Page 44 of What Doesn't Kill You…

Max bugged his eyes at her. A reminder that he'd wanted to work on their back story, and she'd told him it was pointless. Violet just looked skyward and prayed for patience.

"We met while I was in Houston for work," Max said. "It was love at first sight, for me anyway."

Her sister and nieces made oohing noises and fanned themselves.

Violet was going to die. Right there. In front of everyone. She knew this because she was going to kill herself to end the humiliation. She glanced around and spotted a steak knife on a nearby table. That would do. As if reading her mind, Max reached out and curled his hand around hers. She frowned at him.

He beamed back as he spoke to her family. "I'm so glad you could make it. It's not every day a man marries the woman of his dreams."

"In the Caribbean," her mother said pointedly, narrowing her eyes at Violet. "Instead of at home, in Scotland, where we could put on a proper ceremony."

"Don't worry," Max said. "There will be a proper ceremony here. Wedding Island is famous for its romantic weddings. In fact, let me introduce you to the owner. He can put your minds at ease that everything will be done properly."

"Oh!" Her mother's eyes widened, clearly impressed. "You know the owner?"

Max turned to Damien, who was watching them intently. "He's right here. Meet Damien Poole, he owns the resort, and the island."

"Well, then," her mother moved forward to shake a bewildered Damien's hand. "I have to say, you have a lovely place."

"Uh, thank you," he seemed to gather himself, his charming persona falling back into place like oil coating the surface of a pond. "We're delighted to have you on Wedding Island."

He tried to free himself from her hold, but Violet's mum held on tight. "There's just one thing." She lowered her voice. "For such a high-class establishment, I have to tell you that your toilet paper is a little on the substandard side."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Weirdly, Max had enjoyed meeting Violet's family. But as the night went on, Violet became more withdrawn. It seemed that being around too many people was taking its toll again, and he could only imagine the shock she'd felt when her family had walked right into the middle of her undercover op. He was still reeling a little himself.

When Samuel had started to yawn, the Lee clan had headed to bed, and Violet had immediately vetoed any notion of a team meeting to go over the evening's events. Instead, Rodrigo and Katrina had gone to St. Patrice to see what Evan got from the drone footage. And he'd returned to the bungalow with Violet. Who'd promptly ordered him not to talk and to go shower. Max had taken one look at her face then done as he was told.

But when he got out of the shower, dressed in his pajama bottoms and T-shirt for bed, Violet seemed to have disappeared. He walked through the small bungalow, but there was no sight of her. He was about to call Rodrigo when he noticed something on the floor between the bed and the curtained window. When he went over to investigate, he found Violet lying on her back, head toward the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her arms were straight at her side and her fists were clenched. Not a good sign.

"Are you having a breakdown?" he said as he sat on the edge of the bed by her head. "Do I need to call someone?"

"If I was, who would you call?" She kept staring at the ceiling. "Everyone I know would make it worse."

He slid down to sit on the floor beside her, his back against the bed. "The resort should have a doctor. Or there might be a psychiatrist on St. Patrice who makes house calls. Help me out here, what medical service do we need?" Without thinking, he reached out to stroke her black silken hair.

To his astonishment, she didn't flinch, and even seemed to relax some. So, he carried on. For a few moments, they stayed like that, Violet staring at the ceiling and Max stroking her hair. It was the most relaxed he'd been since they'd started this trip, and he almost didn't want the experience to end.

"I'm not a cat," she said at last.

It took him a second to catch up, he'd been so busy trying to find the right words to describe the sensation of her hair through his fingers.

"I know," he said.

"You don't have to pat me," she carried on.

"I'm not patting you, I'm petting you. And trust me, that is definitely something you can do to a person."

That seemed to be enough to appease her because silence descended again. Max found himself fascinated by the waterfall effect of her hair over his hand. It was one of the most sensual experiences of his life, and he couldn't figure out how something so simple could bring so much pleasure.

"Did you call your mum?" she said, her words echoing in the silence. "Because I wouldn't put it past my mother to track her down and tell her what's going on."

"Yeah, I called her." Her hair slid through his fingers to the floor. Fascinating. Like everything else about Violet Lee. "After your mom's not-so-subtle threat, I thought I'd better. I explained we were on a job, trying to get information on Damien, and our cover was getting married. I asked her to tell anyone who asked that she was aware of the wedding but because it was such short notice she couldn't attend."

"What did she say?" Her fists had unclenched and now her hands rested on her stomach. Definitely an improvement.

"That she'd throw us a big wedding reception when we got back to Toronto."