He wasn’t accustomed to thanking anyone for anything quite so personal; he made a point of not needing anyone enough to necessitate heartfelt apologies. But this woman had lied for him—protected him in a way. After he had treated her horribly.
It was a strange feeling—one he didn’t want to examine too closely. For now, the ability to laugh it off was a novelty in itself.
Olivia nodded once—a graceful acceptance.
He took a step away from her, looking out at the harbour around them. It was late; the sky was already in full darkness around them. He suddenly did not want to return to the island—to the silence of the villa and the self-imposed exile he had placed himself in.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked hopefully.
* * *
Simply named Faro, the small restaurant was partly built into the rocks that stood proudly at the tip of the peninsula. Olivia felt butterflies in her stomach as Roman’s hand encircled hers, helping her down the steep steps to the low wooden door of the entrance.
‘It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but I assure you it’s the best paella in all of Spain.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
She smiled, following him into a small hallway. Roman led the way down a corridor and out onto a large terrace that overlooked the coast as far as the eye could see. Warm glowing lanterns adorned the walls and brightened the space, making it seem like the terrace at the back of someone’s home rather than a restaurant.
The overall effect was so welcoming she felt instantly at ease, all her tension from the afternoon leaving her shoulders as the waiter led them to a table on the very edge of the space. A man rushed over to take Roman’s hand and clap him on the back. The pair began conversing in perfect English, and Roman ordered bottle of red wine.
When it came, Olivia took a sip of her wine, thanking the waiter and looking out across the bay. They were so close to the water she could see the waves crashing into the rocks below them. The after-effects of the day made her forehead tighten painfully.
Roman seemed determined to avoid the subject of their kiss entirely.
Both kisses.
She shivered at the memory of his rough handling after he had all but dragged her back to his boat. He had been completely raw and out of control, and yet she had felt nothing but excitement. Maybe he was right—maybe she was just looking for a taste of danger. Maybe she was naïve for not fearing him.
He had made one thing clear: he did not trust her. She desperately wanted to ask him about the incident on the promenade—find out why a man who ran a company of armed bodyguards would have such a deep issue with guns. But maybe she was a fool for worrying about him when he’d continuously told her she was no more than a job to him.
She had told him that she was a virgin and he had made it clear that the fact only cemented his view of her as being completely untouchable. She had never resented her own pesky innocence more than at that moment. When had he stopped being just a glowering bodyguard and become the object of all her fantasies?
She swallowed hard past the dryness in her throat as Roman sat down across from her and apologised for the interruption. After checking with her first, he ordered them both a light starter followed by the chef’s special paella.
Once the waiter had taken their order they were left completely alone. The moment of uncomfortable silence was not lost on Olivia. She cleared her throat, making a show of looking up at the vaulted ceiling that partially covered the open terrace.
‘You seem to know the staff quite well,’ she offered.
‘It’s been five years, I believe, since I started coming here for lunch every day when I was overseeing building work on my island.’
‘They seem to like you.’
‘The chef—he is also the owner. And the waiters are his sons.’ He smiled, looking over at the young men bustling around the small restaurant. ‘The first day I found this place, my architect brought me for lunch. The owner, Pedro, had an argument with his oldest boy and the kid ran off, leaving him with a pile of dishes and a line of hungry guests. I rolled up my sleeves and offered to help.’
‘Not many people would do that.’
‘Not many princesses would do what you did at that racetrack.’ Roman shrugged, sitting back as their bread and gazpacho were laid out on their table.
Olivia couldn’t mask her surprise at his mention of the incident with the young waiter and the champagne. ‘That afternoon seems like a lifetime ago.’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps we are both destined for the sainthood?’
She smiled. ‘If you are hoping to convince me that you are not entirely heartless, it’s working.’
‘I might not have the benevolent influence of a royal, but I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.’ He shrugged again. ‘Charity isn’t always about money.’
‘That’s...’ She shook her head, frowning at the memory of her argument with her father. Of those very words that she had spoken so vehemently. And here was Roman, echoing them as though it were simply a fact.