to,” he said, confident it was true. “But for some reason, you’re afraid to give in to the chemistry between us.”
“I just don’t want to make a big deal out of something that isn’t,” she insisted. “And right now, I really want to go back to the palace so I can go to bed alone.”
There was more going on, something beneath the surface but he was damned if he could figure it out.
He pulled on his socks and shoved his feet into his shoes, not caring that both were full of sand. The only thing that mattered now was getting Molly back to the palace so he could get away from the woman who was slowly driving him insane.
“Let’s go,” he said.
She followed silently.
Not a word was spoken as they walked back to the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Eric thought that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand women.
He knew that was a standard complaint of men around the world, but never had he understood it as he did now. Never had he known a woman like Molly who seemed to delight in sending out mixed signals. One minute she was in his arms, her lips soft and warm beneath his, her body yielding to his, and the next she was pushing him away as if she couldn’t stand his touch.
Mi Dios.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he guided the little sports car around the steeply winding curves of Ocean-view Drive. Below, the waves crashed against the rocks, but Eric’s own mood was too dark to allow him to pay heed to the vagaries of the sea.
He kept his gaze focused on the road, but he was conscious of Molly seated beside him. He was conscious of the tension in every inch of her body, of the quiet intake of every breath she took, of her subtle and unique scent. And mostly he was conscious of the desire that still thrummed in his blood.
He wanted her—more now even than the first time because he knew how incredible they could be together. And while she’d been kissing him on the beach, he’d been certain she wanted the same thing.
Until she said, “I’m ready to go back to the palace now,” in a tone that made it clear she didn’t mean to the privacy of his rooms.
And he could respect that. He had no intention of forcing his attentions on a woman who made it clear that she wasn’t interested. Except that Molly hadn’t made anything clear—she’d only made his head spin in circles and his body ache with wanting.
Still, he wasn’t going to waste any more time chasing after this woman. She knew what he wanted and he would just have to trust that she would let him know if she ever decided she wanted the same thing.
The touch of her hand on his arm made him jolt.
The fierce grip of cool, clammy fingers eradicated any illusions that she was giving him a signal to do anything but pull over to the side of the road. Now.
His gaze swung over, noting the pallor of her skin, the panic in her eyes.
He whipped the car onto the soft shoulder, the tires spitting up gravel.
She flung open the door before he’d completely stopped and raced over to the guardrail. Eric was right behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up so that she could heave over the barrier. And she did—tossing her grilled sea bass back into the ocean.
“Okay?” he asked, when the spasms in her stomach had finally stopped.
She nodded.
Now that the crisis had passed, he was suddenly aware of his arm banded around her ribs, just below the soft curves of her breasts. Of her cute little derriere pressed against his groin. Of her hair, swirling in the wind, tickling his throat, teasing him with the scent of her shampoo. And the sudden stillness of her body that alerted him to the fact that she was just as acutely aware of the intimacy of their positions.
He lowered her feet back to the ground and loosened his hold.
Her fingers curled around the top of the guardrail, gripping the metal barrier as she continued to look out at the sea, looking—he suspected—anywhere but at him.
He returned to the car to retrieve a bottle of water from the first aid kit he habitually carried. “It’s not cold but it’s wet,” he said, twisting off the cap and offering it to her.
She accepted it with a quietly murmured thanks and tipped it to her lips to rinse her mouth, then swallowed a few tentative sips.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he told her. “Though you might have warned me you have a tendency toward motion sickness.”
“I don’t usually,” she said, sounding more than a little defensive.
He frowned. “Are you blaming my driving?”
“No,” she said. “Maybe it was the fish.”
Except that Eric had eaten the same thing she had for dinner, and he knew there was nothing wrong with the way it had been prepared.
“I don’t mean that it wasn’t cooked properly,” she said, knowing Genevieve wouldn’t have let the plates out of her kitchen otherwise. “But maybe there was some kind of spice or seasoning that doesn’t sit well with me.
“Or maybe I just had too much sun today,” she suggested as an alternative. “I spent a few hours by the pool with Fiona earlier.”
Which he already knew, of course. He had a clear view of the pool from his windows, and he’d found his gaze straying outside all too frequently because she was there. He also knew she’d spent more time in the shade than the sun and that she’d been wearing a hat.
Yeah, she had all kinds of excuses, as if she was desperate for him to pick one—any one—to believe. And Eric had a sudden, sinking feeling that he knew the real reason for her bout of illness.
And though the possibility made him feel a little queasy, it wasn’t anything he was prepared to ignore.
“Or maybe you’re pregnant.”
Molly wanted to laugh.
Her sister was always complaining about the cluelessness of men in general and of her husband in particular. No one could accuse Eric Santiago of being clueless—she’d gotten sick once, and he assumed he had all the answers.
Unfortunately for Molly, they were the right answers.
“You’re not denying it,” he said.
She’d considered doing just that, if only to erase the smug certainty from his tone. But the truth would be only too obvious in a few more months and, ultimately, he had a right to know. She might be annoyed that the decision of when and where to tell him had been taken out of her hands, but she was also relieved that he finally knew.
“No,”
