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There must be something wrong with her head—something wrong withher—to think that way after what he’d said to her, the way he’d acted. He had been cold, and cruel, and yet it wasn’t his cruelty or his fury that was imprinted on her brain. It was that look on his face and the words he’d flung at her in response to the accusations she’d made about the part he’d played in their relationship.
‘But I didn’t have a part in it—did I, Dove?’
Her stomach tightened. When she wasn’t replaying their heated on-deck encounter, she kept on trying unsuccessfully to untangle the meaning of those words as they rolled around inside her head.
But they still made absolutely no sense.
And it would probably stay that way.
It wasn’t as if she could ask him, she thought, glancing furtively to where he was now once more talking on the phone.
They hadn’t been alone since that night on the deck. Gabriel’s team had arrived early the following morning, and from that moment onwards there had been no opportunity to talk—much less kiss.
Breathing out a little unsteadily, she pressed her finger harder against her lip, replaying those endless seconds when the world had stopped moving,
‘I thought this might help.’
She blinked. Chris was back.
‘I got you some ice.’ He held out a glass.
‘Actually, applying ice to a burn is the worst thing you can do.’
A lean hand plucked the glass from her fingers and, her heart thumping in her chest, she looked up to find Gabriel standing beside her.
Every nerve in her body snapped onto high alert. Panic was snaking through her body—and something else...something that made her feel jittery and irritable.
‘I know it feels logical, but it can cause further damage to the skin. Something to do with shutting off the capillaries too forcefully, I believe,’ he said, in that quiet way of his that made her stomach knot. ‘The best treatment is a cool compress.’ He turned towards the analyst. ‘Chris, could you go and ask one of the stewards to sort that out asap? Any of them will be able to help.’
In the moment of silence following the analyst’s departure his eyes found hers. She knew it shouldn’t move her the way it did, like flame and chaos beneath her skin, but what should and shouldn’t happen rarely seemed to be relevant where Gabriel was concerned.
‘You didn’t need to do that. It’s really not a big deal,’ she said stiffly, keeping her gaze firmly away from the man taking up too much space beside her.
‘I’m afraid that’s not your decision to make, Ms Cavendish.’ His voice wrapped around her skin, as cool as the compress he’d suggested. ‘You’re on my yacht, so I’m responsible for your wellbeing. I wouldn’t want Alistair thinking I don’t take care of his people.’
Gabriel’s people were all around them—typing, talking, taking notes—but it didn’t matter. She could feel her body reacting just as if it were the two of them alone, her skin tingling and growing tighter, hotter.
The goosebumps of the other night had returned. She wanted to cover her arms, conceal her response, but that would only draw attention to the thing she was trying to hide. If only she could snatch the glass from his hand and upend the ice over her head and her overheated body.
Instead, she gave him a small, tight smile and said, with a briskness she’d perfected over the last five days, ‘I’m sure Chris can look after me.’ Still smiling stiffly, she glanced pointedly to the other end of the room, where the stewards had appeared with trays of freshly baked pastries. ‘Don’t let me keep you—’
She let the sentence teeter and balance in the space between them, but he didn’t move away. He just stood there, staring down at her in that edgy, nerve-jangling, quiet way of his.
‘You work hard,’ he said finally.
It wasn’t what she was expecting him to say, but it was business, not personal, she told herself. And yet the glitter in his eyes didn’t feel impersonal.
By now most of the team had gravitated towards the burnished pastries at the end of the room and she refocused her gaze, away from Gabriel’s distracting face to where the Mediterranean sparkled in the midday sun. Only that was like looking straight into his glittering blue eyes...
‘Did you think I wouldn’t? I’m not that petty,’ she said, answering her own question.
Shewasworking hard—but not because of the threats he’d made back in London, if that was what he was implying. For her, there was something intensely satisfying about helping a complex, multi-tiered business acquire another.
Lifting her chin, she looked past his shoulder at the door, wishing she was on the other side of it. And that it was locked and barred and guarded by a couple of large, unfriendly dogs.
‘And, just for the record, my work ethic has nothing to do with your “incentive” either. Believe it or not, you’re not the most difficult or demanding client I’ve ever worked for.’
For a moment Gabriel didn’t reply. She tried to pretend that his silence didn’t get to her, but eventually she couldn’t help herself, and she looked up to find him watching her intently, as if she was a puzzle he was trying to work out.
