Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jane tried to accept that her day couldn’t get much better if she’d planned it.
True, her thoughts had meandered with wistful dreams about drinks with Chance.
But this was absolutely surreal. He had his hand at the small of her back, guiding her out of the hotel.
They didn’t seem to have a plan, yet she had a feeling he was never without one.
They stopped to let an elderly couple walk ahead of them.
It gave Jane a minute to take in all that was Chance Evans.
It was as though the sun cast a spotlight on him.
His stormy blue eyes sparkled. The desert had left his skin golden and tan, and his trim, sun-lightened hair gave him a clean-cut glint to his military-hardened edge.
Hands down, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met. Maybe she’d known that before, and her survival-mode brain had merely categorized him as hot. But, oh no. He was leaps and bounds beyond hot.
Now that Chance was well-rested and wearing a nice shirt and jeans, there wasn’t any question.
Jane wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been a model in a previous life.
Not the kind of model who walked runways, but the type of model who reigned king of the perfume commercials.
The kind where he would lie on a beach and let waves crash over his sculpted stomach and thighs—and, now she was a first-class pervert.
In a way, the perverted title fit, given her blistered and burned ogre-like appearance. Couldn’t he see how she looked? Or, had the bright dress done the impossible and allowed Jane’s damaged skin to blend into the fiery red fabric?
“Here we go.” Chance led her to a waiting sedan.
“You ordered a car?”
“It’s hotter than hell, and I don’t want to worry about parking.”
Pragmatic. But when had he done that? She let him help her into the car and realized that he’d planned the car service before they talked. What did that mean?
The sedan whisked them into the fast-paced stream of traffic.
Jane gawked out the window. Exotic cars and pristine landscaping.
She lived with one of the richest families in the world, but they didn’t live like this.
The streets gleamed. Locals and tourists alike seemed as gorgeous as their possessions on display.
Jewelry and designer brands met the eye as far as she could see.
Everything—and everyone—shined. No wonder Chance lived in Abu Dhabi.
Here, he was among his fellow beautiful people.
The sedan pulled over. Chance opened the door before the driver had the opportunity.
“Where are we?”
“The carpet souk.” He spoke briefly to their driver then led her into the market.
They were swept into the crowd. Vibrant colors dazzled them from every direction.
Displays of rugs, prayer mats, and cushions mapped any and every color.
They were chaotically stacked, shelved, and sold.
Jane watched with rapt fascination as storekeepers and customers haggled.
She eavesdropped on conversations in languages she didn’t know but could still understand through tone and gestures. “This is amazing.”
Chance’s hand rested on her lower back. Occasionally, his fingers gave a quick squeeze as they threaded through the crowd.
They pointed out interesting patterns that caught their attention.
Chance liked ones that were simple. As for what she liked?
After canvassing the rows in the marketplace, Jane still didn’t have a clue what she liked best. But she’d never had more fun figuring that out.
It was almost as though she were learning her own taste as they went.
The sedan waited for them as they stepped out of the far side of the carpet souk.
“Want to do that again?” he asked.
Jane laughed. “I’m not sure how many more carpets I can look at.”
His grin danced. “How about something almost the same but different?”
“Why not!”
Their driver took them to the next spot—a gold souk—and then to a souk that sold bolts of fabric.
Both were identical and completely different from the carpet souk.
Jane tried on gold bangles and rings and couldn’t stop laughing when Chance swathed himself in gold necklaces.
They wrapped brilliant fabrics around themselves and then each other.
By the time they left the fabric souk, incense clung to their clothes and scented their hair.
Jane had let loose and forgotten how she looked—and maybe more importantly, how beautiful he looked.
They played. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened with an adult.
And, maybe, they’d flirted? They’d certainly touched a lot.
Though every touch had a reason; he adjusted a pashmina on her shoulders, or she wrapped dark, exquisite silks over his shoulders, around his torso.
Their sedan awaited them again. Chance opened the door and then settled into the back seat after her. She stayed close to him and dropped her head against his shoulder. “I am exhausted.” She expected him to laugh or agree and cast her eyes to his. “You’re not?”
“Maybe we should’ve done something more low-key.”
She sat up. “What? No! I loved that. Why—”
“I forgot everything you’ve been through.”
“Ha.” She choked on her laugh. “Liar.”
His brow furrowed. “Meaning what?”
All day long, Jane hadn’t a clue where they were headed next, but she was certain he couldn’t forget where they’d been.
One look at her, and he could see the evidence of their time in the desert.
She was pocked, peeling, bandaged, and just plain ugly.
Jane shook her head and then watched the landscape pass by.
“Hey.”
She didn’t look away from the window. “Hm?”
“Jane?”
He wasn’t going to let this drop. Next time, she should control her thoughts better. Jane pulled a deep breath and looked at him.
His eyes were tight and assessing. “Why would I lie?”
Her stomach turned. “Please don’t pretend. Okay? It doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“What are you talking about?”
Incredulous, she tilted her chin up to give him a good look at her neck. She tugged a dress strap to the side of her shoulder and then let go, opting to just hold out her arms.
The man had the gall to feign cluelessness.
Was this supposed to make her feel better?
Did she need to pull up the long skirt and remind him how her legs looked?
No, she didn’t have to do that. Even though the dress offered a great deal of coverage, it showed enough bare skin that she shouldn’t have to parade wounds to make her point.
“Don’t act like I’m not a walking, talking billboard for the dangers of the desert. ”
His forehead creased. “What are you talking about?”
Tears burned at the back of her throat. Her sunburned face had to be greasy with the amount of lotions and ointments she’d applied.
Chance couldn’t have missed that. But, just in case, she framed her face with her dry, cracked hands, disgusted and embarrassed.
“I did everything I could to hide what I look like. But I’m not blind.
” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I look like a leper.”
“Jane…”
She shook her head. “I get it. It’s cool. You’re being nice. But you can’t pretend you forgot. And you certainly can’t pretend that people haven’t stared at us like we’re a backward Beauty and the Beast.”
His mouth hinged, but nothing came out.