How To Love An Ogre (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius Book 2)

by Zee Monodee

  Agnes’ face grew hard. “Let me have a word with Paul Decaen. He is the head of the tourism and hotel board here. That salaud is finished.”

  No one could deny the venom in her voice, and Trent exchanged a look with Patrice. The other man also seemed to be of the same opinion that nobody should ever get on the wrong side of Agnes Armont-Marivaux.

  “Don’t worry about Dee,” Agnes continued. “We’ll take care of her. For as long as it takes.”

  He nodded. “Her family. They don’t know.”

  “And they won’t hear it from us,” she said.

  He’d done all he could for her, so he stood. “Thank you.”

  Patrice tipped his glass in Trent’s direction. “You can stay, if you want. It’s not guest bedrooms that we lack.”

  He appreciated the offer, but he couldn’t take it. “I can’t impose. I’m not far from here, though.” He paused. “Is it okay if I drop by later to see how she is?”

  “Of course,” Agnes said as she, too, stood. “Let me walk you out.”

  They traipsed in silence to the front door. With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and turned to him.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Kenneth Garrison, would you?”

  Trent frowned. “He was my grandfather. Why do you ask?”

  “Ah. The resemblance is striking. You are George’s son.”

  “Yes. Do you know my family?”

  “Of course I do. Your grandfather was a good friend of my father. Louis Armont, from Bordeaux.”

  The name floored him. So they were talking of that Armont clan, French nobles who’d once owned almost everything in the inland Gironde area around the town of Bordeaux.

  Agnes definitely was not someone to trifle with. Diya was in the best hands with her.

  “Take care of her,” he said on the threshold.

  She placed a hand on his sleeve. “You leave that to me.”

  And he did.

  Two days passed, during which Angélique updated him almost on the hour, every hour, about Diya’s progress. They’d fibbed to her parents that she’d come down with a bad case of flu and was thus keeping herself confined at Ange’s house where there would be staff to look after her round the clock.

  He yearned to go to her, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to spook her. He wanted her to find her feet once again, and only then would he deign make an appearance in her life. Unless she asked for him.

  Which was precisely what she did on the third day—he received her text that she wanted to meet with him, at La Porte du Paradis.

  Luckily, his shift was almost over, and he rushed to the colonial house as soon as he was done with his duties. His heart hammered at the mere thought of seeing her again, and the organ almost stopped when he did finally catch sight of her.

  She stood in the main wing’s bedroom, where the beautiful king-sized wrought-iron bed with the wispy fabric curtain had already been delivered. The light from the late afternoon sun bathed the room in an ethereal golden glow, lighting her up with a soft halo like that of an angel.

  Almost as if she’d sensed him there, she turned to face him.

  She looked pale, her features still a tad drawn, dark hollows beneath her now-sad eyes.

  Knives ripped at his gut to see her like that. If he ever got his hands on that bastard …

  Then, she was walking over, stopping less than a foot from him. With their toes almost touching, Diya reached out and caressed his cheek once more.

  “Thank you.”

  The naked gratitude in those two words undid him, and he wanted to weep. Why should something so horrible have happened to such a beautiful soul? He yearned to take her in his arms, to make everything right for her again.

  Maybe he should. Not in a way that would frighten her, but reinforce that she could trust him. That he was there.

  Trent took a risk, one that might backfire. He brought a hand up and placed his palm over the back of her hand on his cheek. She didn’t pull away, which comforted him.

  “I’ll always be there for you, Diya.”

  She parted those lush, beautiful lips, and gave him a tremulous smile.

  “It’s wrong,” she said softly.

  He frowned. Had he jumped the gun? “What is wrong? And why would you say that?”

  She ran the tip of her tongue against her lower lip. “Because nothing about it would be right.”

  Could she make a little more sense here?

  “But then, too,” she continued. “The right kind of wrong is always the best.”

  *

  Diya stared up at the man in front of her. Where his palm lay over her hand, gentle warmth drifted into her system, chasing the chill away. Goodness, he always could do this to her. She’d endured the past few days all thanks to him, to his solid strength that had been by her side at first when she’d most needed it. Back in his car, his scent had wrapped around her like a protective shield, and she’d revelled in the certainty he would never let her down.

  Everything inside her flared to life, and every cell inside her being demanded she erase the images of that fateful evening, that she replace them with a more pleasant yet indelible memory. One she could create with Trent. The very worst kind of erasure, because she’d use him to blank out the consequence of her own stupidity. So what if this was so wrong that it had to be right? She needed him, and no one or nothing else. He might be taken, yes, and if he stayed with her, she’d have proof he was a cad. Still, she required that one moment, if only to imprint him once and for all in all her system.

  Afterward, she could forget, but not at this point. He was a necessity, full stop.

  Gareth would’ve taken something from her. Something she’d cherished her whole life, that she’d always wanted to give to the one man she would love with all her heart.

  And that man was Trent. No doubt about it. To think of what she could’ve lost, and in such a horrible way …

  No, she had to do this. Now.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Trent drew closer, and his body heat radiated out to her. The room lost its chill, warmth wrapping itself around her like a soothing cocoon.

  She peered up again, into his handsome and serious face. How could she ever have thought him an oaf? The man would be a fit contender for any version of Prince Charming.

  “What for?” he asked softly.

  She gulped in a fortifying breath. “For not believing you when …”

  He clamped his jaw, and his nostrils flared. With anger?

  “He’ll get what he deserves.”

  So much passion and recrimination in his tone, and all for her? She pressed her hand even more onto his cheek.

  One moment with him. One night in his arms. Would it be too much to ask? She’d let him go afterward, but to be able to hang on for the rest of her life, and not crumble after what had just happened to her, she needed him, needed his touch, his healing.

  His loving.

  “Diya, I—”

  “Shh. Make me forget, Trent.”

  He shook his head. “Do you know what you are asking?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  And on those words, she rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss onto his mouth.

  He accepted the touch, returned the kiss, before he brought his free hand up to cradle her face.

  He took over from that moment on, and she willingly surrendered to him. Then, he kissed her, and she gave back equal kisses, and more. When he wrapped his arms around her, she went without any resistance against his broad chest and savoured the feel of his solid strength bracing all of her.

  Fire ran in liquid, molten waves inside her body, igniting any latent cell that hadn’t succumbed to her crave for Trent, and obliterating every scrap of remembrance of Gareth’s filthy touch on her.

  Yes, it’s the way everything should be. She and Trent, creating magic together, because that’s what happened between them. Pure wonderment, something ultimately as precious as it could be ephemeral.

/>   Give me this moment, Trent, for I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life. Give me what I’ve allowed no other to give me.

  She moaned softly against his lips, and he paused, then drew away.

  “Is this too quick for you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  “No.” She panted before she let her fingers lose themselves in his hair, and she opened her mouth to welcome his tongue.

  As she pressed her body to his hard frame, never in her life could she remember feeling so alive. She tingled all over, and Trent’s soul-searing kisses flooded her with joy and contentment. She’d been waiting for Mr. Right, and he’d finally knocked on her door.

  Or actually, she’d barged into his house.

  A soft chuckle escaped her at the thought, and he broke the kiss.

  “What?” he asked.

  Tenderness and another wave of an unknown emotion washed over her, and she let her gaze roam over the face of the man she’d fallen in love with. She reached up to caress his handsome features and threw her head back and laughed when he gave her a puzzled frown.

  Diya wrapped her arms around him to hug him close.

  “Make love to me, Trent,” she said with her mouth close to his ear.

  He pulled back, brows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared at her for long seconds, before he brought his head down and let his mouth find hers. The tender, delicate touch merged into a white-hot embrace as they clung together. Slowly, she backed a few steps to reach the big canopy bed in the middle of the room. She took Trent along with her when she lay back against the thick, fluffy duvet.

  With his powerful, heavy body, he pressed her farther into the softness, and she moaned in contentment at the feeling. No sensation of unease or panic here, which comforted her that making love had to happen with a person someone actually loved. Not meaningless sex just for the sake of a thrill.

  She’d been right to wait.

  He broke their kiss to trail delicate nips along her jaw, and she closed her eyes in bliss.

  “Diya, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She opened her eyes and lost herself in the darkened depths of his. “You’ll never hurt me, Trent.”

  He clasped her hand in a grip full of affection and tenderness, reciprocating the implicit trust she’d placed in him.

  Slowly, he shed her clothes as he gently travelled his touch and his kisses all over her. She returned the favour, helping him shrug out of his shirt and trousers. She revelled in every inch of skin he uncovered, in every brush and touch of her fingers, of her lips, against the warm expanse of his body. Touching Trent and loving him turned out to be everything she’d imagined in her wildest fantasies, and more.

  A sharp pain stabbed her when he took her, and he couldn’t conceal his softly muttered curse. He was shocked, she reckoned that, but she didn’t allow him to linger on the feeling. Pulling his face to hers, she kissed him, tangled her tongue with his, all while she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer to her. Closer in her.

  Time stopped while they existed in this bubble where only the language of their joined bodies spoke, where every movement spelled emotion and belonging, the sensation of having come home, finally. Diya cried out when he threw her whole world out on the wind with the pleasure he procured and that racked her body and seared her heart and soul.

  He groaned and picked up the driving rhythm of his body against hers, before he, too, called out her name and then lowered his head, spent.

  Purring like a contented cat, she snuggled into the arms of her lover when he settled beside her on the mattress. She wrapped her arms around him, but he remained slightly aloof.

  Propping herself on an elbow, she peered up at him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  A knife twisted her heart at his reserve. Reality—time to face the truth.

  “Do you regret what’s happened?”

  He groaned before sitting up. “Why didn’t you tell me? I ... I’ve ruined you now.”

  A peal of laughter burst from her throat at his old-fashioned words. “I asked to be ruined, Trent.”

  “But still ...”

  Sitting up, too, she edged closer to him. “I’ve always wanted my first time to happen with someone who really mattered to me. And I’m happy it’s the case.”

  The thought she’d kept at bay slammed into her, and she paused. He was taken. But maybe the time had arrived for her to come clean with her feelings, like Angélique had suggested. Far from her to be a home wrecker; still, she should play her full hand. There would be no better time for it.

  “Listen, it’s just that, I … I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  He snapped his head around to face her. “What?”

  “I love you.”

  The words came out hushed, and she wasn’t even sure she’d said them, so loud did her heart beat in her chest.

  “You do?” His voice rang heavy with astonishment.

  “Listen, I know this isn’t the best of times, but I needed to say it. I don’t want to wreck your life. I know you have plans—”

  “Whoa, slow down. What are you talking about?”

  She averted her face from his, her throat clogging with emotion. “I know there’s someone in your life. It’s for her you bought this house, innit?”

  Trent remained silent, and her worst fears coming true battled with the feeling of loss invading her.

  Until his rich, deep laughter filled the place.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  She yearned to hit him. Hurt him bad. How could he laugh at her when she’d set her heart out on a platter for him?

  He reached out and crushed her to him, his mouth inches from her ear. “Silly girl. You’re that woman. Not anyone else.”

  “But, I thought—”

  “You think too much,” he said before he stole a kiss.

  And suddenly, it all made sense. He wouldn’t have had to go chase after a prospective bride because he’d already met her, three weeks into his settling on this island.

  Everything had been about her. For her. She’d been such an idiot, and for the first time, she loved acknowledging the fact.

  Warmth, and something akin to a floating sensation, took hold of her whole being, and she hugged him back with all the energy she could come up with.

  “You know, they say the second time is always better,” he said in a husky whisper.

  Diya quelled the grin threatening to split her face in two. He thought he could tease? Well, he had another think coming. “Really?”

  “Uh-hmm. We can find out if you want.”

  Her laughter rang out before he drew her down on the bed and kissed her.

  ***

  Trent stopped the car in the parking lot of the flat complex. The fierce sun blazed high in the western sky, in the middle of the afternoon in Tamarin. Never mind how winter had eased onto the rest of the island; on the coasts, summer-type warmth prevailed.

  Not that he’d noticed lately, having spent all his free hours holed up inside the colonial house, and the main suite wing, more precisely, with Diya. He smiled. Finally, she’d become his. If only he could keep everything that way, and make it all better. Things might have moved at lightning speed all of a sudden between them, but he couldn’t let her believe he’d rushed into anything. So, he would take his time and let their relationship ease into the next stage naturally. Some place where she wouldn’t refuse his offer of marriage.

  Marriage. He’d never thought he’d contemplate such a prospect again, but he’d been wrong. Diya had happened, and he hadn’t known what had hit him. Trent chuckled. She could be a calamity when she wanted. He’d been loath to leave her back at the house, but she’d asked him to get her some clothes and other toiletries from her flat. She still didn’t feel up to coming back, and feared the swine might be lurking around.

  He’d offered to come down and grab a suitcase, since he had no intention of letting
her leave La Porte du Paradis. She belonged there. With him.

  At the same time, he craved to get back. But first, he had a call he needed to place in privacy.

  He dialled the Kent number and listened to the ringing at the other end.

  His mother picked up on the third ring.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Trent! What a surprise.”

  Delight thrummed in the lift of her usually cool tone.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m doing fine, dear. How are you, and the children?”

  “We’re all doing great. Matt and Josh are away camping with their school.”

  She laughed softly. “That’s nice to know. They are getting settled, then?”

  “Yes, we all are.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  More than fine, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to disclose so much of his happiness, even to someone he cared for. Not so soon. He wanted to treasure the knowledge of being with Diya, where he’d been meant to be all along, for a little longer.

  “Actually, Mum, there’s something I need you to send me.”

  “What is it, darling? What can I do for you?”

  “The Harry Winston ring Granny left me. I’d like to have it.”

  She gasped. “May I ask why?”

  The hint of trepidation in her tone couldn’t be mistaken, and he could picture her fumbling with the string of pearls she always wore. “Mum, stop playing with your pearls. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not—” She sighed. “All right, I’ve dropped them. Why do you need the ring?”

  He took a deep breath. Best he come out with the truth already, here. “I’ve found someone, and I want to ask her to marry me.”

  There came a long pause from her end.

  “What is she like, Trent?”

  He could go on for days about what Diya was like; how wonderful, kind, and beautiful she was. But all these words wouldn’t mean much to his mother, so he said only what mattered. “She’s nothing like Crystal. And the children adore her.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes. She’s the one for me.”

  A strained silence settled on the line, before she spoke. “What does she know about you?”