He wanted her.
He wanted his mistress, she reminded herself sternly, making a show of getting to her feet and strolling toward him with an extra sway in her step. He was sitting beside Phil Burke and his wife—Wendi with an i—and all three of them were watching her as if she were dinner and they were starving.
She’d already been introduced to their hosts when they arrived, and the instant Burke got a look at her, his eyes lit up like it was Christmas. Not because he was interested in her physically, though there was a spark of that in his brown eyes. It was because he believed she’d be his ticket to busting Stephen’s flawless image. To controlling his votes.
Fat chance, honey.
He didn’t look like a comic book kingpin or villain. Jeremy would probably be disappointed. Burke was incredibly…average. Brown hair with a few strands of silver. Average build with the beginnings of a round belly, but not at all unhealthy. Nothing about him would make someone look twice or cower in fear, unless they knew about his money and what he’d done to earn it.
It was that second, closer look—when she saw the intelligence in his eyes and the confident way he held himself—that gave him away. Anyone who considered him harmless would be a fool.
When she got to Stephen’s lounger, she didn’t hesitate to lower herself onto his lap. She snuggled into him as if she’d done it a million times and leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked softly, pulling her closer.
“Yes.”
Stephen reached for the glass of ice water on the small table beside him and brought it to her. “You’ve been in the sun for an hour. Drink some of this for me.”
She took it, keeping her admiration to herself. He was doing it without prompting. Taking charge of her care. Watching over her. It was more than gentlemanly behavior. His tone, his demeanor…Stephen was being a Dom.
The glass was coated with condensation and she lifted it to her lips, enjoying the taste and the drops of cool water that ran down her arm before handing it back. “Thank you, sir.”
She took off her sunglasses and smiled at Wendi. “I could live the rest of my life by this pool. Stephen didn’t tell me we were spending the week in paradise.”
Mrs. Burke smiled happily and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. “It is paradise, isn’t it? I keep telling him travel is overrated. Phil has been trying to take me to his place in Ireland, but I can’t imagine loving it more than I do my own backyard.”
Burke laughed lightly. “So the secret to getting you on a plane is moving to a less attractive location without a pool. Good to know.”
Wendi playfully whacked his arm. “Don’t you dare.”
Tasha felt Stephen’s fingers tracing slow, sensuous circles on her back, just beneath the knot of her bikini. “I’d love to travel. This one is always too busy saving the world or giving speeches to take me where I want to go.”
Wendi made a sound of commiseration but sent her an excited smile. “Where do you want to go? I bet wherever it is, my husband has property there. Maybe we could make it a group trip.”
“Italy.” Tasha and Stephen both spoke at the same time.
Tasha whipped her head around in surprise, then was forced to add, “You remembered? I didn’t think you were listening to my fantasy itinerary.”
How had he done that? Known what she was going to say?
“I’m always listening, Natasha.” He shared a masculine smile with Burke. “Natasha has a weakness for Italian cuisine. I’ve been meaning to take her, but I have this nightmare of losing her to a chef in Tuscany.”
They all laughed and Burke motioned to someone nearby who instantly brought him a fresh mimosa. “So, you’ve got no interest in Ireland either, Miss Rivera? I’m surprised. I would’ve thought you’d be anxious to see your father and his family.”
Stephen’s hand stilled on her back, but Tasha had fully expected Burke to know something about her. Her father’s deportation was low hanging fruit, the easiest information for a man with his resources to uncover. She shrugged and sent him a look laced with just a trace of guilt. “Am I a horrible person for craving the warmth of the Mediterranean over an awkward family reunion? To be honest, I haven’t seen or heard from him in so long, he could be at this party and I wouldn’t recognize him.”
She’d get her grandmother to pray for forgiveness on her behalf. That kind of lie had to be a sin. The only thing that had ever kept her from going to Ireland was her fear that her father would turn her away. That her memory of the man he had been was colored with a child’s hopeful brush and the reality would be painful.