“Unless there’s a reserve tank on board, we’re out of gas. That’s what I was coming down to tell you.”
Her voice sounded steady enough now, but he hadn’t imagined her nervousness seconds earlier. He would never forget the way she’d clung to him for that infinitesimal moment when the darkness had stripped away her bravado.
He found himself drawn to the alluring design of her mouth whose shape reminded him of a half-opened rose. Something told him that if he were ever fool enough to taste it, then it meant he hadn’t learned life’s most important lesson.
“When did you decide to take matters into your own hands?”
“This afternoon a young boy ran along the pier and informed me Giovanni wasn’t coming.”
Luc had to give her credit for not pretending that she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Why couldn’t he make it?”
She folded her arms. “Suppose you tell me? If I didn’t know better, I would think you’d set me up so I’d go back to New York and forget about my Riviera trip. You would love to see the last of me. Admit it!”
“I admit it would be better for my brother who’s too blindsided by you and his latest win to see through to the real Mademoiselle Duchess.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The real me?”
“That’s right. A heartless, materialistic, ambitious vixen who does whatever comes naturally to her without any compunction. I could tell you more about yourself, but first I need to switch tanks. In the meantime you can bring me a hot dinner while I find us a cove to spend the night.”
Vixen my foot!
Olivia banged things around in the tiny kitchen. Heartless? Materialistic? Ambitious?
A seer wasn’t required for Olivia to figure out what kind of women had thrown themselves at him over the years. She supposed being born a Falcon had made him and Cesar natural targets for the type of avaricious female he’d accused her of being. It had turned Luc mean and hurtful, and so suspicious of the opposite sex his natural feelings were buried.
That’s why her sisters had tried so hard to dissuade her from chasing after him. She could understand why
. He was a thirty-three-year-old misogynist more hardened than Max before Greer came into his life.
But not all women were opportunistic. Far from it. Whether a prince or a pauper, the majority wanted to find a great and lasting love and remain true to that one man.
Somehow she would show Luc she was the latter.
Instead of retaliating because of his cruel attack, she would ignore every barb and salvo intended to destroy her. When he realized she could take whatever he dished out, and that she wasn’t about to go away, he would be forced to see that her heart was pure. In time she would wear him down with her love until he had no choice but to love her back.
Tonight he wanted a hot meal. She would get busy and give him the most scrumptious dinner she could prepare with the ingredients at hand. Now that he’d turned on the power, she could make him an omelet à la Olivia, and homemade bruschetta with the olive oil she’d seen in the cupboard.
If he could play a French chef, so could she. Turnabout was fair play. She bet he thought she couldn’t cook worth a darn, especially not under these circumstances. Well he could think again.
While she was preparing cappuccino, she heard the engine rev. Soon she felt the boat moving through the water once more. Thankful he’d sailed this boat before and knew where and how to navigate in the darkness, she got his plate ready and carried everything up on deck.
He sat on the bench with the tiller in one hand, his long powerful legs extended in front of him. She noted he was still dressed in chinos and the tan sport shirt he’d worn to the hospital.
The collar flapped against his firm jawline where she could see the shadow of his dark beard. Combined with his black hair disheveled by the sea breeze, his potent sexuality turned her insides to liquid.
“Here you go.” She put everything on the bench next to him. His gaze darted to the food she’d fixed as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. When he finally looked up at her, she turned away and said she’d be right back. Olivia didn’t dare gloat in front of him.
In a minute she’d rejoined him with her food and took a sip of the steaming brew. It tasted even better than she’d thought. Putting in extra sugar gave it that extra punch they could use.
To her satisfaction she saw that he’d already swallowed half his food. Most of his coffee was gone, too.
“More bruschetta?” She piled another couple of rounds on his plate while he finished munching the last of his.
He flicked her penetrating glance. “How did you learn to make it?” Upon asking the question, he devoured the ones she’d given him.
“Greer found out Max loves it, so she practiced fixing it at home. Piper and I helped.” She had to bite her lip to keep from asking him if he liked it.