Holiday with the Millionaire

She stared up at his face. He was smiling. There was no trace of last night. He’d changed into a short-sleeved shirt and trousers. It was clear he was ready to go to Château d’If. Where on earth had he been?

She sniffed unconsciously—trying to find the smell of another woman on him. But there was nothing. All she got was a huge whiff of Reuben Tyler’s pheromones. The thing that drove her nigh on crazy.

‘Have a good night?’ she snapped.

It was stupid. Even though she was still mad with him, he was here. Here, with her.

He gave a nonchalant nod. Or he tried to. She could see the glimmer of worry behind his eyes. ‘I checked into a hotel in Monte Carlo. Didn’t want to upset you any more.’

Her stomach flipped over and unwanted tears brimmed behind her eyes. That made him sound considerate. As if he’d actually thought about what had happened between them last night. As if she wasn’t quite as unworthy as last night had made her feel.

It still didn’t help the fact that he looked relaxed and refreshed after sleeping in a comfortable hotel last night while she’d tossed and turned all night.

‘The tour doesn’t leave for another hour. We’ve plenty time for breakfast. Let’s go to the restaurant this morning. The buffet is always a bit frantic.’

He was talking as if nothing had happened. But, then, to Reuben, obviously nothing had happened. She didn’t know whether to react or not.

He leaned against the wardrobe and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You know, some people might ask questions about why you want a visit a prison on an island so much?’

How should she play this? She could hit with all her emotions from last night. But in the cool light of day they seemed a bit out of place. A bit over-dramatic. Maybe she should do what he was doing? Act as if nothing had happened.

She picked up her bag. ‘Some people might find that’s none of their business,’ she answered smartly, as she grabbed her wedges and pushed her feet into them.

She headed for the door, pretending not to notice that Reuben was following her. It was obvious he fully intended to accompany her as usual this morning. Confusion was fluttering through her mind. Didn’t he even want to talk about last night? Want to talk about that kiss?

They rode up in the central glass elevator and stepped out at the restaurant. Reuben had been right. It was much calmer here. Sometimes the breakfast buffet felt like survival of the fittest. Why hadn’t she thought to come to the restaurant before?

A waiter showed them to their table and took their order. ‘Toast and poached eggs and lemon tea, please.’

‘Toast, bacon, a fried egg and some coffee, please.’ Reuben nodded.

The waiter disappeared quickly.

Lara licked her lips. She was determined not to speak first, determined that he not know how much his rejection last night had hurt.

The ship was due to dock at Marseille later this morning. There was a variety of excursions available but Lara had already pre-booked the one to Château d’If. It had been one of the reasons she’d picked this particular cruise.

‘What’s the attraction with Château d’If?’ he asked again.

She picked at the white linen tablecloth. ‘I read a lot as a kid. I know that Alexander Dumas used it for inspiration for The Count of Monte Cristo. I’ve always wanted to visit it.’

‘You wouldn’t rather browse the shops in Marseille?’

She shook her head. ‘And look at more things I can’t afford? No, thanks. I’d much rather see the island that inspired my favourite book.’

The waiter appeared again with the coffee and lemon tea. Lara poured her tea and took a sip just as Reuben’s phone buzzed.

She frowned as he pulled it from his pocket. ‘Who needs hand-holding today?’

He glanced at the screen and pushed the phone back into his pocket. ‘Nobody.’

She kept her gaze steady. ‘Is that the footballer again? Are you still ignoring his calls?’

He sighed. ‘And his voice mails and his texts and his emails.’

She smiled. ‘He’s persistent, then?’

Reuben nodded.

The waiter appeared and placed their breakfasts down before them. Lara started buttering her toast. ‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’

This time it was Reuben who frowned. ‘I’m not sure. If you’d asked me last week I would have told you that an agent should always be available for his clients.’

She paused her knife. ‘And now?’

He met her gaze. ‘I don’t know. I’ve answered any queries from all my other clients. But none of them are as demanding as he is. They can all have their moments—but none of those are quite like his.’

‘Does he even know he’s being unreasonable?’

Reuben shrugged. ‘That’s the biggest issue. I don’t think so. By the time he finally gets me he’ll be furious and probably give me an earful.’

She picked up the salt and pepper. ‘So why haven’t you dumped him?’

He took a sip of his coffee. ‘That’s exactly what Caleb asked me. He doesn’t like him either.’

Lara shook her head. ‘Then I don’t get it. The guy gives you constant headaches. He’s disrespectful to those around him. He treats the people at the club poorly. In fact, he treats most people in life poorly. Why continue to represent someone like that? Surely his behaviour reflects badly on you too?’ She paused for a second as she cut her eggs. ‘Or is the pay cheque just too much?’

His fork stopped midway to his mouth. ‘Why would it be about the money?’ he snapped.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Because there doesn’t seem to be another single good reason to keep him on your books.’

Reuben shifted in his chair. It was one of the few times she’d actually seen him looking uncomfortable.

He sighed again. ‘It’s not quite as easy as that.’

She sat down her knife and fork. ‘Well, explain it to me.’

Reuben ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Not everyone has a fairy-tale life, Lara. I brought him here from Brazil. He might not have come from the slums but he wasn’t far off it. He started with one of the lower-league clubs, but as soon as his talent was noticed, the offers came in thick and fast. He wasn’t used to having money. He’s not u

sed to fame or the way celebrity is here. I feel as if I’ve left him exposed to something he wasn’t ready for.’

She could see the worry etched on his face. ‘How long has he been here now?’

‘Four years.’

She tried to be reasonable. ‘In that case, he’s had four years to learn how to deal with things. He’s had four years with English clubs. He’s had plenty of time to learn some manners and how to conduct himself. If he hasn’t learned by now, it’s unlikely he will.’

She took a deep breath. He’d made that little comment about fairy-tale lives. It seemed to have opened a door for her.

‘Tell me about Ireland,’ she said.

‘What do you want me to tell you?’ His reply was kind of sharp.

‘You haven’t mentioned much about your family. Do you have brothers, sisters? Do you see a lot of your mum and dad?’

He twitched. Or was it a visible shudder? ‘I’m an only child.’

‘And do you go back home much?’ she pressed.

He almost rolled his eyes. ‘Not if I can help it.’

She put down her knife and fork. ‘What does that mean? Surely you never got into that much trouble at home?’

He shook his head. ‘Even if I had, no one would have noticed. Not everyone has the idyllic parents that you do, Lara.’

She felt offended. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He shrugged as he kept eating. ‘You’ve said that your mum and dad are great. They’d be happy to have you back home and you’d be happy to go back if you could.’ He shook his head. ‘Let’s just say I’m at the other end of the spectrum.’

She frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means my parents couldn’t wait to send me to boarding school and I couldn’t wait to go.’

Her stomach twisted. This was all so wrong. No kid should feel like that. ‘You don’t see your parents?’

‘Not if I can help it. I went to see Dad four years ago in hospital and that was it. In all my life I can’t remember my mother and father being in the same room and not fighting. Most of the time they didn’t even realise I was there.’