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The driver pulled the car to a stop, but it was Gael who opened the door.
“Carrie,” he murmured, his eyes dark and intent as they roamed her face. He made a small sound of impatience then clicked her sunglasses off her eyes, so that he could see her properly. His smile was rich and rewarding, and she found herself mirroring it, while the butterflies gave full flight in her chest.
“Good morning.” Her voice was thick.
He kissed her, uncaring that several people were milling around the marina. He lifted his hands to her hair and ran them through the sleek blonde style, and Carrie kissed him back. Whatever anger she’d felt with him the day before had evaporated completely, leaving only wonderful, drug-like need.
“I shouldn’t have left you last night,” he groaned, breaking the kiss and staring at her hungrily.
“No,” she agreed shakily. “You shouldn’t have.”
He looped an arm around her waist. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“I did, thank you.”
Gael didn’t say anything, but he was curious as to whether or not she had allowed herself the indulgence of the croissant. He would ask the driver. Later.
“Come.” He steered her away from the limousine, towards the stunning assembly of ships queued obediently against the piers.
“We’re going on one of those?”
His tone was droll. “Usually I would take a chopper, but I suspect you’ll pass out if I do.”
His thoughtfulness caused a dangerous wave of feeling to wash over her. She didn’t want to think of him as kind or courteous. He was just a really, really sexy fling. That was all.
The boat he led her to was moored second-to-the-end of the pier. It was sleek and enormous. Carrie had no experience with boats; she knew they were measured in feet, or something like that. But it was big, with a sharply pointed front, and what looked to be two levels of internal rooms, and a top deck – presumably for sun bathing.
The name on the side real Gabriella.
“My mother,” he said with a wink, following her gaze. “It was a gift to her, but she does not use it.”
Carrie clasped her hands to her heart in an exaggerated swoon. “You’re such a mummy’s boy.”
He grinned and shrugged. “I thought she’d like it.”
“You really gave your boat to your mum?”
“No.” He held her hand as she stepped onto the narrow bridge that linked the craft to the marina pier. “My boat is in Cannes. This is my mother’s boat. As I said, I would usually take the chopper, but as you would not like it, we will use her boat.”
“Well,” Carrie said, as she stepped onto the shining deck, “I think it’s very sweet.”
Something sparked between them; the air was charged with a weird, lopsided understanding. Gael shook his head. “It was nothing.”
She didn’t press him. She didn’t insist that it was kind and generous, but it was. It added a new piece to the puzzle of his c
haracter. Only that piece didn’t entirely fit with what she knew about him.
“Where are we going, Captain?” She asked instead, trying to make light of things, to switch the mood.
It didn’t work. He linked his arms around her waist, and as if by magic, the bridge began to withdraw.
“I have a crew. I would rather spend my time with you than running this thing.” He kissed her forehead, and then pulled her to his chest. She pressed her ear to it, and heard the solid, strong thudding of his heart. It was fast, like hers. Racing with excitement and anticipation.
Carrie sighed slowly. Another perfect moment to collect for the memory bank. The boat began to move away from the land, and they stood, clinging together, breathing as one, their bodies fused. Carrie’s soul was aching by the time Barcelona was just a shimmering line of buildings in the distance. Aching with the enormity of what leaving him would take.
She swallowed. “I got some good news this morning,” she said, pushing away from him and employing her most concise business like tone.
“Yes?” He prompted, his body ice-cold with her absence.
