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He waited until lunch was over and his team were back around the table.
‘Before we begin, I want to thank everyone for their hard work. As usual, your focus and dedication has been outstanding. Please know that it is recognised and greatly appreciated.’
He paused. Now that the moment was here, he felt an uncharacteristic flicker of doubt.
And that was why he needed to end this now, he thought irritably. Dove did something to him that no one else did. She made him feel things, want things. She confused him...
Remembering how her body had curved against his, he felt his groin harden. But she wasn’t just making him unravel physically. He was so tense right now, and he’d reached for her because she was still the only person alive who could soothe him. Only that had angered him, and that was why he’d lost his temper with her. Said things that he should have kept hidden. And since that night more things, more feelings, had kept slipping out.
He was like a wound seeping blood. And he couldn’t risk haemorrhaging any more ugly, sordid truths about himself. Certainly not to Dove.
‘We now have several valuation models for the target company, and sufficient information to enable us to construct a reasonable offer, so today will be our last day here together. We’ll wrap things up tonight and start back again on Monday morning in London. Sorry, people,’
There were a few groans, followed by applause. Then several members of his team came over to him, and it was a couple of minutes before he could look over to where Dove was sitting.
She was staring down at her laptop, but as if sensing his gaze she looked up at him, and he felt his pulse stumble.
He had expected her to look relieved, but instead her grey eyes were the colour of storm clouds.
Leaning back against the lounger, Gabriel gazed out to sea. It was only nine o’clock and the sun was starting to rise through the clear blue sky. The day was just beginning.
Normally there would be a background hum of people talking and laughing as they opened laptops and shuffled papers. But not this morning. This morning there was no sound aside from the gentle slap of water against the boat. He was alone. The day was his. He could change out of his work clothes and take a dip in the pool, laze in the sun, maybe finish that book he’d started six months ago. He could have a drink—a cocktail, perhaps. A Last Word might be apt...particularly if he got the stewards to go heavy on the gin.
His team had left after an early breakfast.
And Dove had gone with them.
His jaw tightened. She had shaken his hand before she’d left and said goodbye in that careful, precise way of hers. Remembering the cool touch of her fingers, he felt his throat tighten. It had all been very polite, very civilised. Maybe that was why he felt so dissatisfied now. So thwarted.
Swearing softly, he got to his feet and stalked to the other side of the deck—only to remember as he got there that he was standing where Dove had reached up and kissed him. For a second the air around him seemed to ripple and, his heart beating out of time, he scowled down at the smooth teak.
Did events imprint themselves on buildings? He closed his eyes. Could wood and brick retain some memory of the heat and intensity of human encounters?
He breathed in deeply, then tensed. He could almost smell her scent...that teasing light mix of summertime and sweet peas. His eyes snapped open and he blinked into the sunlight. And now he was seeing her. Holding his breath, he gazed across the deck at the blurred shape of a woman. Except, of course, it wasn’t her. It was just a mirage. An illusion caused by the refraction of light off the gleaming polished deck.
The shape moved and everything inside him slid sideways, almost as if the yacht had run aground. But it wasn’tThe Argentumthat had run aground. It was him.
And the woman standing on the other side of the deck wasn’t a mirage.
Something swift and sharp scudded across his skin and he watched in stunned, silent disbelief, his mind groping for some kind of explanation, as Dove Cavendish walked slowly towards him.
She had changed clothes. The clinging pencil skirt and soft blouse were gone. Instead she was wearing denim shorts and one of those blue and white striped matelot tops, and her hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck.
His hands flexed by his sides as she stopped about a yard away. She looked nervous, but defiant—and shatteringly beautiful.
None of which helped explain why she was still on board his yacht...
His head was starting to spin and he realised that he was still holding his breath. He let it out carefully and, hoping that he looked more composed than he felt, he said softly, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
That was a good question, Dove thought as she felt her stomach drop to her feet. One to which she should probably have a ready-made answer. But earlier, when she’d been sneaking back to her cabin, she hadn’t given much thought as to what she would say when she finally confronted Gabriel. She’d been too busy worrying that she would get caught.
There had been no plan. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision—the kind her mother had warned her about. The kind she knew led to heartbreak and despair. So of course she had ignored the warnings.
Now, though, she wished she had come prepared. It was hard to breathe, much less string a sentence together, when he was standing there with the fading sun’s rays caressing his beautiful face like a lover. And he did look particularly beautiful. Beautiful and formidable...
But she couldn’t say for sure whether it was his beauty or his severity that was making her pulse dance a tarantella across her skin.
‘We have things to sort out...things we need to talk about—’
