Page 17 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
‘You don’t need to worry,’ she murmured, that warm place heating further.
His mouth twisted. ‘If those words meant anything you would’ve taken better care to not let it happen in the first place.’
Her fingers tightened on the sheets, his agitation and irritation sparking bittersweet relief as that warm place cooled. She didn’t want to have anything in common with this man who’d tauntingly admitted he was responsible for her family’s excruciating slide into ruin. ‘Yeah, I get that my episode inconvenienced you but—’
‘But you’re the victim here and I’m being unreasonable?’ His sensual lips curled in derision.
‘If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, Mr Tagarro, it’s having words put in my mouth,’ she ground out. He froze, his incisive gaze fixing on her. After a moment’s silence, she continued. ‘I was about to say it was just an unfortunate accident and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t even know what it was that triggered it.’
Fierce blue eyes flared for a second, then he strode to his bedside table. ‘Send up the chef and two crew members to my suite, please.’
Damn it.
Willow squeezed her eyes shut, abstractedly registering the lingering pain in her throat and eyes, the mild throbbing in her head. ‘Seriously, what are you doing? You’re overreacting.’
‘Are you allergic to sesame seeds?’ he clipped out.
She nodded.
His jaw clenched. ‘You reacted to the sesame oil in the salad.’
Her breath whizzed past an aching throat as she exhaled. His eyes darkened as the sound echoed in the silence. Feeling her body surge with those volatile sensations, she lifted the covers. ‘Thanks for letting me know, and for helping. Good night—’
‘Stay where you are. I think you’ve caused enough upheaval for one day.’
She frowned. ‘It’s not my fault I was too tired from being overworked.’
‘So you are saying this is my fault.’
‘I’m saying you’re overreacting. Which is weird since you clearly don’t like me.’
He froze, his nostrils the only movement as he sucked in air. ‘We’re in the middle of the damn ocean. Do you know what could’ve happened if you couldn’t have accessed help in time?’
The shards of anguish in his voice stopped her midrise, his expression charged with so many more issues than the subject of her allergic reaction. Willow opened her mouth, but before she could demand to know what was really going on, a knock announced the arrival of his chef.
His eyes still firing enigmatic currents at her, he barked, ‘Come.’ Then as before, he turned and walked out.
Her first attempt to follow him resulted in her sagging back on the bed, her not fully recovered body resisting her will.
Willow gave herself a few minutes to recover—while listening to the brisk exchange between boss and chef and cringing at being the cause of it.
Attempting again and succeeding to hold herself upright, she slowly approached the kitchen. Her stomach sank at the scene before her.
The contents of the fridge and freezer were being examined by three galley staff.
‘This really isn’t necessary, you know,’ she said.
Jario approached, still in thundercloud mode. ‘You should be in bed.’ When she mutinously held his stare, he sighed. ‘They’re removing everything you told the doctor you’re allergic to.’
Surprise jolted her. ‘Why? I won’t be eating my meals in here.’
‘You’re part of my personal crew. You may need to assist Ripley in here from time to time.’ He closed the distance between them until he was blocking the doorway to the kitchen and its occupants. ‘Or don’t you care about suffering another episode?’
‘Of course I care,’ she replied tartly, a little bubble bursting at the query that sounded like the kind of accusation her ex would throw at her. And also because Jario wasn’t doing this entirely out of concern for her but because he didn’t want to be inconvenienced.
Enough already. ‘I could’ve done the sorting, you know, as part of my job?’
The chef flashed her a mildly amused look, clearly detecting her snark.