avert my eyes, his gaze found mine in the mirror. I wanted to turn away.
But I couldn’t.
I clutched the towel tighter around me and stayed transfixed as Arthur dried himself, never taking his eyes off me, moving the towel over every inch of his skin—skin that was scarred in multiple places. But the scars couldn’t take anything away from his rugged beauty.
Drops of water slid down his muscles. I wanted to feel them underneath my hands. I wanted to thread my fingers through his damp hair and feel his full lips against my own. Arthur was nothing like Hugo. In fact, he was the polar opposite in every way. I had never longed for Hugo. I’d never wanted him to possess me, own me and make me forget the very essence of who I was.
Arthur came back through to the bedroom, his towel tied around his waist. From his wardrobe, he pulled out a long t-shirt and a pair of clean boxers. He threw them on the bed beside me. “For you.”
“Thank you,” I said. He took a pair of black pyjama shorts out for himself, putting them on under his towel.
Arthur tipped his head back and sighed. I wondered what he was thinking. If he was regretting me being here. When he lowered his head, he said, “Get dressed. We need to ice your cheek.”
We. The thrill that word inspired was pathetic, but nonetheless real.
I quickly dressed in the clothes he gave me. They smelled of him. Of tobacco and fresh water and whatever laundry detergent the staff on the yacht used.
When I was done, he wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me from his room. His body was hard and strong beside mine, his hand splayed on my stomach to keep me steady.
His closeness left me breathless, light-headed and skin burning.
In the main living room, he helped me down to the couch. He filled a clean tea towel with ice from the freezer and brought it to me. “Thank you.” I held the towel to my cheek, hissing at the sting.
Arthur busied himself at the bar, his back muscles flexing with every movement he made. He came back to me with a glass of whisky, and a straight gin with ice for himself. He leaned against the bar and looked out of the bifold doors at the dark sky and glittering lights of Marbella’s pretty marina.
“Arthur,” I said, needing to hear something from him, anything. He barely spoke, and it was driving me insane. He turned to me. “Thank you.” He nodded as if what he had done was nothing. As if killing four men wasn’t a huge deal, just an everyday part of his life.
Judging by the rumours about his firm, that might have been true.
I took a sip of my whisky, feeling the heat from the spirit coat my throat. It also gave me the courage to say, “You killed those men.” Arthur didn’t react to my words; they rolled off him as breezily as if I’d mentioned it was warm outside. “You killed them, Arthur … and what you did to the last man, with the glass …”
Arthur watched me carefully and said, his voice neutral, “I’ve done worse, princess.”
Princess …
Despite the endearment, blood drained from my face. “No, I don’t believe that …” Arthur walked over and crouched in front me. His blue eyes searched mine. They were a dark kind of blue, almost navy, a unique colour that suited his dark, mysterious personality. Like the sky at dusk before the darkness came and smothered it with the black of night.
“Believe it, princess.” He studied my face, lifting the ice pack back to my cheek. I hissed at the cold, but he held my hand in place regardless. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but trace the movement with my eyes. He’d licked his lips at my house five years ago, a silly habit of his I’d always remembered. I was as transfixed by it now as I was then.
Arthur took a sip of his gin. “Everything you’ve heard about me and my men will probably be true.” His lip curled a fraction—a flicker of amusement, or maybe pride. “What you’ve heard about my entire family will also no doubt be true. In fact …” He tilted his head to the side as he pushed a strand of hair back from my face. I held my breath at the action. “We’ve done worse than you’ve imagined.” Looking me straight in