The Tycoon's Forced Bride

“Speaking of your notebook, Mickey found it in the car. He said he’d mail it, but with the weather, I’m thinking we will be home before it gets here.”

“Then don’t have him mail.”

“We can go buy you a new one today if you’d like. I don’t want you to worry while you’re here.”

“Maybe. Let’s see how I do today. Maybe I’ll be okay. Who knows? It’ll be an adventure, right?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I am. I can’t help it. It’s gorgeous here.” She lifted her face to the sun, and sighed with pleasure. “And warm. I don’t hurt. It’s amazing.”

“Feel up to a tour of the place?”

“This place is bigger than this one wing, isn’t it?”

“You’re in the main house now, and then there are four guest bungalows scattered around the property.”

“How big is the property?”

“Five acres.”

“Wow. That’s huge.”

“We’re not going to see it all. I thought after you dress, we’d tour the main house, and then see the pool, so you know where to go to cool off.”

*

Everything about the main house was beautiful, the stone and crisp white wood a nod to the West Indies’ architecture, with an open floor plan and walls of French doors that opened onto plantation-style verandas. Every room in the house had an ocean view, and a generous veranda. There were four bedrooms in the main house, two in each wing, and all four bedrooms had their own connecting bath. The master bedroom also had a mini bar with sink, refrigerator, and coffee pot tucked inside an alcove between the dressing room and bathroom.

The house was luxurious, without being cold or imposing. Ava loved it.

“And this is Jack’s room,” he said as they reached the third bedroom, but Ava stopped him before he opened the door.

“Maybe later,” she said, her smile slipping, her buoyancy fading.

She couldn’t bear to see the room—or life—of the son she couldn’t be with. It’d hurt too much. Just knowing it was his bed, his clothes, his toys on the other side of the door made her want to run, scream, cry.

She’d failed her son. She’d failed all of them.

“I’ve tired you out,” Colm said, sounding casual.

And yet he knew, she thought. He knew she was afraid. Or maybe he thought she really didn’t care. Either way the guilt and shame engulfed her.

“I am tired,” she said, and it was true. Her chest squeezed tight, making every breath a challenge. Her legs were weighted. She wasn’t sure she could move another step. “I think I should go to my room and rest.”

“Don’t go to your room to hide. It’s too early in the day.”

“I’m not hiding. I just need to rest.”

“Then come with me to the terrace. There are lounge chairs where you can put your feet up and relax without being alone in your room. The terrace has access to the pool as well as my favorite view of the bay.”

“Maybe I need to be alone.”

“Or maybe you’re sad, or feeling the need to punish yourself.”

Her head jerked up. She met his gaze. He gave her a look.

“You do that,” he added. “You’re so hard on yourself. I don’t know what you write in that little notebook of yours, but I imagine it’s not always nice things. I have a feeling that along with your shopping lists or to-do lists are things like ‘I’m a terrible person for losing Jack.’”

Her heart fell, and she went hot, then cold. “I abandoned him.”

“I made mistakes that day, too. I left you two alone. I didn’t warn the staff to supervise you. I allowed the situation to happen. But I refuse to spend the rest of my life hating myself, or blaming myself, for being human, just as I refuse to stand by and allow you to hate yourself, either. Things happen. So we deal with them.”

She pressed her lips together, looked away, struggling with the different emotions rolling through her. His words didn’t soothe. They just inflamed. “I don’t want you to be my father. I don’t want you to be this authority figure in my life.”

“I’m speaking to you not as an authority figure but as your friend. Your lover—”

“Ha!”

“Your partner,” he continued, ignoring her short mocking laugh. “We are two equals. Two halves of a whole. We have a responsibility to each other. To care for each other and be honest with each other as well.”

“That sounds miserable.”

He laughed low, the sound incredibly sexy. “It doesn’t have to be. We can play. Have fun.”

The husky note in his voice matched the heat in his eyes. Her pulse quickened. Her tummy flipped. “Not sure how to play anymore.” Her voice was a little too breathless. Her legs felt a little too jelly-like.

“I remember how. I can show you.”

His inflection made her flush. “I have a feeling that you’re talking about sex.”

“Sex is play. Sex is fun.” He reached out and gently tugged on a long dark tendril of hair. “You are so beautiful. You deserve to play and have fun. You deserve to feel good…and gorgeous. When is the last time you felt good, Ava?”

Her heart was racing now. She pressed her knees together, trying to ignore the ache inside of her.

He found another tendril and then another, his hand sliding through her hair, playing with it. “Do you ever make yourself feel good? Do you ever—”

“No.” She gritted, flushing hotly and yet unable to look away from his gaze, transfixed by the intensity and fire in the glowing blue-green depths. It had been a long time since she felt good. It had been forever…

He reached for her, drawing her towards him. “Why not?”

“You’re talking nonsense,” she whispered, fighting to deny his effect on her, and failing. Her body was responding. She was melting on in the inside, her skin sensitive, her breasts tender inside her bra, while deep between her legs she felt empty, hungry.

How could he do this so easily? Reduce her to a puddle of want?

*

He was leaning against the wall, his feet wide, and pulled her all the way between his feet, and, by drawing her forward, he took her weight, supporting her. “Let me make you feel good again, Ava,” he murmured, tilting her head up and brushing his mouth across hers, once, and then again. “Your lips are so warm, so soft.”

She closed her eyes at the fleeting kiss. Her heart galloped madly. “You are playing dirty.”

“I’ve always gone after what I wanted. And I want you, Ava.”