She dropped her hand. ‘You think love is a waste of time?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t believe love is the magic bullet many people think it is. It comes with pressure, expectation. Those things can break a relationship.’
She frowned, pulled back. Xav reined in his frustration. This wasn’t the reaction he wanted.
He kept an arm around her waist. ‘There are many things besides love—good things,’ he emphasised, ‘that can contribute to a successful relationship.’
‘Like what?’ she said, her voice croaky.
Sensing her on the edge of flight, he tightened his hold. ‘Respect, friendship, affection, security...’ He traced his fingertip over the swells of her breasts above the sarong and her skin flushed with goosebumps. His voice roughened. ‘Desire.’
He saw her eyes flare. Saw the moment she understood. ‘What are you saying?’
‘You know, querida. We’re good together. We can have something good together. Something lasting.’
All she had to do was see sense and give up on her silly notion of love.
Her breathing was uneven. ‘You said we’d burn out...it’s just chemistry—’
‘I was wrong. I do not say this to be boastful, but I’ve had many lovers. This attraction we have...it’s powerful, different... It won’t burn out.’
‘Xavier...’ She braced her hand on his chest. ‘I’ve received a job offer—in Sydney. I need to attend an interview in a couple of weeks—’
‘It’s no
t confirmed?’
‘No, but—’
He laid a finger against her lips. ‘Then you have time. Let us enjoy this next week, sí? No pressure.’
The uncertainty on her face only intensified his resolve. There were two options here. She would either stay or walk away. The latter he couldn’t countenance. This woman had affected him like no other. Hell, sitting in his desk drawer right now were résumés from the exclusive matchmaker for three beautiful, eligible women, and not one of them stirred his blood like Jordan did.
He needed to start his campaign of persuasion with a win. Demonstrate he was the kind of man she wanted to be with.
He smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘Since we are having an honest conversation, I have a confession. In Madrid, when I found your journal, it was open—and I saw something.’ He paused. ‘You have brought Camila’s ashes to Spain, sí?’
She blinked, and a look of such naked vulnerability came over her face he wanted to hold her against his chest and never let go.
‘Would you like me to be with you when you scatter them, querida?’
Her mouth trembled and tears welled in her eyes. Big, fat tears that rolled down her cheeks and made his chest ache.
He brushed them away with his thumbs. ‘Is that a yes?’
She curled her hands over his wrists and whispered, ‘Yes.’
* * *
Jordan went into the week in a state of shellshock—and Xavier gave her no chance to recover.
On Monday he surprised her with a visit to an exclusive day spa where, for several hours, a team of beautiful therapists scrubbed and plucked and buffed her until every inch of her glowed.
On Tuesday morning they flew to London and went to the penthouse suite at one of Ramon’s private clubs. In the afternoon Xavier disappeared to a meeting, leaving her in the suite with a personal stylist who arrived with a vast collection of evening gowns, a bottle of champagne and a case full of make-up and hair products. In the evening he took her to see Les Misérables. They had the best seats in the theatre, of course, and afterwards ate a late supper at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
But as the week progressed it wasn’t the pampering, or the posh restaurants and luxury suites, or the beautiful evening gown she wore in London—or even their incredible, intense lovemaking—that made her wonder whether she could compromise. Whether she could settle for what he offered and live without ever hearing those three little words.
Rather, it was the little things that cost nothing that burrowed under her defences.