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“Victoria.”
“Victoria. Victory. Name fit for a queen.”
What the actual fuck.
He’s flirting with me.
“I’d ask for yours, but we both know that’s not necessary.”
He nods his head, accepting my statement as truth.
“So, Victoria, what brings you to The White Sands tonight?”
I take a long breath and let it out as quietly as I can. This is the part where I tell him the truth.
Right?
“Getting a drink with a friend.”
His eyebrows tick up just a hint. “And what brings you to the island?”
He’s fishing here, and I have a feeling I know what he wants to know. I take another sip of my drink, the strong liquor flaring into courage as it burns through my body. “Same as most people, I suppose. The sun, the sand, the ocean. And the fitness studio.”
That earns me a smile, and I relax just a bit. Telling the truth feels steadying, even if it’s not enough truth for him to actually know anything.
“Fitness junkie, huh?”
I shrug. “You’re clearly no stranger to the gym.”
He looks at me sidelong then, a shadow passing over his features that I can’t read. “You could say that.”
I have no idea where to take this. I’m too far gone to just come out and tell him the truth about why I came over here, and I’m still not sure if I have the gumption, or even the true desire, to keep taking this interaction in the direction it seems to be heading.
I mean, if this was any other guy on the planet, I’d be all for it. Who wouldn’t? Hot, older guy, clearly safe and trustworthy, since he owns the damn resort. He would be the perfect escape for the evening.
The thought of being alone with him in some fancy rich-person bedroom and getting to slip off my dress and blow his mind with my hot as fuck Pilates instructor body has me shifting a bit in my seat.
I mean, it wouldn’t even have to be a revenge thing. I’m certainly not the kind of person to snap a pic of myself in bed with someone’s hot dad and post it on the internet. What if I just pretended this guy was someone else?
I glance down at his left hand where it cradles his drink, trying to detect even a hint of a tan line on that ring finger. I can’t remember if Ains ever mentioned his mother, and nothing would throw cold water on this faster than learning this guy is married.
Maybe I can sneak to the restroom and google him just to be sure.
Ben follows my gaze and rubs his thumb thoughtfully across the base of the finger, the way you would spin a ring if it was there.
My breath catches as I wait for him to confirm my suspicion and release me from the act of complete madness I’m considering.
Instead, when he meets my eye, he gives the smallest little shake of his head. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. Not married. I believe him. I mean, he has to know he can’t lie about that kind of thing. Or anything, really. Between the nosy staff and the internet, I bet I could find out just about anything I want to know.
He’s silent for a long moment, still watching his thumb graze over his ring finger.
There’s something to the movement, and the look he’s giving it, that hints at a deeper meaning and I can’t help but be curious.
He must be divorced. Maybe recently divorced and still sad about it.
Well, even better.
A sexy night with a hot stranger is just what he needs to start getting over her. I’d be doing him a favor. A public service of sorts.
