Page 36 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
Glancing past him to the deck, she saw the dining table laid for two. ‘No.’ Her stomach had churned too hard all day to sustain an appetite.
Displeasure pursed his lips briefly before he threw over his shoulder, ‘Then come.’
‘I’d rather talk before we eat,’ she said, knowing she couldn’t stand another minute of the cyclone of baffling sensations inside her.
He paused next to an exquisitely carved dining chair. ‘You find it a challenge to have a discussion at the dinner table? The chef has gone to a lot of trouble and apparently cooked some of your favourite dishes.’
Her eyes widened. ‘He has?’
Another flicker of enigmatic expression. ‘Indeed. You seem to create an impression wherever you go.’
He pulled out the chair, unwavering eyes drilling into hers.
Willow blew out an inner breath and joined him, his scent teasing her nostrils as he tucked her in. He leaned close and she heard his slow inhale, but when she looked up he was straightening.
He sat perpendicular to her, the view of the setting sun streaked with oranges, pinks and mauves too spectacular not to take full advantage of. The climate had turned progressively sultry on their approach into Asia, and the breeze washing pleasantly over her bare skin eased one of the many knots inside her.
Caught between the dynamic man next to her and the magnificent view, she furiously attempted to focus on the latter.
‘Wine?’ He plucked a Chevalier-Montrachet Chardonnay from a Baccarat cut-glass ice bucket, and held it poised over her glass.
Her father’s steep decline into alcohol dependence had made her wary of drinking around him. But he was a couple of thousand miles away.
And since she was taking a much-needed stance...
At her nod, he poured her a glass before his own. Then he reached over and lifted the silver cloche covering her dish. Willow’s eyes widened, her mouth salivating instantly as the smells wafted over her.
‘Oh, my God, that looks amazing.’ The cheeseburger looked like no cheeseburger she’d ever seen. Yes, the prerequisite ingredients were there—meat, cheese, bun. But just by looking, she knew it was superior. For starters, the yacht only stocked prime Wagyu beef and she’d seen the chef mince it himself. Just as she knew the cheese and truffles were flown directly from superior vendors in Europe.
‘I had the pickles placed on the side,’ Jario stated, not bothering to hide his outraged disdain.
‘Because you believe pickles don’t belong on a burger?’ she asked, fighting a smile as she tried not to reach too eagerly for the silver platter.
‘Exactly so. Pickles shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near prime beef, lobster and truffles.’
She’d resisted too hard, apparently, because with an air of impatience, he set the plate in front of her, then uncovered another bowl that held skinny golden fries, exactly the way she liked them. ‘Eat.’
She ignored the disgruntled order, her revived appetite too keen to be offended. Reaching for the juicy stack, she took a bite and groaned as heavenly flavours exploded on her tongue. ‘Oh...’
With her next mouthful, she snagged a slice of pickle with her fork and bit into it. The explosion of tartness combined with the richness of the burger and cheese was deeply delightful, dragging another groan. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’
‘Gracias, but I’ll pass.’ His bone-dry tone triggered amusement and she was smiling before remembering that this wasn’t a social event. That she and this man weren’t friends.
She froze when she saw his rapt, ferocious stare. ‘Umm...something wrong?’ she asked, after she swallowed.
His nostrils flared, his gaze remaining on her for several more seconds before he sat back and reached for his wineglass. ‘Let’s not invite indigestion by dwelling on things that are wrong.’ He nudged his square chin at her plate. ‘Continue.’
She was several more bites into her meal before he stopped staring and started his. Willow didn’t want to notice his voracious appetite or the way his jaw moved as he ate. The way he cradled his wineglass, twirling it almost absentmindedly between his fingers before each sip.
But she did. And it affected her just as potently as everything else about this man. So it was almost a relief to be done eating. To drain her own glass and refuse a refill—because bold emotional stance was one thing, reckless tipsiness quite another—and rise from the table.
Her very skin on fire from the seismic sensations and wild anticipation unfurling through her veins, Willow headed for the railing overlooking the darkening waters.
The sea had almost swallowed the sun, leaving an awe-inspiring vista.
But it was nothing compared to the man watching her every move, whose fixation on her ignited wilder heat. She knew the moment he rose, his silent approach crackling the very air until she couldn’t breathe without electricity vibrating along every stretch of her skin.
She’d expected him to join her, but he stopped just behind her. She didn’t turn around.Couldn’t. Her fingers curled around the railing, her breathing truncating as she heard him sip another mouthful of wine.