Oh, the shame, the embarrassment! She could feel her cheeks blushing even now. ‘I presume Mr Galloway ran back to his fiancée, so you thought you would come and try your luck here.’ Eve winced as Ethan’s cutting words came back to slay her all over again.
‘Your foot, sorry,’ her present dance partner apologised.
He had misinterpreted the wince. ‘That’s okay,’ she said, smiling sweetly at Raoul Delacroix without bothering to correct his mistake—and wished she’d had the wits to smile sweetly at Ethan Hayes that night, instead of running like a fool and leaving him with his mistake!
But she had run without saying a single word to him in her own defence, and by the next morning embarrassment had turned to stiff-necked pride; hell could freeze over before she would explain anything to him! As a result he had become the conscience she knew she did not deserve, because all it took was a glance from those horribly critical grey eyes to make her feel crushingly guilty!
It wasn’t fair, she hated him for it. Hated his dark good looks too because they did things to her she would rather they didn’t. But most of all she hated his cold, grim, English reserve that kept him forever at a distance, thereby stopping her from beginning the confrontation that she knew would completely alter his perception of her.
Did she need to do that? Eve asked herself suddenly. And was horrified to realise how badly she did.
‘Have dinner with me tonight…’ Her present dance partner was suddenly crowding her with his too eager hands and the fervent darkening of his liquid brown eyes. ‘Just the two of us,’ Raoul huskily extended. ‘Somewhere quiet and romantic where no one can interrupt.’
‘You know that’s a no-no, Raoul.’ Smiling to soften the refusal, she also deftly dislodged one of his hands from her rear. ‘We’re here as a group to have fun, not romance.’
‘Romance can be fun.’ His rejected hand lifted up to brush a finger across her bottom lip with a message only a very naïve woman would misinterpret.
Eve reached up and firmly removed the finger and watched his beautifully shaped mouth turn down in a sulk. Raoul Delacroix was a very handsome French-American, with eyes dark enough to drown in and a body to die for—yet he did nothing for her. In a way she wished that he did because he was her age and her kind of person, unlike the disapproving Ethan Hayes who added a whole new meaning to the phrase, the generation gap.
And what was that gap—her twenty-three years to his thirty-seven? Big gap—yawning gap, she mocked it dryly. ‘Don’t sulk,’ she scolded Raoul. ‘Today is my birthday and we’re supposed to be having lots of fun.’
‘Tomorrow is your birthday,’ he corrected.
‘As we all know, my grandfather is arriving here tomorrow to help me celebrate, which means I will have to behave with proper decorum all day. So tonight we agreed that we would celebrate my birthday a day early. Don’t spoil that for me, Raoul.’
It was both a gentle plea and a serious warning because he had been getting just a little bit too intense recently. Raoul Delacroix was the half-brother of André Visconte who owned the only hotel on the island. So like the rest of the crowd whose families owned property here, they’d all been meeting up for holidays since childhood. They were all good close friends now who’d agreed early on that romance would spoil what they enjoyed most about each others’ company. Raoul knew the rules, so attempting to change them now was just a tiny bit irritating—and a shame because he was usually very good company—when he wasn’t thinking of other things, that was.
‘The beach is strewn with good prospects for a handsome Frenchman to play the romantic,’ she teased him. ‘Take your pick. I can guarantee they will swoon at your feet.’
‘I know, I’ve tried one or two,’ Raoul returned lazily. ‘But this was only in practice, you understand,’ he then added, ‘to prepare myself for the woman I love.’
Implying that Eve was that woman? She laughed, it was so funny. After a moment, Raoul joined in the laughter, and the mood between them relaxed back into being playful. The music changed not long after, calypso taking the place of reggae, and Eve found Raoul’s place taken by another admirer while he moved on to pastures new.
Viewing this little by-play via the mirror on the wall behind the drinks optics, Ethan wasn’t sure he liked the expression on Raoul Delacroix’s face as he’d turned away from Eve. Raoul’s look did nasty things to Ethan’s insides and made him curious as to what Raoul and Eve had been talking about. They’d parting laughing, but Raoul’s turning expression had been far from amused.
None of your business, he then told himself firmly. Eve knew what kind of dangerous game she was playing with all of these testosterone-packed young men. My God, did she know, he then added with a contempt that went so deep it reflected clearly on his face when, as if on cue, Aidan Galloway walked into the bar. The darkly attractive young Irish-American paused, found his target and made directly for Eve.
The last time Ethan had seen Aidan Galloway had been a month ago in Athens when he had been a guest of Eve’s grandfather, along with several members of the Galloway family. On the face of it, the younger man had only had eyes for the beautiful fiancée he’d had hanging from his arm. But since coming to this island, Ethan had seen no sign of the fiancée and Aidan Galloway now only had eyes for Eve.
Someone slid onto the stool next to him, offering him a very welcome alternative to observing the life and loves of Eve Herakleides. It was Jack Banning who managed the only hotel on the island for owner, André Visconte. Jack was a big all-American guy, built to break rocks against but as laid-back as they came.
‘Marlin have been spotted five miles out,’ Jack informed him. ‘I’m taking a boat out tomorrow. If you’re interested in some big-game fishing, you’re welcome to come.’
‘Early start?’ Ethan quizzed.
‘Think sunrise,’ Jack suggested. ‘Think deep yawns and black coffee and no heavy partying the night before if you don’t want to spend your time at sea throwing up.’
The barmaid interrupted by appearing with a glass of rum for Jack. The two of them chatted boss to employee for a few minutes, but the girl’s eyes kept on drifting towards Ethan, and when she had moved away again Jack sent Ethan a very male glance.
‘Considering a different kind of game?’ Jack posed lazily.
‘Not today, thanks.’ Ethan’s smile was deliberately benign as he took a sip at his drink.
‘Or any day that you’ve been here, from what my sources say.’
‘Was that an idle question or a veiled criticism of my use of the island’s rich and varied hospitality?’
‘Neither.’ A set of even white teeth appeared to acknowledge Ethan’s sarcastic hit. ‘It was just an observation. I mean—look at you, man,’ Jack mocked him. ‘You’ve got the looks, you’ve got the body parts, and I know for a fact that you’ve had more than one lovely woman’s heart fluttering with anticipation since you arrived, but I’ve yet to see you take a second look at any of them.’
He was curious. Ethan didn’t entirely blame him. The island was not sold on its monastic qualities. The women here were, in the main, beautiful people and a lot of them had made it clear that they were available for a little holiday romance.
But Ethan was off romance, off women, and most definitely off sex—or at least he was in training to be off it, he amended, all too aware that his body was trying to tempt him with every inviting smile that came his way.
Then