She took it and shook. “This is the craziest trip ever to the Cayman Islands.”
“I agree.” He dipped a hand into his shorts pocket. “Oh, I did steal something.” He took the small honey jar from his pocket. “I saw it on a room service tray on my way out this morning and I grabbed it to give to you. As a silly little gift, since you love the hotel’s weirdly amazing honey. I’m pretty sure you felt it when you were patting me down.”
“I did.”
“What did you think it was?”
“Well, I didn’t think it was that!”
He laughed. “Now we’re getting somewhere. But you did think it was the jewels for a minute, right?” he asked, eyeing her with a c’mon-admit-it stare.
She shrugged her admission.
“Let’s put it this way,” she said, wrapping her hands around his fingers on the jar. “I’m glad to know the jar doesn’t have honey-coated diamonds in it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
He dropped her suitcase on the tiled floor. A fan circled lazily overhead, stirring the gauzy white curtains that hung by the sliding glass doors. He grabbed her hand, pulled her to the open deck. The sun was still high in the sky and his room had a stunning view of the endless blue water. He also had a clear view of how to resolve this turmoil still roiling in his chest.
On the one hand, he was grateful she came with him to his hotel, and he was thrilled to see her out of harm’s way. On the other hand, he wanted her to know the truth of who he was. No more lies. No more doubts. They’d had it out, for all intents and purposes, in her room, as the rush of anger coupled with the urgent need to get her safe ruled the moment. Now, it was time to let go of the defensiveness and try to understand each other. If they were working together—and hell, that sure seemed to be the plan—they had to be on the same side.
Otherwise, he’d walk away. But the thought of leaving her made his gut clench.
He had to try to talk to her about some of the harder topics. If not, this would be Rosalinda and the Medici job all over again.
“Just look,” he said, gesturing to the vast sea.
She gazed toward the water. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It is. And I’m showing you to make a point.”
“Over the view?” She parked her hands on the railing.
He turned to her and met her eyes. “Yes. I’m showing you this because it’s beautiful. Because you love the water. Because you are an outdoor girl through and through. Because I know these things about you,” he said, taking her hands and clasping them in his. He squeezed. “I know already that the water calms you. I know the sunshine is like some kind of magic to you. And I know you love your mother with a fierceness that can move mountains. You’re like this warrior princess who’d go to battle for her, and even though I’ve never met her, I can picture her. I imagine she is the gentlest, kindest person in the world who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and you fight for her. Not because she’s the kind of woman who won’t fight for herself, but rather because she chooses not to. Am I right?”
Steph drew in a deep breath and nodded. A warm breeze blew by, stirring up the ends of her pretty blonde hair. “Yes. You’re right.” Her voice was soft.
As the waves lapped the shore in the distance, and boaters skipped over the blue waters, he grasped her arms. “But what do you know about me?”
She opened her lips but didn’t speak.
“Steph,” he said, fixing her with a sharp gaze, and then asked again, needing to set her straight, desperate to avoid another on-the-job mistake. “What do you know about me?”
“That you like ice cream?” She said it like a question, her expression confused.
He nodded, a sliver of a smile appearing briefly. “That’s a good start. What else?”
“That you like to tell jokes?” she asked, squinting as the sun shone brightly overhead.
“Keep going.”
“That you’re motivated by your family,” she said with more confidence now in her tone.
“Good. Keep going.”
“That you do what you do because of them. To take care of your little sister and brother, and your big sister’s kid.”
“I do.”
“And that you hate when bastards get away with anything.”
He tapped his finger to his nose. Bingo. “Know what else?”
“What?”
A knot of discomfort clogged his throat. He pushed past it, speaking plainly, honestly. “I went out with a woman who nearly cost me a job. Who tried to steal the artifact we’d teamed up to find,” he said, the memory blasting through him of how foolish he’d felt when Rosalinda stole it from him. “I trusted her. I thought she cared about me. She only cared about the prize.”
“I don’t even want the prize,” Steph said, raising her chin, meeting his gaze. “I’m not after money. I’m after the truth.”
“But it seemed this morning that you were playing me,” he said, his tone turning rougher. “That when you saw me at the café, you were all sexy snuggly because you thought I’d run. And outside the gallery, you were pretending to get cozy when you put your hands in my shorts, but you were only searching for stones even after I told you there weren’t any.”
“I was,” she said through gritted teeth. Her expression was one of frustration and embarrassment.
“Don’t fuck with my feelings. You know I want you. You know I like you. Just don’t fuck with me,” he said, yanking her close to him.