Page 19 of Seasons of Sin

“And you said this would just be sex,” she added, but her pulse was firing and the fever in her blood had nothing to do with the proximity of his gorgeous body and everything to do with the thoughtfulness of his gesture.

“I’m sure we can find time for that too,” he promised, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her towards him. He held her tight to his chest and kissed her on the top of her head, then slackened his grip so that he could guide her towards the rug.

“The view from here is incomparable.”

She sat down on the picnic rug, her slender legs kicked out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. He poured a flute of champagne and handed it to her, then sat down beside her.

The outlook was, indeed, exquisite. The boat was facing away from Thad’s island, towards the mainland. But dozens of little islands dotted the way, like beacons in the night. She sighed as a surprising sense of contentment settled around her shoulders.

“So this whole island is really yours?” She asked after they’d sat in contemplative silence for a little while.

He dipped his head forward in agreement.

“What else is on it?”

“Nothing. Wilderness. It’s quite perfectly untouched.”

She lifted a brow. “Your grandfather never thought of developing it?”

“What for?” He asked quietly. “He was as rich as Croesus and did not need the money. This place is special for us. Him and me. And his father before him. It is a place to come to and be centered.”

“A bolt-hole,” she said with a tense smile. That’s exactly what it had been for her.

“Of sorts,” he agreed.

“It’s strange to hear you speaking like that. I mean, you’re this incredible businessman but you have a place to go and be centered. That’s kind of cool.”

“Cool?” He laughed. His conversation with Rocco came flooding back to him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty six.”

He concealed his smile with effort. “Mid-twenties?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Twenty six. Why?”

“I just realized I did not know.”

She frowned. “I guess we never got around to those facts.”

She sipped her champagne, and found it deliciously cold and refreshing, then cradled the flute in her hands. “How old are you?”

“Thirty one.”

The same age as Jordan. She pulled a face, and it made him laugh.

“Too old?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Perfect.”

“Then why this face?” He mimicked it back to her and she burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

He sipped his own champagne, his eyes hooked hers over the rim. “Now that we are here, and you are my virtual prisoner, I realize I can ask you all my questions, and you will have to answer them.”

“Wasn’t I your prisoner on the island?”

He grinned. “Good point. Still. I could always threaten to throw you overboard if you do not answer my questions, like a pirate’s quarry.”