Page 30 of Love Contract

I take a huge sip, and the whole day turns a little brighter. The sea air is brisk. The material of my glorious new robe slides like butter against my thighs.

And Sullivan—well, he might as well be dipped in gold.

The breeze tosses his luscious dark hair. He grins at me, a flash of white in his lean, tanned face.

Even Angus is staring.

Not at me anymore, let me make that perfectly clear—at myboyfriend,who looks like this whole entire party was assembled so someone could take a picture of him to sell this yacht.

He is so fucking gorgeous, his swim trunks low on his hips, his skin that clear, glowing brown that glimmers from the inside out.

Angus is abillionaire.He could buy a sports team for fun. He could eradicate a disease.Yet, right now, he’s intimidated. And probably a little bit jealous.

Sullivan, despite all his handsomeness, does not look happy. Actually, he seems just a tiny bit annoyed.

That’s because Angus just laid his hand on my arm in a possessive kind of way. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s doing it.

“Theo was about to fill me in on how the party’s going so far,” Angus says.

It’s a kiss-off. A subtle, “Let me talk to my employee now,” to put Sullivan back in his place.

Sullivan ignores it completely.

Instead, he gazes around appreciatively at the dazzling sunshine, the glittering water, the mounds of shrimp on ice, and says, “You’re not going to have anything like this on Mars.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Martinique gives a strangled squeak.

If there was one single rule in dealing with Angus, it’s Never Doubt The Mission To Mars.

It’s his one driving ambition. The goal that shines above any other: a colony on Mars. Man’s great insurance policy. Against woman. Who should kill him.

That’s what I’m thinking as I carefully step on Sullivan’s foot.

“Of course we will,” Angus says, his hand dropping off my arm.

Calm and assured, Sullivan says, “Not like this.”

His confidence makes Angus instantly agitated. “Anything you have on Earth, you could have up there.”

“Nah.” Sullivan puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I don’t think so.”

I’m a little bit hyperventilating.

Why is he picking a fight with Angus? About the one thing Angus cares about most?

This has to be a sales technique I’ve never heard of called Offend The Client As Quickly As You Can.

But Angus doesn’t look offended. Not really. More roused, in the sense of rising to battle. He musters all his best arguments to explain to Sullivan how, over time and with terraforming, Mars could be a habitable home.

This goes on for over an hour.

The other party guests are ignored while Sullivan and Angus debate actual quality of life on a second planet.

Martinique and I cuddle up on the couch getting increasingly tipsy on Dirty Shirleys. I’m ignoring all the guests and all the things I’m supposed to be doing. It doesn’t matter—Angus is completely distracted.

I get the most incredible tan. I eat an ungodly amount of shrimp. And finally, closer to two hours later, Sullivan winds the argument to a close.

He never let it get heated. But he also never quite gave in.

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