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They’d flown south, to the island of Zanzibar. A slice of heaven just off the coast of Tanzania, to her it had been a paradise destination only ever longingly explored on a map. Until now.
The long journey from the airport, with the windows down in their Jeep, had given her a breathtaking glimpse of the exotic island that offered an intriguing blend of African, Arabian and European cultures.
Like on Ismene, Ares’s sprawling villa was poised on a glorious beach. But, unlike on Ismene, the swaying palm trees that bordered the Zanelis estate, the powdery white sand beneath her feet, the turquoise beauty of the Indian Ocean, the promise of exploration of coral reefs and the knowledge that there were now a few thousand miles between her and Vincenzo washed away her worries.
Well...most of them.
Ares had grown more brooding, insisting she rest, and absenting himself when she refused. And, unlike on Ismene, they didn’t share adjoining suites. A sombre part of her turned downright despondent when she discovered that his suite was in the opposite wing from hers.
Deliberate or unintentional?
Odessa wanted to berate herself for reading too much into it, but since nothing was settled between them, and her instincts were clamouring more strongly than ever, she couldn’t very well dismiss it.
And yet, over the next few days, every time she tried to broach the subject Ares knocked the wind out of her sails by snapping out of his mood and displaying the same disarming gentleness he’d provided the evening of her attack.
It toyed with her heart and emotions, making her doubt her own inclinations.
Thoroughly fed up, it drove her into his study a week after their arrival.
He’d left to make some work calls after their light lunch overlooking the ocean. But lying in bed, her senses refusing to settle as she stared up at the heavy saffron silk canopy surrounded by dreamy white muslin curtains that made up her gorgeous four-poster queen-sized bed, she’d suddenly snorted her impatience at herself and searched him out.
Botticino marble floors cooled her feet, but her palms were clammy when she lifted her hand to knock, her heart thumping hard in her chest when his deep, roughly husky voice answered.
He sat behind a desk, building plans and files strewn all over the massive surface.
‘Odessa.’ Her name was tinged in surprise as he rose and met her halfway. ‘I thought were going to take a nap.’
‘So did I. Turns out I can’t sleep when I have things on my mind.’
His brows pleated. Taking her hand, he led her to an armchair. Thinking he wanted to see her seated, Odessa was once again disarmed by his sitting down and settling her in his lap.
‘What things?’ he asked.
Up until then, she hadn’t even known how to broach the subject, or what to bring up first. Turned out her psyche was fully prepped.
‘Would you have sent me back to Vincenzo and Flávio if I hadn’t agreed to have your baby?’
He tensed beneath her, but she refused to take back the question.
‘That doesn’t matter now,’ he said.
‘But it’s not a no. Or a yes. Would you really have sat back and watched Vincenzo force me into marriage?’
Face set, his fingers absently brushed the almost faded grazes on her knee. If he sensed that it toyed with her breathing, he didn’t give any sign of it.
‘No, I wouldn’t have sent you back,’ he admitted after a tight stretch of silence. ‘Does that satisfy you?’
She tried to stop her heart from singing. She failed. ‘Yes, it does.’
He caught her wrist and tugged her close, until she tumbled against his chest. Then his fingers spiked into her hair, training her attention on him.
‘Don’t think that gives you any upper hand,’ he rumbled in warning.
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why do I suspect you don’t mean that? That you’re simply saying what you think I want to hear?’
It took monumental effort to curb the smile fighting to slip free. Just as it did to remain still within the magnetic forcefield of his arms.
