Beneath the Veil of Paradise. Kate Hewitt
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man who asked pressing questions and told her things about herself nobody else knew. Who turned flippant just when she needed him to. Whose simple touch set off an explosion inside her, yet who kept himself from kissing her even when she was so clearly aching for his caress.
A man who made her very, very uncomfortable.
Was that the kind of man she didn’t want to get involved with?
Hell, yes.
She wished she could dismiss him, as she’d fully intended to do when she’d first met him: spoiled and shallow playboy, completely non-threatening. That was the man she’d agreed to have dinner with, not the man he was, who had set her pulse racing and tangled her emotions into knots. A man who touched her on too many levels.
Was that what she didn’t want? Getting involved with someone who had the power to see her as she really was, to hurt her?
Well, duh. Obviously she didn’t want to get hurt. Who did? And surely she’d already had her life’s share of grief Millie stepped into the shower, the water streaming over her even as her thoughts swirled in confusing circles.
Her mind was telling her all that, but her body was singing a very different tune. Her body wanted his touch. Her mouth wanted to know his kiss. Every bit of her ached with a longing for fulfilment she thought she’d forever suppressed.
She let out a shudder and leaned her head against the shower tile as the water streamed over her.
She could stay analytical about this. So she didn’t want to get hurt. She didn’t have to. How much she cared—how much she gave—was in her control. And here she was—and Chase was—on a tropical island for a single week, neither of them with very much to do …
Why not?
Why not what?
She dumped too much shampoo into the palm of her hand and scrubbed her hair, fingernails raking her scalp as if she could wash these tempting and terrible thoughts right out of her mind.
Just what was she contemplating?
A week-long affair with Chase Bryant. A fling. A cheap, sordid, sexual transaction.
She scrubbed harder.
She didn’t do flings. Of course she didn’t. Her husband had been her only lover. Yet here she was, thinking about it. Wondering how Chase would taste, how he would hold her. What it would feel like, to be in his arms. To surrender herself, just a little bit of herself, because even if he sensed she had secrets she wasn’t going to tell them to him. She just wanted that physical release, that momentary connection. The opportunity to forget. When Chase had been about to kiss her, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. All thoughts and memories had fled, leaving her nothing but blissful sensation.
She wanted that again. More.
Millie rinsed off and turned off the shower. She could control this. She could satiate this hunger that had opened up inside her and prove to herself and everyone else that she’d moved on.
She just needed to tell Chase.
Chase watched the poker-straight figure march down the beach as if in step with an invisible army and wondered why on earth Millie was looking for him. For there could be no mistaking her intent; she’d arrowed in on him like a laser beam. What, he wondered, was with all the military references going through his mind?
Clearly Millie Lang was on the attack.
And he was quite enjoying the anticipation of an invasion. He sat back on his heels on the deck of his sailboat, the water lapping gently against its sides, the sun a balm on his back. Millie marched closer.
Chase had no idea what she wanted. He’d stopped trying to untangle his thoughts about their date last night, from the almost-kiss he hadn’t acted on, to the hurt that had flashed in her eyes to the fact that it had taken him three hours to fall asleep, with Millie’s soft eyes still dancing through his mind. Definitely better not to think about any of it.
‘There you are.’
‘Looking for me?’
She stood on the beach, feet planted in the sand, hands on hips, a look of resolute determination on her face. ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’
‘I’m intrigued.’ He stood up, wincing a little at the ache in his joints. He couldn’t ignore the pain any more. She watched him, eyes narrowed, and he smiled. He could ignore it. He would. ‘So, what’s on your mind, scary lady?’
Her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile, and then she was back to being serious. ‘Is this your boat?’
He glanced back at the sailboat, doing an exaggerated double-take. ‘What—this?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Yep, it’s my boat.’
‘Did you sail here?’
He laughed, reluctantly, because once he might have. Not any more. He didn’t trust himself out on the sea alone. ‘No, I flew in a plane like most people. I keep the boat moored here, though.’
‘I suppose the Bryants are a big sailing family and you started at the yacht club when you were a baby.’
He heard an edge to her voice that he recognised. She hadn’t grown up rich, suspected the proverbial silver spoon. ‘More like a toddler,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Do you sail?’
Lips pressed together. ‘No.’
‘You should try it.’
She glanced at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s fun. And freeing. And I’d like to see you out on the water, your hair blowing away from your face.’ She’d look softer then, he thought. Happier too, maybe.
‘You would, huh?’
‘Yeah. I would.’
‘Well, you already told me how you felt about my haircut.’
He chuckled. ‘True. Feel free to let me know if there’s anything you don’t like about my appearance.’
She eyed him up and down deliberately, and Chase felt a lick of excitement low in his belly. He liked that slow, considering look. Millie Lang was checking him out. ‘I will,’ she said slowly, ‘but there isn’t anything yet.’
‘No?’ He felt it again, that licking flame firing him up inside. Was Millie flirting? What had changed since last night, when she’d been as sharp and jagged as a handful of splinters? When he’d let her walk away because he told himself it was better—or at least easier—that way.
And then hadn’t stopped thinking about her all night.
‘Come aboard,’ he said, and stretched out a hand. She eyed it warily, and then with a deep breath like she was about to go underwater she took it and clambered onto the boat.
It was a small sailboat, just thirty-two feet long with one cabin underneath. He’d bought it with his first bonus and sailed halfway around the world on it, back when he’d been a hotshot. Now he cruised in the shallows, like some seventy year old pensioner with a bad case of gout and a dodgy heart. No risks. No stress. No fun.
‘It’s … nice,’ Millie said, and he knew she didn’t know a thing about boats. Who cared? He liked seeing her on deck, even if her clothes were still way too wrinkle-free. Today she wore a red-and-white-striped top and crisp navy-blue capris. Very nautical. Very boring. Yet he was intrigued by the way the boat-neck of her top revealed the hard, angular line of her collarbone. He wanted to run his fingers along that ridge of bone, discover if her skin was as icily soft as it had been last night.
‘I could take you out some time,’ he said. ‘On the boat.’ Why was she here? He stepped closer to her, inhaled the scent of her, something clean and citrusy. Breathed deep.
She turned to