Cold-Hearted by Eliana Salome

Author:Eliana Salome [Salome, Eliana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781637181829
Publisher: Pretty Booked, LLC

Gabriella

* * *

Martinque. Of all the places in the whole world, I wondered why he’d chosen this place. Actually, I feared I knew why he’d chosen this place and I knew I was right when the limo driver greeted us.

The balmy heat clung to me as the afternoon sun kissed my face. Notes of a waiting beach were carried in the air. It’s scent intoxicating. “Bonjour et bienvenue sur la magnifique île de la Martinique!” Welcome to Martinique. The island’s first language was french. It took everything inside me not to squeal and throw my arms around Jacob’s throat as he approached me from behind.

The guards carried our bags to an SUV but Jacob and I were taking a black car. My travel companion had changed on the plane into a pale blue short sleeved button up and long khaki’s. He wore a pair of shades and I watched him turn his head as he scanned our surroundings. “Tell him we need to make a stop before we get to the villa. A nice shop. You need clothes. Bikinis mostly.” He grinned at me before he turned away.

My heart fluttered. He wanted me to be our translator. This was awesome. I spoke to the driver before I let Jacob help me into the car. The interior was cool and a shock after heat from the outdoors. The SUV drove ahead and disappeared.

“Where are they going?”

“To check out the villa.”

“For bed bugs?” I put on my seatbelt as the car sped away from the airport.

“Bugs and rats.” I looked up and found him watching me though his shades. “They’ll exterminate everything before we get there.” French wasn’t the only additional language I’d picked up. I also spoke mafia. By bugs, he meant government listening and watching devices and by rats, he meant his enemies.

The life we led meant he’d have to be cautious if he wanted to stay alive.

Jacob pulled out his phone and I switched to Italian so the driver couldn’t understand him.

The driver looked back and said in French, “Are you from France?” When he smiled his white teeth were stark against his dark complexion. He was a chatty driver and that made me happy. Besides my weekly check-ins with Beatrice, I rarely got to talk French to anyone.

“We’re not French at all. I learned on my own.”

“Ah, you’re very good. I thought it was your first language.”

I felt my cheek’s redden. “Thank you.” Leaning on the back of the passenger seat, I asked, “What can you tell me about Martinque?”

His eyes brightened. “There are places you must see before you leave...”

For the next half hour, he told me about the island, it’s foundation, historic sights, and nightlife. We talked and laughed until the car came to a stop.

“I’m Olivier,” he said. It was only then I realized that I hadn’t asked for it. “If you want, I can take you and Mr. Anderson to a wonderful place for dancing tonight.”

Dancing? Jacob and I wouldn’t be doing that. Dancing crossed the line that I’d drawn in the sand.

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