Terms Of Their Costa Rican Temptation

He rolled his eyes. ‘So young.’

‘And you’re positively ancient,’ she mocked. ‘I wouldn’t know what to study,’ she said, not quite sure that was true.

He laughed. ‘Really? I’d have thought it would be obvious.’

She frowned at him and Benoit wondered that she couldn’t see it, how intelligent she was. Her mind was quick and she absorbed information like a sponge. And she was most definitely opinionated. That beat half of the people Chalendar employed and he employed some of the best.

‘Sociology or politics. Definitely something to do with gender studies, though you really will have to stop using words like mansplaining and—’

He dodged the pillow she threw at him and laughed while rescuing the glass of wine before it could spill.

‘No, university is for Summer. She has the brains; she’s applying for her Masters as we speak.’

‘And that stops you how?’ Benoit asked, unsure as to why she would think any less of herself than her sisters.

‘I just...it’s not something I’m willing to get into debt over.’

‘But we’re talking about what happens if you find the jewels. Surely money won’t be an issue then and you can spend it on whatever you like.’

‘Yes. Of course,’ she replied blankly and Benoit had the distinct impression that Skye wouldn’t put herself first even if she had all the money in the world. It would go somewhere else, to someone else. And suddenly he was angry with the parents who had made her feel that she was not worthy of wanting such things for herself.

‘It’s late, so...’ she said, unfurling herself from the sofa with an unconscious elegance that drew his gaze. Until she nearly tripped on the hem of his trousers again. She was going to hurt herself in those. He sighed. He’d liked those trousers.

‘Come here,’ he said, gesturing to her and hauling himself into a more seated position. He patted his pockets for the miniature Swiss army knife on his key chain. In the shadowed room, Skye looked at him with watchful eyes.

He glared up at her and she came close enough for him to snag her hip and pull her in between his legs. He didn’t miss the way she flinched, nor the way she had bitten her lip between her teeth as if to stop herself from asking what he was doing. And he was thankful because for a second his mind went blank. He could feel the heat of her cresting over him like the gentlest of waves. His palms itched to feel the back of her thighs, her skin beneath his palm. His pulse jerked and he held his breath so that he couldn’t be tantalised by the simple scent of her. No perfume or hair products, or gels or lotions. Just pure Skye.

He made the mistake of looking up. She was watching him, her neck bent so that her hair fell over her face like a waterfall. It reminded him of the plane, of her standing between his legs then, but this was different—more, somehow. Large brown eyes with golden flecks watching him, embers flaring, just waiting for a spark to ignite, to burn them both. He heard it, the hitch in her breathing, and warned himself to stop this, but seemed unable to.

He clenched his hand to prevent himself from pulling her towards him and felt the heavy ridged metal shape of the army knife in his palm. He broke the connection of their gaze and knew that he wouldn’t look back at her again. Instead, he pulled out the scissor attachment, picked up one loose leg of the trousers at her mid-thigh and snipped.

‘What are you—’

Rip.

The tearing sound cut through the quiet of the room like a scream. He pulled the two edges of the material wide. She started and almost stepped back but, because he still held the material in his hands, couldn’t.

‘You were going

to fall and break something, constantly tripping over the ends of these,’ he said, turning his attention to snipping where the material had refused to tear on the inner seem. It had sounded like a growl. Like anger, as if it were her fault his trousers didn’t fit her. He had to bend his head to see where to slip the scissors, only he felt a tremor in his hand. And that had nothing to do with anger, but it did have something to do with heat. It was spreading thick and fast over every inch of his skin. Invisible vibrations rattled him. He was always in control, but this? It was testing him.

Finally, he freed the first trouser leg and turned his attention to the other. She took another breath, as if she’d been about to say something, but he focused on the trousers. He felt her relax; the hands that she’d held up at her chest as if to protect herself dropped to her sides and he wished they hadn’t. She needed to be on guard around him. She needed to protect herself.

He lined up the shortened leg with the hemline of the second and snipped. Skye’s body swayed slightly as he tore the linen, the sound making him think of tearing other clothes from her body, and he made the mistake of looking down at her long shapely legs. The skin so smooth, and barely inches from his mouth, his tongue, his teeth.

‘Go to bed,’ he commanded without looking up.

She stayed for a moment, as if intending to defy him, but thankfully thought better of it. He sat there for a long time after she went to bed, wrestling with the bindings of the terms he had placed on their agreement.

Skye just didn’t know what she was going to find when she came down to breakfast the next day—the charming, at ease playboy or the dark, brooding ruthless magnate. Both felt like an extreme of his personality and she couldn’t help but feel that naturally he lay somewhere in the middle. But she was surprised to find him packing a bag when she rounded the corner.

‘Going somewhere?’ she asked.

‘Oui,’ he said, tight-lipped.

‘Without me?’ she asked, instantly wishing she could eat her words.

He paused ever so slightly before pressing a towel into his rucksack. That he’d planned to leave her alone made her feel...something she didn’t want to examine too much. But, as much as she didn’t like the idea, she wasn’t going to force herself even more on a man who’d come here to be completely alone.