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‘That’s not love.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘You disagree?’
‘I asked first.’
She pulled a face. ‘Love isn’t selfish,’ she said finally, and with authority. ‘What he did was. Ergo, it wasn’t love.’
‘So black and white,’ he murmured. ‘You don’t make any allowance for nuance?’
‘You make way too many allowances,’ she corrected carefully. ‘You’re predisposed to identify with him. Rich, powerful man.’
‘Capturing a woman for the purpose of sex? Really, Alicia?’
‘Well, I mean...’ Heat flushed her cheeks. ‘If I hadn’t stopped us yesterday...’ She couldn’t complete the sentence.
‘Then let me be clear. You are free to leave at any point, and I will not even make you swim to shore. My helicopter is at your disposal.’
She tilted her face away, breathing forced and wretched as she tried to get to grips with how their conversation had reached this point. Whenever she tried to focus on the job she’d come to do, they got carried away and she lost command of things.
Sucking in a deep breath, she turned back to him resolutely. ‘I’m not a quitter, Graciano.’ The words were husky. ‘I’ll stay until I’ve finished organising your event.’
‘Four more nights,’ he said, and she shivered, because there was a challenge in his statement, and oh, so much promise.
Graciano read the message carefully, once more.
Hi, handsome. I’m in Barcelona for the night. Join me?
With a devil emoji, then a flame emoji.
Anastasia was one of the world’s most renowned lingerie models, and he’d always enjoyed their time together. She was intelligent, interesting, beautiful and, most importantly of all, completely casual. She hated the idea of commitment, so catching up with her was always a pleasure.
His finger hovered over the screen and he paused, uncharacteristically indecisive. His office was on the top floor of the home and had windows on both sides. From one, he could see the ocean, sparkling all the way to mainland Spain. From the other, he looked down on the courtyard and across it, towards the turret.
Quite by chance, he moved to the back windows, with the vantage point of the internal walls, right as Alicia moved across the courtyard, a notepad in her hands. She was writing furiously, looking around, squinting, eyes chasing the windows, so he moved back a little. But there was no need to hide. She was looking at the windows without really seeing. Her mind was busy imagining, planning, preparing for the event he’d created out of thin air, simply to justify bringing her here. He watched, fascinated by this side of her.
More fascinated by her than he wanted to be—certainly more than he’d anticipated he’d feel. This week was supposed to be about showing her how different he was to the young, impressionable eighteen-year-old she’d used and discarded. It was supposed to be about making her want him, to enjoy the chemistry they shared and then walk away onhisterms.
But since she’d arrived on the island, they’d sparred and sparked. Time spent with her was a unique agony of desire and desperation, anger and anticipation. For two days, she’d been right here, within arm’s reach, and yet he knew nothing more about her than he had a week ago.
And suddenly, that wasn’t good enough.
They had a finite amount of time together—there was nothing on earth that would convince him to pursue her beyond this week—and it was slipping through his fingers.
He wanted to bed her, undoubtedly. But he also wanted to understand her. To answer questions that were lingering in his mind. To put the whole matter to rest, once and for all.
She lifted a hand, rubbing the back of her neck, then closing her eyes and stretching as if in pain. He was frozen to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from her. Her fingers moved delicately lower, needling the tops of her shoulder so his own fingers began to tingle with a desire to replace hers.
Abruptly, she dropped her hands to her sides. Her phone was ringing.
He watched her scan the screen and smile, then lift it to her ear. The look on her face made his gut fall to his feet with the force of a rock boulder. Happiness. Pleasure. Contentment.
Whoever she was talking to made her look so damned joyous. He’d never known that feeling. Or not for ten years, at least.
‘You brought me coffee?’ She stared at the outstretched mug with scepticism, feelings she couldn’t decipher fluttering in her chest. ‘Why?’
‘A peace offering,’ he said, with a lift of his shoulders. Her eyes dropped to the impressive breadth there, to the strength of his frame, and her mouth went dry, so she reached for the coffee and took a quick, grateful sip. It wasn’t hot enough to burn her mouth, thankfully.
