7. Aoife
Aoife
The table is laden with far too much food, but the sheer absurdity of it has sparked an ease between us. Eamon seems at home in this setting, leaning back in his chair as he casually picks at a croissant, his movements relaxed, almost lazy.
I, on the other hand, can’t seem to settle. My plate is half full, my coffee barely touched, and I find myself hyperaware of every glance he throws my way.
“So, this traveling of yours,” he says, breaking the silence. “Is it always solo?”
“Mostly,” I reply, spearing a piece of fruit with my fork. “I like the freedom. No schedules to follow, no one to answer to.”
His brow arches slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sounds lonely.”
I shrug, keeping my tone breezy. “Not really. It’s liberating, actually. I go where I want when I want.”
It’s not a lie, not exactly. But the truth, the real truth, is buried beneath layers I have no intention of uncovering.
“What about you?” I ask, deflecting the attention back to him. “Does the hotel business keep you tethered to one place, or do you get to travel, too?”
“Usually, I stay in one place,” he says, his tone giving nothing away. “This trip turned out to be a good excuse to mix work with a little pleasure.”
His deliberate vagueness is frustrating. “Sounds convenient.”
“You could say that.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and humming with something neither of us names. The waves outside lap gently against the villa, a soft rhythm that only makes the charged quiet feel louder. His eyes are on me. I can feel them. Watching. Waiting. Wanting.
I shift in my seat, suddenly too aware of the silk clinging to my skin, of the lingering taste of strawberry on my lips. My tongue darts out to catch a drop of juice at the corner of my mouth, and when I glance up, I find his gaze hasn’t moved.
The question pounds in my mind, unrelenting, until it spills out before I can stop it. “What are we doing?”
His gaze sharpens, and he leans back slightly in his chair, studying me with that unreadable expression that I’m beginning to recognize as his default. “Enjoying ourselves,” he says smoothly. “Isn’t that enough?”
It should be. It has to be. Because I’m not interested in anything more. I have plans—plans that don’t involve entangling myself with a man.
My focus is on something far more important. Proving to my father that I’m more than just the Quigley family’s untouchable daughter. That I’m capable, ruthless, and worthy of stepping into the Syndicate he refuses to let me touch.
A relationship doesn’t fit into that picture. Love doesn’t fit into that picture. And yet, as I sit here with Eamon’s dark, penetrating gaze fixed on me, I can’t help but feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something I can’t control.
“Maybe it is,” I say, shrugging as if I’m as unaffected as he is. But the flutter in my chest betrays me, and I can’t help but wonder if he notices.
His lips curve into a smile, but it’s softer this time, almost teasing. “So, what do you say, Eve? No strings. No questions. Just this.”
The idea is tempting. Too tempting. And I hate how much I want to say yes. I search for any cracks in the calm mask he wears. If he feels the pull between us as strongly as I do, he doesn’t let it show.
“Just this,” I agree, my tone firmer now.
“Good,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. “Because I’m not done with you, Eve. Not even close.”
Something tightens low in my belly, but my face stays unreadable.
“Who said I’d let you walk away?”
The air between us feels lighter now, the tension shifting into something less daunting and more thrilling. I take a sip of my coffee, the warmth grounding me, even as my mind races with questions I know I’ll never ask.
“So,” I say, tilting my head, my voice light and teasing. “What’s next on the agenda?”
His smirk returns, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”
The sun beats down on us as the private yacht speeds across the crystal-clear waters. Eamon stands at the bow, the wind tousling his dark hair as he casts a sidelong glance at me, his lips curving into a maddening smile.
“I’m starting to think you’re showing off,” I tease, leaning back against the plush seating with a glass of champagne in hand.
He chuckles, the sound low and rich. “If I wanted to impress you, I’d be the one piloting.”
“Oh, please. Like you know how to drive this thing,” I say as I set my glass on the small table beside me.
“Do you want me to prove it?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing in mock offense.
Before I can fire back, the yacht slows, and the captain announces that we’ve arrived at the sandbar. I lean over the side to catch a better view. My breath catches at the sight before me—a stretch of pristine white sand rising out of the endless cyan water, like something out of a dream.
A cabana has been set up, complete with loungers, a small bar, and snorkeling gear. I’ve seen many places in my travels, but this is the most breathtaking yet. For a moment, I forget myself, captivated by the scene.
Eamon steps up beside me, his arm brushing against mine. “Speechless?” he murmurs.
I glance up at him, rolling my eyes even as I smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
We descend the steps and wade into the warm, shallow water, laughing as the gentle waves lap at our legs. The sun glints off the surface, casting dappled reflections onto our skin.
Eamon moves closer, his hands skimming my waist, the heat of his touch sending a pleasant shiver through me. His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “This better than your usual solo travels?”
“Maybe,” I admit, trying to suppress a grin. “The company isn’t half bad.”
“Not half bad?” he repeats, as his hands tighten on my waist. Before I can react, he lifts me into the air, spinning us both as I shriek.
“Put me down,” I laugh, though my arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders.
“Only if you admit you’re having the time of your life,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he finally sets me down.
“Fine,” I reply, still catching my breath. “You’re tolerable. Happy?”
“Not even close,” he says, his fingers lingering on my bare skin. “I’ll be happy when you admit that no one else will ever touch you the way I do. When you realize you’re mine, whether you like it or not.”
I arch a brow, refusing to let him see how his words make my pulse race. “Yours?” I repeat, my voice laced with challenge. “That’s awfully confident for a man who hasn’t proven he’s worth keeping around.”
My words are sharp, calculated, and meant to throw him off balance.
But the truth is, I’m trying to regain my footing.
Every look, every touch, every word from him feels like a tether pulling me closer, wrapping me tighter, and I can’t afford to let that happen.
Not when my world doesn’t allow for distractions like this.
His grip tightens just enough to send a shiver through me. His gaze deepens, dark and full of intent. “Oh, love,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from mine. “By the time I’m done with you, no one else will ever come close.”
The way he says it, low and rough, a promise and a threat all at once, makes my pulse race.
My body betrays me, leaning into him before I can stop myself.
I hate how easily he makes me want more.
What he doesn’t realize is I won’t give in to his panty-melting smiles or smooth words. This is fun and nothing more.
The hours pass in a blur of sun-soaked moments that feel too easy, too perfect. We snorkel through coral reefs as vibrant fish dart between us. Eamon playfully nudges me, pointing out the most colorful ones.
Later, we lounge under the cabana with icy drinks in hand. Eamon leans back in his chair, shirtless and far too smug, as we tease each other about who swam better.
“You cheated,” I accuse, taking a long sip of my cocktail.
“Cheated?” he repeats, his brows lifting. “How does one cheat at snorkeling?”
“You splashed me on purpose,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “You threw me off my game.”
“Your game was questionable to begin with,” he counters, his grin wide and unapologetic.
I toss a grape at him, laughing as he easily catches it in his hand. The banter feels effortless and natural. At some point, I realize I’m not just having fun—I’m enjoying him . The thought unsettles me, twisting my chest in a way that feels both foreign and dangerous.
I push it aside, blaming the intoxicating beauty of the Maldives.
This is temporary. A fleeting escape. It has to be.