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“No.” She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine.”
“Come out when you’re ready.” Something tightens in my chest when I watch her naked curves. My cock stirs as I look at the juncture of her legs, remembering the sight of my gun there. “You have to buckle up for the landing.”
Going to pains not to touch me, she shifts all the way to the headboard before standing. I remain on the spot as she walks a wide circle around me, goes into the bathroom, and shuts the door. The lock clicks in place.
I don’t give sound to the sigh trapped in my lungs. It’s going to take time. This thing between us, this hatred that binds us, knows no other way. It’s not going away. We’ll have to learn how to live with it and how to get around it. It doesn’t help that I have no experience in this minefield called a relationship. Adeline was much better at people skills.
The thought of my sister twists my gut. Her absence is still like a visceral hole in my life. Hardening my feelings, I return to my seat and lose myself in work until Sabella returns. She’s wearing the clothes Celeste packed for her—a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a tight T-shirt, ankle boots, and a leather jacket. Her hair is brushed out, and her face is free of make-up.
My gaze is drawn to the beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. I’ve always found that pretty. Cute. I haven’t had many opportunities to study her, but I know every inch of her body as if it’s my own. She’s ingrained in my memory, a living entity beating alongside my heart under my breastbone.
I don’t miss her flinch when she puts her ass on the seat. Leaning over, I secure her safety belt. She lets me but flattens herself against the backrest to prevent my arm from brushing against her breast.
It’s past dinner time. I had meals prepared. They’re in the kitchen, ready to be nuked, but with what happened, food wasn’t on my mind. I doubt she had an appetite. Even so, we also skipped lunch. The growl of her stomach confirms that she’s hungry.
“We’ll eat on the yacht,” I say. “We’re about to go in for the landing.”
She turns her face toward the window without answering.
It’s the middle of the night when we land. A hostess boards to pack our bags. She eyes me with interest in the passing but quickly averts her eyes at my hostile look. I take the coat I bought for the occasion from the closet and hold it open for Sabella. When I helped her to fit her arms, I button it up. Through it all, she refuses to meet my gaze.
A car waits at the airport to transport us to the marina. The skipper greets us at the yacht. A helper takes our luggage and carries it to the cabin. We’ll spend the night on the yacht and leave at first daylight.
Sabella follows me wordlessly to the lounge where a table is set. The chef prepared a meal of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables. A waiter pours wine while I remove Sabella’s coat.
Once I’ve seated her, my wife allows the waiter to spread the napkin over her lap, but she doesn’t pick up her knife and fork when he leaves.
“Eat,” I say. “You need your strength.”
Pursing her lips, she pins me with an antagonistic glare.
I take a bite of the chicken and swallow it down with some wine. “See? It’s not poisoned.”
My attempt at humor isn’t appreciated. She narrows her pretty eyes, staring at me as if she’d rather stab me with the butter knife.
“It’s delicious,” I say. “I promise.”
She scoffs and looks away.
My tone is stern. “Eat, Sabella.”
She blinks fast but not fast enough to clear the glimmer of tears that shines in her eyes. Picking up her fork, she toys with it for a while. Finally, she stabs a cube of butternut and brings it to her mouth.
The food really is delicious. I hired the best chef in Corsica. Once she’s tasted the creamy squash with hints of nutmeg and passionfruit, she digs in.
I watch her between forkfuls of food, noting with satisfaction that she cleans her plate. She polishes the chocolate and vanilla mousse cake topped with raspberries too but declines the waiter’s offer of herbal tea or coffee.
“Still hungry?” I ask when our plates are cleared.
She replies in a barely audible voice. “No, thank you.”
I stand, go around the table, and pull out her chair. “Tired?”
She gets to her feet. “No.”
“I can give you something to help you sleep.”
Her spine stiffens. “I said I’m not tired. I slept the whole afternoon.”
