The desire to pull her close, to press his mouth against hers and taste her again, was irresistible, overwhelming…
He held her gaze. ‘Nine, actually.’
She nodded, bit her lip, hesitated. ‘I was wrong. Back at the bothy, I was wrong.’ Her voice dried up for a second and she began again. ‘I thought I wanted to have just one night with you, but I don’t.’
His heart was jumping in his throat. The space between them seemed both hair-fine and the size of an ocean.
He knew what she was offering because it had already crossed his mind a thousand times since he’d woken that morning.
Only thinking something and saying it out loud were a world apart—especially now, when the aftershocks were still making the ground ripple beneath his feet.
They couldn’t rewrite the script or change the ending. For him and Nia the credits had already rolled.
His hands clenched, and with something approaching relief he realised that he was still holding the keys to the old Land Rover.
‘I think we both got what we wanted, Nia.’ He took an unsteady step backwards. ‘And now I should probably get back to Tom and Diane. I’ll drive this over to Lamington. It can stay there until you decide what you want to do with it.’
And without waiting for her reply he swung himself into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine and drove away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AN HOUR LATER, having showered, changed his clothes and given Tom and Diane a bowdlerised version of what had happened with Nia, Farlan sat down on the window seat in his bedroom.
He felt as if he was coming down with the flu: his limbs were leaden and he was aching all over. Probably he just needed to sleep…
Glancing over at his bed, he tightened his jaw.
It didn’t seem possible that he had already got used to lying with his arms wrapped around Nia’s soft body, and yet apparently he couldn’t face the thought of sleeping alone.
Particularly with their last conversation buzzing around his head.
Leaning his head against the glass, he felt frustration blur his fatigue—both the sexual kind and exasperation at his and Nia’s complete inability to communicate.
Although, to be fair, this time she had made her wishes quite clear.
Nine nights.
He ran a hand through his hair, unsure what was more disconcerting. The fact that Nia had come right out and said what she wanted or the fact that he had turned her down.
Outside, the wind had picked up again, and he watched enviously as a bird wheeled away across the sky, riding the uplift.
When he was directing he felt just like that bird. It was so effortless, so natural, and it had been the same with the upward trajectory of his career. Not once had he doubted himself or questioned his abilities.
But as for relationships…
The nervous skinny child he’d been had blossomed, and people were eager to know him, so it wasn’t that he didn’t have relationships. He did. What was hard—impossible, really—was letting his friendships develop and deepen.
He knew it was a hangover from his childhood. Basically he didn’t trust anyone not to change their mind about him—except maybe Tom and Diane.
He sat for several moments, his eyes tracking the bird.
It was a big deal for him when people changed their minds. In his experience it always had consequences—rarely good, often bad. Life had been unsparing in drumming that lesson into him, and for that reason he was careful never to put his needs in someone else’s hands.
Nia had been the only exception to that rule.
His jaw clenched. He hated having to admit that fear played a part in so many of his relationships with people.
But it did.