What did she want to do with Jannes in the honeymoon suite of a luxury hotel? Well, wasn’t that the question. What she wanted to do and what was actually a good idea were at opposite ends of the spectrum. On the one hand, she had an evening’s worth of inappropriate fantasies involving Jannes, a white shirt and a shower. On the other hand, acting out even one of those fantasies would turn this situation from complicated to...impossible. So that pretty much left them with the minibar and a movie.
She stalled in the bathroom, taking her time brushing her teeth and pulling on the shorts and crop top pyjamas she had packed when she’d thought that she’d have a bed to herself. Jannes slipped past her as she walked back into the bedroom and she was left watching his retreating back.
She climbed onto the bed, pulling a blanket around her shoulders and nudging the throw cushions in between the two firm duck-feather pillows.
‘I can still sleep on the floor, you know,’ Jannes said, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing just a T-shirt and boxers.
This wasn’t a good idea at all. But saying so would only suggest to him that there was something other than friendship between them that made this a big deal.
‘You’re making a big deal out of nothing,’ Lara told him, desperately trying to convince herself at the same time. She wasn’t going to act on temptation—if she did she would end up hurting him, and that just wasn’t acceptable. So instead she found the remote for the TV and gra
bbed some snacks from the minibar. If they were stuck in this awkward situation she was going to make the best of it. And champagne and snacks in bed definitely counted as the best of it.
She scrolled through the TV guide, looking for a movie, before stumbling on an episode of the dating show she was guiltily addicted to. She popped the lid to her Pringles and took a sip of champagne as the opening credits rolled.
‘Budge up,’ Jannes said, reaching for a handful of crisps. ‘Hey, you’re two episodes ahead of me. What did I miss?’
She froze with her crisp halfway to her mouth, her jaw hanging open.
‘Seriously? You watch this? How did I not know that?’
‘Don’t judge,’ he said with a little huff. ‘You watch it too.’
‘Yes, but you’re—’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Careful there, do I hear some incoming sexism? What am I, exactly?’
‘You’re a relationship-phobe,’ she said. ‘And yet you want to watch members of the public falling in love?’
He snorted. ‘They’re hardly in love, most of them. And anyway, pot, kettle et cetera.’ He waved a hand, which she assumed stood in for all her commitment issues. Well, those commitment issues were the only thing standing between him and getting hurt, so he probably should be a little kinder about them.
‘We’re not talking about me,’ she reminded him. ‘Oh, my God, this guy’s my favourite,’ she said, taking another sip of her champagne, hoping that it would dissolve the atmosphere that seemed to have suddenly thickened around them.
‘You can’t like him. He’s an idiot. I forbid it.’
‘Excuse me?’ She widened her eyes, wondering if she was seeing him for the first time. ‘You forbid it?’
‘I’m your boyfriend now,’ he said with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the TV. ‘That means I can forbid things. At the very least I can forbid you from talking about other guys that you fancy when we’re in bed together.’
She shoved him with her shoulder. ‘No wonder you’re single, thinking that you get to go around forbidding things. The women of the yachting world have had a lucky escape. Anyway, we’re not in bed. We’re on the bed.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. That’s a very important distinction.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘In bed and on bed are worlds apart. Everybody knows that.’
‘Well, I don’t know that. I’m not an expert, but I am fairly sure you’re not meant to talk to me about other guys.’
‘Jealous?’ she asked, wondering why she felt a twist of nervous anticipation in her belly as she waited for his answer.
‘Not at all,’ Jannes said at last, leaning back on the pillow with his eyes safely back on the screen. ‘I don’t need to be. I know he’s not your type.’
She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Oh, really? And what’s my type?’
‘You know. Tall, blond, sporty. Swedish, preferably.’ The corners of his lips turned up infinitesimally, so no one but her would have been able to tell that he was joking.
She jabbed him with her elbow. ‘Ugh. Stop talking, I can’t hear the TV.’ But he swiped her back with a cushion, catching her just as she was taking a sip of champagne and spilling the whole lot down her pyjama top.
‘Argh,’ she cried, kneeling up and brushing off the front of her crop top. ‘I’m soaked! You did that on purpose!’