Chapter 7
EVA
It’s past midnight, and I’m still awake. Not just awake, but wide-eyed, restless, and wired like a cat on a hot tin roof.
I toss the covers off. The satiny bedding feels like sandpaper against my skin—my naked skin—because I don’t have pajamas. I wasn’t supposed to stay the night in Pombrio, but the lockdown is still in effect, so here I am.
I roll to my side. Then to my stomach. Then flat on my back again, arms sprawled across the mattress like a victim in a crime scene from a B movie. I stare at the ceiling and grimace with exasperation.
Scenes from earlier today flash through my mind. Again.
The crowd squeezing us. The sharp elbow in my side.
Alex moving behind me, solid and protective.
Alex encasing me in his arms.
His body pressing into mine.
His cock prodding the small of my back. Hard. Big.
A flush rolls through my entire body.
“Ugh,” I mutter, dragging a pillow over my face.
It smells of clean linen. It does not, unfortunately, erase the memory of his oh-so-masculine, knee-weakening scent.
I fling the pillow aside and swing my legs over the bed. My feet hit the cool parquet floor. I wrap the hotel bathrobe around myself and stalk to the minibar.
Let’s see… Juices. Water. Snacks.
And—oh, thank God!—a tiny screw-top bottle of red wine. So classy.
I twist it open and drink straight from the bottle, not bothering to check the label. I’m past caring. All I want is to silence my thoughts so I can fall asleep.
A long swig. Then another.
I pick up my phone from the nightstand. Millie’s reply from earlier stares back at me.
So cool!!! When are you back?
I scroll up to my message to her.
I might have to spend the night here. Will call and explain soon. All OK. Kiss
After sending that text and receiving her reply, I told Alex I needed to call Millie and the housekeeper, too. He gave a neutral grunt. I couldn’t even look him in the eye.
“Well,” I mumbled. “See you around.”
And then I scurried away like a would-be killer in Minority Report, fleeing the scene of my yet-to-be-committed crime before Tom Cruise and his team arrived.
I gulp down the last of the wine and lower myself into the armchair by the window. It’s one of those plush things that looks better than it feels. I curl my legs under and suck the remaining drops from the bottle.
This is ridiculous.
I’m thirty-five. My sixteen years with Geoffroy were a fairy tale at first, then hell. I’ve survived a marriage no one should have to endure. I should be immune to this. To him.
But my hormones disagree.
I press the bottle to my forehead. It’s cold and sticky. Not helping.
I am officially too horny to sleep.
Hey, I could ask Alex if he has sleeping pills!
What a preposterous idea! First, he might be fast asleep. Second, I don’t even know where his room is.
And maybe he’s not even here. Maybe he’s out in some exclusive dark-velvet club with dim lighting, drinking overpriced vodka and surrounded by strippers and hookers.
That’s what Geoffroy would’ve done.
The thought slams into me harder than it should. I slide my feet into the hotel slippers and start pacing back and forth with short, sharp steps. It does nothing to help me shake the image of Alex surrounded by latex and sequins.
It shouldn’t bother me. It’s none of my business. I don’t want him.
I don’t want him.
I ball the sides of my bathrobe in my clenched fists, and then stop in front of the minibar again and glare at the bottle I drained.
Why am I still awake? Still restless? Still… bothered?
I whip around and pace again.
A door creaks open down the corridor, followed by footfalls. Then silence.
I hold my breath.
More silence.
Whoever it is must’ve stopped walking. Outside my door?
I tighten the sash on my bathrobe and pad over to the door, still gripping the tiny wine bottle. I twist the handle and ease the door open.
Arms folded, Alex is across the hallway, leaning back against a doorframe I presume is his. He’s ditched his tie and jacket, but not the rest.
He lifts his head and looks me straight in the eye.
“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” I say.
His mouth twitches. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.” I step into the hallway and lean against my doorframe, mimicking his stance. “Don’t tell me you’re out here hoping for a breakthrough in some math problem.”
“I’m out here hoping for…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Air. A better mattress. You?”
“Wine,” I say, lifting the bottle. “Didn’t help.”
“Mine didn’t either.” He straightens and takes a step toward me. “So, I take it you don’t have a backup bottle?”
“Were you planning to steal my sad minibar stash?”
“I’d offer to trade you my peanuts,” he says, “but I already ate them.”
“Ah.”
He stops in front of me. Close. Too close.
We stare at each other for a moment. He’s disheveled and a little crumpled but still magnificent. I’m wine buzzed and sleep-deprived, facing him in the fluffy glory of terry cloth.
I should bid him good night. The only sensible thing to do is to retreat, close the door and remember all the reasons I can’t stand him.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You want to come in, don’t you?”
He swallows hard. “Do you want me to?”
“No,” I say. “Sleeping with the enemy never worked for anyone.”
“Wiser words were never spoken,” he agrees, his dark gaze glued to my cleavage.
I adjust the bathrobe. Then I turn around, and walk back inside, leaving the door open.
Behind me, footfalls follow. He closes the door gently.
I toss the bottle into the bin and turn to face him.
Alex stands in the middle of my room, watching me with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say.
He walks toward me. “Definitely.”
“You’re Geoffroy’s brother.”
“Estranged half brother,” he corrects. “Are you grieving him?”
“No,” I reply honestly.
“Thought so,” he mutters.
Why would he say that? Because of how awful Geoffroy was, or because he believes I’d married him for his money and title?
“This was a mistake,” I blurt out.
He stops just in front of me and, to my surprise, says, “There is still time. We can go back to pacing, each in our own room.”
Oddly, he doesn’t budge as he speaks. Motionless, he just ogles me like a predator. Which he is. No, he’s worse than a predator.
“You’re a vulture!” I exclaim. “And a… usurper! An undeserving, uncaring, unprincipled man, and… and I swear to God, Rohinn will never be yours!”
His lip curls. “I think of you just as highly as you think of me.”
I snarl at him.
His eyes flick to my mouth and linger. “You drive me insane.”
“Really?” I school my face into a hopeful expression. “Thanks for confessing. I’ll tell Pauline first thing tomorrow. Maybe she can use your insanity as an added argument in court.”
“You shouldn’t reveal your hand to me,” he advises.
“Damn! You’re right.” I try to laugh it off, but my voice catches.
I lift my gaze to his face, which is still unreadable. A lock of hair has fallen over his brow. I want to brush it back. I want to shove him against the nearest wall and kiss him. Or slap him and kick him out. It’s hard to tell which impulse will win.
I fold my arms over my chest, hoping the pressure will ground me and keep me from doing something stupid.
“Don’t worry,” I say defiantly, “it won’t be our only line of attack. Pauline has plenty of aces up her sleeve. And I have no intention of rolling over. You want the estate? Fine. But you’d better be prepared for a fight.”
He smirks. “Trust me, I am.”
“A real one,” I stress. “This won’t be one of your math lectures, Alex. Courts don’t care about numbers. They care about optics, intent, public interest.”
“I’m aware,” he replies.
I sneer. “But are you aware that none of those are on your side? Not with a grieving teenage daughter and a heartbroken widow on the other end of this mess.”
His eyes stay fixed on my mouth. “You talk too much, Eva.”
“I know,” I admit. “But only when I’m nervous. This is a very strange, very unconventional situation. I mean, how often does one—”
“Are you going to keep talking?”
I shake my head.
He takes another step toward me.
I grab his neck and pull him in for a kiss.