He pulled her other foot to his lap. His hands traveled upward and worked on the knots in her calves. This time she couldn’t stop the moan.
“I should’ve arranged for a masseuse,” Gavin said. “I didn’t realize you were so tense.”
“I’m not.” She sighed as he found another knot and worked on it.
His mouth quirked. “Whatever you say.”
She closed her eyes to block out his smugly accommodating expression. “So how much longer before we land?”
“Ping the cabin attendant,” he said.
“Too much effort. I thought you knew.”
“Anxious to land? Don’t you like flying more, now that you have your own jet?”
“It’s nice.” An understatement. The jet had everything, including privacy. But it was a consolation prize, something she got for loving a man who didn’t love her back. How could something material measure up, no matter how expensive it was?
“We should fly to Maryland later,” Gavin said.
“Maryland?” Her eyes came open.
He nodded. “I’m sure Mom would like to see you before you’re too far along to travel.”
“Oh.” Amandine took a long swallow of her cider.
Always impeccable, always gracious, Stella Lloyd intimidated Amandine, though she had never done anything to make Amandine feel uncomfortable. It was probably the incredibly high standards Stella set for herself—and maintained—that cowed Amandine. She felt like she could never live up to Stella’s ideals, and men married women like their mothers. Or so she’d heard.
“I’d love to visit,” she said. “But let’s not tell her about my pregnancy.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to disappoint her. And, you know, a divorce…”
Something dark and tense flickered in his eyes. “Well, think positive. We might not divorce after all.”
“You’re awfully confident.”
“I’m always confident.”
* * *
A black limo and a big SUV waited for them at the airport. Amandine looked at the cars skeptically. There was no way all their stuff would fit.
The late afternoon sun in Thailand was relentless. The air was so full of moisture, her dress clung to her. “My god,” she breathed.
“Let’s get you inside the limo,” Gavin said, while workers around them loaded the cars with suitcases.
She didn’t argue as her husband opened the door for her. The cool dry air in the limo provided instant relief. “It’s so hot.”
“A little hotter than L.A., but it’s the humidity.” He handed her a bottle of ice-cold mineral water. “It’ll be better at the house. We run the AC twenty-four seven there, and it’s close to the ocean.”
In about ten minutes or so, the drivers started toward the Lloyds’ vacation home.
“So where is the house exactly?” she asked.
“On a private beach. It’s a fairly long strip.”
She wrinkled her nose, remembering her time in Jamaica. She’d gone with Brooke to a fancy resort, but it was more like an upscale prison. “Is it surrounded by a barbed wire fence and guards with machine guns?”