty. “Why eat in your bedroom when there is this blanket of stars? Come on, Ava.” Her eyes narrowed. “Adeline,” he corrected. “Just dinner.”
The thin column of her neck moved as she swallowed and he felt her hesitation; he felt it and wondered what he could do to relieve it.
“No one’s here to see it, though,” she said haltingly. “And I’d prefer to keep things between us… business-like.”
Irritation – no, irritation was too mild a word for it. A chasm of rage opened up in his chest. “Business-like?”
