by Dani Collins
The sudden flare of heat in his eyes told her he knew what she’d been about to say. And yet Clare didn’t feel any shame. Which was progress in her mind.
Dev was good in bed. He knew it. And more importantly, he knew that she knew it. It was high time she acted like an adult about it. Instead of looking like a blushing prude or imagining there was some sort of power play going on here.
Dev had never behaved as if this was a game to him. Even at his coldest. Which meant she needed to stop acting as if she was giving something away when she admitted how much that night had meant to her.
“Well, you know what I mean,” she added in a breezy voice to cover up the sudden silence.
He didn’t have to say anything as his phone pinged just then. “They’re not coming.”
“Oh...” Clare said, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Is everything okay?”
Dev shrugged. “Marriage problems I’d say. His wife can be a lot to handle sometimes.”
Clare snorted. “Is that just conjecture? Or is there any truth to it?”
He sat back in his chair. Moonlight gilded the sharp planes of his features. “You doubt my word?” he said, mock affront lighting up his eyes.
“As a founding member of the playboy club, absolutely, yes. You might be the authority on everything else, but your commentary on marriage...sorry, but you’re not likely to be an expert, are you?”
“I’ll have you know I’m not against the institution of marriage, per se.”
Hand on her chest, Clare pretended to gasp, “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m sure marriage is a healthy arrangement for people who want that kind of comfortable companionship and children. It’s just not for...”
“Just not for you, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why settle for one meal when you can have the whole buffet?”
He smiled, but when he spoke, there was something far from humorous in his eyes. “Those are your words, not mine. And please for all my sins, I’m not so bad as to declare there isn’t a woman out there who’s good enough for me.”
“Then what is it?” Clare asked, unable to keep that question to herself. For too long she’d been wondering about him, and now, finally, here he was, the true Dev Kohli.
“Love requires something from me that I can’t give. It’s that simple.”
Their gazes met and held, in a silent battle of wills. The breeze from the beach, the star-studded sky, with soft jazz playing in the background made for a beautiful night. But Clare knew it was this gorgeous man and the way he looked at her that made every cell in her body run wild. That, despite his professed inability to love, made him still so fascinating to her.
“Should we return to our rooms and finish some of the interviews maybe? If they’re not coming, that is,” she asked into the gathering silence. Just to bring herself back to earth. Just to cut through the warm cocoon of attraction wrapping around them. “There’s still a lot to...”
“Or we could just enjoy the rest of the evening? You’re a hard taskmaster, Clare.” He raised a hand and their next course was discreetly placed in front of them.
Clare took a sip of her refilled glass of wine, to give her time to get control of her thoughts. “Then you’ll have to tell me a little about your swimming career.”
“Don’t you know enough about me yet?”
“Like I said, I’m building a profile of you for a few magazines. And I don’t just want the stuff that everybody already knows. I want the real gold.”
“And if there isn’t any gold?” he asked curiously.
“Let me be the judge of that. Also, Dev?”
“Yes?”
“You have to trust me enough to know that I won’t release anything you consider private information.”
She saw him process that. Could imagine him loosening the boundary he held so rigidly around him. “What do you want to know?”
Clare leaned forward and smiled as she speared a baby carrot on her fork. “Tell me how you went from being a world-class swimmer to a billionaire CEO.”
“That spans several very boring years.”
“I’ve got time,” she retorted.
He told her while they ate the rest of their meal. Peppering the details with funny anecdotes, self-deprecating humor, and more than a hint of anger and pain when he talked about the mentor in his company who had been the instigator of the sexual harassment.
“What about your father? I had a call from his secretary about doing a joint profile on the two of you. As a head of the local chamber of the commerce, your father brings a lot—”
“Absolutely not,” Dev said, immediately shutting her down.
“But he—”
“He never had a hand in making me, Clare. Except by forcing me to become a stranger to my own family. In making me doubt myself at every turn. He was instrumental in molding me into the cold, selfish man you have frequently called me. So, no, but I don’t need his help in making me look good to the rest of the world, thank you very much.”
The sudden silence in the wake of those impassioned words resonated in the air around them. Clare couldn’t rush to fill it. Not when she recognized and understood the depth of anger and pain in them.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize. That you eventually raised the subject of my father was inevitable. I should’ve just told you right at the start that he falls firmly into the category of forbidden topics of discussion.”
“What will happen when you see him at Diya’s wedding?”
“He’ll finally see who I’ve become.” The hardness receded from his gaze as he considered her sympathetic eyes. “And I have a plan to defuse any surplus interest in my family dynamics.”
“Let me know how I can help,” she offered automatically.
Clare saw a sudden flash of something move across his face. As if he was momentarily stunned at an insight he’d just had.
She had the most intense urge to ask him why he was staring at her like that.
She wanted to ask him about the audiobooks. She wanted to kiss him and ask him to kiss her again. She wanted to see those brown eyes turn infinitely darker as his passion was aroused.
She wanted to...
But she couldn’t. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t want the traditional dream of home and family that she still did. That he didn’t believe in love or that he was even capable of it.
Clare shivered, even though the evening was far from chilly. In the next second, a jacket descended on her shoulders, smelling of his delicious warm male skin.
“Do you want to walk along the beach by the hotel?” Clare asked, turning toward him. “I recorded some questions for you about the press interviews,” she added hurriedly. The coward that she was, she didn’t want him to think she was asking just to prolong the evening with him. Even though she was.
If he thought she was acting strangely, he didn’t say so. “Of course,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling. “Won’t do for me to forget that you’re only putting up with me for a paycheck.”
Clare had no chance to answer as their lift door opened onto the expansive lobby of the Fasano where there was a tall, brown, insanely beautiful woman waiting in a peach-colored evening gown that clung to every curve.
“Dev? I thought that was you!” the woman exclaimed. “Oh, my God, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have bumped into you...” She swanned across the marble floor toward them, the thigh-high slit in the gown showcasing toned legs that seemed to go on forever and ever.
Dev’s mouth split into a stunningly warm smile. “Angelina...what are you doing here?”
He must have braced himself as she approached because he barely exhaled when she threw herself into his arms. Dev held her with what Clare could only call open affection. Angelina clasped his cheeks and kissed him, and Dev let her.
A strange buzzing filled Clare’s ears. For which she was immensely thankful because it meant she couldn’t hear the gushing words they said to each other.
She knew she should look away, or paste a polite, but inquiring smile on her face. Or just leave. But she did none of those. She simply stood there like some village bumpkin and stared at the bronze goddess, who must surely be a model, feeling as if someone had punched her in the middle.
Had she imagined a one-night stand, followed by an unwilling pity rescue from a nightmare situation, and one evening of pleasurable playacting at dinner equaled the beginning of something more meaningful?
Hadn’t she learned her lesson yet about relationships and foolish dreams—the consequences of which she was still dealing with?
This was not her life, she reminded herself. This was a bubble she was living in until she figured out a way to escape the terrible fate that was threatening her.
Without a word, Clare turned away from them. If she could have sprinted to the lift as she was sure Angelina with her endless, graceful legs could have managed, she would have done so. Alas, she had to attempt to convey a dignified retreat on her wobbly, short legs.
“Clare, wait,” Dev called behind her.
And since she couldn’t just act like she was having a tantrum—even though she really wanted to—Clare turned around. A polite smile shimmered on her lips in its full fake glory.
His arm around the woman, he said, “I’d like you to join us for a coffee.”
“Oh, must she, Dev?” The woman pouted, barely even glancing in Clare’s direction. “It’s not like you’ll remember her name a week from now. I was hoping you and I could have a private chat.”
“Clare’s not one of my...” Dev suddenly stopped, staring at Clare, arrested. As if he couldn’t find the words to describe their relationship. “She’s...”
Their gazes held, an arc of electricity practically sizzling between them.
“She’s what?” Angelina demanded, turning her curious gaze on Clare.
“What I am is very tired. I’m turning in for the night,” Clare said, determined to remain polite in the face of the woman’s horrible rudeness. After all, why should she be surprised? This was how Dev Kohli lived his life. “My body clock is still all upside down.”
He nodded, and the suspicion that he’d only asked her to be nice was confirmed for her. Dammit, what the hell was wrong with her?
A thoughtful frown crossed his face as Clare met his gaze and then skittered away. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll leave right after lunch.”
Clare bade him a cool good-night.
And yet, as his broad shoulders disappeared into the lift with the woman still clinging to him, all she wanted was to go back and demand answers from him. Answers she had no right to. Because he wasn’t hers.
Dev Kohli wasn’t the kind of man who could belong to only one woman. Men like him and her father...they needed larger-than-life dreams, variety, constant thrills to challenge them. So maybe he wasn’t the shallow, ruthless playboy that she’d initially thought him to be. But neither was he the kind of man who would settle for anything as pedestrian as marriage and children. And as much as she’d tried to bury all her dreams, somehow they always took root again in her heart—dreams of a man loving her forever, of building a family with him, of living the rest of her life surrounded by people she loved.
The thought of following the couple in the lift made Clare want to be sick. Instead, she squared her shoulders and stepped out into the night. At least a walk might clear her head of her heart’s foolish notions.
Dev Kohli wasn’t the man for her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE REPETITIVE BANG of a fist on the door to his suite brought Dev’s head up. He put down the glass tumbler of whiskey he’d poured himself and opened the door.
Her face pale, trembling from head to toe, Clare stood at the entrance to his suite. She looked as if she’d been running for her life. “I’m sorry for interrupting your...date, but can I come in?”
“Yes, of course, you can, Clare,” Dev said, pulling her inside. He slammed the door and leaned against it, his own pulse racing at the terror on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“I... I went for a walk after you left with...her. Down to the beach. I wanted to clear my head... I...”
She swayed where she stood, and Dev reached for her. Clearly, she was in shock.
He slung his arm around her shoulders seconds before her knees gave way. That she didn’t immediately protest made unease curdle in his stomach. He half carried her to the bar, hitching her against his side.
A burst of laughter from her mouth made him look at her, tucked neatly under his arm. There was a near delirious look in her eyes. “You should’ve been a football player. American football, I mean,” she said.
Dev didn’t know whether to smile or call for a doctor. “I considered that as a career for a while. I was told I was too small for it.”
Another laugh. Less delirious but still with a slight hysterical edge to it. “You were too small? You...” Her gaze swept over his shoulders and his chest and trailed downward. And then back up again. She giggled, a sound that was very unlike the practical Clare he knew. “For what it’s worth, in my opinion, you’re very much not a small man.”
Dev knew that fear had completely wiped away the cloak of control she usually deployed like some kind of invisible shield. Usually, he’d have preened at her admiring glance.
Picking up the drink he’d just poured himself, he held it to her mouth. She didn’t quite sag against him, but he could feel involuntary shivers running up and down her spine. “Drink this,” he said in a voice that didn’t invite argument.
Scrunching that adorable, all too arrogant nose, she shook her head. “I hate whiskey.”
“I don’t care,” he said, that tightness in his chest releasing a little. The matter-of-fact way she’d spoken meant whatever had terrified her was slowly releasing its grip. “You’ve had a shock and you look...horrible.” The pale cast to her skin, the whiteness around her mouth, it was as if all blood had fled from her face.
She grimaced. “Just what a girl likes to hear from the mouth of the man she’s lusting over.”
His gaze warmed with a heat that was never too far away when she was near. “I can see that shock is having other effects on you.”
“I’m tired of acting as if I don’t want you.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “Come on, Clare. For once, give in. The whiskey will warm you up, if nothing else.”
She didn’t argue further. Her fingers shook as she tried to take the tumbler from him. Dev didn’t let go. He held the base of the tumbler as she tilted it up and took a couple of resolute sips.
She coughed almost delicately and gave the glass back. But he was glad to see some color climbing back into her face. His own pulse started slowing down from its former erratic pace.
“Now, tell me what happened.”
Tears filled those blue eyes and spilled over as she raised them to his face. With a gasp of indignation, she wiped them off her cheeks. As if she found them beneath her dignity. “I think... No, I know I saw him on the beach, so I ran straight back to the lobby immediately and jumped in the lift.”
“Who?”
“He got there just as the doors were closing.” She closed her eyes, and sagged against the counter, as if her legs were giving out again. Dev tightened his hold on her. “That sweet smile of his... God, I’m going to see it till the day I die.”
“Clare, who are you talking about?”
“Goon Number One, of course.”
Dev didn’t mean to laugh. Not when she looked like she’d shatter if he breathed too hard. But the way she’d said “Goon Number One,” with distaste curling her lip, and her courage vying with her fear...he couldn’t help it.
&n
bsp; He was so surprised by the curse she spat out that it took a few seconds for him to react, and by then she’d slipped from his grasp.
Without having to turn all the way, he shot his arm out and pulled her back toward him. She landed against his chest, her forearms caught between them, blue eyes flashing daggers at him. “Let me go, Dev.”
The fierce way she said his name made his pulse leap with excitement.
“Not so fast, darling,” he said, adding an extra drawl to the endearment.
“I’m not going to stand here and let you make fun of me while I...” She shivered, as if on cue again. “I shouldn’t have come to you at all.”
Something about her reminded him of himself. She was clearly terrified and yet determined to hold her own. This woman was a fighter, just like him. No wonder she kept tripping him up.
Dev tightened his arms around her waist just as she fidgeted inside them. He pressed his mouth to her temple and she instantly stopped struggling. Her chest rose and fell, her breaths labored. He took his time, wanting to do this right. Knowing she needed exactly the right words from him just then.
Holding her like this, he could feel the strength of will it was taking her to prevent complete hysteria from settling in.
The scent of her skin—warmed by her signature lily-of-the-valley perfume—filled his lungs as he took a deep breath. “Take a moment, Clare. If you want me to let you go, I will. But right now, you need to be held. You need to know that you’re safe. You need human contact—preferably male and large and able to provide at least an illusion of security. Ergo, someone like me.”
Her laughing snort vibrated against his chest.
“I’ll happily be the bad guy and hold you prisoner until you decide that it’s okay to lean on me.”
She whimpered then, and his muscles clenched as she pressed her open mouth to his biceps.
“For once, trust your instincts, Clare. Not your rational mind. You came to me because, despite the fact that you hate my guts sometimes, you knew you could trust me.”
