Hunter’s blood warmed.
“Only if you hurt me. And since you’re not going to do that, you don’t have to worry.”
He was still holding her hands when she squeezed them.
“The Florida Keys?”
She nodded.
How bad could it be? “OK.”
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere over Texas, enjoying his second midflight drink . . . there was no way in hell he was doing the Keys completely sober . . . Hunter stretched his feet out in front of him and interrupted Gabi as she thumbed through the pages of a book.
“I’m growing on you,” he said as if they were in the middle of a conversation.
She glanced over without lifting her head, then returned her eyes to the book. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You haven’t told me to jump in front of a bus for at least twenty-four hours.”
A ghost of a smile appeared and quickly fell away.
“I can’t exactly wish your pilot to plunge to the earth while I’m on the plane, now can I?”
“You didn’t poison my breakfast.” Hunter emerged from his morning shower to the scent of food cooking in his kitchen. Considering neither he nor Andrew could fry an egg, it was amazing to find Gabi dishing up oatmeal pancakes and scrambled eggs for the three of them.
She flipped a page. “I’m rather fond of Andrew. Nice man. Not sure what crime he committed to be working for you.”
“I’m growing on you,” he declared again.
She grunted, kept reading.
“You kissed me.”
She dropped her hands holding the book and gave him her complete attention. “Your ego is monstrous.”
He shrugged. “True, but you did willingly place your lips on mine.”
“It was the wine.” She picked her book back up, shifted in her seat.
“You had one glass the entire night.”
“Your guests expected it. I delivered. Get over yourself, Hunter. On my brother’s island, no one will expect anything.”
Gabi had explained the privacy of Sapore di Amore. Cell phones weren’t allowed, though Hunter had no intention of turning his over. The island was the Vegas of the Florida Keys. What happened on Sapore stayed on Sapore. The exclusivity of the guest list and the screening that went into every guest assured privacy so that playboys could play . . . and wives could cheat. According to Gabi, about half the guests were there for private trysts, and the other half simply wanted privacy. No paparazzi, and celebrities avoided fans bothering them for pictures every second of their stay.
“And I had two glasses.” Gabi’s declaration brought Hunter back into their conversation.
He thought of her odd reaction to him handing her the champagne and had to ask. “Why the switch of the glasses?”
The muscles on her arms tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
She didn’t answer . . . instead she asked a question. “Why do you hate your brother?”
“I don’t hate Noah.”
“His name is Noah? Noah and Hunter . . . interesting.”
Their names had always been the oxymoron of his life. “Why the switch of the glasses, Gabi?”
She dipped her head into her book and hesitated.
“He slipped drugs into my wine.”
Holy hell. She didn’t have to elaborate on who he was. “That’s sick.”
She turned the page much too quickly.
“That’s an insult to those who are ill. He knew what he was doing.” She muttered something in Italian, shook her head.
One step forward, Hunter mused. He asked a direct question, gave one answer in return. Maybe they could make it a year and a half after all.
She flipped a page. “Remind me to show you where to cliff dive on the island.”
It was his turn to grin. “Shark-infested waters?”
She smiled, offered a noncommittal shrug. “Never know.”
Gabi had only been on the island for Val and Meg’s wedding. She couldn’t stomach more. Her therapist told her it was completely normal to associate the island with the man who betrayed her. Most of their time together was on Sapore.
During Gabi’s previous visit, she asked to stay in a bungalow. Not willing to walk into the private rooms she called hers, the rooms she shared with him.
It killed her that Alonzo had taken away her home. The safe place she should always feel free to return to was destroyed by a dead man. Maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.
But as Hunter’s pilot called back into the cabin, asking them to take their seats and prepare to land, Gabi felt her palms sweat. How did palms sweat anyway? There weren’t any glands in them to speak of.
Hunter moved from the plush full-size couch he’d been lounging on most of the flight to the seat beside her. He gathered her hand and squeezed. As much as she wanted to shake him off, she couldn’t. And for some reason that brought a wave of emotion over her.
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“Early spring. When my brother married.”
He looked over her to the sea below.
“You spent time here with him, didn’t you?”
She offered a nod, felt words clogging in her throat.
Hunter was alone in his thoughts for a moment. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Anything is possible,” she told him.
The plane started its descent, her ears popped. Would Alonzo’s spirit be on the island . . . along with her memories?
“I’m not one to give up control in my life, Gabriella. But I want you to know, here, on this island, if you need me to do anything for you, I will.”