shook her head. ‘No. That’s not what I want. I...I want to be here with you. In fact, I can’t tell you how happy I am there’s no other woman. I might have been tempted to throw her overboard.’
Her peal of laughter that followed was delightful, and it made him smile in response.
‘Surely you wouldn’t do that?’
She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with new confidence. ‘You might be surprised at what I’m capable of,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t know me at all, Tristan.’
‘I hope to remedy that today,’ he said.
Already he knew that this single day he’d permitted himself to share with her would not be enough. He had to anchor his feet to the deck so he didn’t swing her into his arms. He must truly be bewitched. Because he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt such anticipation at the thought of spending time with a woman.
‘Welcome aboard, Gemma,’ he said—and had to stop himself from sweeping into a courtly bow.
GEMMA COULDN’T STOP SMILING—in relief, anticipation and a slowly bubbling excitement. After all that angst, she was Tristan’s chosen date for the romantic lunch. She was the one he’d gone to so much effort and expense to impress. The thought made her heart skitter with wonder and more than a touch of awe.
She’d joked about casting spells, but something had happened back there in her kitchen—some kind of connection between her and Tristan that was quite out of the ordinary. It seemed he had felt it, too. She ignored the warning of the insistent twitching of her antennae. This magical feeling was not just warm and fuzzy lust born from Tristan’s incredible physical appeal and the fact that she was coming out of a six-month man drought.
Oh, on a sensual level she wanted him, all right—her knees were still shaky just from the touch of his hand gripping hers as he’d helped her across the gangplank. But she didn’t want Tristan just as a gorgeous male body to satisfy physical hunger. It was something so much deeper than that. Which was all kinds of crazy when he was only going to be around for a short time. And was still as much of a mystery to her as he had been the day they’d met.
For her, this was something more than just physical attraction. But what about him? Was this just a prelude to seduction? Was he a handsome guy with all the right words—spoken in the most charming of accents—looking for a no-strings holiday fling?
She tried to think of all those ‘right’ reasons for staying away from Tristan but couldn’t remember one of them. By tricking her into this lunch with him, he had taken the decision out of her hands. But there was no need to get carried away. This was no big deal. It was only lunch. It would be up to her to say no if this was a net cast to snare her into a one-night stand.
She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek in an effort to make it casual. ‘Thank you.’
She was rewarded by the relief in his smile. ‘It is absolutely my pleasure,’ he said.
‘Does Eliza know?’ she asked. Had her friend been in on this deception?
Tristan shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell her why I wanted you on board. I sense she’s quite protective of you. I didn’t want anything to prevent you from coming today.’
Of course Eliza was protective of her. Andie, too. Her friends had been there to pick up the pieces after the Alistair fallout. Eliza had seemed impressed with Tristan, though—impressed with him as a client...maybe not so impressed with him as a candidate for Gemma’s first foray back into the dating world. He was still in many ways their Mr Mystery. But she could find out more about him today.
‘I did protest that I wasn’t really needed,’ she said, still secretly delighted at the way things had turned out. ‘Not when there are a chef and a waiter and a crew on the boat.’
‘I’m sure the bonus I added to the Party Queens fee guaranteed your presence on board. She’s a shrewd businesswoman, your partner.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Gemma agreed. No wonder Eliza hadn’t objected to Gemma’s time being so wastefully spent. How glad she was now that Eliza had insisted she go. But she felt as though the tables had been turned on her, and she wasn’t quite sure where she stood.
She looked up at Tristan. Her heart flipped over at how handsome he was, with the sea breeze ruffling his hair, his eyes such a vivid blue against his tan. He looked totally at home on this multi-million-dollar boat, seemingly not impressed by the luxury that surrounded them. She wondered what kind of world he came from. One where money was not in short supply, she guessed.
‘I...I’m so pleased about this...this turn of events,’ she said. ‘Thrilled, in fact. But how do we manage it? I...I feel a bit like Cinderella. One minute I’m in the kitchen, the next minute I’m at the ball.’
He seemed amused by her flight of fancy, and he smiled. What was it about his smile that appealed so much? His perfect teeth? The warmth in his eyes? The way his face creased into lines of good humour?
‘I guess you could see it like that...’ he said.
‘And if I’m Cinderella...I guess you’re the prince.’
His smile froze, and tension suddenly edged his voice. ‘What...what do you mean?’
Gemma felt a sudden chill that was not a sea breeze. It perplexed her. ‘Cinderella... The ball... The prince... The pumpkin transformed into a carriage... You know...’ she said, gesturing with her hands. ‘Don’t you have the story of Cinderella in your country?’
‘Uh...of course,’ he said with an obvious relief that puzzled her. ‘Those old fairytales originally came from Europe.’
So she’d unwittingly said the wrong thing? Maybe he thought she had expectations of something more than a day on the harbour. Of getting her claws into him. She really was out of practice. At dating. At flirting. Simply talking with a man who attracted her.
‘I meant... Well, I meant that Cinderella meets the prince and you...well, you’re as handsome as any fairytale prince and... Never mind.’
She glanced down at her white sneakers, tied with jaunty blue laces. Maybe this wasn’t the time to be making a joke about a glass slipper.
Tristan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Of course. And I found Cinderella in her kitchen...’
She felt uncomfortable about carrying this any further. He seemed to be making too much effort to join in the story. His English was excellent, but maybe he’d missed the nuances of the analogy. Maybe he had trouble with her Australian accent.
‘Yes. And talking of kitchens, I need to talk to the chef and—’ She made to turn back towards the door that led inside the cabin.
Tristan reached out and put his hand on her arm to stop her.
‘You don’t need to do anything but enjoy yourself,’ he said, his tone now anything but uncertain. ‘I’ve spoken to your staff. They know that you are my honoured guest.’
He dropped his hand from her arm so she could turn back to face him. ‘You said that?
