But really, she hated dresses.
Sending word to the staff through his watch, he looked up at her and her breath caught, but he just asked, “What are you looking for and what size?”
“Tank top and shorts, and a small, please,” she said.
He relayed her request and asked also for a deck of cards, then said, “That will be everything, thank you.”
He might have had his aristocratic life stolen from him, but he certainly hadn’t lost any of its nature. And for that, she was grateful. That anything remained of him after what her father had done was a wonder. That he was still—as more and more memories resurfaced, jogged loose from her time with him—so much the same young man she’d once known was nothing short of miraculous. That must have been what it was that so captured her attention about his eyes—they revealed that the same honorable, brave and kindhearted boy she’d looked up to as a child remained in the man.
Faster than she would have assumed possible, they had not only the cards, but also the change of clothes.
Her instructions had been taken quite literally. Drake handed her a plain white tank top in lovely soft cotton and a pair of black shorts. Both items were of high quality and very small.
Entering the bathroom he’d pointed out to her, Hel quickly stepped out of the dress, replacing it with the top and shorts.
Both fit, though that fit would be better described as high-performance workout wear than loungewear.
The shorts were the crevice-creeping type and the tank top hit her just below the belly button, but they were better than a dress. In these, at least, she could move.
She stepped out of the bathroom and found him waiting for her, coffee table and cushions set up for their game.
Eyes locking with his, she couldn’t miss the appreciative light that lit in his gaze as he took in her attire, or do anything to stop the strange tightening of her skin in reaction.
He hadn’t brought up their kiss, or the fact that she’d punched him, or their moment on the tennis courts, or really any of their physical encounters, nor had he made any further moves, all of which implied that, despite the obvious wine-and-dine attempt and his words to the contrary, he respected her vow.
Now, she just needed to stop feeling disappointed by that fact. It was a good thing—it meant she could relax and actually enjoy this unplanned vacation by smashing the gorgeous man at her side in poker.
He might have had seduction on his mind with the picturesque market and decadent dinner, but to Hel, the true seduction was the downtime. He’d told her to treat the week as an enforced vacation, and that’s what she planned to do.
Not that she intended to cooperate with her own seduction. She simply hadn’t had the opportunity to relax in so long.
She couldn’t remember when. And while they would be worried back home, undoubtedly, she had absolute faith that her friend and fellow guard Jenna could handle her absence.
She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d played poker. It was one of the things she missed about what she now realized were her carefree days at the academy. Back then she hadn’t seen things in such a positive light.
They played Texas Hold’em. He dealt. She made no comment, and merely smiled when he began handing out cards.
He lifted an eyebrow and smiled back, a wild and mischievous charge thrumming between them.
Sixty hands and two hours later, while she hadn’t smashed him, it was clear who the real shark was.
“Merciless,” he said, tired, but relaxed in a way he hadn’t been at any other point in the evening.
It was all she could do to keep her eyes off him.
The velvet cream darkness of his skin was unlike anything she had ever encountered, and she found herself filled with the most curious urge to reach out and touch it, to run her fingertips lightly along his jaw, his arm, along the edge of his hip and down his thigh...
“Now, now, Helene. What are you thinking?” His grinning question interrupted her with a start and she let out a small gasp.
His dark gaze shot to her lips, moistened and parted, and for a second, they were caught together.
And then they weren’t. Then she was crossing the table and sitting on his lap, a ghost in the shell of her body that moved like a strange automaton, driven by a primal code.
He seemed to have respect for her vow.
She, it seemed, didn’t.
A part of her observed from a place of panicked remove, trying in vain to put a stop to the chain of events.