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But instead of eating, I stare at him while he starts munching on papaya slices in between gnawing on a big, thick sausage. Every time he hacks off another piece of that meat, he opens his mouth wide and slips the sausage in there, sealing his lips while he slowly pulls the tines free. And he moans like a man who just had the best sex ever. Never in my life have I equated sex with sausage, but I suddenly can't shake that metaphor out of my mind. When Craig spears a piece of papaya and pushes the fork into his mouth, he wraps his lips around it and moans again. As he pulls the tines free, a bit of juice dribbles down his chin.
And I experience the most bizarre urge to lean across the table and lick it off.
"You okay, Nessa?"
My focus abruptly veers away from his mouth and up to his eyes. I clear my throat and scoop up a spoonful of my fruit salad. "Yeah, fine, great."
Did he just call me Nessa? He hasn't used that nickname in years. That's why I'm feeling...off balance. It's not because I want him to lay me across the table and fuck me right here in the dining hall. Mature adults don't do things like that.
I shove the yogurt-drenched fruit into my mouth and chew a little too vigorously. A slice of banana drops out of my mouth and onto my left breast.
Craig leans over to pluck it off my skin, then uses his napkin to wipe away the yogurt. "All better. Have some coffee to wake yourself up. You must still be kind of sleepy, hey?"
No, I'm not. I am wide awake, mentally---and thoroughly awakened in other ways that I prefer not to examine. But I tell him, "Yeah, I guess I'm not fully recovered from the jet lag yet."
I grab the cup of coffee he'd brought me and force myself to sip it instead of guzzling the drink. My brows shoot up. "You remember how I like my coffee?"
"With cream and two sugars, plus a shot of peppermint. I was surprised the resort had so many options for coffee."
"Yeah, me too."
Craig, of course, prefers his coffee black, no sugar, no nothing to spice it up. He also brought me a glass of orange juice.
Well, that's what I assume it is until I take a sip. "Is this a mimosa?"
"Yep. I remember how much you liked the mimosas we had at your aunt's birthday party a few years ago."
"Angela wanted a tropical-themed party, and she does love a good cocktail."
But he remembered I liked them, when I'd only ever had that drink once, and it was years ago. Craig never let on that he'd memorized my food and beverage preferences. Yes, I love Greek yogurt fruit salad too, as well as whole wheat pancakes with wheat germ and maple syrup. Did he bring me those items too? Yes, he did. My plate is chock-full of my favorites.
I might need to rethink my opinion of my ex-husband.
Chapter Six
Craig
Vanessa seems confused, or maybe dazed is a better word for it. She can't be shocked that I know all her favorite foods and drinks. We were married for more than three decades, after all. Doesn't she know all my likes and dislikes? She might have banished that information from her mind after the divorce, I suppose. But I remember everything about her. I should never have walked away from our marriage, and I will make things right with her no matter what it takes.
Yeah, like tricking her into coming to Heirani Motu.
Vanessa never needs to know about that. But once we've reconciled, maybe I should confess. I'll worry about that later.
I probably shouldn't have wiped yogurt off her breast. But it was anunconscious reaction. That means I need to apologize. "Sorry, Ness---Vanessa. I shouldn't have touched you that way, but it wasn't on purpose."
She gives me a tight smile. "I know that. Let's just forget it happened."
And that's what we do for the rest of breakfast. I try to engage her in conversation, but that one stupid, unconscious mistake has clearly upset her more than she wants to admit. I feel like smacking myself in the forehead, but I decide to do that in my mind rather than actually smacking myself. Vanessa would think I've gone completely insane if she saw me doing that.
Why do I keep feeling like a teenage geek who can't get the girl? Wooing has never been my strong suit, but somehow I'd managed to convince Vanessa to fall for me and marry me. I'm too old for that shit now. So, I'll need to come up with another way to get back into her good graces.
The only plan I've come up with so far is to seduce her. Hot sex will fix our relationship, right? I suppress a groan. The data scientist in me knows how to collate information and come up with a strategy to improve whatever situation might arise. But none of that helps me with the problem of Vanessa.
Sex it is, then.
That's not a plan, though. Now that I've got her on this island, away from all our family and friends, I have no fucking idea what to do next. I could ask James for more advice. He seems like the kind of guy who has no trouble getting dates, and he married a much younger woman, so he must be good at seduction too. But as I lead Vanessa out of the dining hall, I realize I can't ask a man I hardly know for advice of this kind, not again.
When I'd kissed Vanessa by the waterfall, she had enjoyed it. I could tell. But I shouldn't have done that right after her boy toy walked away. No wonder she was upset afterward. I need to rewind and start over. How hard can that be?
