Page 38 of Impossible Heir for the King

‘I’m so sorry, Niko.’

‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘It sucked.’

She stood for a moment, then moved to the table and took a match from the box, lighting the candle that Aron had there.

‘You know it wasn’t your fault, right? Not any of it.’ She turned once the flame had steadied. ‘It wasn’t fair of him to blame you like that.’

He swallowed hard and tried to smile. ‘Life isn’t fair though, is it? You know that too.’

She looked up so softly. ‘I’m still sorry all that happened.’

He nodded. They stood for a long time, just watching the candle flicker.

‘The rain’s stopped.’ He’d realised eventually. ‘We should go back while it holds.’

He blew out the flame and they walked back in silence. Back at the house he felt oddly unsure of what to do with himself. But Maia went into the lounge and came back out to the pool area with something in her hand.

‘Want to play poker?’ She looked at him with limpid eyes.

He stared, nonplussed. But in the next second vitality warmed his veins and a helpless laugh escaped him. ‘Maia...’

She smiled at him. So beautiful, so sweet and she nodded towards the pile on the table where he’d emptied his pockets. ‘I’ll play for your stones.’

‘True treasure. Very wise.’ His mood lightened. ‘But what areyougoing to put on the table?’

She shot him an arch look. ‘My knife.’

‘Wow, bold.’ He took a seat with a smile. ‘You’re feeling confident, then.’

She shrugged, then winked. Easiness blossomed and her distraction—he knew it was that—worked. She brought him back to here and now and it was okay. Maybe this whole thing between them could be okay.

She was a card shark of course. There was no way she’d spent so long on a gambling boat and not learned some tricks. But her pleasure in beating him was a pleasure for him in itself. He watched as she carefully pawed through the little stones, picking out several of a similar size. ‘These are going to be perfect,’ she muttered.

He shook his head. He hadn’t realised she really wanted them. ‘You know I would have just given them to you if you’d asked.’

She glanced up at him, surprise sparkling in her beautiful eyes. ‘You would?’

He blinked. ‘Of course.’

Maia sat with her feet curled beneath her, pointlessly whittling a new-found piece of wood that was rapidly becoming shavings and nothing else. She’d come close to cutting herself accidentally twice in the last two minutes. Something she hadn’t done in years. But the man beside her was an appalling distraction. He was sprawled back on the cushions beside the pool, ignoring the papers scattered beside him to feast his eyes on her like a sexually satisfied sultan from centuries ago. But he was more than that. He was a nice guy who’d been so hurt. He’d suffered loss after loss after loss and had guilt piled on him when he didn’t deserve it. And here he was trying so hard to do what was right. He didn’t want to repeat any mistakes of the past. He wanted his child acknowledged. He wanted to ensure both she and the baby were well cared for because he felt as if he’d failed to do that for others in the past. And that was all so very honourable. But somehow she felt more uncertain about everything.

It was five days since he’d brought her here. Four nights in which she’d slept not just in a bed, but in his arms. Three days of absolute pleasure. But more than that—there’d been laughter. There’d been companionship of a kind she’d never really had. And she didn’t quite know how to handle it.

‘I’ll get you some better wood if you want?’ he offered.

‘No, that’s not the point.’ She smiled. ‘The joy is in making something out of nothing very much, you know? And it doesn’t matter if you muck it up because you can just throw it away because it was just scrap anyway.’

‘Is that what you do with them?’ He sounded outraged. ‘You just throw them away?’

‘Well, no,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘I leave them in little places. Then look for them if ever I go back.’

‘Like a calling card?’

‘More like secret graffiti—Maia was here—but only I know.’ And only she cared really.

‘In, like, ports?’

‘On beaches mostly.’ She bent closer to focus on creating a decent beak for the little bird. But once again she missed. ‘Damn.’

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