‘No, though your idea of a sailing school might be worth investigating longer term.’
‘So it really would be purely for recreation?’
They’d already discussed this but it seemed she hadn’t fully believed it. Did she regard him as a total workaholic?
He couldn’t blame her. A year ago he’d never have considered doing anything like this just for fun. Over the years his leisure time had become a casualty of the continual need to pursue business goals.
He’d been raised to take business seriously. His father had deliberately manipulated his children into lifelong competition with each other. The old man’s dictum that it was ‘dog-eat-dog’ out there played out in the family too, at an unhealthy level.
‘You’re going to take up sailing regularly?’ When he nodded she went on. ‘In that case, why not? You can obviously handle it alone and it suits you.’
‘Suits me?’
Her gaze shifted, settling over his shoulder. ‘You looked different. You were obviously enjoying yourself enormously.’
He studied her closely. ‘And you, Greer? Did you enjoy it?’
Blue eyes met his. ‘I did. Very much.’
‘Then I’ll have to take you out sailing again.’
‘If you buy the boat.’
Oh, he’d buy it. He’d already decided. It amazed him now that he’d stayed away from sailing so long. Another thing in his life he intended to change.
‘The question now is whether you’re in a hurry to get back.’ He watched her closely. ‘Did you have anything planned for the rest of the day?’
Like an assignation with her too-friendly neighbour. Conall worked to conceal stirring outrage at the thought.
‘Nothing that won’t keep.’
Satisfaction warmed him. ‘So you’d like another sailing lesson?’
‘Only if you have time.’ Her expression was diffident. She wasn’t to know he’d cleared the whole day for this.
‘I’ve got time.’
His security adviser had reported last night that she’d got home safely. Alone. Conall had told himself then that he could relax. Yet there’d been no let up from the fierce emotions buffeting him.
The news that Greer had accepted a date had floored him. A date! Greer! How could she…?
Easily, goaded that inner voice. He might have told himself to go slowly and not press her. The doctors had made it clear she was still recuperating. But she seemed not to have got the memo. She was getting on with her life while he was hamstrung by the need to let her heal in her own time.
Conall was never hamstrung. He strategised and acted, as he’d done today. He couldn’t interfere but he could be with her more, much more.
He’d spent last night imagining her dating other men. Doing more than dating. That, he refused to accept.
His jaw had still been tender from grinding his molars when he’d breezed into her apartment, carrying breakfast.
Even then, when she’d gradually relaxed with him like she used to, he hadn’t been able to do the same. Not until he’d checked the other rooms to be sure there was no one discreetly keeping out of sight.
He’d felt like a character in a French farce, sneaking behind her back, making a fool of himself. Yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
That had been bad enough. But then had come the moment when he’d stood in her bedroom doorway and their eyes had locked across the unmade bed.
Greer’s eyes had rounded, her lips parting, and he’dfeltthe quickened thud of her heartbeat pulse between them, a perfect match for his own. He’d carried the memory of that moment like a talisman all day. Surely she’d recognised his need—a need he was doing his utmost to suppress until she was better. Recognised it and responded with an answering hunger, for him.
It had taken everything he had not to stride across the room and pull her into his arms.
