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“At sixty-five, my father continues to astound me,” Atlas said with more sincerity than anyone could know. How could he be so neglectful? How? “Our relationship hasn’t always been smooth sailing—” He paused for the laughter that understatement provoked. “But I anticipate he’ll have more time for sailing and other relaxing pastimes very soon.”
There. The gloves were off and on the floor between them.
A speculative murmur went through the crowd, hardening his father’s expression.
Atlas grimly lifted his glass. “Please join me in wishing Oliver the health and happiness he deserves.”
Rot in hellwas what he really meant.
Glasses went up along with cheers of “Hear, hear.”
They stepped down and the conductor led a chorus of “Happy Birthday” before switching to a waltz.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Stella warned Atlas as he guided her onto the floor.
He didn’t care if she stood on his shoes and let him shuffle her around. They needed to start the dance portion of the evening so they could get the hell out of here.
She was actually a lovely dancer, easily matching his lead, much the way they were in bed. His father danced by with one of the women from the board—a widow he slept with on occasion and was likely trying to seduce onto his side against Atlas.
Atlas didn’t take the chance that his father would ask them to switch partners. He cut the dance short and swept Stella out the front door to his waiting car.
“Oh! I thought—” She looked over her shoulder.
“There’s a spa hotel up the road. I had Chester arrange it. We have bags in the back. I can’t make you stay here.”Hecouldn’t stay here. He was liable to smother Oliver in his sleep.
Stella’s shoulders went down a notch, letting him know how much tension she’d been carrying while she’d been here, but she gave him a wary look as they slid into the car.
Thankfully, she didn’t say anything until they’d arrived at the vine-covered estate house that had been converted into a luxury hotel. It offered fitness facilities and spa treatments along with a farm-to-fork restaurant and other exclusive amenities. Carmel spent as much time here as she did at rehab so he knew it was a top-notch place.
Their room was actually a stand-alone two-story cottage in a converted granary. Upstairs was a four-poster bed beneath a skylight. A small balcony overlooked a private garden lit with fairy lights. Downstairs, in the sitting room, wine sat on ice next to a basket of fruit, cheese, chocolate and crackers.
“Are you hungry?” Stella asked.
“No.” Not for that. Maybe this confined space had been a bad idea.
She sent him a considering look before she came across and slid her arms around his waist.
He stiffened.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.
“No.”
“Get drunk?”
“Hell, no.” He was always careful how he used alcohol, having seen the dark side of abusing it.
“Do you want to make love?”
“Stella—” He took hold of her upper arms, which were bare and warm and smooth. Inviting. “I’m not in a very romantic mood.”
“Have sex, then? Or—” The next word she used lifted his brows into his hairline. “Did you think I don’t know that word?” she chided. “I’ve stubbed my toe.”
He choked on a laugh. Then shook his head. “I can tell when I’m being managed. You don’t have to pacify me.”
“It’s not pacifying. It’s…” She frowned. “You’re upset and you’ve put up a wall because of it. I understand why, but it’s a mental stubbing of a toe. All that energy needs to go somewhere. Why not me? You’ll make it good for me. I know you will. And when we’re naked, I feel close to you.”
He shook his head. “You’re still new to this.” He was reminding himself because he was in a mood that would push boundaries if he wasn’t careful.