Page 10 of Seasons of Sin

“Such as why you were pounding back champagne as though it could obliterate all memory and sense?”

She grimaced. “Something like that.”

“No.” He stroked her cheek. “You did not. But I presumed you were running from something.”

Her breathing had quickened. “Is that a problem?”

He pretended to think about it. “That depends. Am I hiding a fugitive? Did you rob a bank? Steal a car? Shoot someone?”

She burst out laughing. “None of the above.”

“Good. Then I don’t care what you are running from.” He lifted his lips to hers and tasted them briefly. “I care only that you are here.”

Her heart turned over in her chest, squeezing painfully. “It’s nothing that a bit of time won’t fix,” she said, frowning so that a little line formed between her brows.

“And if we are to stop you turning into a full-blown alcoholic, we shall have to think of other ways for you to relieve your worries, no?”

It was a thinly veiled promise and she ached to fulfill it. She squirmed a little on his lap, wriggling closer to him. “I’d like that.” The admission was a sultry whisper.

“Me too.” He lifted a hand and brushed it over her hair. “You need to eat first. And then you need to rest.”

She pouted with assumed disappointment. “Why?”

His laugh sent shivers tilting down her back. “I might have kidnapped you, but I’ll have you know I am a very kind captor. I want my hostage to have her strength restored fully before we begin … getting to know one another better.”

Even that innocuous statement sent her pulse skyrocketing. It was the promise of what would come. It flooded her system with anticipation and need.

There was a part of Saphire’s brain that wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know how long this would last? How long was he on the island for? Did he want her for a night? Or more?

And how long would it take to erase the pain of her husband’s infidelity? How many times would she sleep with Mr Konstanides before the betrayal began to sting less?

He lifted a piece of watermelon and placed it against her lips. She bit the top off the triangle and chewed it gratefully. It tasted like sugar and sunshine; it was the perfect antidote for the headache she’d been grappling with.

“Delicious,” she murmured.

“They grow wild over the cliff,” he said, nodding a little way down the shoreline. “So many that they can’t possibly all get picked each year. The ones that are left crack with age and sunshine and leave their juice and seeds on the rocks. The next year, they spawn more vines, and then more, and so now they are almost a pest.”

His words rambled through her consciousness like those vines on the sun-warmed rocks. “I could eat nothing but watermelon,” she said after a moment. “And coffee.”

“Ah.” He leaned forward and lifted a pot from the middle of the table. He poured out two measures of a thick, black liquid and then slid a cup nearer to her.

“You don’t mind that I’m using you as furniture?” She asked after she’d let the first sip work down her throat and begin to spread life back into her body.

“Mind? I think, Saphire Arana, I’d mind more if you didn’t. Perhaps while you are here you could sit on me always.”

She laughed. And because the question was burning at the edges of her brain, she bit down on her lip and gathered her courage. “This is a slice of heaven,” she said honestly. “But it’s also a slice out of life.” She furrowed her brow. “It’s strange to think that reality is out there, waiting for me to get back to it.”

His sharp sense of disappointment caught him off-guard. “When?” He didn’t bother softening the question with false disinterest.

She expelled a soft breath. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she said honestly, and Thad instantly relaxed.

“Good. So that settles it. You don’t think about it. Not while you are here. You are running from something. Let this be the place you have run to.”

It was the last thing a man like him would generally offer. Losing Aristotle had weakened him. No, it had knocked him side-ways, completely out of his regular groove of life. He was floundering. Floating. In free-fall.

He didn’t care. Thaddeus Konstanides trusted his instincts and in that moment every fiber of his being was telling him that he had to keep this beautiful woman close.

“Do you know what’s really weird about this?” She said, so quietly he hardly heard.