Page 21 of Her Diamond Deal with the CEO

Maybe it would have worked if they hadn’t had sex. But being in such close proximity to her made him feel as if he were drowning again and the only thing he wanted to hold on to and be held by was Ondine.

‘Absolutely,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘It’s the penultimate day of our honeymoon so I think we could justifiably be a little worn out today.’

He had chosen his words with care, wanting to provoke a reaction, and as her chin jerked up he saw a bright flare of temper snap in her eyes like lightning across a stormy sky. But her voice was cool as she said, ‘I’ll be down in about an hour.’

He watched her for a moment, his breath scratching his throat.

‘Take as long as you like,’ he said finally, and, cutting himself off from her narrowed blue gaze, he strode across the room, wishing he could as easily excise his body’s reaction to that flush of colour winging across her cheekbones.

Desire. A yearning to reach out and touch. And irritation at what she was feeling. He saw all of it. Felt all of it because he was feeling it too.

It had been like that since the flight to Martha’s Vineyard. After their spat, Ondine had sat on the bed, toed off her shoe, curled up on her side and fallen asleep. Of course, having followed her in with a stupid grin on his face, he could hardly have emerged moments later looking like a puppy with his tail between his legs so he’d had to sit there, fuming, with not even his phone to keep him occupied until she’d woken up just as the plane had started its descent.

Only what was there to fight about? It wasn’t as if theirs was even a real marriage.

He pictured the stubborn curve of her spine, and his mouth twisted. He shouldn’t be that surprised. Everyone turned their back on him in the end. Even someone who was being paid to be his wife.

He knew why she was snippy. It was that kiss at the courthouse. But they were supposed to be crazy in love; and at some point in the not too distant future they would have to do all those things that couples in love were supposed to do, and it would need to look ‘real’.

Besides, it had been their wedding day—he could hardly just have given her a peck on the cheek. Andshehad kissedhimback.

What he really wanted to do was remind her of that fact. He clenched his hands.Liar.What he wanted to do was stalk back into their bedroom, snatch that book from her hands and then kiss her until she shook with need.

In reality, what he was going to do was take her to Martha’s Vineyard. His jaw clenched. He hated shopping. Normally wild horses couldn’t drag him near a mall. But after three endless weeks of being in forced, fruitless proximity with Ondine he would willingly wander around every upmarket boutique on the island if it meant not having to spend another hour pretending to read a magazine while trying to ignore yet another inappropriate daydream about his so-called wife.

Martha’s Vineyard was every bit as charming as Ondine had expected and the total opposite of glitzy, over-the-top Palm Beach. Here, everything was quiet, low-rise, slow-paced. The one thing it shared with Palm Beach was that it was clearly a magnet for the wealthy and famous.

Just a different kind of wealth and fame, she thought, sidestepping a woman with a toddler to get a better view of a former US president, his wife and their security detail as they crossed the street and disappeared into a bookstore.

‘Is that—?’

‘Yes.’ Beside her, Jack nodded. ‘I would introduce you, but I want to keep a low profile until you’ve met Grandpa.’

‘You know him?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice, and, glancing over, she saw the pride glittering in his golden gaze.

‘He’s a friend of the family.’ His hand, which had been holding hers loosely, tightened so that her wedding band pinched her finger. ‘That’s the gallery I told you about. Shall we cross over?’

It was a rhetorical question. He was already stepping off the sidewalk.

Should she have married him?

That was not a rhetorical question so much as an irrelevant one. They were married, but had it been the right thing to do? Here, now, walking in the sunshine, it felt as though it was. But only because she was pretending she was on holiday, not on her honeymoon.

Herfakehoneymoon.

She thought back to the strange routine that had somehow evolved without either of them saying a word. In theory those hours in the bedroom at Red Knots, when she and Jack were supposedly making love, should be the easiest. Nobody was watching so they didn’t have to play their parts. They should have been able to relax, but she had never felt more tense, not even during the last gasp of her previous two marriages.

And she knew that was absurd, only that didn’t stop it being true.

Remembering the feel of his flickering, golden eyes as he glanced across the bedroom, a shiver moved through her and with it a tactile memory of warm skin and his mouth hard on hers. But obviously, the honeymoon was always going to be the hardest part. After this, they wouldn’t have to spend nearly as much time together, so maybe she should follow the example of the ex-president and his wife, and enjoy this downtime.

It wasn’t just politicians enjoying the lack of traffic lights and chainstore-free vibe of Edgartown. She recognised two actresses, one chat-show host and a comedian from one of those late-night Saturday shows. But there were no paparazzi, no passers-by filming them on their phones. Everybody just went about their business, popping in and out of the white-painted boutiques, farm shops and cafés.

Her pulse danced forward. And yet, even dressed casually with his features disguised by a baseball cap and sunglasses, Jack, being Jack, somehow still managed to draw admiring looks from the women walking past. It wasn’t just his looks. There was something about Jack Walcott that made you look twice.

And then it was almost impossible to look away.

As if to prove her point, a pretty young woman with blonde hair and a floaty white dress who could have given Helen of Troy a run for her money glanced over, her cheeks turning a fetching shade of palest pink.

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