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I glance at him. His scrutiny is always unnerving, but tonight he seems more serious than usual.
“They went to a club.”
His eyebrow quirks slightly. “You didn’t feel like going?”
I shake my head. “I wanted to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t text back…”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m not your keeper. You should be out having a good time with your friends. That’s what vacations are for.”
I dare not tell him that going out and dancing and meeting up with other guys is about the last thing on my mind, but as he looks at me with a primal look in his eyes, it’s as though he already knows the truth.
“I think we both know where I’d rather be.”
His lips twitch ever so slightly. “Is that so?”
Why does his voice sound so husky and sexy?
I nod. I don’t have words for him because I know that what I’m feeling is reckless abandon, and I can’t even blame alcohol.
“Ariana, look at me.”
I force my eyes to meet his.
“What are you really feeling?”
I bite my lip. “That I shouldn’t be here, as much as I want to be. It shouldn’t feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“So good between us.”
He laughs. “Ariana, it seems to me you continue to punish yourself for feeling good about something. I don’t understand it. I know because of our circumstances, it complicates things. It’s not ideal, but I like you. I’m not ashamed to admit it, and I like spending time with you. If you’d let me, I’d like to see you until we go home.”
Until we go home.
The words hang there, reminding me that we’re nothing more than a holiday fling.
I can’t read too much into this. He’s made it pretty clear.
So, I should enjoy this for what it is. I’ll probably never run into him in Seattle. I haven’t for the last twenty odd years. We’re from two different worlds. I also don’t know why my heart feels heavy when I think about going our separate ways. It’s not like we could really work in the real world.
“I would too,” I whisper.
He reaches across the table and runs a finger over my hand, gently caressing me.
“Does that mean you’d like to stay here tonight?”
My body screamsyes!My mind tells me to get the fuck out of there.
“I’d like that,” I hear myself say.
He smiles slowly. “Would you like to have a swim?”
The great thing about Mexico is I always have a bikini on under my dress, because nine times out of ten, we’ll have a swim when coming back from dinner, and it saves going all the way back up to the room to change.
“I like your lap pool,” I say, taking another sip, albeit a little larger.
“I like you.”
