“Jesus.” The CIA couldn’t torture me into reading that book, and she was doing it for fun.
I’d assumed that once she arrived in Mallorca, the island would work its magic and she’d automatically loosen up. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.
If I wanted to see a different side of her, I had to coax it out of her; otherwise, she’d spend the week buried in some boring nonfiction book and the entire trip would go to waste.
The chances of me convincing Sloane to take off work again in the future were slim to none, which meant this was my one opportunity to drag her out of her comfort zone.
I chose not to examine why doing that was so important to me. Sometimes, it was better not to ask questions I wouldn’t like the answers to.
“Fuck that. You’re at the best resort in Mallorca. You need to take advantage of it.” An idea popped up in my head. “I have just the thing. Let’s go.”
Sloane didn’t budge. “I’m not day drinking with you.”
“Not everything I do involves partying.” My grin made a wicked return. “You’ll love this. I promise.”
“I do not love this.” The heat of Sloane’s glare rivaled the one-hundred-fifty-degree air billowing around us. “I do not love this at all.”
“See, that’s exactly the type of frustration we’re working on today.” I leaned back and laced my hands behind my head. “It’ll be tough, but we will pull that stick out of your ass.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and I almost patted her down to ensure she hadn’t smuggled in a hair pin that she could fashion into a weapon. Since that would be rude, and I valued my life, I kept my hands to myself.
After I convinced her to leave her ridiculous nonfiction book in the villa, I dragged her to the resort’s restaurant for breakfast followed by a trip to the spa. If anyone needed a good massage, it was her.
Fortunately, the spa had one package available at the last minute. Unfortunately, it was a couples’ package, which was how Sloane and I ended up in a private igloo dry sauna together, kickstarting the first of many stops on our Signature Honeymoon Ritual.
Sloane had put up a hell of a fight, but between my irresistible charm and the spa concierge’s firm but gentle insistence, she’d reluctantly caved.
“Is this all you do with your days?” She glanced around the cedar-paneled room.
“No. I also eat, sleep, and fuck.” My lips curved when she stiffened at the word fuck. “If you tried it some time, you might be less uptight. Newsflash, Luna, your headaches aren’t from your hair.” Even now, her blond locks were slicked back in a bun tight enough to cut off circulation. “It’s from pent-up tension.”
“Wrong. My headaches are from dealing with you.” She shifted, and I tried not to notice the way her towel slipped the tiniest bit—not enough to reveal anything scandalous, but enough to make my imagination run wild. “Besides, I’m plenty happy with my sex life, which is more than your bedmates can say, I’m sure.” Something dark and unidentifiable stirred behind my ribcage.
Fucking breakfast. I should’ve known better than to eat the last piece of sausage at the buffet.
I better not have food poisoning, or I was suing the resort. “They’ve never had complaints, but is that any way to speak to a client?” I drawled.
“You’re not my client. Your family is. You’re merely the tradeoff for one of my most lucrative contracts.”
“Ouch. Treat a girl to a luxury spa and get verbally attacked in return. Decorum doesn’t exist anymore.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there are plenty of women here who’d be happy to stroke your ego. Our server at breakfast, for example. I was afraid she’d fly away from how fast she was batting her eyes at you.”
A smile stole across my face, erasing the surprise sting from her trade-off comment. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to who flirted with me.”
“I’m your publicist. It’s my job to pay attention to everything about you.”
My smile melted into something slower, more languid. “Everything, huh?”
I’d meant it as a joke, but when her gaze touched mine, oxygen thinned in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.
Sloane was beautiful. Fact.
I’d been physically attracted to her since the moment we met.
Also fact.
But it’d been a low-simmering attraction, the type I could brush off by focusing on something else. Recently, however, it’d ramped up to the point where there was nothing else.
I didn’t know the reason for the change, but I knew that right now, as we sat in the sauna I’d stupidly insisted on going into, I looked at her and couldn’t breathe.
Sloane swallowed. Beads of sweat trickled down her throat and disappeared into the shadow of her towel.
She didn’t respond to my innuendo, and the silence hummed beneath my skin like tiny bolts of electricity.
If I stood, it would take five steps to reach her.
If I lifted my hand, it would take two seconds to touch her. If—
“You never answered my question yesterday.” My abrupt statement severed the spell, but my pulse continued to pound and my hands instinctively curled around the edge of my seat.
Fuck, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I’d dragged Sloane to Spain with me. I enjoyed flirting with her, but there was a difference between flirting and…whatever the hell happened in the past two minutes.
She blinked, seemingly thrown off by the sudden change in atmosphere. “About what?”
“Your bracelet.” She wore the same friendship bracelet from last night. Sloane was a Cartier girl; friendship bracelets weren’t exactly her vibe. “You left the gala without it and showed up at Neon with it. If it’s a gift from your mystery lover, you might have to upgrade. Find someone who can buy you real jewelry.”
