She sucked in her breath, ignored the stab in her belly that felt a bit like guilt. Did he really think she’d buy into the idea that he was the wounded party? If anyone had reason to feel slighted it was her. He’d invited her to his home under false pretences. He hadn’t trusted her. He’d had her investigated. And then he’d messed with her in the cruellest way possible. He’d kissed her and left her wanting more, then rejected her and left her feeling like a fool. Humiliated.
She hiked up her chin. ‘I left you a note.’
A muscle flickered in his cheek, and this time his voice was not so smooth. ‘Do you think a note is the best way to finish things between us?’
Her heart thumped against her ribs. Finish things? What things? There wasn’t anything to finish.
Was there...?
‘Xavier—’
‘Not here.’ He dropped one hand, but kept the other on her arm, turning her away from the busy terminal.
A big black SUV pulled up to the kerb and she eyed it with a growing sense of déjà vu. Too fast for her to stop him, Juan took her tote bag from her hand and slipped the backpack off her shoulder.
Her heart lurched into her throat. ‘Wait—stop.’
Both men ignored her. Xavier opened the rear door and she braced her palm against the top of the frame. Her initial shock was receding. In its place came agitation—and anger.
A shrill note entered her voice. ‘I said stop.’
Xavier stilled. Then he released her arm, slid his hand around her waist and tugged her in close.
Anyone watching would have seen an intimate embrace, would have been unaware of the tension in the taut lines of his body beneath the tailored suit, or the tacit warning in the strong press of his fingers at her waist.
‘I would prefer you didn’t make a scene,’ he murmured, and his mouth was so close to her ear she felt the warmth of his breath feather over her skin and caught his citrus and sandalwood scent.
Her senses reeled. It took all her strength to keep her knees locked so she didn’t give in to temptation and lean into all that male hardness and heat.
She controlled her voice. ‘I can’t go with you.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
She glared. ‘I need to check in for the ferry. I’ve already bought a ticket for the next sailing.’
‘I’ll buy you another one.’
She opened her mouth, but then a taxi driver honked his horn and gesticulated out of his window at the SUV, which idled in a drop-off only zone.
Juan yelled at the driver and the driver bellowed back.
People started to look.
‘Jordan,’ Xavier urged, his mouth tightening, the fingers at her waist sinking deeper.
She flung her hands up. ‘Fine! I’m getting in.’
And then she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of his arrogant, domineering behaviour.
Or at least she would have done, she assured herself ten seconds later, if he hadn’t climbed in from the other side and at the same time pulled his ringing phone from his jacket and answered it.
She wanted to snatch the phone and throw the damned thing out the window.
Instead she bit her tongue while he conducted a conversation with someone else. Someone far more important than her, obviously. She folded her arms and focused on her anger as the car pulled away from the port.
She needed to stay mad.
If she stayed mad then maybe she could ignore this fluttery, breathless sensation in her chest that felt an awful lot like excitement.