But make no mistake, I do want to sleep with you and every day I wait is...torture.” The barely restrained passion in his voice sent those intoxicating bubbles straight to her head. “I’m just reasonable enough to accept it isn’t going to happen tonight.”
“And if it never happens?” she asked, unwilling to let him know how deeply he affected her.
“Ah, you said ‘if.’” He flicked a loose strand of hair over her shoulder, just barely skimming his knuckles across her skin. “Princess, that means we’re already halfway to naked.”
Before she could find air to breathe, he backed away, slowly, deliberately closing the door after him.
And she’d thought her nerves were a tangled, jangled mess before. Her legs folded under her as she dropped to sit on the edge of the bed.
A suddenly very cold and empty bed.
* * *
Rowan walked through the hotel sliding doors that led out to the sprawling shoreline. The cool night breeze did little to ease the heat pumping through his body. Leaving Mari alone in her hotel room had been one of the toughest things he’d ever done, but he’d had no choice for two reasons.
First, it was too soon to make his move. He didn’t want to risk Mari changing her mind about staying with him. She had to be sure—very sure—when they made love.
Second reason he’d needed to put some distance between himself and her right now? He had an important meeting scheduled with an Interpol contact outside the hotel. An old school friend of his and the person responsible for their security detail tonight.
Rowan jogged down the long steps from the pool area to the beach. Late-night vacationers splashed under the fake waterfall, others floated, some sprawled in deck loungers with drinks, the party running deep into the night.
His appointment would take place in cabana number two, away from prying eyes and with the sound of the roaring surf to cover conversation. His loafers sank into the gritty sand, the teak shelter a dozen yards away, with a grassy roof and canvas walls flapping lightly in the wind. Ships bobbed on the horizon, lights echoing the stars overhead.
Rowan swept aside the fabric and stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late, my friend.”
His old school pal Elliot Starc lounged in a recliner under the cabana in their designated meeting spot as planned, both loungers overlooking the endless stretch of ocean. “Nothing better to do.”
Strictly speaking that couldn’t be true. The freelance Interpol agent used his job as a world-renowned Formula One race-car driver to slip in and out of countries without question. He ran in high-powered circles. But then that very lifestyle was the sort their handler, Colonel Salvatore, capitalized on—using the tarnished reputations of his old students to gain access to underworld types.
Of course, Salvatore gave Rowan hell periodically for being a do-gooder. Rowan winced. The label pinched, a poor fit at best. “Well, thanks all the same for dropping everything to come to Cape Verde.”
Elliot scratched his hand over his buzzed short hair. “I’m made of time since my fiancée dumped me.”
“Sorry about that.” Talk about headline news. Elliot’s past—his vast past—with women, filled headlines across multiple continents. The world thought that’s what had broken up the engagement, but Rowan suspected the truth. Elliot’s fiancée had been freaked out by the Interpol work. The job had risked more than one relationship for the Brotherhood.
What would Mari think if she knew?
“Crap happens.” Elliot tipped back a drink, draining half of the amber liquid before setting the cut crystal glass on the table between them. “I’d cleared my schedule for the honeymoon. When we split I gave her the tickets since the whole thing was my fault anyway. She and her ‘BFF’ are skiing in the Alps as we speak. I might as well be doing something productive with my time off.”
Clearly, Elliot wouldn’t want sympathy. Another drink maybe. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes. From lack of sleep most likely. But that didn’t explain the nearly shaved head.
“Dude, what happened to you?” Rowan asked, pointing to the short cut.
Elliot’s curly mop had become a signature with his fans who collected magazine covers. There were even billboards and posters.... All their pals from the military academy—the ones who’d dubbed themselves the Alpha Brotherhood—never passed up an opportunity to rib Elliot about the underwear ad.
Elliot scratched a hand over his shorn hair. “I had a wreck during a training run. Bit of a fire involved. Singed my hair.”
Holy hell. “You caught on fire?”
Elliot grinned. “Just my hair.”
“How did I miss hearing about that?”
“No need. It’s not a big deal.”
Rowan shook his head. “You are one seriously messed-up dude.”
But then all his former classmates were messed up in some form. Came with the territory. The things that had landed them in that reform school left them with baggage long after graduation.
“You’re the one who hangs out in war-torn villages passing out vaccinations and blankets for fun.”
“I’m not trailed by groupies.” He shuddered.
“They’re harmless most of the time.”
Except when they weren’t. The very reason he’d consulted with Elliot about the best way to protect Mari and Issa. “I can’t thank you enough, brother, for overseeing the security detail. They earned their pay tonight.”
“Child’s play. So to speak.” Elliot lifted his glass again, draining the rest with a wince. “What’s up with your papa-and-the-princess deal?”
“The kid needed my help. So I helped.”
“You’ve always been the saint. But that doesn’t explain the princess.”
Rowan ignored the last part of Elliot’s question. “What’s so saintly about helping out a kid when I have unlimited funds and Interpol agents at my disposal? Saintly is when something’s difficult to do.”
“And the woman—the princess?” his half-drunk buddy persisted. “She had a reputation for being very difficult on the subject of Dr. Rowan Boothe.”
Like the time she’d written an entire journal piece pointing out potential flaws in his diagnostics program. Sure, he’d made adjustments after reading the piece, but holy hell, it would have been nice—and more expedient—if she’d come to him first. “Mari needs my help, too. That’s all it is.”
Elliot laughed. “You are so damn delusional.”
A truth. And an uncomfortable one.
Beyond their cabana tent, a couple strolled arm-in-arm along the shoreline, sidestepping as a jogger sprinted past with a loping dog.
“If you were a good friend you would let me continue with my denial.”
