Raising her chin, she stared back at him. ‘Yes.’
Several puzzle pieces finally slotted into place—the touches of innocence he’d spotted, her bolshiness even as she seemed out of her depth.
Her trepidation.
What had he said a moment ago—they deserved each other? Not any more.
Regret bit deep as he forced himself off the bed. ‘Then, cara mia, this is over.’
* * *
Ruby came out of the bathroom of her cabin and slowed to a stop. Glancing around her room, she tried again to grapple with the sheer opulence around her. The three-decked yacht, complete with helicopter landing pad, had made her jaw drop the first time she’d seen it two days ago.
But the inside of Narciso’s yacht was even more luxurious.
Black with a silver trim on the outside, it was an exact reverse on the inside. Silver and platinum vied with Carrara marble mined from the exclusive quarries north of Tuscany.
Her suite, complete with queen-size bed, sunken Jacuzzi bath and expensive toiletries, was the last word in luxury.
But all the opulence couldn’t stem the curious emptiness inside her.
Since her arrival in Belize, she’d barely seen Narciso. The only times she saw him was when she served the list of meals he’d approved the day they’d boarded The Warlock.
At first the studied consideration with which he’d treated her after she’d blurted her confession had surprised her. Who knew he was the sort of playboy who treated virgins as if they were sacred treasures?
But then she’d seen the look in his eyes. The regret. The banked pain. Her surprise had morphed into confusion.
She was still confused now as she tugged off her towel and headed for the drawer that held her meagre clothes. Only to stop dead at the sight of the monogrammed leather suitcase standing at the bottom of the bed.
She opened it. Silk sarongs, bikinis, sundresses, designer shoes and slippers fell out of the case as she dug through it, her stomach hollowing out with incredulity.
Dressing in the jeans and top she’d travelled to Macau in and taken to wearing since her arrival simply because the three evening gowns were totally out of the question, she went in search of the elusive Sicilian who seemed hell-bent on keeping her permanently off balance.
She found him on the middle deck, after getting lost twice. He wore white linen shorts and a dark blue polo shirt. The early evening sun slanted over jet-black hair, highlighting its vibrancy and making her recall how it had felt to run her hands through the strands.
The sight of his bare legs made her swallow before she reminded herself she wasn’t going to be affected by his stunning physique any longer. He’d pointedly avoided her for two whole days. She was damned if she’d let him catch her drinking him in as if he were her last hope for sustenance.
She was here to do a job. Whatever closeness they’d shared on his plane was gone, a temporary aberration never to be repeated. Her focus now needed to be on what she’d come here to do. But before that...
‘You bought me clothes?’ she asked.
He turned around, casually shoving his hands into his pockets. When his eyes met hers, she couldn’t read a single expression in the silver depths. The Narciso who’d alternately laughed, mocked and devoured her with his eyes was gone. In his place was a coolly remote stranger.