Dear Mister Summers

twenty seven

After her brief meeting with Joseph, she picked up her book and beach towel and went back to the hotel. Not surprisingly enough, there was no sign of Sebastian. Almost as soon as she laid her head on the pillow, she fell asleep.

After what felt like a few hours later, she woke up and stretched her body. It seemed that the rest had swept away some of her tiredness. Fluttering her eyes open, she saw him. Against the open french windows, his body taut, Sebastian was standing, staring at her. For a moment they looked at each other in silence. From complete relaxation, Andin felt herself plunge into breathless awareness. His face was an expressionless mask. All traces of the desire, rage, and frustration he had shown last night were gone.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up," he said flatly.

She stretched, her arms lifted over her head. Under her lowered lashes she saw the blue eyes move swiftly over her as the movement outlined her body under the sheet covering her. "What time is it?" she asked casually.

"Ten in the morning," he said tersely, turning away, his hands thrust down into the back pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a black shirt.

"I slept for more than twelve hours?!" She was astonished. "As late as that? Why did you not knock hours ago?"

"I did," he said grimly, "but there was no reply." His profile was taut. "So in the end I came round to see." He broke off whatever he had been about to say.

Curiously, Andin probed the unyielding profile. "See what, exactly?" she asked lightly.

He turned to her, his eyes icy blue. "I-I thought—" He seemed unable to put it into words.

She frowned, more than puzzled by his response. "Thought?" Her eyes widened. "What did you think, Sir? That I had left you?"

He let out a sad sigh. "That, or—how did I know? There was not a sound from you, and the desk clerk told me you had not checked out. Your key was not down there, so you could have gone out. Andin, you have no idea what a torment it had been for me. There were at least a hundred different possibilities existing in my head."

"Such as what?" she asked, smiling with amusement.

He did not look amused. "You could be sick," he said grimly. "Or worse."

Andin watched him through the veil of her lashes. "Did you, perhaps, think I might be dead, Sir?" The question was softly teasing.

He turned towards the french windows. When he finally replied to her, it was for something else. "Get ready. We have to drop by Roberto's place again. There are some things that we need to discuss with him." His jaw tightened as he added, "I have left him a message and he rang an hour ago to find out when we would be there. You have gotten him mesmerized, he can not wait to see you again."

She asked his retreating back, curious about what he might have thought and she decided to go for the craziest idea that came into her mind. "You did not think I might have committed suicide, Sir?" Her tone was as smooth as silk.

"Don't tease me, Andin." He turned around and the pain in his eyes caught her by surprise. "That is not even funny."

"I know and I am sorry. But I am just surprised," Andin swung her legs to one side and folded the bedcover. "You never seem to worry about what might have happened to me and yet here you are saying you were worried and having some worst-case scenarios."

Flame invaded his eyes. Andin suddenly saw a new look on his features, a bitter menace and hostility mingling with tormented desire. She understood what he intended to do even before he began to kiss her again, uncaring now if he hurt her, wanting to hurt her, his hands savagely insulting as he handled her body. His mouth burned on her skin with violent insistence. She could hear his heart pounding, the raggedness of his breathing as he moved against her. Then almost as soon as his earlier move to pull her to him, he pulled away. "I care."