For a while, we stroll along the sand just watching it all, taking in these snippets of every day life.
“What are you staring at?” he asks me at one point, and I point up ahead of us, to where a gaggle of boys have crowded around, three of them with kites in the air, racing apparently.
“I’m jealous,” I say, joking, but it comes out a little more sincere than I mean for it to.
“Of the kite fliers?” He lifts an eyebrow, studying me.
My cheeks flush red. “No. Of the kites.” When he stares, I shrug my shoulders, even more embarrassed. “They just look so free, you know? Up in the sky. No strings attached—well, okay. One string attached. But I guess you need something to keep you a little grounded, or else you fly away.”
I clamp my mouth shut. I almost said you fly away from home. I’m giving too much of myself away. I shouldn’t be here, not with him. And I definitely shouldn’t be talking like this.
“Hey.” Ankor tugs on my hand, and when I look over, I realize we’ve stopped walking. He places his hands on my shoulders. I hate it, but it’s clear he’s noticed my sudden anxiety. “It’s okay, Sinclair,” he murmurs.
It’s not okay, I think. It’ll never be okay.
As if reading my mind, he cracks a small grin. “Well, all right, that’s a lie. The world is a pretty fucked up place. But look.” He gestures at the beach around us. “We’re in paradise. We’re allowed to forget about the past for a little while.”
My throat feels dry and tense. I hate how easily he sees through me. How quickly he’s guessed exactly what it is I need so desperately to hide. But what am I supposed to do? Deny it? That would only make him press harder, ask more questions. So I force a smile and nudge his arm. “Too right. I’m being a downer. Let’s just enjoy this slice of paradise.”
“I have an idea,” he says. My nerves are still jangling, on edge from the close call, when he leads me back to some cliffs on the far end of the beach. There are a few vendors there, some selling ice cream or sandwiches, others selling handmade goods. Flowing sundresses, cute bikinis, sunscreen. I think he’s going for the ice cream, but instead he leads me to a vendor on the end, with a stack of kites behind him.
I burst into laughter. “You’re kidding.”
“You were jealous.” He catches my eye with a grin. “Better this than having you attack one of those small boys on the beach to steal his kite instead, I figure.”
I roll my eyes and elbow him. “I would never attack anyone,” I protest.
He shrugs and pays the vendor for the kite anyway, before passing it to me. He chose a red kite, with a long tail. “I don’t know. You seem pretty dangerous to me.”
“What about me screams danger?” I gesture down at myself, catching his eye, expecting him to laugh.
But his expression has gone serious now, his gaze fixed directly on mine. “Everything,” he murmurs, and suddenly, I get the feeling I’m not the only one who’s worried about saying too much.
He turns away without another word, and I have to jog to catch up to him before he finishes unfurling the kite. “You first,” he says, handing the string to me, and I know he’s changing the topic, but I can’t blame him. After all, I did the same thing earlier.
So, I try to do what he suggested. I try, for the next few hours, to just be here in paradise, having fun, and forgetting about the past. Forgetting about the whole world of hurt behind it.
We manage, for a few hours. The kite flying is pretty fun. And afterward, Ankor buys us both the ice cream I thought he was going for originally. We eat it in the shade of some palm trees, laughing over some teenagers trying and failing to surf in the distance. The sun is setting, and we have a perfect view. I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder, content.
His hand traces my back in slow circles, and my eyelids drift shut. I could get used to this. I could get used to him.
But then his hand stills. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice low, conversational. Not worried or concerned at all.
But I can feel where his finger is, and I know what he’s feeling. My throat closes up, suddenly, panic taking over. He hasn’t noticed though, not yet. I feel him lean back to look, and without glancing over my shoulder, I already know what he sees.
The scar that snakes down my right shoulder, a couple inches long, jagged around the edges, because I never bothered to go to a hospital and get it treated properly. I couldn’t.
“It’s old,” I say, as if he can’t tell that already. “I hate it. I was planning to get a tattoo to cover it up, but… couldn’t decide what I wanted, so…”
When he meets my gaze in the sunset light, his eyes have grown more serious now. “How’d you get it?”
I shake my head. Mostly because behind my eyelids, all I can see is the house. The flash of lights. A face, a furious scowl, a sharp, stabbing pain, so blinding I could barely move and then—
I gasp, jerking myself back to the present. “Can we go?” I ask, not even able to maintain a pretense. I swallow hard, hating myself for this. Hating myself for ruining this moment, for spoiling the fun we’d been having. But I can’t deal with this anymore. I shouldn’t be here, and if anything, this moment is just reminding me of that.
“You want to leave?” A furrow appears between his brows.
“Can we just go back to the hotel?” I say, hoping my voice sounds more level now. Less panicked and startled. “I just… it’s been a long day, and I’m pretty tired, so…”
“Of course. We can go.” He stands and offers a hand to help me up. Once he’s pulled me to my feet, he doesn’t let go.
On the drive back, he makes small talk. He chats about the weather, about some of his other favorite spots we didn’t make it to today. He makes plans for us to go exploring again. I offer vague non-answers, not committing to anything. Because in the back of my head, all I can think about is how I need to stay away from him. This has gone too far already. It’s clear Ankor cares about me, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t.
If we get any closer, he could get hurt.
At the hotel, he drops me off at the front door. Before I climb out, he leans across toward me. Unable to help it, I tilt my face away from his.
It’s for his own good, I tell myself. To protect him.
But it doesn’t make me feel any better to see the flash of hurt on his face, quickly followed by pain. I reach for the door handle, but not before he takes my other hand in his.
“Sinclair,” he says, and just that, just my name, is almost enough to undo me. To break down any resistance I spent the whole car ride building up. “If I did something wrong today, I need to know. I can’t handle the thought that I hurt you—”
“No,” I interrupt, forcefully. I turn back to meet his gaze, my own fierce. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ankor. You didn’t hurt me.”
“Then… what’s wrong?” He tugs on my hand again, lightly.
I force myself to uncurl my fingers. To break out of his grasp and grab the door handle instead. “It’s not your fault,” I repeat, and I pray that he believes me. “Trust me. It’s me, okay? I just…” I shake my head. I can’t explain it. I don’t want to lie to him. But there’s no way I can tell him the truth, either. “Don’t contact me anymore, please. It’s better that way, for both of us.”
“Sinclair, wait.”
But I’m already throwing the car door open.
“Sinclair!” I can hear him open his own door, following after me. But I race across the hotel lobby, straight for the elevators. There’s one waiting, and I practically leap into it, afraid if I move any slower, if I give myself time to think this over, I’ll cave in and do something I shouldn’t.
I turn around as the doors are closing. The last glimpse I get is of Ankor with his hands lifted, fists buried in his hair, watching me through the lobby doors, a look of deep pain on his face.
5
Ankor
Fuck. Fuck.
Of course the one time I let my guard down, th
e one time I decide I can take a risk, this is what happens. Of fucking course it is.
Could she sense that I was hiding something? Or was it just my own prying—me being a little too curious about her past, about that scar on her back.
I can still picture it when I close my eyes. It was messy, jagged. Someone none-too-expert stitched that wound, and it probably got infected before it healed fully, which makes me think she never got it treated at a hospital. Why? And why would it upset her so much for me to notice it?
I’ve paced myself right into a corner, literally. So I turn and start to pace back the other direction now, head down, shoulders hunched. I realize I look like a crazy person. Anyone who stumbled across me stalking this lobby would think I’d lost it. But I don’t care. I’m too lost in thought to notice.
We’d been having such a perfect day, until that moment. On the beach, alone with her… My blood heats, flowing south again, and I have to clench my fists to stop myself from getting hard just at the memory. She tasted incredible, sweet and heady all at once. And the way that tight, perfect little pussy of hers felt clenched around me, well… Fuck.
But it’s not just the sex. It’s Sinclair herself. There’s just something about her, about the way she only smiles when she thinks nobody’s looking, about the longing in her eyes when she watched those boys fly their kites. And the sheer joy in hers, when I bought her one. As if nobody’s ever done that for her before. As if no one’s ever treated her like the precious person she is.
It makes me furious to think about anything hurting her. Almost as angry as I am at myself, for doing whatever it was I did wrong today.
I let out a low growl of frustration. I’m surprised when someone calls my name.
“Ankor. Is that you, pacing around like a caged animal?” Mrs. Jenkins stands in the entryway, clearly just fresh off the beach, with her cover-up and sun hat on, a beach towel slung over one arm and a book in hand. “What on earth is the matter?”
“It’s nothing.” I spin in the opposite direction, ready to beeline back out of the lobby and up to my room, where I can resume my restless pacing in private.
But she stops me with a deep humph. “Well, good. If it’s nothing, then you can stop your moping and come help me to my room.”
“Aren’t you in the closest one?” I point out, one eyebrow arched.
She just narrows her eyes at me, a self-satisfied smile curled on her face. “I’m just feeling so tired after all that sun today.” She feigns a stagger, and with an internal groan of defeat, I jog across the lobby to catch her elbow. “Why, thank you. What a gentleman.” she teases and points the way in the opposite direction of my room, down a small hall off the lobby where they put the older, less mobile guests.
“You were out on the beach at this hour?” I ask her, squinting through the main doors. It’s past sunset now, and almost full dark outside. Only the faintest glow still lingers at the horizon, lightening the midnight sky to a lighter turquoise.
“Dozed off. Didn’t wake up until those teenagers over at the Marina started lighting those bonfires they’re so fond of.”
I laugh. The “teenagers” she’s referring to are the 40-something owners of the next resort over. Unlike our resort, which caters more to the retiree and quiet-loving types, the Marina specializes in nightlife above all else. The place itself is a dump, but they do throw a pretty entertaining beach rager. Not that I’ve ever been the type to drink heavily on a beach with a lot of young people and an enormous fire. Still, I can see why it appeals to some people in that crowd.
It’s definitely not Mrs. Jenkins’s thing, though. “What was their theme this time?” I ask.
“Same thing it always is,” she grumbles. “Loud and terrible music.”
I laugh again. We’ve reached her doorway now, and I pause at it. But she fishes her key out and doesn’t unhook her arm from mine. “Think you’ll be okay from here?” I ask.
“Why don’t you help me inside first,” she replies. “I need some tea. Falling asleep mid-afternoon like that… I’m too young for that!” she grumbles, and I chuckle.
“All right, I’ll make you a cup.” Inside her room, I get out the equipment. Pretty much all the resort rooms are the same, so it’s easy to figure out where everything is. I set about putting the kettle on, and she eases herself down onto the in-room sofa to watch me. She wasn’t kidding about being tired. I make a mental note to check up on her over the next couple days and pay more attention in swim class. I’d hate for her to have some kind of a medical problem on my watch.
“So,” she says, after a minute, once she seems to have caught her breath again after our walk here. “Who is she?”
I startle so badly I almost spill the hot water straight into the mugs I’ve set out. “Who’s who?” I ask, hoping that my voice, at least, remains steady when my hands could not.
“The girl.”
I don’t say anything else until I’ve set the kettle to heat. Only then do I turn to face her, and find Mrs. Jenkins watching me with a shrewd, narrowed gaze. “Who says there’s a girl?”
“Please.” She snorts. “You don’t get to be my age without learning how to recognize the symptoms of love sickness when they present themselves. You’re all moony over someone, I can tell you—and unless you’re more into men?” She pauses, eyebrows lifted, and I shake my head no, still smirking. “Well, then. There must be a girl.”
“I see.” I take a seat on the edge of her bed, across from the sofa. The rooms here are pretty spacious, but they’re all studio-style, with just one big room for everything. No fancy suites at this resort. Another reason I like it. It feels like everyone here is more equal. Not like some resorts where the ultrarich have a 20-bedroom suite to themselves, and the less fortunate are left to slum it in a single room that barely accommodates a double bed. “So what can you, in your infinite wisdom of age—”
“Don’t you be mocking that, boy. It’s hard-earned wisdom, I can tell you that.” She’s grinning, though, even as she scolds me.
“Well. What else has your hard-earned wisdom picked up on?”
“You’re worried. Which means all is not peachy in paradise. So what happened? Did you say something asinine, piss the poor girl off?”
I shake my head. Then I pause. I’m not entirely sure I didn’t, to be honest. “I don’t know. Things were going great, and then she suddenly just… shut me out.”
Mrs. Jenkins purses her lips. “Did you ask her what was the matter?”
“Of course. Multiple times.” I run a hand through my hair. “I even tried to stop her before she ran away up to her…” I hesitate. I was about to say room. But then it would become pretty obvious who it was I was chasing. After all, Sinclair is the only girl in this resort under the age of 50. “Before she ran away,” I repeat lamely. “But she wouldn’t tell me what upset her. I don’t know if I did anything, or if it was something I said…”
“In my experience, a little part of you always knows what it was you did to upset somebody, even if you don’t want to admit it.” Mrs. Jenkins watched him shrewdly. “So, if you really don’t think you did anything that could be perceived as untoward, then I’d wager her upset has less to do with you and more to do with something she’s dealing with.”
That sounded right. Especially given her reaction to the scar. I grimace. “But how am I supposed to help her deal with it if she won’t tell me what it is?”
Mrs. Jenkins wags a finger at me. “There are some problems that can’t be helped. All you can do is be there for the person while they handle it on their own.”
“And if she doesn’t want me to even just be there for her through it?” I counter.
“She will.” Mrs. Jenkins studies me. “When she’s ready to, she’ll be the one to come to you. And if it’s really love, she won’t wait too long.”
“Love?” My eyebrows shoot upward. We’ve barely met. It’s been barely a day.
“Well, I don’t know about from her side of it. But watchi
ng you?” Mrs. Jenkins chuckles. “That’s the word I’d use. Never seen you look this distraught in all the time I’ve known you, Ankor. Normally you keep every emotion close to your chest. Never give any hint of what’s beneath. I assume if I can see this much of a blatant sign written on your face, there’s a volcano lurking under the surface now.”
I groan and run a hand through my hair, gripping it tightly with my fist.
Maybe Sinclair is right. It’s better this way, for both of us, she said, about staying away from one another. Maybe we should. I wasn’t looking for love.
“What is it?”
I startle. I’d forgotten Mrs. Jenkins was there for a moment. Lost in the memory of the pain on Sinclair’s face when she asked me to stay away from her. “I was just thinking maybe this is more than I bargained for,” I say. “I didn’t come here looking to fall in love.”
“You rarely find it when you’re looking for it,” she counters.
“I’m better off without it.” I shake my head. I expect her to agree, or to offer some sage platitude about how love always breaks our hearts but it’s worth pursuing anyway. When I look up, though, I find her watching me closely again.
“What on earth makes you think that?” she asks, as if I’ve just told her I really like swimming with great white sharks.
I shrug. “My last relationship didn’t go too well. Or the one before that. Or the one before that…”
“Did you love them?”
“I thought I did.” I shake my head. “But those women were only in it for the money. That’s all they saw in me.”
“Ah yes, all that money a swimming teacher makes.” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes sparkle. I open my mouth to explain, to make something up, but she holds up a hand, stopping me. “Please, Ankor. We’ve all seen that car you speed around the island with. Not to mention the designer sunglasses, shoes worth more than half my wardrobe. Your past is your own business, none of mine. But if you think I’m shocked that you aren’t just some pool boy…”
Married to the Secret Billionaire Page 6
