Vows of Revenge

by Dani Collins

  “It’s still bribery,” she stated, but she was warming to this outlandish idea.

  “And since Nic taking your photos was larceny...”

  “By all means, let me redeem myself,” Nic said drily.

  And that was that. They left it with Nic, and Melodie spent the afternoon quietly reeling. Later that night, when she felt an urgent wave of attraction, as though she couldn’t get enough of Roman, he accommodated her very tenderly, overpowering her to slow her down, whispering, “It’s okay, Melodie. It’s okay.”

  She wasn’t so sure. For a short while she’d been terrified she would lose him. It had been the most painfully lonely vision of her future she could imagine.

  But she didn’t lose him. One week on the Med turned into two, then three. Roman worked every day and Melodie filled her time with photography, joining amateur forums online for tips and critiques, thinking of starting a blog just to have a reason to share her best shots.

  It was an incredibly easy existence after so many years of hardship. She didn’t know how to handle it and it bothered her sometimes, made her think she wasn’t trying hard enough or wasn’t paying her dues. Rather than relaxing into confidence that they were a solid couple, she grew more and more anxious that something would tear them apart.

  Maybe if he showed more emotion, she found herself thinking as she stood at the rail, photographing their approach to his beachside home. But despite weeks of close proximity, she really didn’t know Roman much better than she had the first time she’d arrived at this elegant home.

  “I just told Ingrid you’re my date for her wedding tomorrow,” he said as he joined her.

  Talk about leaving things to the last minute. Melodie lowered the camera. “What did she say?”

  He shrugged negligently, not surprising her a bit when that was the sum total of his reply.

  She sighed and lifted the camera again. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t just appear with me by your side without any explanation at all,” she groused.

  “Our being together wasn’t any of her business until now.”

  “Is that really why you waited this long to say anything?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  She pretended to change the menu options on the back of the camera, but really just clicked through the settings. “I can’t help thinking you weren’t sure if we’d still be together, so you skipped mentioning it until you knew for sure that we would be.”

  “And now you’re picking a fight to put that in jeopardy?”

  “No,” she grumbled.

  “I’m a private man, Melodie. You know that.”

  This time when she sighed, it was much heavier, laden with impatience. “I am aware, yes. I’d love to know why talking is so hard for you, but wouldn’t dare ask.”

  Silence.

  Misgivings rolled in like fog, making her feel chilled, as if her breaths were wet and thick.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sincere, but even she could hear the tone she was taking. Frustration flattened the apology. “I really don’t want to pick a fight. I was just feeling...” Insecure. She didn’t want to admit it.

  “You’re hardly the first woman to become annoyed with me,” he allowed.

  “Oh, good. Compare me to the rest of your companions. That’ll smooth things over. What’s that white thing out there?” she asked, swiftly changing topics to avoid a bigger fight. “Is that the water doing that? Churning up or something?”

  “It’s a rip current,” he said testily, taking a step toward the rail. He glanced from the water to the interior of the yacht, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to stick around and work out the niggle between them or escape it.

  Melodie chose to pretend it hadn’t happened at all, only saying, “That explains why it was so hard getting back to the hotel when I first came here. There was a rock... You can’t see it now. I guess the tide is higher, but I had to sit and catch my breath. I was so sorry I didn’t have a camera, though—”

  “Wait, what are you talking about? You swam in that current? When?” He turned into robot Roman, the one who shot out questions, extracting information like a laser scalpel, green eyes piercing into hers.

  “That day. The last time I was here.” Maybe that was why she was picking a fight. The tension of coming back to this place was adding to the uncertainty she felt in their relationship.

  “There are signs that say No Swimming.”

  “I know, but I was hot and tired and my feet hurt. I wasn’t wearing shoes. Swimming across the bay looked shorter than walking all the way around, so—”

  “I sent a cab, Melodie! I told them to find you on the road and assumed they did. Are you seriously telling me you swam in that?” He pointed toward the streak of white foam.

  “I swam across it. Not in it. I’m not stupid.”

  “I beg to differ!” His voice went up. “People die in this area every year. Stupid tourists who think they’re strong enough to— What the hell were you thinking?”

  “That I wanted to get back to the hotel.” She’d seen Roman angry before, especially that first day, but nothing like this. He wasn’t just irritated. There was a quality beneath his flush of rage that hinted at desperation. She could see him fighting for control, visibly struggling, but his temper exploded out of him anyway.

  “You could have died!” he shouted. The curses that followed weren’t exactly aimed at her, but they had enough color to take her aback.

  She stared, wide-eyed in astonishment as he paced away a few feet, looked across the water, slammed another look her direction that was so outraged it should have knocked her overboard, then smacked his fist onto the rail.

  “Don’t you ever do anything so reckless again. Do you hear me? No matter how sad you are about losing your mother or how angry you are at me, you do not act as if your life means nothing. You’re smarter than that. You’re—” He pressed his finger and thumb into his eye sockets, shoulders bowing for a moment. “The world needs more people like you. Don’t act as though you’re disposable.”

  He threw himself away from the rail and disappeared into the interior of the yacht.

  Melodie realized that the weight on her neck was her camera. Her hands had gone lax at her sides. Thank goodness she always kept it tethered or it would be on the bottom of the sea by now.

  She swallowed, stunned by the depth of emotion that had just detonated out of Roman in a way she could never have expected. It took her a few minutes to recover from her shock, but she finally did and went to find him.

  He was in his office, door firmly locked against intrusion.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROMAN FELT LIKE an idiot—one of his least favorite feelings. Although he’d already been standing there feeling it before he’d behaved like a mother hen on steroids.

  Melodie had been right. A part of him had been convinced she wouldn’t last until the wedding, that his aloof persona would drive her away and he’d be without a date at all when the big day happened.

  Instead, she’d become such an integral part of his world he feared he couldn’t live without her. As she’d made her facetious little remarks today, he’d heard the hurt beneath. Maybe other women had been as injured by his reserve, but he hadn’t felt an answering pinch in the same way. He hadn’t hated himself quite as much for causing suffering. He hadn’t considered explaining that being nothing more than a file all your life, having your personal details handed from one person to the next, as if privacy was for other people, not you, had left a mark.

  Maybe if those details hadn’t made it from the confidentiality of a folder into the mouths of his foster home siblings, he could have withstood it, but the foster parents had always managed to gossip somewhere along the line and the kids had always wound up overhearing. Then the hierarchy of ju
dgment would start. Kids who were abused were rescues. Kids such as him, whose parents were deemed reprehensible, were tarred as worthless.

  Oddly, with Melodie he already knew she wouldn’t make those same judgments. But it was the very fact that she wouldn’t, and would more likely try to comfort him, that made it seem an even more painful prospect to open up to her.

  So he’d stood there trying to see a way out of the corner he’d painted himself into when she’d distracted him by telling him what she’d done after leaving him that day. After she’d fled like a Victorian maiden ravished by the local duke. Hot, tired, emotionally distressed, she’d done something so irresponsible he could hardly think of it.

  Every summer the local news reported on at least one or two deaths in that current. The fact the tide had kept the water low was likely the only thing that had kept her from being a headline and statistic. His blood ran icy thinking of it.

  The vibration of the engine stilled. They were at the dock outside his home. No more hiding. He pulled out his earbuds, ceasing to pretend he was working, and gathered himself to face Melodie. Hell, the entire crew had probably heard him tear a strip off her and would stare at him.

  He wasn’t entirely sorry. She had been heedless of very real danger, but he was angry with himself, too, for raising his voice. She was sensitive, her thoughts and feelings so easy to read he couldn’t help but trust her.

  But he was furious with himself for letting emotion get the best of him. He’d ceased trying to figure out why she prompted such strong feelings in him. All he could do was work to control and hide them.

  He cursed under his breath, ran a hand over his face to clear his expression and unlocked the door.

  It wouldn’t have surprised him to find Melodie packing to leave him, and she was in his cabin loosely gathering some things that she’d piled on the bed, but she’d stopped to look at her camera. Her hair hung in a loose curtain off one side of her bent head, her lips were pouted into concentration, her thumb working the controls while the rest of her slender height was still.

  He couldn’t count the number of times he’d found her like this since he’d bought the thing for her. She loved it, and Roman got a kick of amusement and pleasure every time he saw how much she enjoyed it. Her photos were excellent and she was always fooling around with the settings, reviewing what she’d done, trying to improve. He did the same with his own work and liked seeing her pursue something that gave her so much satisfaction.

  “I was worried that you were dragging your feet about telling Ingrid because you weren’t sure if you really wanted me here,” she murmured without looking up, reminding him that the radar between them worked both ways. He rarely sneaked up on her without getting a smile of greeting before he was in touching distance.

  No smile today. She didn’t even look at him.

  “I couldn’t assume you’d want to be here, not after the way I treated you the first time we were in this house together.” He had barely admitted that to himself and didn’t like saying it aloud. He didn’t want to remind her. She might agree and leave.

  Then, even though it made him feel as obvious as a boy picking flowers, he gave her what he thought she needed to hear.

  “And I have never invited any woman here, except you and Ingrid that day. I suppose it sounds ridiculous that I had to think about it when you’ve already been here, but I wanted to be sure I was making the right choice, bringing you into my home.” It had been a remarkably easy decision, in fact. So easy he’d forced himself to mull it over, refusing to commit until the last minute despite his gut clamoring for her to become a fixture there.

  She finally looked up, her blue gaze surprised and vulnerable, searched his in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable because he feared he didn’t have whatever it was she was hoping to find. He had to look away first, which was a terribly revealing thing to do, but he couldn’t take her scrutiny.

  She set her camera on the bed before coming across to him, expression solemn. When she cupped the side of his face, his first instinct was to tense with resistance. She ignored his rebuff and lifted on tiptoes to set her lips against the corner of his mouth.

  “Thank you for telling me that,” she said, breath warm against his lips and chin.

  As her scent filled his nostrils and she started to lower to flat feet, his arms went around her of their own accord. He felt her start, then soften to accept the convulsive tightening of his arms around her.

  Words, stupid words, crowded his throat, but he couldn’t put them in any sort of order that made sense. He couldn’t figure out which ones were safe to say and which ones would hurt and damage and lower her opinion of him. He could only frown at the carpet over her shoulder and drink in her scent, cheek to cheek with her.

  Somewhere beyond the door, one of the crew said something about luggage. Footsteps approached and Roman and Melodie stepped apart.

  * * *

  An hour later, when the crew had dispersed to beach-based pursuits and the house was theirs alone, he caught up to Melodie in his master bedroom. She was in the walk-in closet, hanging a dress she’d obviously decided would be suitable for the wedding tomorrow.

  He turned her toward him again, unable to keep from kissing her. He wanted her. Needed to make love to her. Not with the passion and lust of their first time, but with this well of tender cherishing overflowing within him. Soft feelings like gratitude and deep admiration filled him so thoroughly he had to pour them onto her, to somehow communicate how deeply he regarded her.

  It was so intense they could only lie in silence afterward, bodies tangled, damp skin glued as if only a fragile cell wall kept them from conjoining into one being. He should have been disturbed by the magnitude of the moment, but he was oddly reassured. They fell asleep with the filmy white curtains shifting in the light breeze, the swish of low waves hypnotic and lulling.

  * * *

  The next morning Ingrid aimed a very pointed look at Melodie the moment she entered the house. The day already had got off to an extremely busy start with people arriving every five minutes. The wedding planners hired to replace Melodie were a male-female duo who were competent enough, but wound up with so many questions Melodie might as well have been the one organizing it all.

  She had quietly appointed herself in charge rather than pressing Roman into that position. If she asked him whether a tent should be moved twelve feet, he gave the matter serious consideration. If anyone else asked him for an opinion, he gave them a look that suggested they take a long walk off his short dock.

  So Melodie was running interference—even when she wound up in the guest room with his former PA, the bride-to-be.

  “How—?” Ingrid blurted as she opened a small suitcase that was all makeup, hairbrushes, curling irons and body glitter.

  “There was a misunderstanding. We worked it out,” Melodie said with a circumspect smile, not pretending she didn’t know what Ingrid was asking.

  “Oh, Melodie,” Ingrid said with a pitiful shake of her head. “You’ve turned out just like him. Are you really not going to give me any of the details?”

  “Maybe another time,” she lied. “When you’re not so busy. Surely you have better things to do today? The salon people have taken over the sitting room. Let me get a round of mimosas for you and the bridal party. I’ll meet you in there.”

  The day came together beautifully. When Ingrid came down the stairs she was a vision, making the entire guest list gasp in unison. Lilies floated in the pool, carpet lining her route alongside it, but she still sent a wink toward Melodie as she made it past the hazard without mishap. She met Huxley under the archway set up for the occasion, and their vows and deep connection brought tears to Melodie’s eyes.

  Tears of happiness, but sad ones, too. That kind of everlasting commitment to another person was her dream, but she wasn’t holding her breath that
it would ever really happen. Roman cared for her. She was convinced of that much after his freak-out over her swim in the rip current, but he didn’t feel anything like what Ingrid and Huxley shared. Not the kind of love that demanded to be locked in for a lifetime.

  She distracted herself by playing back-up photographer, surprised when she heard a masculine and intimate “Hey, beautiful.”

  Looking up with a smile already in her eyes, she found herself confronted with Roman’s phone. It clicked and he lowered it.

  “Did you seriously just take my photo?”

  “I did. And don’t you dare aim yours at me. Put it down and come dance with me.”

  “Since you asked so nicely,” she teased, wrinkling her nose at him, but pouting a little that he was dodging a photo. He was in a tuxedo. That was always a good look for him.

  She loved dancing with him, though. They were a perfect match height-wise, and he led with smooth assurance. “Are you a natural? Or did you take lessons?” she found herself asking.

  A pause, then, “Lessons seemed a wise investment once I began attending formal events.”

  She let that fact absorb, along with the knowledge that Roman hadn’t hesitated very long at all before answering a personal question. Perhaps they were making progress.

  “Are you enjoying this formal occasion? You were rather pithy about weddings the first time we talked.

  “No,” he answered, his reply so prompt she flashed a glance upward at him.

  A pang of disappointment struck. He still found weddings a waste of time, then.

  “I wish they’d all go home so I could have you to myself,” he said. “You really do look incredible. That shade of blue is definitely your color, and those shoes are coming to bed with us.”

  She laughed, enjoying his suggestive remark and the reassurance that it wasn’t the wedding putting that dismayed edge in his voice.

  “Whatever possessed you to invite four hundred people into your home if you hate weddings so much?” she asked.