Page 25 of The Tycoon's Diamond Demand

They should. Immediately. But neither of them moved. Jens watched her for a few seconds, his blue eyes pinning her to the spot. Maja held her breath as he lifted his hands and rested his thumbs on either side of her chin and he gently, so gently swept them up her jaw, pinpricks of delight following in their wake. He looked, just for a moment, a little disbelieving, as if he couldn’t understand why she was here, how he came to be touching her. One thumb skated over her bottom lip while his other hand cradled her face, causing havoc to course through her body.

Don’t kiss him...don’t kiss him...don’t...

Her feet rose to her toes, and her mouth aimed for his, and when their lips connected, Maja felt Jens tense. Would he turn away, would he kiss her back? Was this the worst idea in the world?

They hovered there, not moving, for just a second, and Maja felt Jens shudder and his hands, still holding her face, tightened, just a fraction. His sigh hit her lips and she waited to see what he would do. And then she waited some more, suspended. After what seemed like a minute, a month, a year, Jens’s lips softened and he fed her a simple, sweet kiss and gently pulled away.

‘We should go up,’ Jens said, his words jagged, ‘before we do something we regret.’

She should back down, step away, but she couldn’t, not just yet. Maja fought the urge to apologise, to explain, to tell him she’d missed him, that he was always at the back of her mind, and that nobody affected her as he did.

Nobody raised her heartbeat and caused a firestorm in her belly, between her legs, nobody infuriated her and confused her as he did, nobody came close. He was an anomaly, a one-off, a constant source of confusion and the well of her want.

He walked into any room she was in, and the air disappeared, and the walls retracted, and her only thoughts were how long it would be before she found herself in his arms. How could she want, hate and crave him?

And why was she on this boat? Why had she put herself back in this position of wanting what she shouldn’t, pretending that he hadn’t upended her life, praying that she’d find the good, decent man she loved so much under the steel-hard revenge-seeker?

He doesn’t want to hear your explanations, remember? He told you so.

Maja dropped back down to her feet and stepped back from his hold on her. She pushed her hair back and tried, and failed, to smile. ‘Great. I could murder a glass of wine,’ she said, trying to be brisk.

She walked away from him, heading for the stairs leading to the lounge area of the boat. From there she could walk out onto the deck and up to the top deck of the yacht. Maybe up there she’d find enough air to fill her lungs and get her brain working again.

And maybe it was time to accept that she was weak for him, that he was impossible to resist and that she and Jens would soon find themselves naked, together. And sooner rather than later.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEYANCHOREDINa secluded cove and, after a spectacular dinner of lobster and scallops on wild greens, followed by a light peach sorbet mousse, Jens refilled his and Maja’s wine glasses from the bottle resting in the cooler. Then he sat next to her on the huge lounger on the wooden aft deck. He adjusted the cushions behind his back and sighed his appreciation. The deck ended two feet from the edge of the built-in lounger. The rest of the yacht was behind them, and in front of him was the fjord edged by steep cliffs. It was just past eleven at night and the falling sun was occupying itself by painting pink and purple streaks on the sky. It was absurdly quiet, and soul-stealingly beautiful.

Jens felt his shoulders drop and the cords in his neck relax, his stomach muscles loosen. He never realised how stressed or tense he was until he was out on the water. Only in these moments of quiet contemplation did he realise that his fourteen-to-sixteen-hour workdays, the endless meetings, being responsible for a workforce of more than fifteen thousand, took a mental and physical toll on him.

He always said he should take more time and visit hishytte—his wooden cabin on his island east of Svolvær—more often. He loved the outdoors, as most Norwegians did, butfriluftsliv—the outdoors lifestyle Norwegians lived for—wasn’t a priority.

He had to get back to it, to hike, to fish, to breathe fresh air and marvel at nature. He should schedule time to sit on the water drinking wine with a pretty girl.

He glanced at Maja’s profile, taking in her glazed-over eyes, her slightly open mouth. She’d forgotten about the wine, him, and where they were. The artist in her was assimilating the colours, trying to work out how to recreate them, either on a canvas or on her computer using a complicated filter.

‘Where’s your camera?’ he asked, surprised it wasn’t in her hands.

‘Right here.’ She used her wine glass to gesture at the space next to her.

‘You don’t want to capture the sunset?’

She tipped her head, considering his question. He’d expected an immediate ‘yes’ and was surprised when she shook her head. ‘Not this time.’

‘Why wouldn’t you want to?’ he asked, curious.

She didn’t pull her eyes off the sky. ‘Because, later, the colours won’t match up to my memory and I’ll be disappointed. Sometimes we can’t capture perfection and we dilute it if we do.’

Jens lifted his wine glass to his mouth, enjoying the slide of the cool liquid over his tongue. She was a mixture of philosophy and practicality, thoughtfulness, and pride. Sensitivity and seriousness. She was more than she was before, a deeper version of the girl he knew. And he wanted her with a need that bordered on insanity.

He still didn’t know how he’d managed to stop himself from lowering her to the bed earlier, how he’d resisted. It was his greatest act of self-restraint, bar none. He’d wanted nothing more than to undo the buttons of her shirt, push her trousers down her legs, and help her with her shoes. Slide her bra strap down her shoulder, feasting on every inch of skin revealed to him.

He’d managed to stop himself from stepping over the line, but he didn’t know how much longer he could resist her. He knew he should. Making love to her was never part of the plan and would complicate the situation far more than was necessary.

This was the woman—fascinating or not, gorgeous or not—that he was blackmailing into marrying him, the woman he was going to leave at the altar. If he slept with her, he’d be opening himself—them—up to piling sexual attraction upon long-ago hurts. It would be the equivalent of theDaydreamerploughing into an iceberg.

He was staging this wedding to exact revenge, on her, her father, and to put his past behind him.

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