‘I won’t allow that to happen.’
‘And as for getting out of it again...?’ She grimaced, while he, sensibly, kept his thoughts on stripping off the gown to himself.
‘Please...eat,’ he insisted. ‘We can talk later.’
They would talk later.
At length.
Her blush deepened as stewards came silently from the shadows to attend them at the dinner table. How much had they heard? As bad as it was to suffer Luca’s obvious displeasure, it was worse to think they’d been overheard. That was the price royalty, and those close to royals, must endure, she reasoned. Everything came with a price, and a complete lack of privacy was perhaps the highest price of all to pay.
‘The champagne is open.’ Luca indicated the misted bottle as a steward removed the cork with barely the faintest pop. ‘Would you like a glass?’
‘I don’t think I should,’ she admitted on a short laugh. ‘I’m having enough trouble walking in this tight-fitting gown without adding alcohol to the mix.’
‘One glass won’t hurt,’ he said curtly.
And might loosen her tongue enough for her to tell him the truth—that she’d had enough of his moody behaviour, and if he didn’t want her here, he just had to say so.
‘Thank you. I’ll call you if I need anything else,’ Luca told the stewards. ‘We’ll serve ourselves this evening.’
It was hard not to brood on Luca’s mood, so to distract them both she produced the report he’d asked for.
‘What report is this?’ he demanded impatiently.
‘The yacht’s décor,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m no expert, but I do have an opinion. I wrote my ideas down longhand. I hope that’s all right? My handwriting’s not the best, but you should be able to read it...’
‘You really have no idea, do you?’ he asked.
‘About interior décor? No. Honestly, I don’t, but I have an opinion, as I said, and I thought that’s what you wanted to hear. Anyway, here it is,’ she said, pushing it across the table to him.
He brushed it aside. ‘I’ve no time for this. I have something more pressing on my mind.’
‘Can I help you with that?’
‘Oh, yes, I think you can.’
‘I realise you’d rather be sailing,’ she agreed, ‘than sitting here with—’
‘An investigative journalist?’ he bit out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ASSAMIA’SJAWdropped on hearing his accusation, he wondered if the cause was innocent shock, or guilt? Either way, she had deceived him, and was continuing to do so. He had to sort this out before anything else could happen. ‘Did you seriously imagine I wouldn’t find out?’
She tensed as she closed her eyes, and then she released a long, steadying breath. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘Really?’ he challenged, unmoved. ‘And what do I think? Or, should I say, what would you like me to think?’
‘That isn’t fair,’ she insisted hotly. ‘We met by chance.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’
‘You gave me the opportunity to get away.’
‘Nice story, Samia, but it would have been more honest for you to tell me the truth from the start. Would you care to hear my version of events?’
‘I’d like that very much,’ she said, lifting her chin.
