“Yeah well,” he whispered with a rueful smile, “it’s been a long day.”
She laughed a little brokenly and the sound wrenched at something inside him. “I shouldn’t have—I can’t believe I let you—wanted you to—”
Sean eased back and cupped her face in his palms. “Melinda, it’s no big deal.” Liar, his brain shouted, but he ignored it. “We’re married, right? We kissed. We—” He let her go, and shoved both hands through his hair. “Just, don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?”
“Sean, there’s something you should know.”
He waited and a moment later, she spoke again.
“I was engaged once. My fiancé, Steven Hardesty, died in a car accident here on the island more than a year ago.”
Her gaze was filled with regret, old pain and the shadows of guilt. Only a few seconds ago, desire had been churning through his veins like lava. In one flashing instant, it was gone. In the very next heartbeat, it was replaced by anger.
“Steven?”
She nodded miserably, letting her gaze slide away from his. “He died and I—”
“What?” Sean demanded, turning her face back to his. “Needed to find someone to scratch your itch?”
“What?”
“Why else am I here?”
“Oh please,” she said, misery in her eyes sliding away to show him that she too had a temper. “You know exactly why you’re here. We have a deal.”
“Yeah?” He just looked at her. “Deal or not, you didn’t seem to be giving much thought to good ol’ Steven a minute ago.”
“You—” Her jaw snapped shut on whatever else she might have said. She settled for giving him a glare that should have set fire to his hair.
“You said you weren’t interested in romance. Why?” Sean demanded, keeping his voice low, ever mindful of the room full of wedding guests right behind them. “After Steven died you went into proverbial hiding? Tucked your heart into a box and buried it with him, is that it?”
“You don’t understand,” she countered and a flash of anger that matched his glittered briefly in her eyes.
“Oh, I understand more than you think,” Sean told her. He fought the churning sense of outrage and anger, but damned if he could conquer it completely. He snorted in disbelief at this whole situation. Melinda had researched him. Seems he should have done some of that himself. “So it wasn’t all a business deal at all. I’m a damn substitute for the late, great Steven.”
“Don’t talk about him like that.”
“Why not?” Sean argued. “I’m his stand-in. Who better?”
She whipped her hair out of her face and glared up at him. “You’re not a replacement for Steven. I told you I loved him.”
Her vehemence hit him harder than it should have, he knew. But there was no denying what he was feeling. God, he was an idiot for walking into this so damn blindly. All he’d been able to think about was making the deal. Getting the land. Helping the Kings to win one more time.
If he’d known she was mourning some other guy, he never would have done this. It would have felt too messy to touch.
“I don’t get why you’re so upset,” she muttered, scraping her hands up and down her arms as if chilled to the bone in the soft tropical breeze.
“I don’t like being lied to. Or manipulated,” Sean said flatly. “Call it a flaw.”
“I didn’t manipulate you,” she snapped. “We had a deal. And no sex was part of it—yet just a minute ago, you had my br**sts in your mouth, trying to manipulate me into bed. So who’s the guilty one here?”
Okay, that he wasn’t going to take. Sean had never tricked or forced a woman into his bed in his life. And he never would. Now his wife stood there looking down at him like an avenging angel of chastity? And he was supposed to feel what? Guilty?
“Oh, I don’t think so, honey,” he murmured, his voice as soft as his anger was hot. Reaching out for her, he trailed his fingertips along her arms and watched her involuntary shiver in response. “You can convince yourself of whatever you have to, but we both know there was no manipulation here. You liked my touch. You still want my touch…”
“No…”
“Oh yeah,” Sean said, forcing a smile that cost him every ounce of will he possessed. “You do. A couple minutes ago, you were sighing and moaning and enjoying every touch and lick and—”
“Stop it.”
Sean shook his head. “Not a chance. You want to pretend to yourself? Go ahead. But we both know that a couple more minutes of what we were doing and your whole no-sex vow would have been tossed out a window. I’m the one who stopped, remember? I’m the one who pulled back.”
“I was just about to—”
“Forget it. Sell it to someone who doesn’t have the imprint of your fingernails on his scalp.”
She flushed and even in the pale wash of moonlight, Sean saw her skin pinken. Embarrassment? Shame? Regret? Who the hell knew?
“You might want to pretend that you’re not interested in living anymore,” Sean said, bending low enough that his mouth was just a breath away from hers. “But your body didn’t get the message. It’s still alive and right now, it’s hungering—just like mine is.”
She lifted both hands and shoved at his chest. He stepped back in response—not because he had to but because he could see she needed the space. And hell, so did he.
“You’re wrong.”
“No,” he said. “I’m really not. But you tell yourself whatever you have to.”
Neither of them spoke and the sounds of the party seemed to grow to fill the tense silence between them. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime or two, Melinda said, “I don’t think I can go back into the reception. I’m going to go up to the suite.”
“Fine.” Sean moved back to the balcony and hands on the rail, stared out at the moon-washed darkness.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He turned his head to look at her and as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him wanted to comfort her. She looked a little…lost. But he shut down his soft and cuddly side in favor of nursing his righteous indignation awhile longer. “I’m going to get a drink.”
“I meant—” She broke off and blew out a breath. “I meant, will you still honor our deal? Will you be coming up to the suite?”