by Dani Collins
“Breathe, Clare.” Dev’s voice was hard in her ears, an anchoring point. “Focus on me, sweetheart.”
Clare looked up. His brown gaze held hers—steady and reassuring. His hand reached out and took hers, enveloping her small one. The thump-thump of her heart felt a little slower now, as she focused on the line of heat his thumb traced on the back of her hand. The familiar scent of him wound around her, like a comforting blanket.
As panic misted away, Clare’s first instinct was to snatch her hand away from his. The concern in his face, the gentleness of his touch...felt strange. Alien, almost. She wanted to shake it off and hide. To reject his simple kindness, which sent a lump swimming in her throat.
“Tell me what it is that you’re hiding. And I can help you even more.”
Her head jerked up. “Why?”
He looked adorably confused as he frowned. “What do you mean why?”
“Why do you want to help me? Other than the fact that I’ve thrust myself into your life as an unwanted stowaway on your yacht. The last thing I want is your pity. I need something real right now. Like I’ve never needed it before.”
Clare didn’t even realize she was speaking the words until she heard them. Until she felt him react by tightening his hand on hers. “God, I sound pathetic, don’t I?”
“No,” Dev replied. “You sound like someone who’s struggling. Who’s wary of leaning on anyone other than yourself. You sound...” He released her hand then. And Clare felt only desolation at the loss of his warmth. Long fingers squeezed her shoulders before he moved away from her. As if he needed to put physical distance between them before he did something he regretted.
“There’s something in you that reminds me of...me,” he said finally. “That’s why I was drawn to you that night at the gala. It’s why it felt like more than just another one-night stand. And why I had to walk away from you the next morning. Is that real enough for you?”
Clare stared at him, feeling a surge of something powerful in her chest. Her gaze traced the arrogant nose, the high cheekbones, the mouth that was always ready to laugh...his face was as familiar to her now as her own. She nodded automatically, hugging those unexpected words to herself. Still processing them... “I hope you’re not pacifying me because you feel sorry for me.”
He smiled and her world immediately felt centered again. “There’s nothing about you that evokes pity in me, Clare. Exasperation, yes, but definitely not pity.”
Clare laughed then, and if she’d had a better handle on herself, she’d have hugged him. Instead, she dipped her head, hoping to swallow the tears in her throat before they escaped. “Thank you. I’ve had a lot of distressing news of late and it...”
“Catches you out and brings you to your knees just when you thought you had a handle on it?”
“Something like that, yes,” said Clare, stunned by his perception.
“Being strong doesn’t mean you lean on no one, you know.”
She scoffed. “This coming from a man who cuts himself off from the world on a gigantic boat?”
“Yacht,” he corrected loudly, and then grinned. “It sounds like I’ve met my match in you,” he said, regarding her with those brilliant brown eyes, as if he could easily see into her soul. One brow raised, and he muttered, “Come to me when you think you can, Clare, and tell me what fills your eyes with such grief. I swear it’ll be our secret.”
And then he bid her good-night. Leaving her alone in that warm, wonderful library of his. Giving her something that she hadn’t even known she’d needed. The temporary respite from fear.
CHAPTER SIX
HOTEL FASANO—the latest playground of the uber-rich in Rio de Janeiro—kept its promise of the understated luxury and elegance that Clare had heard of and never thought of stepping foot in. The sparkling crystal blue of the ocean and the jutting peaks of the mountains calmed something inside her.
It was only when they’d alighted from the helicopter and Clare could breathe in the air that she’d realized how caged she’d been feeling. It wasn’t Dev’s fault or his yacht’s. It was running from her own life that she detested.
If anything, Dev had only made her feel safer and more secure than she’d felt since she’d first seen the mobster’s henchman dogging her steps in London. But the problem was, there were other things Clare felt compelled to run from. Dev, for instance.
Something about the concern and warmth in his gaze that felt far more dangerous to her well-being than any thug—her heart’s naive longings that there could be more between them.
Clare flinched internally, aghast at her own thoughts and at the same time wishing she’d asked him to share more of his feelings about their night together. Wishing she’d delved deeper into the meaning of his words.
He was, she was coming to learn, quite a considerate man, for all that he tried to show the world only the shallow surface of himself. But just because he might be curious enough to know what secrets she was keeping didn’t mean he had any special interest in solving her problems or healing the wounds inside her soul that never seemed to quite go away.
So she didn’t like to give up control. Who did? Who was brave and foolish enough—in equal measures—to trust a stranger with their innermost fears? With their silly dreams that they should have long given up by the time they’d reached twenty-eight? Who poured out their inexplicable longings to a man who was stuck with her through no choice of his own?
Last night on the yacht, she’d snuggled into the sofa, not wanting to leave that library.
It was the one space on the entire yacht that had retained any of Dev’s true personality. As if all the books remembered him. As if he’d left a warm imprint of himself behind after all the hours he’d spent in there. She hadn’t wanted to be alone in her expansive cabin, adrift on the sea.
So, clutching a book to her chest, Clare had curled up and read and dozed. Noticed somewhere in that state between being awake and asleep that every book on the shelf also had an audiobook. Even some really old titles on subjects ranging from science and philosophy to Indian mythology.
On an impulse, she’d reached for a book on Hinduism and once again, there was its accompanying audiobook. Clare flipped through the book only to find that it was absolutely pristine. Each page still possessed an unmistakable crisp newness as if they hadn’t ever been turned.
She’d examined older copies of some of the classics and it was the same. While the pages in those books were more yellowed, with the faint scent of aged paper emanating from them, it was apparent that they’d also hardly ever been thumbed through.
And yet, Clare sensed Dev’s presence here—almost as if the books could tell her more about the man than he ever would.
Dev Kohli was anything but a one-dimensional playboy. At some point, Clare fell asleep, pondering the fact that it would be quite something to actually get to know him. Not that she could afford to.
She’d jolted awake to find herself cradled in strong arms, the side of her chest crushed against a harder one. And the delicious scent of taut skin covering even tighter muscles invading her nostrils.
He smelled like Clare always imagined warmth and security to smell like.
Sleep heavy in her eyes, she’d looked up. Only to drown in that unfathomable gaze of his. Not even for a second had fear of a strange man holding her touched her. Even before her mind could completely grasp it, her body had recognized his. The strong line of his jaw, the wiry strength of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders...they had after all starred in her fantasy night.
And yet Clare knew it wasn’t just her body that had recognized him, but her heart too.
She wondered if the thudding beat she heard was his heart or hers. Wondered how even in the slightly illuminated shadowy corridors through which he carried her, he could make her feel secure.
As she lay now, on a luxurious lounger next to the hotel’s
infinity pool on the eighth floor, looking out onto the beautiful Ipanema beach, supposedly glad to be escaping Dev’s perceptive attentions, Clare was anything but escaping her own thoughts about the man.
Last night, as he’d carried her, she’d simply clasped her fingers tighter around his nape when it had felt like she was slipping out of his grasp.
“You have the habit of falling asleep in the most awkward places, Clare,” he’d muttered, his voice husky and touched by sleep too.
A thick lock of hair had fallen forward onto his forehead. With no thought, Clare had pushed it back. Even after she’d done it, she’d felt no awkwardness. No regret or shame. Neither had his steps faltered even one bit. It had felt natural—her touching him so familiarly as if she had every right to do so.
Had he felt the same or had he simply not imposed that cold distance back between them because she was half muddled by sleep?
“I didn’t want to be alone,” she’d said, all her defenses down. He had seemed like a knight, come to take her away to a place of safety.
Clare cursed now, a flush claiming her skin. Where had her filter disappeared to?
“And the library is full of people?” he’d asked, a tiny line drawing his brows together. “Strange. I’ve always found it to be full of people’s voices clamoring at me to hear them. So much to say, so much to teach...and always beyond my reach. It’s like hearing the echo but never reaching the true source.”
Clare frowned now, wondering at that cryptic statement he’d made.
“No, I don’t think that, but it’s not empty or soulless either,” she’d said softly. “It’s obviously the room you love most. Your presence lingers there.”
His nostrils had flared, an enigmatic expression awakening in his eyes. “I don’t know if I would quite call it love, Clare. I’ve always felt strongly about that room, yes. But it’s not love,” he’d said, a hitch of something—grief, pain—in his words.
Clare desperately wished she’d remembered more of the nuances now. She had this urgent feeling that he’d shared something extremely significant about himself. Something he wouldn’t say in the daylight, in the absence of the intimacy and cover that the dark night and her sleepiness had provided.
She’d glanced up at him, his words puncturing a little more of her exhaustion. “Whatever it was, I didn’t feel alone in there. Or afraid. I felt...safe.”
His arms had tightened around her, more voluble than that gorgeous mouth of his. “I wouldn’t think less of you if you’d simply admitted that in the first place, Clare.” A soft smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “In daylight, I mean.”
She shrugged. “Care to show me how?” He was moving up steps now, and she was much more firmly held against his solid chest. If she hadn’t been so intent on not disrupting the tidbits of himself he was tempting her with, she’d have nuzzled her nose into all that deliciously warm skin. “Because I learn best by example.”
He’d thrown his head back and laughed then. And Clare had the weirdest wish that he would simply keep on walking forever and she’d continue to exist in that half-awake, half-aware state forever so that he would keep holding her and talking to her.
Which had prompted her to say, “Why did you come for me?” Hope and curiosity tied a knot in her belly. Hope that maybe he’d wanted her company too. That maybe he’d thought their night together had been remarkable.
“One of my staff heard you as they were coming to tidy up in there, and came to get me, rather than disturb you. You were having a bad dream. You kept saying, ‘How could you?’”
And then he was walking into a bedroom and her heart fluttered like a bird caught in a cage.
“You’re not alone, Clare,” he had whispered then, gently placing her on the bed in a different cabin than she had been initially shown to. He had sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand—his large, calloused one enveloping hers like his body had done to hers once—and in that deep voice of his, commanded she go to sleep.
The traitor that her body was, it had immediately complied. She’d fallen asleep marveling at the novel quality of someone being there to comfort her, holding her hand to remind her that she was safe. Someone caring enough to say even those few words.
Mercifully, as far as she could remember, the night had ended there.
* * *
She’d woken up this morning in the vast bed, sunlight slanting onto her face. A quick look through the cabin had revealed the fact that she was now in a room that shared a door with the master cabin. Dev’s cabin.
He’d taken her sleep-mumbled words seriously and kept her close by all night.
When she’d faced him this morning, Clare had refused to make eye contact. Embarrassment and something she couldn’t define suffused her. That he had seen her like that...at her most vulnerable...it was a very uncomfortable feeling.
As if all that raw longing she sometimes felt inside was now on the outside for him to see. Her deepest, darkest dreams suddenly displayed in all their multicolored gaudiness.
But her fears that he might mock her or worse turned out to be unfounded. Because of course, Dev was the consummate gentleman.
He had perfectly followed her cue this morning, not even hinting at what had happened the previous night by raising his famously expressive brow. He’d simply asked her if she’d slept well. To which she’d focused somewhere over his shoulder and nodded.
So professional, the both of them.
When they’d arrived at the hotel, she’d gone straight to the boutique on the ground floor. Uncaring of the astronomical price tag for once, she’d bought a white two-piece bikini, as she’d forgotten to purchase one during her shopping trip beforehand. She’d desperately needed a little time to herself. Away from the shadow of the man who was beginning to pierce through her armor like a most determined arrow.
With her laptop in hand, she finished a number of administrative tasks and sent off a questionnaire to Athleta’s newly revamped HR department. Looking through the interview questionnaire she’d prepared for Dev himself, she frowned.
He’d sent it back to her with a request to provide audio files of the questions. It wasn’t that unusual a request, in the scheme of ridiculous requests that Clare had fulfilled for her clients.
But it made her think of the audiobooks she’d spied in his library aboard the yacht. How he’d said he couldn’t immediately read and sign the business contract she’d put together for him based on the usual format she, Amy and Bea kept at the ready. How Clare had thought he was balking at the high price she’d quoted.
When she’d inquired if he was hesitating at how much her firm charged, he’d looked at her seriously. “Underestimating their own worth is often one of the biggest, most frequent mistakes women make in business.”
Clare had nodded vehemently. “I learned that very early on in my career. And I never undercharge.”
He’d just looked back at her steadily. “Good to know.”
Clare had sighed and said, “That’s not why you’re not signing immediately then.”
“No,” he’d confirmed in a hard voice that didn’t encourage further discussion. “But the contract is yours, Clare. Do you doubt my word?”
Clare had shaken her head. Knowing that to probe further was less than professional.
It had been a couple of hours before the straightforward contracts had been signed and returned to her. At the time, she’d thought he was just being very thorough with the vetting process.
Now, as she pulled out her phone and dictated the questions into it so she could email the audio file to him, Clare thought she was beginning to see the pieces of the man fall into place.
How and why he’d always played up the whole playboy role that the media had created for him. Why he’d trusted the man who’d betrayed him with so much power...
By the time late afternoon started edging i
nto early evening and she needed to go get ready for dinner, Clare realized that however hard she’d tried to thwart her interest in Dev, it didn’t make an iota of difference.
The more she learned about him, the more she wanted to know. The more she wanted to make this business partnership into something far more personal. But that way lay madness and hurt.
* * *
The sun was streaking the sky in shades of gold and orange, offering one of those unparalleled Rio sunsets that the city was so famous for.
The rooftop restaurant where she and Dev were going to entertain their guests, with its vintage retro lighting and buttery soft leather chairs and red brick facade, created an easy, intimate atmosphere. From the moment Dev had knocked on her door to escort her looking dapper in a casual jacket over tailored trousers, Clare knew she was going to enjoy the evening.
Neither had she missed the short but thorough appraisal Dev had given her sleeveless white sheath dress and suede pumps, and she’d had her hair styled at the hotel salon. Another expensive extravagance, but the warm admiration in his gaze was worth it.
“My friend has messaged to say they’ve been slightly delayed and we’re to start without them.”
After her hasty shopping trip when they’d arrived in Rio and the work she’d done poolside, Clare discovered she was ravenous once they’d been seated. She attacked the appetizer with a gusto she couldn’t quite hide.
She looked up to find Dev’s eyes on her. With his arm slung lazily over the back of her chair, he hadn’t needed to bend too far to murmur, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Clare. I was just...admiring your enjoyment of your food. You looked as if there was no pleasure greater.”
The convivial atmosphere and the yummy food and that feeling of being free of thugs and fear—even for one evening—went straight to her head. And because some naughty imp was goading her, she murmured back, “There isn’t. Except maybe the delicious weight of a man pressing down on...”