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“That explains a lot.” Xavier released me and stepped back.
A cool wave of relief coasted through my chest, followed by an alarming pinch of…disappointment? No, that couldn’t be right.
I waited for him to continue the lesson, but he simply studied me with that deep, dark gaze.
Tousled black hair fell carelessly over one eye, shielding his thoughts as the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. There was a pensiveness to him that I rarely saw, and it molded his features into a devastating portrait Michelangelo himself would’ve been proud of.
The dramatic slant of his cheekbones, the thick dark brows, the sculpted mouth that seemed infinitely more inviting when it wasn’t wearing a provocative smile…his face dared me to look away, and I couldn’t.
Electric awareness dripped into the air and snuffed out the oxygen.
Xavier and I had been alone many times before, but this was the first time I recognized the danger in him. Beneath the layers of indolent self-possession, there was a man who could set my world aflame if he wanted.
God, what is wrong with me?I’d gone years without reacting to his presence in any discernible way (unless irritation counted), but ever since we arrived in Spain, my shields had slipped. Maybe it was the brief glimpses into a realer, more vulnerable side of Xavier—the side that wasn’t all about drinking and sleeping—or maybe our spa day had rewired my brain.
Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.
Self-preservation punctured my awareness right as he spoke again. “Let’s get a drink.”
He turned and walked toward the bar cart nestled in the corner.
The remaining static fizzled into nothing as I tried to keep up with the whiplash. “What about the lessons?”
“We’ll resume after the break.” Xavier grabbed two glasses and started mixing drinks right there in the middle of the terrace.
My eyebrows skyrocketed. I’d never seen him make cocktails before, but he moved with the fluid grace of a seasoned bartender.
“So much for not getting wasted,” I groused when he handed me an admittedly delicious-looking pale orange drink.
“It’s one drink. You won’t get wasted unless you have the tolerance of a five-year-old.” Xavier’s mouth tilted at the corner. “Salud.”
I kept my eyes on his as I took a small sip. Fuck, that was good. “Did you make this up on the spot?”
I didn’t recognize the taste, and yesterday’s party had cleared out half the bar, leaving only a handful of ingredients for him to work with.
“You make do with what you have.” A roll of his shoulders, followed by a teasing smile. “I’m naming it the Sloane. Bitter at first but with a sweet aftertaste. Just like someone I know.”
“You don’t know how I taste.”
His smile took on a decidedly more wicked slant. “Not yet.”
My body reacted, instantly and viscerally, like he’d flipped theonswitch in a long-untouched room.
My breasts tightened as heat flickered between my thighs, turning my body warm and languid. Less-than-innocent images flashed through my mind before I wrestled them into a box and slammed the lid shut.
No. Absolutely not.
I could not be having this reaction to Xavier, of all people. This was what I got for ending my sex-only situationship with Mark. If I’d slept with him before I left, I wouldn’t be so wound up.
“How’s delusion treating you?” I asked, striving for indifference even as I strangled my glass.
“Quite well.” Xavier’s eyes gleamed like he could reach inside me and pick out every filthy, inappropriate thought. He leaned against the wall, seemingly unaware of the havoc he’d just wreaked. “Since we’re still on break, let’s try something else. Truth or dare. You choose.”
“Truth or dare? What are we, twelve?”
“It’s a timeless game.” He arched one brow. “Unless you’re scared.”
Fuck it. Playing the stupid game was better than humiliating myself dancing again. “Truth.”
