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I twist my mouth to the side, the evidence of his obsessive control obvious in the statement. ‘Do you fly your own jets too?’
‘Not often. From time to time, I serve as co-pilot, but it’s much more comfortable in the cabin.’
I don’t know why but all roads with Santiago lead back to bed, and the innocuous comment makes me think of him in the bedroom of a private plane: luxurious silk sheets, mood lighting, him handsome, naked, powerful... I turn my eyes back to the view. I’m very high yet it feels much safer to look down than to stare at the man beside me.
The pressure between us builds so that with every moment that passes all I’m aware of is him, his closeness, the proximity overwhelming me. It’s a relief when the helicopter starts to descend over a significantly darker patch of land. There are still lights, but far fewer. His control is expert; I gather he knows the way very well.
‘You’re a nervous flyer?’ he asks after touching down, mistaking my tension for something else altogether.
‘Not really.’
‘Then you are nervous to be here with me?’
I shake my head. ‘Just...a little overwhelmed, I think.’
His brows lift and then he smiles, that rare, beautiful, soul-splitting smile.
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‘Don’t be. This is just one night out of our lives, Freja. Nothing more.’
I love it that he uses my name. My skin lifts and, when he opens the door of the helicopter, the warm breeze rushes past me, cementing his words in my mind. It’s just one night, nothing more.
‘I figured you were right about the restaurants in Barcelona—far too likely you would be seen in a city like that. But here in Aliz it is quieter.’
Nonetheless, I lift a hand to my dark wig, glad I’d thought to wear it.
‘Yes, the disguise is still good, if only because I find it impossibly sexy.’ His eyes twitch at the corners and I know he’s teasing me. I punch his arm playfully as we stroll slowly towards a string of restaurants lined up along a cobbled path. The walk is part of the pleasure. It is a weekend and, despite his promise that this town would be quiet, the restaurants are busy, a gentle din reaching us on the street as we go.
‘Aliz is famous for its seafood,’ he explains as we walk. ‘People come from all around to enjoy what these places have to offer.’
‘And you come here often?’
‘Often enough to know which restaurant is best,’ he responds with another heart-stopping smile, before gesturing towards a restaurant at our side.
The frontage is made of glass, with awnings over the top, so that in the daytime I imagine the restaurant to be filled with al fresco diners, sunlight filtering onto them. Now the restaurant is dressed for the evening, with candles on the table-tops and a jazzy soundtrack playing.
‘Santiago!’ He’s greeted by the maître d’ like an old friend returning. ‘It is good to see you again.’
‘Enrique.’ He nods, and to my surprise they embrace, before he gestures to me. ‘This is a friend of mine.’ His lips twitch. ‘Lois.’
I lift a brow, the alias he’s chosen for me causing my heart to jackhammer against my ribs. I miss only two beats before extending my own hand to Enrique. ‘Pleasure.’ He lifts it to his lips but, although he is also handsome, I feel nothing. Just like before. Any time in my life that I’ve met a man, I’ve never felt so much as a flicker of my pulse. But with Santiago it’s as though that’s all I’m capable of feeling—totally overrun by emotions and need.
He leads us to a table at the back of the restaurant. A large indoor fig with glossy green leaves partially conceals the table from view, and for added protection I take the seat against the wall, because it obscures me completely from other diners.
‘Would you like to see a menu?’ Santiago asks as we take our seats.
‘I’m no expert at eating in restaurants, but isn’t that customary?’
‘I generally rely on Enrique to bring me what’s best.’
It speaks volumes, given what a control freak he is. ‘Then I’m sure that will be fine.’
‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’
His attention to detail makes me feel like the most special person in the world. Danger signs flash. That’s not what this is. It’s not what he wants and it’s impossible for me to want it. Impossible for me to have it. I can’t look beyond this slice of time.
‘Lois?’
