Page 334 of The Romance Adventure
This would be a moment for us to embrace, to kiss, but she stays in the closet long enough for the moment to pass.
Popping her head out, she smiles and says, “I’d like to think that.”
Getting to my feet, I cross the room, ready to take my wife into my arms, but I step on something sharp. Bending over, I pick up an earring with a diamond stud and a shave under a carat set in platinum. Dangling from it are a series of diamonds in descending size. The set is worth at least twenty thousand. I’m trained to identify fakes and these are the real deal.
Pinching it between my fingers, I hold it out for Jolie. “Lose something besides your keys?”
Her eyes widen for a moment before she takes the earring from my finger. “I have been so hapless lately. Thank you.”
“That’s a fancy earring. Did you wear it with that gown?” I point to the silky black number in the closet.
“Yes, I attended a fete hosted by an art collector acquainted with one of my clients.”
“I would’ve loved to see you in it.” We’re close enough that I inhale her citrus blossom scent.
She waves her hand. “It was nothing.”
“No, seeing you in that gown would be something. A special something.”
She flutters a smile and lets out a breath like she’s trying to resist us for some reason. I’m afraid that if I ask why, I won’t like the answer.
Smoothing the tips of my fingers along her bare arm, I say, “So you were born in Spain to a French-Moroccan mother and a Spanish father. You grew up in Concordia and went to school there and in the US, but never quite felt like you belonged anywhere. Jolie Bond is a citizen of the world and has a weakness for dark chocolate and shiny things.”
She is definitely a shiny thing.
Her expression softens. “You left something out.”
I have a feeling there are a few gaps in her story. “You weren’t interested in romance until you met me. Is there anything else I don’t know about you?”
She steps past me out of the closet and back into the room, leaving me filled with tension.
Over her shoulder, she says, “I enjoy swimming, reading, and shoes.”
Arms crossed in front of my chest, I lean against the doorframe to the massive, his and hers walk-in closet. “I knew that.”
“And how about you? Any skeletons in your closet?” Her tone is playful as if she’s cautious about me digging for information or is used to revealing very little about herself.
But those days in Malaga when we fell in love, we stayed up late into the night, talking—though I suppose it wasn’t focused so much on us, but on the world, travel, food, diving, and art.
Time to play my ace, but first, I have to appeal to Jolie’s heart.
With a skip in my step, because I’m CJ and not just an international spy, I sweep her into my arms and bring her downstairs. She tells me to let her down. I do, right onto the counter.
“Speaking of sweets. I have a treat.” Producing a pitcher of horchata, I pour us each a glass. Something sweet to go along with my winning card.
Jolie’s eyes light up. This cold, refreshing drink made of tiger nuts is something we shared the morning after the night we met. She told me it was her favorite drink and reminded her of being a kid.
“You remembered,” she says.
“I’d never forget.”
Clinking our glasses, I say, “To home, where the heart and the real treasures in life are.”
Our gazes float together.
My pulse rattles.
In high school, I dated a few girls. During my sailing and motorcycle adventures, I met a few female travelers and we had some fun. But I never got serious because of my deep cover. It was too risky for a variety of reasons, but I could not resist this woman. Didn’t want to. Still don’t. But I can’t help but feel we both still have cards up our sleeves. Well, I do. So, is this a matter of guilt eating me from the inside out, or are my senses picking up on something legitimate?
