Wife.
How had he managed to move through life without acquiring one of those?
With a sigh, he shook his head, looked past the title, and remembered what Gabi was.
An acquisition to suit his needs for a short duration of time.
Dark, lush hair . . . soulful eyes that displayed more emotion than she’d ever know . . . wit and courage he hadn’t expected . . . a body he’d coveted more than any bible verse he’d ever read.
An acquisition, he reminded himself.
Temporary.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Gabi stood on the other side of the door to the adjoining bathroom, a pair of high heels in her hands. “Dinner is at six. Did you want to shower first?”
Translation: I want to shower and you’re in the bathroom.
“You go ahead.”
A genuine smile reached her eyes. “Dinner is causal. You brought casual . . . right?”
“It’s a tropical island. I didn’t bring a suitcase full of suits.”
Those dark eyes followed him as he exited the bathroom and she shut the door.
When the water turned on, he imagined his naked wife . . . Gabi . . .
Yeah, he should probably think of something else.
He reached into the side pocket of his jacket, and then patted his back pockets . . . oh, yeah . . . his cell phone was sitting in a hotel vault, or worse, Gabi’s brother was searching his contacts . . . perhaps messages . . .
He tapped his fingers against his thigh.
His phone had a password, he reminded himself.
Hard to hack through a password.
Or was it?
The water from the shower turned off, and his brain raced from cell phones to skin.
They had four nights on the island. Four.
He’d been in more hostile environments than this . . . four days wasn’t that long.
“The shower’s yours,” Gabi called from the other side of the villa. She’d taken the larger of the two rooms. The bathroom had two doors, one to the room she occupied and the other to the rest of the apartment suite.
He stepped into the bathroom. The steam raced against his skin, as did the scent of the floral soap Gabi used.
The door to her room was cracked, and he caught a glimpse of her wrapped in a large bath towel as she padded around her suite.
Bare shoulders and bare knees shouldn’t make every part of his anatomy tighten . . . but they did.
Feeling like a peeping pervert, he silently closed the door and shed his clothing.
Cold showers and a warm climate.
Four days, he reminded himself. How hard could that be?
Holy hell . . . four days?
She emerged from her room in simple spaghetti-strapped silk that flowed over her curves and made then damn near invisible. They weren’t.
Gabi’s hair was tossed into what appeared to be a mess on the top of her head, which he knew many women paid close to two hundred bucks to have done for them. Her makeup was minimal . . . a little gloss, a touch at her eyes. She didn’t need it.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asked when she caught him staring.
He considered diverting his obvious gawking, then decided against it.
“You’re stunning.”
The hand she’d brought to her face to wipe fictitious dirt away fell to her side.
And Gabriella Masini Blackwell blushed.
Before she could say a thing, he added, “This island has relaxed you already and we’ve only been here two hours.”
She looked at her feet, then out the massive glass doors that disappeared when opened. “It’s hard to take in that view and not feel your heartbeat slow.”
Only his sped . . . from his vantage point, in any event.
Hunter shoved one hand into the linen pocket of his pants and took a step toward her. He offered his arm.
Instead of taking it, she lifted her dark eyes to his. “We don’t have to pretend affection here,” she reminded him.
That burned.
“You can’t be stabbing me in the back when you’re at my side,” he told her. “And right now, you’re the only person on this island who tells me to my face to jump off a cliff.”
A soft grin started to lift her lips. “You need assurance no one will push you to a splattering death?”
He winced. “I’ll stay clear of sharp edges.”
He nudged his elbow her way a second time.
She took it.
“I like him.”
Meg stood beside her mother-in-law and observed the newlyweds as Gabi introduced Hunter to one of the chefs who cornered them as they walked into the dining room.
“How do you know if you like him? You just met him,” Meg said.
“First impressions are important. Gabriella walked off his plane with a smile on her face. One I haven’t seen in some time.”
“That could be all Gabi and not Hunter.” Meg and Simona stood in front of their table, neither taking their seats. “Val can’t stand the man.”
Simona offered a snort.
Neither of them voiced what they both knew. Val had liked Alonzo, a fact that still haunted him.