One Night: Exotic Fantasies. Maisey Yates

they would probably be engaged by the time they landed in Thailand. And then she could sleep in the guest room in the villa.

      She snorted.

      “What?” he asked.

      “Nothing.”

      “The scariest word known to man when issued from the lips of a woman.”

      Her lip curled voluntarily at his statement. “Sexist.”

      “I prefer realist, but you’re free to call it as you see it.”

      “So tell me this, Zack.”

      “What?” he asked, one dark eyebrow arched.

      “I assume you’ll attempt marriage again.”

      “If I find the right woman.”

      “And by that, you don’t mean the woman you love?”

      Something in Zack’s posture changed, subtle but obvious to her, his shoulders straightening, his muscles tensing beneath his expertly tailored shirt. His eyes changed, too. There was something dark there, haunted, something she’d never seen before, not this clearly. She’d felt it before, an intensity lurking beneath his cool exterior, but she’d never seen it so plainly.

      It was almost frightening in its intensity, transforming a man she’d seen every day for seven years into a cold stranger.

      “I don’t do love, Clara. Ever.” He turned his focus to the newspaper that was folded on his lap. “Good night.”

      Clara turned toward the bedroom, exhaustion burrowing beneath her skin, down into her bones. Yesterday, everything had been the way it had always been. It had sucked; it had been heading in a direction she hadn’t liked, but for the most part, it had been the same.

      Today everything felt different. Most of it was her fault. And even though she wouldn’t change it, she hated it.

      “We just landed.”

      Clara sat up and pushed the wild mass of auburn curls out of her eyes. She blinked a few times and Zack’s face came into focus. For a moment, she didn’t do anything. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, she just concentrated on his face being the first thing she saw.

      She’d never woken up next to a man before. And, yeah, this wasn’t really waking up next to a man in the traditional sense. And he was more leaning over than next to her. But it was a really nice thought, and it was a very nice sight first thing in the morning. If it was even morning. She had no idea.

      “What time is it?” she asked.

      “It’s 10:00 p.m. local time.”

      She flopped backward. “Oh, no. Why did you let me sleep?”

      “I tried to wake you.”

      “No, you didn’t.”

      “I did, you were out.”

      She felt a strange sort of disappointment curling in her stomach. She wished, well, part of her did, that he had woken her up. She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like it was lined with cotton. It was far too easy to think of a lot of very interesting ways he might have woken her up.

       No. Bad.

      “I’m going to be a wreck.”

      “Sorry.”

      “I take it you didn’t sleep?” She looked down and realized she was still wearing her jeans.

      “No. But then, I don’t sleep all that much.”

      That didn’t surprise her. She’d never really quizzed him on his sleeping habits, but honestly, he just didn’t seem like the kind of man who could sleep at all. He had too much energy and drive to stop even for a moment. Whenever she’d thought of him in bed … well, it hadn’t been images of him sleeping plaguing her.

      “We’re at the airport?” she asked, peering out one of the windows, confused by how dark it was outside.

      “Don’t know if I’d say airport so much as landing strip. We’re on Mr. Amudee’s property. It backs the city, but there’s a lot of forest in between his land and civilization.”

      “Oh.”

      “There’s a car waiting for us, and your luggage, such as it was, is already loaded in it.”

      She stood and her breasts nearly brushed his chest. She’d misjudged the distance. Her breath caught in her throat and nearly choked her.

      Zack didn’t seem affected at all. He just smiled at her, one of his wicked smiles, all of the ghosts she’d glimpsed in his gray eyes before she’d gone to sleep were banished now, leaving behind nothing but the glint that was so familiar to her.

      “I didn’t have—” she had to take in another breath because being so close to him had kind of sucked the other one out of her “—that much time to pack. Otherwise I could have had just as many bags as your high-maintenance ladies.”

      “You aren’t like the women I date. You aren’t high maintenance. I like that about you.” He turned and headed out the bedroom and she followed him, her chest suddenly feeling tight.

      What he meant was, she wasn’t beautiful. Not like the women he dated. The women who were all high-fashion planes and angles. And cheekbones.

      Her mother was like that. Her sister, too. Tall and leggy with hip bones that were more prominent than their breasts. And that was the look that walked runways. The look that was fashionable, especially in southern California.

      And she just didn’t have the look. She had curves. An abundance of them. If any of the chi-chi boutiques had bras with her cup size, they were very often too small around, meant for women who’d gone under the knife to give them what nature had bestowed upon her so liberally. And her stomach was a little bit round, not concave or rippling. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen her ribs.

      Standing next to the women in her family just made her feel … inadequate. And wide. And short. She’d tried to subsist on cabbage and water like her mother and sister, but frankly, she’d felt like garbage and had decided a long time ago that feeling healthy beat being fifteen pounds lighter.

      Of course, that decision didn’t erase a lifetime of insecurity. And that insecurity wasn’t all down to weight, either.

      “Great. Glad to be so … easy.”

      The door to the plane was standing open, and a staircase had been lowered to the tarmac. Zack stood and waited for her to go in front of him. She passed him without looking, trying not to show the knockout effect the slight scent of his cologne had on her as she moved by him.

      “I wouldn’t call you easy,” he said.

      She stopped, third stair from the top, and whipped around to look at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

      “Not what I meant, either,” he said, his expression overly innocent.

      “Yeah. Right. Are you determined to drive me absolutely insane for this whole trip?” She continued down the steps and hopped onto the tarmac, the night air balmy and thick with mist, blowing across her cheeks and leaving its moist handprint behind.

      “We are supposed to be a couple.”

      “Fair enough.”

      She was reluctant to get into the glossy black town car that was parked right by the plane. Because she’d only just gotten Zack-free air, and she didn’t really relish the thought of getting right back into a tight, enclosed space with him.

      She needed to be able to breathe. To think. And she couldn’t do it when he was around.

      That realization alone reinforced her crazy, spur-of-the-moment decision to move on with her life, and away from Roasted.

      The idea made her slightly sick and more than a little bit sad. Roasted had