Chapter 9
9
“Nice place,” Saint said, surveying the cottage as he followed Zara into the kitchen. But then he should not have expected anything less. He recalled how wealthy her family was when he’d been a kid. That was during a time when the “haves and the have-nots” didn’t mingle. Times had definitely changed. Vaughn’s marrying Sierra was proof of that. He recalled her father used to work for Vaughn’s.
During the drive from New Orleans, Zara had told him all about this cottage and the fond memories she had spending time there as a little girl with her mother while she painted. It was their little refuge, and her mother had often described it as a little bit of heaven. A peaceful and picturesque paradise. Her mother had bequeathed it to her upon her death.
Since it was dark, he hadn’t seen much of it on the walk across the lighted pier. He’d taken hold of her hand on that stroll and doing so had felt right. Just like one part of him was saying it was right for him to be here, another part of him was asking: What the hell was he doing here? She was his boss’s sister for Pete’s sake.
“When I became a teenager, this used to be my retreat,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “By then Mom’s hands had begun bothering her and she couldn’t paint like she used to.” Reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle of wine, she added, “That’s when she stopped coming over here.”
He tried not to notice the tautness of her jeans on her backside. “Is this where you stay whenever you return to the cove?” he asked.
She poured two glasses of wine and crossed the room to him. “No. This is the first time I’ve stayed here since my parents’ deaths ten years ago.”
Ten years? He could only assume that meant she’d never spent time with her ex-boyfriend here. “Thanks,” he said, taking the glass she offered him. “I know you said after you left for college you never returned to the cove to live, but did you come back to visit? Even after your parents moved to Paris?”
“No,” she said after taking a sip. “Not long after I left for college my parents moved permanently to Paris. I spent my summers and holidays with them there. Although they moved abroad, the reason they didn’t sell Zara’s Haven and this cottage was because they’d planned to return on occasion to visit.”
She paused a moment. “They never did,” she said sadly.
Saint knew why. He’d heard from Vaughn how his parents had been killed in a boating accident two years after moving to Paris.
“I didn’t come back to the cove until Vaughn moved back here,” Zara was saying. “Then it was only during the holidays. Whenever I did return, I’d stay at Zara’s Haven with him.”
“But not this time?”
“No. My trip home this time was a surprise. Vaughn mentioned since Teryn is doing a sleepover with a friend, he’s staying overnight with Sierra at her place. I’m staying at the cottage tonight because I didn’t want to stay in the huge mansion alone.”
He took a sip of wine then said, “Yet, you’ll stay here alone? On a secluded island?”
She took another sip of wine. “It’s secure here,” she said. “You had to drive on a private road and then go through that security gate. You wouldn’t have entered if I hadn’t given you the access code. But then,” she said, viewing him over the rim of her glass, “I’m not alone, am I?”
He met her gaze and felt the heat. That same heat he’d felt the moment their shocked gazes had connected at the party. Even now a rush of desire was clawing at his insides. Goose bumps were forming on his skin just from looking at her. Standing in front of him, she sipped her wine and stared into his eyes. It felt like a pulse-kicking moment. Especially when his mind was filled with all the things that he wanted to do to her.
“Why am I here, Zara?” He had to ask her that, since he was filled with a desire to consume her the same way a flame from a candle sucked up oxygen.
“I wanted you here with me, Saint.”
Although he knew the reason, he wanted her to tell him anyway. “Why?”
She took a step closer as if doing so would garner all his attention. If only she knew just how much of his attention she already had.
She said, “Earlier tonight you alluded to the fact that typically you aren’t into casual relationships. But...”
He lifted a brow. “But what?”
“You and I shared one such night two years ago, didn’t we?”
Yes, they had and for months after it happened, he’d tried to understand what had driven him to do it—although he didn’t regret the experience at all. “Yes, we did. Like I said, you were an exception. I enjoyed being with you and I’ll even go so far to say I needed it.”
“I enjoyed being with you and needed it, too,” she admitted. “However, I don’t want you to think I’m a promiscuous woman, Saint, because I’m not. In fact, I haven’t made love to anyone since that night I spent with you.”
Her admission surprised him. “Why?”
Zara shrugged. “I haven’t had any desire to do so. And, like you, I’ve been busy.” She paused and then said, “Besides, I haven’t met another guy who I was sexually attracted to the way I was with you that night.”
Since she was being forthright with him, he saw no reason not to do so with her. “I totally understand since I haven’t shared a woman’s bed since you, either.”
Now that surprised Zara. Why would a virile man deny himself that way? “Why not?”
“Earlier tonight I told you the reason I’m not seriously involved with anyone. Another reason is similar to yours. I haven’t met a woman who I was sexually attracted to the way I was with you that night. So far, no other woman can push my buttons the way you do. All you have to do is look at me and I get hot. I see you and I want you. I touch you and I want you. I smell you and I want you.”
His words had sexual excitement curling her stomach. “You are a very passionate being, Saint.”
He took a sip of wine. “So are you.”
She appreciated his compliment. “Thanks. So, what are we going to do about all this passion that’s going to waste?” she asked, deliberately easing closer to him. Although the intensity of her desire and attraction for him mystified her, in no way did it bother her. He also didn’t seem bothered by the intensity of the heat they were generating.
“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked, holding her gaze.
“Yes, I have a few,” she said, inching closer to him. “I suggest we work it out of our systems.”
“Out of our systems? Is such a thing possible?” he asked, amused.
She knew why he was asking. If a full night of lovemaking two and a half years ago hadn’t eradicated their desire for each other, what hope was there that a repeat performance would render a different result? “Not sure, but we can definitely try. And as far as your hang-up on indulging in casual relationships, think of this time differently.”
“How so?” he asked, placing his wineglass on the table.
“Nothing we do will be considered casual in normal terms. It will be a hookup of a purely sexual kind. No emotional attachment. No commitment. No expectation of anything other than the moment.” She had offered him the type of relationship most men would jump at. “That’s the arrangement. You game, Saint?”
“Yes, I’m game. There’s no way I couldn’t be,” he said, holding her gaze.
He continued to stare at her for a long moment before reaching for her wineglass. He placed it on the table beside his. Then swept her into his arms and headed in the direction of where he’d seen a bedroom earlier.