Page 24 of Marrying the Enemy

Then he walked out into the lashing rain, still shaking and soft in the knees.

It was rude, he knew, to exit in silence like that, but he didn’t have a word in him. He was too stunned.

Had it been worth the four-year wait? Quite the opposite. He resented that lost time, which was a ridiculous reaction. That was like saying he wished he’d tried heroin four years ago. He shouldn’t have tried it today.

He walked naked into the crashing surf, then dove into the bracing water, only realizing as he came out that that was also stupid. He could have been stung by jellyfish or carried away on a rip current into the dark ocean. The beach had been deemed safe earlier in the day, but there had also been a hundred people here looking out for each other.

Where the hell were all those good people when he was taking an even bigger risk with his life? If this affair ever got out, both of their families would come after him. Evelina Visconti was absolutely off-limits, taboo and forbidden.

Which had to be the reason that had been the most incredible sex of his life. By a long shot. That, and breaking such a long dry spell.

He knew, though. Deep down he knew it had been like that before he’d known who she was. That’s why he’d obsessed over her for the last four years. That’s why he hadn’t had sex with anyone else. It had to be her.

That’s why, like a rube fresh off the turnip truck, he’d fallen for the “We’ll do it once to get it out of our system” rationalization.

When the heavy rain grew too unpleasant to bear, he made his way back to the shack and used the last light of dusk to find a bottle of wine from one of the crates he’d stored between the pontoons. He’d rather have the Scotch he’d mentally earmarked, but he really would do something stupid if he split a bottle of that with her.

He stepped inside to find her dressed in her shorts and shirt. Her complexion was ghostly in the upturned flashlight of her cell phone. Her ponytail was tidy once again, her profile unreadable as she prepared plates of food.

“Your clothes are there with a towel.” Her elbow pointed in a vague direction toward him. “The tap works. I don’t know whether the water is potable or how much there is so I only used it for washing. I’m drinking bottled.”

“Are you sure the food is edible? Something smells off.” Astringent. He set the wine on the counter and stepped into his shorts, ignoring the beach towel and T-shirt. One look at her and he was already too hot inside his own skin. Better to stay clammy and uncomfortable.

“I used some disinfectant.”

“On yourself or...?”

Her hand faltered, then, “It’s under the sink if you need it.”

What a pair of comedians.

“Glasses?” He took up the bottle and realized it wasn’t a twist-off. “And a corkscrew?”

She handed over both, then took a gulp of what looked like a freshly opened can of Bloody Mary.

“Are you all right?” He was disturbed by the way she was avoiding his eyes.

“Of course.”

“Evie—”

“We said we wouldn’t talk about it.” She met his gaze for one flat second, mouth stretched into a meaningless smile.

Maybe she was having as much trouble processing their lovemaking as he was.

“But you’ll tell me if I was too rough,” he said gravely.

“I’m fine.” She gulped again. “My ankle was hurting so I had another ibuprofen.”

“Sit and put it up. I can finish that.”

“I’m done. I was just fussing.” She shifted a caddy of condiments out of the way and sat on the front counter, setting her back next to the window this time, using the pile of towels and sarongs as a backrest. When she propped her ankle, her outstretched leg was more of a closed gate than an open one.

It was also a more convenient position for her to reach the food, but he felt deliberately shut out by her body language and was irritated with himself for taking umbrage over it.

He poured out the glasses and handed one across, giving the small banquet a proper review as he did.

She’d used the remaining half of the torn sarong as a tablecloth. The pickles and crackers and canned fruit were arranged as beautifully as any thousand-dollar plate he’d ever seen. She’d even found some pistachio nuts and some kind of dip.

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