Page 23 of His Forgotten Wife
All she had to do was wait out what was left of the twelve-month period, or Ares recovering his memories, and then the contract marriage could be dissolved.
Moving forward was the best. For both of them. Once the headache of the lawsuit was over and his memories mostly returned, Ares himself would not want her around. The fact that he’d remembered being furious on the flight to Greece confirmed that well enough.
Her breath left in a long exhale and the surrounding opulence rushed back to assault her senses. The main salon they walked through, while Ares nodded at people here and there, was a vision of understated luxury, with creamy leather sofas, polished marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows, which framed the brilliant seascape outside. Dolly felt as if she was gliding through an ever-changing painting, while the guests were nothing but avid, covetous spectators.
Still, no decadent view could dim her zinging awareness of the man himself.
Finally, he led her down a spiral staircase to the lower deck. Glass doors opened to a cozy sun-drenched lounge that seemedto melt into the horizon, while the yacht sliced effortlessly through gentle waves, leaving a trail of white foam.
The guests could still see them from different nooks if they wanted, but the lounge provided a modicum of privacy. A part of Dolly wished he didn’t have to parade her in front of his brothers and family, but it was the whole point she was there.
She let out a shaky laugh, rubbing a hand over her belly. “When Arabella mentioned a picnic, I assumed a beach and a rug and some wine.”
“I’ve never seen you so nervous before,” he said with a wry twist to his mouth. The full impact of his gaze landing on her was like a shot of adrenaline straight into her veins.
“What? You’ve suddenly grown receptive antennae to others’ moods and emotions?” Dolly retorted.
“I’ve never been…unaware of your moods and emotions, Dahlia.” When she didn’t answer, his jaw tightened. “Or was I?”
Dolly sighed. The last thing she wanted was him to regret things he couldn’t change about himself, then or now. Or for him to feel responsible for the misery she’d brought on herself.
Whatever he saw in her expression prompted him to say, “Don’t sugarcoat reality for me, Dahlia. I couldn’t bear it if you lied to me.”
Her stomach twisted into such a tight knot that she could barely form words for several long moments. “Insofar as they affected your well-being, you could read me well.”
Her sarcasm kicked the corners of his mouth into a soft grin. He poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her. Head tilted to the side, he studied her while she sipped.
A boozy brunch on a yacht with views that belonged in a travel magazine…when was she ever going to get a chance like this again? Plus, she always actually enjoyed Ares’s company. No man or woman she knew had his blunt wit, the fresh way ofseeing things that he did. So she needed to stop fighting this and exhausting herself, at least for now.
She cast him a sidelong glance, unable to help herself, as he raised his face to the sky.
“You look…different,” Ares said, catching her lingering glance. “I guess that outfit means you finally got the memo that you should see this as a vacation.”
Shaking her head, she leaned against the glass door leading onto the outer deck. “I never thought I’d see the day you would try diplomacy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I look like a cheap hooker who returned after a botched job to fight over her payment,” she said, wanting to provoke him, unbalance him. Wanting to test this new dynamic between them. “Points to you for not saying it.”
Throwing his head back, he laughed uproariously, the sound swathing her from all sides like a baby’s worn-out blanket.
She gave up all pretense and just stared, longing flooding her.
His jet-black hair wind-ruffled, his gray eyes warmed up, the corded column of his throat inviting her touch…he looked so achingly gorgeous that her heart gave a weak thump. With the blue polo shirt hugging his lean, wiry frame, and in white shorts that made him look young and carefree, this was an Ares she’d never seen before, and therefore had no defenses against.
Even as laughter softened the harsh angles of his face into stunning beauty, the deep lines of pain etched near his mouth betrayed him.
Before she could think on it, she was tracing the grooves around his mouth in a featherlight touch. A gasp at her own audacity escaped her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
His long fingers enveloped her wrist before she could jerk away. “It’s okay, Dahlia.”
“It’s not,” she said, tugging out of his hold. She felt his touch everywhere and yet not enough anywhere. “You look exhausted and I…forgot myself.”
“I don’t mind your touch,” he said, bending his head, as if in supplication. As if he needed her touch rather than just tolerating it for the sake of pretense.
Her fingers tingled with the urge to sink into his thick hair. “Ares…”
A naughty grin curved his lips as he looked at her. “So we have never even thought of doing this before?”
