Lyra’s eyes narrow and I know she’s remembering the vacation. The king had chartered a yacht for the royal family, and included my father and me. I have a lot of memories of that trip—midnight swims in the Mediterranean, great food, and visits to the island’s nightclubs, where I negotiated with a local for the hand of Lyra.
And back on the boat, laughing as Lyra slapped at my chest for daring to try to sell her off. “You know I was only joking,”I finally told her. “You’re worth so much more than he could have ever paid.”
“How much am I worth?” Her fingers had curled into my linen shirt, and with a flash of heat, I wished I had her hands on my bare chest.
“Everything,” I whispered, my hands finding her slim hips. And I had leaned in, so close that I could taste the sweetness of her breath. So close that our noses had brushed. So close that it would have been natural for our lips to touch, to move together—
And Gunnar had interrupted, and Lyra pushed me away, stalking back to her cabin.
That wasn’t the first almost-kiss, but it was the most intense. The whole time we had been drifting closer together, only to have something, or someone, interrupt and push us apart.
I really think if Lyra hadn’t been distracted the next day by friends on their own yacht, something might have finally happened.
But it didn’t happen, and here we are.
There is a lot of history between Lyra and me, and I want her to remember it all, just like I’m doing.
“I got a new one.” Lyra plucks at her strap and I can’t stop staring at the streak of red against her tanned shoulder.
“Too bad. It was always my favourite.” I hold her gaze until she swallows, and I look away.
Lyra decides we’re going to play volleyball. We break into teams, and I’m on Fireman Dylan’s team, who, after what I saw last night, seems like he excels at everything.
I’m also glad that Lyra is on the opposite side of the net, so I can watch her without totally messing up my game, like Luc C. does.
I don’t like Derrick’s steady stream of inane compliments, or the way Phillippe puts his arms around her to demonstrate a serve.
“She was captain of the volleyball team in high school,” I call out. “She can serve by herself.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Lyra simpers, leaning back into Phillippe’s chest.
It’s not a good game for me. I can’t relax around her because I don’t know how to react when she constantly smiles at the other men. The way she laughs at their jokes.
The way she looks over at me, an unreadable expression in her blue eyes.
I’ve always been able to read Lyra, but now, here, she’s a mystery to me.
One that I want to solve.
24
Lyra
S
urroundedbythemen,as well as the townspeople on the beach—some of which try very hard to get in front of the camera—I’m very conscious of Spencer.
After the game, I led the group into the water like some bikini-clad Pied Piper. Most of the men had never swum in the Atlantic Ocean, not to mention in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and the shock of the cold water proves to be a challenge.
Spencer dives right in like I knew he would. A date at the beach gives me the opportunity to see him shirtless.
Again.
There’s no shame in this because I could feel the heat of his gaze as soon as I showed up in the red bikini.
And yes, I picked the colour and the style because it resembles the bathing suit I wore when we went on the Greece trip.
Am I trying to tease and tempt? Possibly for revenge?
