Page 34 of Awakened in Her Enemy's Palazzo

Standing on the beach, she felt unease return. He was not staring, but she was suddenly conscious that she was in a swimsuit. She replaced her oversized sunglasses on her nose. A tent to hide behind would have been nice, but they were at least something.

‘Perhaps we should talk,’ he said.

She tensed. The charm offensive seemed to be over. ‘About what?’

‘Our situation. This doesn’t have to be a war of attrition, you know.’

She stared at him warily and ran a hand over the low ponytail that confined her silvery hair.

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘There has to be some middle ground,’ he began, feeling his way.

He was not surprised she looked confused. He wasn’t even sure himself what he was suggesting. In his head, compromise had always equated with weakness.

Was he thinking about a compromise?

Had he gone soft? Or was he reacting to the tug of those blue eyes now hidden behind the dark lenses? Or was he simply asking himself the wrong questions?

He felt a surge of self-irritation. This wasn’t complicated. It was sex. The fact was he had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Grace Stewart. The hunger was just eating him up. And it wasn’t just sex he needed—which had been his first assumption—it was her. A fact that had been brought home to him when he’d bumped into an ex-lover at the airport and found himself refusing her offer to spend the night with him.

‘I belonged here once,’ he said, his gaze sweeping over the panorama, the scene soaking into him, awakening memories that were not all bad.

Or possibly he had started seeing the place through Grace’s eyes...her rose-tinted spectacles.

He had no idea if it was feasible, sharing this place with her, but he did know he wanted to share a bed with her. For the sake of his sanity, that was non-negotiable. The sexual charge between them was tangible, but she seemed reluctant to acknowledge it—an attitude that seemed strange to him in someone who seemed so up-front in every other way.

‘When did that change?’ she asked.

His dark eyes levelled on her face, and after a tense second stretched into a minute he shrugged and said abruptly, ‘My mother died.’

Her blue eyes shone with compassion. ‘How old were you?’

‘Thirteen.’

Grace took a deep breath and came to a decision. A person had to eat, and it would be good to break the deadlock. Also, she was now immune—or very nearly immune—to his smile.

‘All right.’

The glitter in his eyes made her stomach dip, but a moment later it was gone as he nodded casually.

‘Later, then.’

Was this some sort of trap? she wondered, watching him stride away, excitement quivering through her. If so, it was a trap she had jumped into blindly. But it was so far out of her comfort zone that Mars would have felt safer and more familiar than the path she was walking.

Just dinner, cautioned a voice in her head.

And, being a realist, Grace listened to it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GRACEWASFIVE-THREE, and she wore heels whenever the opportunity arose.

However, although her ankle was better, it was notthatmuch better, and it was deeply frustrating to have that option taken off the table when she was about to share a table—was that the right phrase?—with a man who made her feel like a hobbit.

She had selected, quite accidentally, her sexiest dress. A short, silky teal shift with a slight gather and a side tie at the waist, designed to hide any thickening around the waist area. She cinched in the defining sash absently, without looking at her reflection.

Grace had no added inches to disguise—she would have actually welcomed a few extra pounds—but when it came to clothes and her appearance Grace dealt with reality and not wishful thinking. Wishing did not give you six extra inches in height, or hair that wasn’t baby-fine and didn’t frizz in the rain.

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